Chapter Text
The mirror might be wrong about me.
Makes me look angry, angry and less like how I was striving to be long ago.
It’s true I don’t look like my dad, but I saw similarities then. Why can’t I see them now? What am I doing wrong? I’m trying so hard to follow you, but I can barely even see you clearly anymore. You aren’t just a concept, Regto, will you come back to me? I know you were real, but why can’t I see you anymore?
I never wanted someone to wash my hair for me so bad— I guess that I wished you would nag me more. I can be independent now, but why- Why if it was at the cost of losing you?
–
It was a drag to wash his gloves, not only was it excruciating pain, but it was tiresome to see the same *filthy* boy in the mirror. Does he also wish the same things Rudo does? I doubt it. No reflection can hold as much hate and fury as he does, no mirror, no drawing, nothing. It was all those scums' fault that the masked freak got away with its crime towards Regto.
Oh Regto…
In that room, in that empty room scattered with multiple splotches of blood right at the height of a small child sitting, was Rudo. He didn’t quite understand Regto when he said to keep his anger in without hurting anyone, including himself. Where is he supposed to put all this rage? Why couldn’t he get it?
Harsh tears fell down his cheeks, his bottom lip trembling as he revisited the moments, he felt most angry. He just stood in the middle of the room, gripping at the collar of his shirt as if he couldn’t breathe. His gloves restricted the amount of grip he could really grasp but he could feel the tension in his knuckles tighten, almost like something– someone– is trying to leave his body. His tears were smoking from the hate and fury, but once he started, he couldn’t stop.
“Hey…! ####? Ohh… whats #####, #####?” So... muffled? His voice... this sensation of being squished, tears hitting someplace else other than the floor. He couldn’t hear clearly, the noise instinctively making him soften up. His rage slowly consumed him, replacing all that rage with relief. His hair was lightly petted with a gentle hand, and only then did the embrace stop.
This man... he looked at Rudo with love acceptance, just... acceptance. He didn't scowl, lecture, or hit. He just admired his son apprentice. Regto... yes. Regto was messing with Rudo's hair now. Rudo simply looked down to his lap as he wiped his eyes to see more clearly, then picking at his ear.
"Kid, your hair is filthy." Rudo's face warped into an offended expression.
How dare he?! He's not filthy!!
"Here, come here." Regto picked Rudo up from the ground, without a care of how angry Rudo was at this despicable remark. Rudo's anger was diminished immediately once Regto began to wash his scalp.
He was clothed, sitting on the floor with his head leaned back into a bucket of water. The water was warm... warm enough to feel cozy but not too warm that it burns. The ceiling was concrete-ish (?), something where if you stared long enough, you see the texture everywhere. The feeling of someone deeply massaging his wet scruffy hair was... odd. It felt nice, like an itch that hasn't been scratched before. However, the strain on his neck was keeping him from enjoying it too much. It took an hour to just get the dirt out, and soon that strain was nothing compared to the warm feeling.
The last thing he remembered was-
"Rudo... just relax, you're safe, buddy."
Promptly, he closed his eyes and took that nap he desperately needed.
-
This overwhelming pain struck him awake in the midst of a bathroom, a different one. His gloves were still in the small tub of cold sewer water that was built up over time. His hands not only burned but the rest of his body followed pursuit, his legs almost buckling as he attempted to sit up. Taking out the gloves, the soggy and relatively clean gloves, did he put it over a towel. Dabbing the towel over the gloves was horrific, just the sheer pressure was pain inducing- but he was used to it. He let out a huff of air before putting them back on, still damp. He didn't really care, all that mattered was that he had them in the first place. Rudo looked down at the gloves, staring with a piercing glare as if the gloves owed something. He sniffles and forces himself to get up, struggling for a good second before standing on his own two feet. Never did he wonder what it was like to wash his gloves on his own, without anyone to remind him, no one to help him, no one to give him something to ease the pain as he waited for his gloves to be cleaned. His breath came in short huffs; his eyes gaining a film of tears over but never leaving. His lip is nearly ripped to shreds with how hard he bit it, this fuel of heat pooling into the center of his head. He looked up and over towards the mirror, seeing the same rage he saw long ago.
-But long ago, he had someone there standing behind him, now it's just his shadow.
Rudo's hands formed a fist, thumb digging into the back of his pinky and ring finger despite wearing a glove.
"Ugly- Ugly and full of senseless anger, just like his fa-" The cacophony of sharp high-pitched glass clattering all over the floor before you knew it. The mirror- no, the frame was left hanging with a gloved fist in the middle of its build. Could he have gone too far? Hopefully no one heard, the last thing he'd want is to cause a scene over his restlessness again. He stepped back, immediately regretting it as he was barefoot. The sharp glass wasn't done tormenting the poor boy, even in ruins. He had to tip-toe away from the scene, letting it simmer down before actually going to clean it up.
Rudo sighed-
When was the last time he washed his hair again?