The little window was unlocked, as usual. Kid shoves himself through it, arms flailing, grunting as his butt gets stuck (again) and he almost falls to his death on the racks of folding chairs. Stupid fuckin’ church and its stupid tiny windows...
He climbs down the metal chairs, clattering and clanging all the way, and drops to the floor. He’s not really worried about the noise. Nobody’s around. He pulls open the door and peeks out into the corridor--
“Oh, hey. It’s you again.”
Kid yelps. Or, well.
nobody is around. The fucking weirdo is here, spotted hat, ugly suit and tie and all.
tha’!” Kid snaps.
Law snickers. “You make it so easy,” he says. “I could hear you a mile away.”
Kid pushes him for that, stomping out into the hallway. Law just thinks he’s better than him ‘cause he’s older and taller and lets his nana dress him. He shoves his hands into his pockets. His index finger peeks out of the hole in his trousers. Ugh. Rather than whinge about yet another fucking hole, he focuses on the fact that the heat of the church is thawing his skinny frozen legs. God
is it warm in here.
He and Law come out into the main room, dwarfed by sky-high pillars and artsy pews. Kid spots his usual camp-out spot--the bench off to the side, under a second floor of seats--with its usual sleeping arrangement; a couple chair cushions, a throw blanket, and--
--” Kid’s eyes light up when he sees that Law’s snuck in a fucking banquet’s worth of food in plastic containers. “Where’d ye get all this, aye?!”
“Mom goes overboard for Christmas dinner,” Law says. “Figured she wouldn’t notice if I brought you some.”
Immediately he races to the spot, plucking the topmost container. Then the one below it, and the one below that. Slices of glazed ham, dinner rolls, mashed tatos, vegetables (gross), and a water bottle filled with what looked to be red Koolaid. The final container had some kind of cookie. Which was, of course, the first thing he stuffs into his mouth. It’s gingerbread. With nuts and chocolate and one of those Jesus wafer things. Weird, but good.
Law settles down at the end of the pew, watches him for a bit, and then stares off at the painted glass on the far side of the room. It’s the only spot in the chapel that’s lit up. Doesn’t make sense, really. It’s not like anyone was supposed to see it this late at night.
“‘Ow come ye in ‘ere then?” he asks.
“Don’t talk with your mouth full.” Kid makes more noise as he chews, earning an eye roll from Law. “I like being here. It’s quiet.”
“Ain’t ye some straight-laced Jesus freak, though?” Kid continues, ignoring the eating utensils to shove a blob of mashed potatoes in his mouth with his bare hands. “Witcha doin’ breakin’ inta church?”
“I didn’t break in,” Law replies. “I borrowed the key from the minister. He’s fine with me in here after hours so long as I lock up.”
“Tha’s stoopid,” Kid says flatly. “If I were ye, I’d stuff me pockets full’a this sparkly Jesus bullshit ‘n run off ‘fore he even knows we robbed ‘im blind, aye? Haha!”
A brilliant plan for easy cash that Law ignores in favor of eyeing up the crucifix mounted on the wall. Kid twists his face, the ham in his mouth suddenly less appetizing. Who the fuck wants to spend some miserable few hours listening to some dickhead bitch about sinners while some bloody naked corpse stares at you?
“It’s not blind if Jesus is here to see it happen,” Law remarks.
Kid shrugs and licks the honey ham glaze off his fingers. “Psh. He’s dead. Whit’s he gonnae do?”
Law blinks, then peers up into the lifeless eyes of the model Jesus. “Sorry about him,” he says. “My boyfriend doesn’t really mean any harm.”
Kid chokes. Sugary sweetness comes back to bite him in the arse as it burns in his windpipe. He coughs and sputters.
“I’M NOT YE BLEEDIN’ BOYFRIEND! STOP SAYIN’ THA’
!” Kid exclaims. It echoes in the empty room. He coughs again, then hoarsely mutters, “
Even in the darkness he can just tell that Law’s grinning--god, if the food wasn’t as good as it was he’d strangle the living daylights out of him. Stupid fuckin’ Law. Face flushed, Kid resumes stuffing his face with his eyebrows in his best menacing glare. He fucking hates Law and his stupid prissy clothes and his stupid fluffy hat and…
He looks at the food scraps in his hands, the multiple containers beside him, the half decent bed Law snuck in. It’s really hard to ignore the guilt that settles in his stomach. Law doesn’t have to do any of this. Nobody asked him to help some street kid. Anyone else would let him freeze to death outside. Not that he could blame them. All he did was break into houses and steal everyone’s shit. Fuck, Law doesn’t even know him and he brought all this food out here.
Kid swallows the food in his mouth, suddenly feeling less hungry. “...Even if ye no’ breakin’ in yeself, yer still lettin’ me crash ‘ere,” he whispers. “...Why d’ye do tha’?”
“I doubt the minister minds. He’s open about charity.”
“S’not whit I was askin’...”
Law frowns a bit. He lowers his gaze to his knees and swings his dangling chicken legs back and forth.
“...I don’t know. I like you, I guess,” he replies, still determinedly looking away. “Do I need a reason?”
Yeah you fucking do
, is what Kid wants to say. You don’t just do shit for street trash like him for no good reason. Law has to know that there’s absolutely no fucking way that Kid can ever repay him. He doesn’t have any money, no stuff except what he can carry on his back--he doesn’t even have a steady roof over his head to try to make something of himself.
He nibbles at another cookie that’s likely worth more than he’ll ever be.
“Yer a feckin’ eejit, Law,” he mutters halfheartedly. Law forces out a quiet laugh. “Spendin’ yer time on fuckin’ holiday feedin’ criminals…”
“...Oh, right. That reminds me...”
Law starts digging through his pockets. Kid’s eyes go wide when he pulls out a (very badly) wrapped gift. It’s all red with ugly snowmen and crumpled like some soggy potato skin but he’s so bewildered by the fact that Law’s handing him a
that he forgets to insult it. Hesitantly, he takes it, turning it over in his hands. Whatever’s inside is soft and squishy.
“Ye dinnae have to…” Kid mutters, eyes glued to the wrapping paper.
“I wanted to.”
Kid swallows thickly. He picks at the paper with a dirty fingernail and tears it open, suddenly feeling self-conscious about the echo it makes. Underneath, there’s a soft white mass. Like an empty stuffed animal. He pulls it out and looks at it. Some kind of bear? With a little clip for hanging it on things.
“It’s...ah, it’s a pouch I like to use,” Law says. “You can put things in it. There’s a zipper on the back...I noticed you don’t really have any usable pockets, so I thought…”
Law trails off, awkwardly scratching at his hair under his mushroom hat. Kid’s attention is fixed on the bear. It’s so ridiculously soft and white that when he rubs his grimy, dry thumbs over it he wonders if he’s actually worthy of holding the damn thing. Law’s gotta know he’ll just ruin it, right? It’s gonna get wet and gross and dirty and smelly and…
He presses his lips into a fine line. Fuck that. He can keep one bear white, can’t he? It can’t be that hard. Besides, Law clearly loved the thing. It was all stretched out and marked up inside.
Then, he stiffens. He needs to give Law something in exchange.
He rummages through his pockets, frantically searching for anything he still has on him. Law’s curious gaze is on him, he can feel it, and that only makes him sweat when he struggles to find anything of value. Chewing gum wrappers, a few coins, some bits of metal--
Fastened to a belt loop on his pants was his own personal treasure; a little dangly robot keychain. It used to be red at one point, but the paint’s all worn away. It’s missing half of its left leg and it’s starting to lose its shininess. Kid holds the little robot in his hands with a grin on his face. He still loves it anyway.
After a moment of reluctance, he shifts closer to Law and holds it out to him.
“...I dinnae ‘ave nothin’ fancy, but I’ve had ‘im for a long time now,” Kid says. “One time ‘e was all shiny ‘n red but tha’s all gone now. He’s still my favourite.”
He kind of expects Law to reject the offer of this tarnished, ugly little piece of metal and throw it across the room. Yet, Law picks it up to look at it more closely. A small, friendly smile crosses his face.
“Thanks,” he says. “I like it a lot.”
Despite the growing discomfort of having given away something that special, Kid feels himself grinning. He rubs his hands over the fluffy fur of the bear. The fact that it’s something of Law’s that’s
now gives him a funny sort of feeling in his stomach. Like he’s gonna be sick but in a good way. Which makes no bloody sense.
Law slides up close to him until they’re touching. Before Kid can tell him to shove off, Law leans in and presses his lips to Kid’s cheek. Kid’s eyes go wide.
Oh, now he’s
going to be sick.
!” he yelps, rubbing at his cheek as he scrambles away. “Ye feckin’