Archive of Our Own ^beta

Rain.

It must've filled the boy's body and mind with how heavy he felt. Lifting his limbs took a great effort, and his head swam with a dull ache. Never before in his life did his body betray him as often as it did here.

Groaning softly, he heaved himself upwards, vision settling on the faint glow of the digital clock.

1:34 AM. Past midnight. He'd been asleep since... he got home? Around five or so? Sheesh.

Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he breathed, trying to clear the weight from his head. His room felt hot and humid, even with the brunt of summer's heat dissipating after dark. The fact his foster father was rather frugal with the air conditioning didn't help matters.

Maybe cracking open a window would help.

With a huff, the boy rolled his legs off the side of his bed, scooting ever so slightly towards the edge. Lifting the blinds, he reached for the locks. A sticky film met his fingers, followed by the eight-legged skittering of something small.

After gracefully slapping his hand around for all of five minutes, he tried again, with a dirty shirt to glove his grip. The filthy locks gave in after a few more minutes of prying, the window hissing as he shoved it upwards, and his reward flowing through the opening.

Even more drenched than he was when he woke up, the night air never felt so sweet. Michael sunk to his knees, arms crossed on the windowsill to rest his head on, a soft smile forming as the wind kissed him. But the wind carried something else with it.

The faintest of notes, soft as the night itself, echoing from below. Shifting forward, he peered out. Across the fence and in front of a garden bed, flanked by a lantern, a music box, and a spade, sat a figure. Their hands laid buried in the dirt before them, and their choppy hair masked their face as fireflies flickered around the yard.

Blinking, the boy lifted his head. He hadn't met his neighbors; this house looked abandoned most of the time, save for the odd hours where it had a car parked, covered by a tarp. It's hard to remember even a time where the house had any lights on.

Unless, of course, this... random kid? Is just playing in the dirt of a house nobody cares about. Said kid shoved a pile of dirt over the hole made, briefly brushing their hands on their pants before winding their music box again. Then again... he bit the inside of his cheek. It always was kind of weird that house had one hell of a garden if it was abandoned.

Almost to answer his question, a car turned into the driveway, headlights sweeping over the yard and it's inhabitant as it went. The kid froze and Michael shifted back, peering halfway from the side of the window. Whoever was here didn't want to be seen. Neither of them did.

A shaggy, sasquatch-esque figure stepped out from the car, pulling out a small box with it. Turning its head towards the kneeling kid, it's shoulders slumped as it sighed, lazily closing the car door and stepping with a lopsided gait towards them.

"Sweetheart," the male started, voice dry and deep, but sickly sweet. "I told you it's dangerous to go outside, especially when I'm not home."

The child said nothing, not even turning to face him. Their head tilted downwards, eyes presumably focused on the dirt.

Silence, then the man reached out, gently ruffling their hair. "I know, I know. Gardening meant a lot to your mother too." Another sigh. "Are you hungry?-"

"Yes." Their voice barely above a whisper and little more than a hiss, the kid, no, teenager, turned slightly towards the male.

He only chuckled, gently patting them on the head again. "Thought so. I brought dinner." Holding out the box, the lantern's glow reflected a bright red. A happy meal.

The teen took it with little hesitation. It seemed... small in their hands. Michael furrowed his brows. Don't those only have, like, four nuggets, some fries, and a handful of apple slices?

The male continued. "I'm... sorry for leaving you hungry all day, you know I can't keep much without a working fridge or stove." He gave a somewhat flippant wave of the hand towards the house. "I'll see if I can't get the power straight soon."

His... presumed child turned away from him again, setting the box in their lap. The music box slowed to a stop, once again.

Clicking his tongue, the man leaned over, fingers wrapping around the lantern's handle. "You don't mind if I take this, right? The moon's full anyhow," straightening up, he lifted the light. "Both you and your mother always did prefer the dark."

Saying nothing, the teen rolled their shoulders in a shrug.

A final sigh escaped the man's lips. "Alright. Wrap up... whatever little miracles you've planted tonight. You don't want your food getting cold." Turning away, he faced the car. "And please, come inside." A pause, then his voice lightened, fake sugary syrup practically dripping from it. "I'd love to hear what you've done today. Draw anything nice?"

"...Nothing." Soft as snow, much like the notes of their beloved music box, came the little voice. The boy craned his neck around, straining to hear them. "Nothing."

"That's... a shame." Another click of his tongue. The man ran his hand through his hair, locks stuck together with sweat, combing it back. "Really though. Hurry up. I'll be inside after I get the tarp sorted out, and I don't want you hanging around out here without me, little bat."

The teen didn't say anything else, instead pulling open the crimson box. Fishing around for a moment, they munched a fry, chewing as they took out the box of nuggets.

They lifted their head to the sky and Michael instinctively jerked back again, barely peeking at them from behind the wall. Their gaze, however, was on their own roof.

Clicking themself, they took a nugget and tossed it up, the small chunk bouncing into the gutter. A smaller body, feline in shape and black as night, unfurled from a nest of old leaves. Stepping over, it claimed it's tribute, hunching as it ate.

Illuminated by the moonlight, a half smirk graced the teen's face. Michael tilted his head, peering around just a little more. Their features were... soft. Feminine, even? Albeit... tired. Something ticked in his chest.

They've been alone here for god knows how long, hidden away. Swallowing down, a resolve started to form in his mind.

They won't be alone much longer, not if he has anything to do with it.