Archive of Our Own ^beta

After wriggling and thrashing for what felt like eons, he finally managed to rid himself of the scratchy blanket he’d been bundled tightly into earlier that night. He kicked it off to the side for good measure and sat up on the straw basket, looking around the room. The lone window was boarded up, but the phew rays of morning sun making their way through the top illuminated the room well enough. His brother was still bundled up on the basket next to his, looking dumb with his pink hair sticking this way and that. He stifled a laugh at the sight as he stepped out of the basket.

There were bags full of grain and things he still didn’t know the names of yet on the corners of the walls, and plants with fruits hanging from the ceiling, the wooden table their baskets were tucked under empty. It was a small room, and it felt even smaller when their guardians were in it with them, prepping meals and eating together. At the thought of them, Wamuu walked over to the empty arc where a door would usually stand and stepped into the hall.

It was darker than the room they were in, but he could make out the curtain that led into their guardians room down the hall. He chanced a glance to the other end of it at the front door, the faint rays of light coming from the other side very tempting, before tip toeing over to the curtain and peeking inside.

This room was probably even smaller than the other one and had no windows at all. There were boring, thick books and rolled scrolls in neat towers along one of the walls, more baskets and bags with all their belongings stacked on another corner, and cramped in the center of it all on the opposite wall from Wamuu lay the two men that took care of them. One of them lay facing him, his long hair sprawled over the makeshift pillow and the floor with his face bare. It was a little odd, he rarely saw him without makeup on. The other man lay behind him and he could vaguely see his shoulder and back peeking out over the blanket. Now that he’d made sure they were both still asleep, he could go ahead with his plan. His brother and him had sat through long and boring lectures over what they could and couldn’t do, but there was one rule that had never sat right with him: “Never touch sunlight with your bare skin.”

‘Its dangerous.’ Was the reason they always gave every time he asked about it. Well, it used to be before turning into ‘Because we said so.’ after the hundredth time he’d asked about it. It didn’t seem fair. He once convinced one of them to take him along into town during the day, and after wrapping him and himself in clothing from top to bottom, making him promise to never let go of his hand and never take any covering off, they headed out.

Watching other kids playing in the sun made him feel heavy. Later during one of their study sessions he’d learned a new word that could described the feeling perfectly: envy. He wanted so badly to unwrap the scarf from his head and feel the sun directly in his face, but every time he got the urge to do just that, the huge hand around his own would squeeze lightly, almost like the man could read his mind. Or maybe he was just that easy to read. He’d promised to stay put and not mess with the clothes either way, and he wasn’t about to break a promise. They shopped around the market for the better part of the day, and at some point he’d taken to clinging onto the mans leg and hiding behind him every time they approached a stall. Adults seemed to get really annoying when they saw him, and the man had had to swat away hands that reached out to pinch his cheeks more than once. He’d almost started regretting coming along when they went inside a tent that made his belly growl.

The man sat cross legged on a rug in front of the vendor and he plopped down on his lap, and when he noticed him taking off his scarf he all but ripped his own out of his head, his horn still small enough that it hid behind his hair. The low table in front of them was full of glossy bread and sweet smelling things that made him realize how hungry he’d gotten. The man said something in a language he didn’t understand, and the old women across the table nodded before reaching out and handing him a small wooden plate with round, glossy dough balls on it. He gingerly held it in his hands and looked up at the man, confused.

He ruffled his hair and gave him a smile. ‘All yours, Wham. No ones going to take them from you.’ The comment earned him a chuckle from the vendor, who leaned on the table then and talked with words he could understand.

‘Your son’s so well mannered!’

He was used to people calling him that; his son, their kid. It didn’t weigh much on his mind usually, they took care of each other, and if people had to put labels on that he wouldn’t waste time correcting them or questioning it. What he wasn’t used to was the man playing into it.

‘His father and I have done a great job at this parenting thing, isn’t that right Wham?’ He nodded before he could process fully what he’d been asked and went back to the plate in his hands. The soft dough was warm and tasted better than anything he could remember eating before, and he did his best to blink the tears away and ignore the knot in his throat as he turned the mans words in his head and cleared the plate.

They left the tent full and with bags of food tied to the mans hip. The air had grown colder by then and his feet hurt from all the walking, not really used to being up and about for so long. The man must’ve noticed him dragging his feet and wordlessly scooped him up with an arm. Wamuu rested his head on his shoulder and snoozed off, belly full and feeling warm.

The scolding they’d gotten when they got back had been well worth it.

The other mans piercing eyes were more intimidating than his actual reprimands. His hair was down that day, long and tangled and the way it moved behind him as he paced around the room made it look alive, and almost as angry as he was. Things calmed down eventually, and after successfully bribing some good will out of him by sharing some of their sweets with them, the tense feeling in the air went away. It was a good day, and made a nice memory. But that outing hadn’t really made him stop wondering about the sun, and he planned on doing something about it today now that he had a chance to.

He pressed a hand to the front door and frowned when he looked up at the lock. It wasn’t hard to get open, but it was fairly high up and he had to get on his tippy toes to reach it. After fiddling with it for a short moment he managed to get the latch out, and then a wave of doubt washed over him. He could just put it back on and go back to his room, wait for everyone else to wake up, and just pretend this never happened. But the door was so warm under his palm, and after finding himself jealous at the wood on the other side for getting to bask on the morning sun, he took a deep breath and opened the door.

Not all the way, just enough for a river of light to pass through and into the wall next to him. The warmth radiating from it made his skin hum, and he reached a hand up to it. It felt nice at first. The sun was warm and the rest of his body suddenly felt unbearably cold, but before he could open the door further and wash the rest of himself with morning sun his hand started to seize up.

His knuckles burned and his fingers wouldn’t bend, and when his skin started to grey and harden he slammed the door shut and slumped down against it. Pain shot up his arm and tears prickled at the sides of his eyes. He was angry. At the sun for doing this to him, at himself for not listening, and mixed with all those feelings crawled a sickening fear and he felt smaller and weaker than he ever had in his short life.

“Dad-!” The word felt alien in his tongue, and it slipped out before he could think twice about it.

There was erratic shuffling and curses from the room at the end of the hall before the two men barreled out of it. They saw him just before entering his and Santana’s room and turned on their heels, making their way next to him.

“What did you do?”

“Are you hurt, Wham?”

Their voices overlapped as hands brushed away his tears and looked over him for any sign of injury. He mumbled an apology before unclutching his hand and raising it for them to see. They grew quiet, eyes wide and wincing at the sight.

One of them cradled it in his hands, thumb brushing over his palm. Realizing he couldn’t feel the calloused thumb made panic raise in his chest and he had to use his free hand to wipe away the tears that started freely falling. The man rested back against the wall and cradled him on his lap similar to how he had the day he took him to the market, still caressing his palm with a hand while the other rubbed circles in his back. Slowly, he started to regain feeling in his palm again, wrapping his fingers around the mans thumb, closing his eyes and resting his head on his chest. He heard the other man huff and get up.

“I told you this would happen, Esidisi. Indulging a child’s curiosity only leads to more of it.” The tone in his voice wasn’t cold, more like worry mixed with exasperation.

“Can you blame me?” Esidisi wrapped his arms around him, cradling him in them as he stood up. “They’re kids, Kars. Santana gets to satiate his curiosity plenty with your books, I only-”

“Santana’s whims don’t go against our rules or put him in danger.” Wamuu flinched at the raised tone of voice and looked over at Kars. His face seemed to soften when their eyes met and, reaching a hand out to caress his head, he sighed.

“You’re okay.” His hand came down to his shoulder and he squeezed it gently, that worried expression still playing on his face. “Just listen to us from now on, understood?” He nodded quickly and watched him saunter off to his and Santanas room. He hadn’t noticed Santanas head peeking out from the doorway until Kars took his hand and lead him back into the room, talking too softly for him to overhear. Esidisi let out a long and heavy sigh and he looked up at him.

“What a way to start the morning. Never scare us like that again, you hear me?”

He nodded again and was set down on the floor, a hand resting comfortingly on his shoulder as they followed after Kars into the room.

Wamuu sat on the floor next to the flour bags, knees pulled up to his chest. He didn’t want to dwell on how worried they’d both looked as they looked him over, or the fact that they’d responded to him calling out ‘dad’. They weren’t a family, Kars had made that clear on several occasions in the past. He had a feeling Esidisi didn’t share the sentiment though, and maybe that had started to rub off on him some. It didn’t matter. They wouldn’t be staying in that house for much longer, and once they were back on a more secluded location they’d go back to their training, and there wouldn’t be any time to question the nature of their relationship to each other.

A clay mortar full of herbs thumped on the floor at his feet, snapping him out of his thoughts.

“Help me grind these.” Esidisi sat at his side, a bigger mortar in front of his crossed legs full of similar things.

Wamuu took the clay pestle in his hand and looked at it for a moment. He glanced over at Esidisi, who was already working over the contents in the mortar with his face scrounged up in concentration. He looked at the other side of the room where Kars was cleaning and cutting vegetables, with Santana sat at the table handing them to him every time he finished one and set it aside on a wooden bowl. Things were calm, good. He took a deep, easy breath and started grinding the herbs in his own mortar, thankful, with any feelings of worry set aside for the moment.