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They meet on the riverbank where he usually goes fishing, his fingers grabbing the little boy’s collar just as he’s about to slip off into the deep water. It’s night time, way too late for someone that young to be hanging around outside.
“Thanks!” The boy’s smile is so genuine he can’t help but smile back, dragging him further from the river by his arm.
“Go home. It’s late,” he says, surprised when the boy doesn’t resist but just nods and turns around to leave.
“I’ll be back tomorrow!” the boy shouts over his shoulder, grinning at him when he looks over, frowning a little. He really doesn’t care for anyone scaring the fish off.
Sometimes Mac wonders if he’s missing something, if there’s a secret between Ace and Arsenal that binds them together in some way. There really is no other way of explaining why Arsenal doesn’t shoot Ace’s head off when he steals the cigarette from between his lips.Mac sighs. He has a right to know about the inner workings of this group, but no matter how many times he asks, he doesn’t get a clear answer. Arsenal usually picks up his gun and starts polishing it, while Ace suggests Mac’s read too many shounen ai mangas (which really is unfair; it was for a mission, and it’d be a waste to throw them away now).The others won’t tell him either, Jacky assuring him he probably doesn’t even want to know, a weird grin on his face.Mac thinks maybe he’s right.
“What’s your name?” the boy asks, suddenly appearing on the bench next to him a month later.
“It’s complicated,” he grunts, not meeting the boy’s eyes. He’s letting his hair grow out; it’s easier to block out all the pitying stares that way.
“It’s just a name…” the boy snorts, giving him a roll of his eyes that seems too old for someone his age.
“…Arsenal,” he says after a moment, struggling with the foreign word a little.
“Like the team?” the boy asks, sounding impressed. Arsenal laughs humorlessly. Not like the team; like the last thing his grandfather ever gave him.
It’s strangely fitting, the name. He decides to keep it.
“Watch out!” Jacky shouts, too late, watching in horror as the guy with the knife catches Ace unaware, the sharp blade aimed at his throat.He catches a glimpse of fear and disbelief in Ace’s eyes, freezing to the spot as the scene unfolds in front of him, too far to help.There’s a single gunshot, loud even through the frantic beating of his heart, bringing both the guy and Ace to the ground. Jacky’s rushes over, his arms feeling weak when he pushes the heavy guy off of Ace.“Fucker,” Arsenal says, and Jacky’s not quite sure who he means by that, the guy now laying dead on the ground or Ace, whose laughter doesn’t quite fit the scene.Ace never really did fit any scene, come to think of it.Jacky turns his back when Arsenal presses the gun to Ace’s temple, deciding that they can sort it out themselves. The rest of them have a mission to finish.
The orphanage they put him in is quite far away, but he still finds himself on that riverbank at least once a week.
Little Boy— that’s what he calls him in his head—is always there, and his company is surprisingly comforting. Arsenal tells him stories about the other boys at the orphanage, about the nicknames they thought of one night and about their plans of doing something great together.
Arsenal has a hard time believing those dreams, but the way Little Boy listens so eagerly makes him feel a little better about the future.
But what’s best about Little Boy is how he never bothers Arsenal with questions he’s tired of answering, never judges him, trust in his eyes when he looks at him.
While he feels strangely happy to know someone cares for him, there’s something that makes him feel uneasy, a foreboding he wants to forget about.
Toppo remembers the first time he met Ace, only a few months after he had entered the orphanage. He seemed too young to be the same age as him, but the haunted look in his eyes told a different story.He also remembers the first night, waking up to see Arsenal’s shadow passing by his bed and climbing onto the next one, Ace’s.Ace’s smile got more genuine as the months passed by, his initial shyness seeming to disappear as he grew louder and bolder, picking fights with the neighbourhood kids and generally not listening to anyone.Even so, Toppo still wonders about some things, like the look on Arsenal’s face when Ace laughingly agreed to join their group, the same look that passes through his eyes every time Ace joins a mission.All these little things he notices when no one’s supposed to be looking paint a picture that should be strange but isn’t. In any case, it’s between Arsenal and Ace, and so Toppo says nothing when he watches Arsenal’s palm pressing over Ace’s bruised knuckles, the faint tremble quickly fading away.
The first time Arsenal starts wondering just how much time Little Boy spends out here on the riverbank is when he comes an hour earlier than usual, on a different day from usual.
He’s looking for some time alone after getting into a fight with the manager of the orphanage about the treasure he’s kept hidden under his bed, the only thing he owns now.
He almost turns away, but then Little Boy sees him, his face lighting up as he bounces up and over to him.
“Don’t you have somewhere else to be?” Arsenal asks, annoyed, not feeling up to being looked up to. Little Boy has picked the worst possible role model, he thinks.
Little Boy just shakes his head, and starts babbling about this kid whose father is a boxer, isn’t that cool?
Arsenal doesn’t bother with many words, nodding here and there, but even so, his mood seems to slowly get better,and he finds himself staring curiously at the boy.
Come to think of it, he knows very little about him, possibly even less that Little Boy knows about him.
“Who do you live with?” he asks, and it comes out a bit rude, but that has never bothered Little Boy, who doesn't seem to care about Arsenal’s bad moods and harsh words.
“My uncle,” is the answer. Little Boy’s eyes turn away, his hands in tight fists on his thighs.
“It’ll get better,” Arsenal says, placing his hand on top of Little Boy’s, and he seems to relax.
It’s the first time he’s ever wanted to comfort someone else, the first time such words have come easily to him.
There are some things Gum has learned living in the room next to Arsenal’s for four years now.First is that he sleeps surprisingly much, though rarely at night.Second, that he’s not at all averse to the warm milk Gum brings him on those nights when his hacking cough keeps them both awake.Third...third is something that has taken Gum two years to figure out, and even then only by accident, when he almost tripped over Ace’s slippers forgotten outside Arsenal’s door for the fifth time that month.There are more, of course, but these three things Gum has learned to keep to himself.He calls it the unwritten rule of sharing is caring only during daytime.
The first time Arsenal really gets angry at Little Boy is the night he follows Arsenal back to the orphanage, sneaking into the yard and almost making it inside before anyone notices.
Little Boy is light enough to drag back out, and it’s easy to ignore his pleas when Arsenal shuts the gate in his face.
He doesn’t belong in a place like this. He’s different from the rest with his bright smile and easy laughter and Arsenal will do anything to keep him away.
There are tears shimmering in his eyes when he cries out for Arsenal from behind the fence, and they’re not those of a spoiled little boy, but desperate, almost too sad to bear.
“Go home,” Arsenal barks, his hands in fists when he turns his back on Little Boy for the first and last time in his life.
It’s New Year’s, Johnny returning alone from his mother’s grave earlier than planned. He figures everyone else is with friends what little family they have left, quietly entering the house and heading to the bar.He’s hidden by the shadows when his eyes catch the movement on the other side of the room, the open curtains letting in enough light to reveal two bodies twined together.He bites back the sound he’s about to make, silently retreating from the room and into his own.It’s not a surprise, exactly; there are hints if you know where to look.He groans, pressing his face into the pillow, sleep evading him for the rest of the night.The image of Ace’s usually tan skin glowing pale in the moonlight, his upper body arched and head tilted back to catch Arsenal’s lips won’t leave Johnny’s memory for a long time.He’s beautiful.
A week later, his guilty conscience has grown too strong to ignore and he sneaks out of the orphanage and heads to the river.
Little Boy is not there, and something about that doesn’t sit right with Arsenal.
He heads in the direction Little Boy usually leaves, gripping his bag tightly when he enters quiet street. He’s made a habit of bringing it everywhere, in fear of the manager taking it away from him.
Later, he will thank every god he can name, but now he just thinks it's good luck when he sees
Little Boy sitting alone on the stairs of one of the houses.
He hides himself, maybe to scare Little Boy or maybe just because he's curious to see what his life is like here.
He doesn’t like the look on Little Boy’s face when he’s called inside, something in it making his chest feel tight. After a short moment of weighing his choises he sneaks closer, finds the door open and steps inside, hoping to be a pleasant surprise.
The cut on his lip stings a little when he downs a shot, grinning to himself as he heads out of the bar and into the actual house.It was a good fight, Ace’s fist hitting the jerk straight in his ugly nose, probably breaking it.He only hesitates a little before slipping into Arsenal’s room, throwing a pack of cigarettes onto his lap, lingering in the doorway.Even after all these years, he’s unsure of what will happen next, Arsenal’s moods still as unpredictable to him as they have been since that day he saved Ace for the first time.The frown he receives is as soft as Arsenal can manage, and Ace finds the courage to close the door behind him and move over to Arsenal’s bed .He lays down, turning his head to see Arsenal polishing the pistol Ace saw even before he was called that.Nothing in the world makes him feel as at ease as watching Arsenal’s hands slide over the smooth metal, so sure and firm, just like they will over Ace’s body after he’s done with his ritual.Arsenal meets Ace’s eyes, pressing first his finger and then his lips onto every bruise darkening Ace’s skin. Ace’s body slowly relaxes, knowing he will never feel as safe as he does like this.This is another ritual, designed to make them both remember.Arsenal’s first kill was for Ace.
“Be a good boy now, daddy’s boy,” the man croons, his hands holding Little Boy’s arms, sliding down gently, and Arsenal’s blood runs cold.
“You’re not my father!” Little Boy shouts, the terror on his face evident and shattering Arsenal’s heart. The cold metal is hard and comforting under his fingers when he pulls out the gun from his bag.
Arsenal’s first kill is for Little Boy.