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‟Kei. Kei!”
Kei startled a little, turning, then hissed as his fingers passed into the sunlight filtering through the faintly milky glass of their window. He distractedly watched his skin ripple and begin to crisp into particulates like ash, smoke swirling off him, shimmering in the light of the sun.
Sho’s small fingers wrapped around his wrist and yanked his hand away before Kei’s sludgy thoughts got that far. He swallowed and shook himself a little, focusing on his little one and smiling for Sho.
‟Please- Kei.” Sho tugged at his sleeve, edging closer. ‟Don’t- Don’t go away like that.” he said softly.
Kei frowned, brows drawing together. He glanced at the window, then back around at the tiny apartment - Toshi and Shinji were both out; Toshi likely playing games with some of the other neighbourhood kids and picking pockets where he could get away with it, Shinji running messages and other errands for one of the gangs.
‟Please.” Sho said again, and it ached a little to hear it, though Kei was also so very grateful; it had been more than six months after Sho dragged him out of the mossy, tumbled down, sun-touched corner of a ruin before he had first heard Sho voice a please.
‟Sho?” Kei lifted his hand - the burns were already mostly gone - and brushed his fingertips over Sho’s brow, flicking his fringe away, tracing the curve of Sho’s cheek with his thumb. ‟I’m right here. Do you need something?” he asked, straightening. ‟Or-”
‟You weren’t.” Sho said, and Kei cocked his head. ‟You- You aren’t, when you look like that.” His voice wavered into a whimper, and Kei’s chest ached. He squeezed Sho’s shoulder.
‟I am, Sho, I promise.” Kei said softly, cupping Sho’s chin with his free hand. ‟I’m right here.”
Sho shook his head, sniffling, and Kei’s throat tightened at the faint scent of salt. ‟When you look like that. . .” Sho shook his head again. ‟You aren’t here, you’re . . . somewhere else, somewhere I can’t go, and I’m afraid. . .”
‟Sho?” Kei asked softly. ‟I don’t mean to frighten you.” he said.
It was the truth, so very much the truth; it made his heart ache that Sho might-
‟’m not afraid of you.” Sho said, and Kei’s nose twitched. ‟It’s not-”
‟Sho?” Kei prompted; he was unutterably glad that Sho wasn’t - though he had no idea how; he should be, mad little thing - but he didn’t know what Sho meant, if it wasn’t Kei that frightened him.
‟Don’t leave me.” Sho begged, his sunlit sky eyes wide and glossy with the tears Kei could smell. Kei froze. Sho sniffled, tucking in on himself a little more, his fingertips slipping until they were only barely clinging to their curl in Kei’s jacket. ‟You- You sit and you stare like that and it just- Please, Kei.”
Kei swallowed thickly, feeling a little unsteady.
‟Even worse, it- it’s like you’re gonna go away.” Sho said on a thin whimper. ‟You stare and you’re so far away, but I remember. . .” He looked away, breathing hitching.
Kei knew what he hadn’t said; what he tried never to say. The day they’d met; the day Sho had found him in the encroaching sunlight and dragged him to safety, trying to put him back together. Succeeding, though he could have had no idea what he was doing.
Unfortunately also one of the worst days in Sho’s short life, and he didn’t like to speak of it, especially after one of Shinji’s rants like the one Kei had woken to that morning.
‟Don’t go somewhere without me, Kei, please.” Sho said again, his voice tiny and thin. ‟I- We need you.”
‟I’m here.” Kei said finally, sinking to his knees and sliding a hand over Sho’s side. ‟I’m . . . sorry I made you feel that way.” he said, wincing.
Sho watched him cautiously for a moment, and Kei let his hand slide to Sho’s back, not quite pulling. He didn’t have to - it had taken some months to get here, and more for it to become comfortable, perhaps, on both sides, but-
Sho stepped forwards, pressing himself against Kei’s chest and curling into him, one skinny arm looping around his neck. Kei hugged him gently tighter, feeling the shivery tension in his small body and feeling guilty all over again.
‟Kei?” Sho asked into his neck, and Kei hummed, swaying a little. ‟Where- Where do you go, when you’re like that?” he asked, and that. . .
I remember, Kei thought, and I wonder what it would be like to- and a beach, a sunrise, a sky lit like your eyes, and . . . he wouldn’t say any of that, not to Sho. He couldn’t.
Sho met his eyes, and Kei felt dizzy for a moment at the look in them; fathomless and far, far too knowing for a child.
You can’t tell him any of that . . . but you could leave him? Kei thought, and suppressed the impulse to cringe.
A small tug at his jacket pulled him back out of his mind, and he hummed a question, resting his brow against Sho’s.
Sho relaxed a little, and Kei smiled, then laughed as he butted his head gently against Kei’s in return. Sho giggled, quiet but sweet, his hold on Kei tightening a little.
‟Come with me instead.” Sho said, and Kei blinked, thrown. ‟Wherever it is you go, in your head, or- or you think about going,” Sho licked his lips, glancing away for a moment, then back to meet Kei’s eyes, trapping him in the endless sky of Sho’s gaze, ‟be here with me instead.”
Kei took a shallow breath.
‟Please.” Sho added, and Kei smiled at him.
‟Of course.” Kei said gently, smoothing Sho’s hair and bumping their brows together once again.
Sho beamed at him, so bright and happy, and Kei’s shoulders eased. It startled him when Sho stepped back, pulling at him by his jacket and his wrist. Kei cocked his head, raising an eyebrow.
‟You said you’d come with me. . .” Sho wheedled, still pulling, and Kei hadn’t . . . thought he meant actively moving anywhere right now, but that was fine too. He rose and allowed Sho to drag him across the tiny room that was ninety percent of their apartment - it was a terrible little rattletrap, but it was better than a ruin, Kei reminded himself when he cringed at the space the kids more than filled up; it had a roof and walls and locks and running water, and besides that, he was working on getting something better for them.
Sho pushed him towards the wall, and Kei laughed a little, settling down on the battered daybed there. ‟Here?” he asked, opening his arms, and Sho grinned, scrambling up with him, almost into his lap.
Kei sighed, resting his chin on top of Sho’s head as his skinny arms snaked around Kei in return.
‟Uh-uh.” Sho said firmly, and Kei didn’t have a chance to ask what before Sho was pushing at him again. He flopped playfully over in one movement, letting himself collapse, and Sho jumped in surprise.
Kei cocked his head sideways on the daybed, angling a look up at Sho and fighting a smirk.
Sho huffed with exasperation and pushed up against him, cuddling against his chest. From this angle, Kei realised as he curled an arm thoughtlessly around Sho, he couldn’t even see the window, not even the dingy fabric they’d nailed up over it.
‟Don’t go away.” Sho said against his neck, lying half on top of him. ‟Just. . . Please, Kei.”
Kei hugged him tight - quick enough to knock a quiet huff of air from him; Kei loosened his embrace swiftly but Sho didn’t seem to be in any discomfort - and rubbed his back. ‟I. . . I won’t, Sho. I promise. I’m right here with you.”
Sho hummed, rubbing his cheek against Kei’s collarbone. ‟Since you promise.” he said, and Kei smiled slightly.
‟I do.” Kei said gently, rubbing Sho’s back again. He felt . . . grounded, with Sho’s slight, warm weight draped over him; Sho’s calm, quick heartbeat pressed against his ribs. There was a painful pang for having so worried Sho - Kei hadn’t had any idea Sho was so fretful over him - and nearly made him cry, but. . .
Kei shifted a little, smiling as Sho’s arms tightened. He wasn’t trying to get more space, or make Sho move, however, only settling more comfortably. He squeezed Sho around the waist and wriggled his shoulders to lie flatter.
A few slow breaths and Sho relaxed again; Kei absently ruffled, then smoothed his hair.
‟I’ll see if I can find a board to put up over the window tonight.” Kei said after a few minutes. ‟It’ll block out the sun better.”
And with it more fully blocked, Kei might be less prone to being distracted by the dim glow of the sun so close, he thought with a sigh. He hadn’t realised his habit was unsettling Sho, but now he did . . . he would do his best not to do it again.
Sho relaxed even more. ‟That’d be good.” He squirmed a little, nestling closer. ‟It’s kinda bright like this.” he added in a light, matter-of-fact tone.
Kei doubted very much that was what bothered Sho about it, but hummed agreement all the same, kissing the top of his head. Sho sighed happily and tucked his cheek tighter in against Kei’s shoulder.