A pair of big blue eyes snapped open in the darkness, their owner slowly peeking from under the covers, scanning the dark room to the sound of a hammering heartbeat.

There was the door, without a lock, and its damned anti-ligature doorknob.

Breathe in, breathe out.

A wardrobe on the right side, with equally frustrating handles and covered in non-concerning drawings and posters, the scent of laundry detergent escaping through the cracks between the doors.

Breathe in, breathe out.

A desk and chair on the opposite side, both with sanded and rounded corners, whose texture he could feel on his tongue by just looking at them, two backpacks, and various school manuals and materials on them.

Breathe in, breathe out.

Then there were the two beds, close enough to share a nightstand and a small unopenable window, the moonlight peaking through the bars along with the sound of the wind on the other side of the shatterproof glass.

Breathe in… breathe out.

The boy looked at his hands. 

They were no longer trembling, but they felt damp like the cooling PJs and hair glued to his skin.

He grabbed his phone, a collage years in the making, greeting him along with a clock accusing 05:16 AM.

Well, he would have to awake in less than an hour anyway, so no use trying to get back to sleep now. Especially after… all of that.

He looked at a subject heavily featured on his lock screen, seeing him still sleeping peacefully. Well, as peacefully as someone grinding their teeth slept.

The boy decided it would be best not to wake him up. God knows he needed the sleep after another unadvisable all-nighter watching pirated anime on his phone.

He crawled out of his nest silently, carefully opened the wardrobe to grab a change of clean clothes and his hygiene bag, and exited the bedroom as quietly as his steps down the pitch-black corridor. 

The nightly cold quickly sapped the warmth out of his bones, the boy clenching his jaw to avoid chattering teeth as he marched towards his objective:

The showers and that sweet, sweet, boiling hot water. One of the few decent things in that place.

He got into the stall and flipped the lock, put his stuff on a small bench, took off his PJs, inserted a token into the slot next to the handles, and let the scalding hot water stain him red with a satisfied sigh.

But, like all good things in life, it wouldn't last… 

He sighed, shut the water off, and grabbed the soap.

50 gallons. Only 50 inhumanely stingy gallons to clean a person from head to toe-- Honestly, what could they be doing with all the money they saved by violating his human rights like this? Certainly not paying for heating in the rooms, of that much he was sure…

He grabbed the shampoo and lathered his hair thoroughly, making sure each of his long black locks was drowning in foam before grabbing his hair brush.

Now that he thought about it… Why did an orphanage have to “budget”? Was Restart that strapped for cash? They certainly had the money to make themselves look like a heaven-sent. Did those staying in their Reintegration Centers also have to put tokens in a meter just to take a shower? What about the people in their Public Housing? Were they also deprived of bathtubs?!

He put the brush down and turned on the water, quickly rinsing himself off before closing it again and grabbing the shampoo once more.

Not to mention clothing. They had plenty of budget to keep their guys covered head to toe in designer, with protective gear and firearms. But he, a child living in an orphanage, had to either sign up for child labor or make do with donations and second-hand? Weren't they all about protecting and nurturing the children? Why did he have to get a job, to get something that hadn't been drenched in some stranger's sweat?! Something to shower with besides soap?! Actual deodorant and toothpaste that worked?! FOOD HE COULD ACTUALLY STOMACH?!

He opened the water and once again rinsed himself off, then closed his eyes and savored whatever shred of human decency remained on the counter, till the very last drop.

The lobster colored boy shook the water off his hair, his locks looking like a thick mane before he toweled off the remaining excess and brushed them under control, the rest of him dry by the time he was done.

He then grabbed his--

“Is everything alright, Ad-- That's a bit rude, ũmilhani.” The semi-transparent woman scolded as a pair of boxers flew through her head.

“Jesus… Can you stop popping out like that?” the boy complained, marching through the ghostly apparition, grabbing his underwear off the damp floor. “Why are you here? Shouldn't you be enjoying your beauty sleep?”

“You woke me up when you opened the wardrobe.” The ghostly being explained, crossing her arms with a scowl, “I was worried about you, so I followed you, kla ũjakloni…”

“Oh, sorry.” He apologized, quickly putting on-- “Wait, you've been here the whole time? Why are you only appearing now?”

“I wasn't about to interrupt your shower. That'd be rude and all kinds of strange and awkward…”

“...And just staring at me butt naked wouldn't?”

The horned figure stared at him as if he had just strung the stupidest sentence uttered by any human.

“Adam, I changed your diapers. You got nothing I haven't seen.” She argued, “And you don't really have anything to see anyway…”

“OK, Spice. First: Fuck you, I'm just a late bloomer. And second: I'd still like to have my privacy respected, thank you very much!” Adam scowled, quickly putting his underwear on.

“Soso…” The dead woman rolled her eyes dismissively. “You still haven't answered my question.” Spice insisted, derailing the conversation towards her interests. “Is everything alright? Why are you up this early?”

The boy sighed in defeat.

Whatever, he didn't have the energy to teach a dead dog a trick as basic as manners.

“Damn brain just decided to jump scare me, that's all.”

“You had a nightmare?” She questioned, grabbing his undershirt from the bench and handing it to him. “...Was it about what I told you?” She inquired, looking concerned and a bit guilty.

“...Kinda?” He confirmed, accepting her help. “It was about my mom, but also… Noirence? That's how it's pronounced, right?” 

“Yes.” She nodded.

“Yeah, it was kinda like a mix.” He tried to explain, sitting down and putting the undershirt on. “It was just the usual, except the scar man was dressed like a knight, but not really? It goes off the rails after that. I'm being dragged away by someone covered in scales and with wings. Someone who looked a lot like you. The whole city is on fire, there's people like you and knights everywhere…” The boy sighed and shrugged. “Yeah, just-- I don't know, just weird dream shit.”

“...I'm sorry.” 

“For what?”

“For telling you about the fall of Noirence.” She clarified, a sad smile breaking across her lips. “Guess you're still too young to hear about such traumatizing matters, huh?”

“I'll be 14 soon, I'm not that young.”

“Oh? Could've fooled me with these cute, rosy cheeks.” She taunted, gently pinching his face.

“Ngh! Stop it!”

“Aww, is the baby fussy~? Does the world's cutest, smelliest baby want a nap~?”

“Stop it! I'm not a baby!” the boy complained, futilely trying to push the ghost away. 

“Hmm, I don’t know about that~ If it looks like baby, sounds like baby, and acts like baby, it's baby for sure~”

“God dammit! Just you wait! Give it a couple weeks, and I'll be growing body hair for sure!”

He crossed his arms, relenting to the ghost's inescapable affection. “Then we'll see who's the baby...”

“Maybe you will. But even if you become as hairy as a werewolf, you'll always be a little, chubby, smelly baby, ũmilhani.”

“Ugh, you can be worse than my mom sometimes.” The boy huffed. “Seriously, stop. My face is starting to hurt.”

“Soso.” She rolled her eyes with a smile and grabbed the dirty laundry from the bench.

Spice went ahead and threw the PJs and wet towel down the laundry chute while Adam got himself dressed. 

Thighs, socks, more socks, black pants, a long-sleeved shirt, another long-sleeved shirt, and an oversized hoodie.

“Layers. They might limit one's movement, but not as much as icicles on the joints.” So the old saying went, according to the dead woman.

He then put on his bath slippers, grabbed his hygiene bag, and exited the stall, heading for the sink.

“Need help with anything else?” Spice questioned.

“No, thank you. You can go back to sleep.”

“If you say so. See you later, ũmilhani.” 

The ghost disappeared, leaving him finally all alone to finish his routine in peace--

“Don't forget to brush those baby teeth~” 

“Fuck off!” 

(...)

By the time he came back to the room, the clock on his phone accused--

*tak* *tak* *tak* *RRRRRAAAAAAAAAHHHHH--

He quickly dismissed the alarm, the groggy mumbles of a once sleeping teen filling the air.

“Yo.” Adam greeted, putting his phone back down.

“Yo…” the other responded, his eyes threatening to drift shut again.

“Come on, up you go!” Adam said, grabbing him by the shoulders and forcing him to sit up, shaking him gently. “It's shower day-- Ah!” He let out as the other pulled him into the warmth under the covers. “David! We need to get up and--”

“Shhhh, we can always take a shower at school. Now let me get some sleep…” the much taller boy insisted, muffling Adam's complaints against his chest.

Adam tried to set himself free from his friend's phyton-like hold, but, as always, once enveloped, he was done for.

His own eyes began to feel heavy, the bed's warmth calling him to sleep, his breathing and muscles relaxing into it--

He bit the inside of his mouth, flexed his fingers like a harpie's claws, and lunged for his target. 

Digits sank into lean fat and toned muscle, and the other's grip snapped open as David contorted under him, eyes teary and mouth wide in a silent laughter, his face becoming darker as he rolled and twisted in vain.

Adam soon released him, the other sucking in a desperate breath.

“Mer-- Fuck! Mercy, please! I'm awake! I'm… I'm awake,” David croaked, shrinking into himself, arms around his belly for protection.

Adam got off of him and pointed at the door.

“Get up and take a shower,” Adam ordered sternly.

“Right this moment… Captain…” he said, still breathless. “Foda-se… Um gajo não pode nem dormir mais cinco minutos-- I'm going! I'm going!” he yelped as Adam put his torture tools up again.