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Chapter Text

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"Do you remember what to say, Freminet?" 

A small, quivering seven year old shivers where he stands, the wind swept through his thin raincoat. The rural area of Fontaine's mountains was prone to rain and snow, the distant ocean's updraft carrying the harbor's stormy weather up to the highest peaks of the mountains. The sky above him rumbled an unhappy gray color, clouds promising a storm soon enough.

"Yes, I remember," he murmurs, his adolescent voice small. He rubs his thin gawky forearms, irritating the skin there as the gauze wrapped around his hands chaffed the sensitive skin. It’s uncomfortable and itchy and he wants nothing more than to take them off, but he knows he’ll get in trouble if he does. 

Besides him stands his Maman, tall and lanky with her own raincoat hanging off her boney structure. Her frizzy platinum hair blended in with her pale skin, freckles speckled across her face just like Freminet's own. He’s a small thing when he stands next to her, an unfortunate aspect of his delayed growth, but one thing his mother has always delighted in teasing him with.

Aside from the height discrepancy, he and his Maman looked like carbon copies of each other. His Maman once joked that he was a mini-me version of her to her work friends, a proud beaming smile plastered on her face while she declared as such. 

She doesn't do that as much anymore.

Once, she had the curves and plump of a normal mother, but as money grew scarce, so did the food in the cupboard. They had turned to scarcity when spending Mora, and soon three meals a day became two, and stomach grumbles became painful hunger pangs.

He could see the toll it took on her, in spite of his Maman’s best efforts to hide it from him. After Father left, only Maman was there to keep a roof above them. She never tried to let it get her down, gentle smiles and warm hugs still present through most days. She still read to him, still tucked Pers and him in at night, and still hummed him her special lullaby every time he asked for it.

But sometimes-in the dead of night when she thought him asleep-he could hear the way she cried quietly, hear the continuous recounting of their leftover savings for the rest of the week. Freminet had tried his best not to let the guilt of raising him eat him alive, but it was an unwinnable battle when he had to see his mother suffer so much. 

The walk to the old shrine used to only take fifteen minutes uphill. Now it's stretched onto almost thirty, attributed to his Maman’s ailing health as they now have to take several breaks to allow her to catch her breath, lungs straining with the effort. The shift had happened so slowly that Freminet didn’t even notice how long it took them now, too concerned with the state of the older woman to care.

A lot of things change when you're not paying attention to them.

"Say it back to me," she asks softly, gently cupping his cheek as she tucks a strand of blonde hair behind his ear, "Be a good boy and say it to Maman."

Freminet winds his arms tighter against Pers, blondish eyelashes batting as the recited words come back to him easily. "My name is Freminet. I… I am seven years old and I am one- one hundred and fifteen centimeters. I don't eat a lot and… um…"

"...Your machines?" Maman whispers for him, eyes and gentle tone strangely pleading. Like she was begging him to remember. Freminet's eyes light up like a light bulb at his mother's words, finally remembering his final recited line.

"-and I'm good with machines," he declares confidently with a small smile, stretching out his arms and gesturing Pers towards his mother. He had assembled him all on his own after a long month of tinkering, with only a little bit of help from his genius mother. Being one of his first successful clockwork projects, young Freminet had found himself practically attached to his new friend.

"Good boy," she smiles softly, clearly amused at his display. She leaned down to pat both Pers and Freminet's head, making sure not to exclude his friend. "You did really good. Try not to trip over your words next time, okay? Good boys are always well spoken-"

She cuts herself off with a ragged cough, like the air in her throat caught on itself and cramped painfully. It started off as a simple hack before developing into an entire coughing fit. Her whole frame wracked with each convulsion, slowly bringing her down to her knees in the middle of the path. Freminet rushed to her side, latching onto her crumpled figure to keep her from collapsing.

"Maman?" He worried, trying to ease her back up to her feet. His mother let out the last of her coughs as her body tremored, handkerchief stained red as she tucked it back into her pocket.

"-I'm fine." She insisted breathlessly, clearing her throat harshly as she stumbled back to her full height. "I'm just- Maman's still a little sick, alright? Nothing to worry about."

Freminet grimaced, "M-Maybe we should go back home," he stutters shakily, face contorting with concern as he anxiously wrings his hands. They're not that far actually, a few minutes and he could get them both to safety, "I-I can get the fireplace started, heat up some soup-"

"-NO!! " She snapped with a panicked yell, almost immediately schooling her voice and tone into something more gentle, "No- no silly boy. We haven't even reached the shrine yet. I- We still need to pray today, remember?"

She reached out and cupped his cheek again, but this time gave it an unconscious squeeze of her hands. It hurt a bit. "You're so silly, how could you forget? Silly boy..."

Freminet furrowed his brow and pinched his expression with concern, her mutterings not sounding right to his ears, but he ultimately decided to bite his tongue. He wants to try to convince her to leave, for both their sakes, but he's certain Maman is entering one of her 'moods' now. She gets strangely stubborn whenever she's in one, and not doing as she says could earn him another scream.  Was it the blood this time?

Before he can get another word out, she grabs ahold of his hand and all but drags him up the stone steps, his old school shoes barely keeping up with his mother's ushered pace. She's muttering more things to herself, but he can't quite make out what she's saying. Her eyes remain zeroed in on the path, wild eyes unseeing even as she trudged forward.

When they get there, the old shrine is covered in a layer of old moss and is half sunk into the mountainside, unkempt with the overgrowth and partially deteriorated from the humidity of the mountains. It looks ancient, and Freminet's all but certain him and his Maman are the only ones actually still visiting this place.

His mother never used to be a big on religion, back when Father had yet to abandon them. But then as she had gotten weaker and sicker, she had taken to praying almost every single day. What she was praying for or why she was doing this was beyond his understanding, but he trusted his Maman. If she decided that this was important, then it was.

"Quiet, my treasure," she runs thin fingers through his brittle hair, ushering him to kneel beside her. "Don't talk Freminet, alright? Be a good boy and behave. Maman is gonna speak with the Gods today, so don't interrupt."

Sometimes, Maman says things that scare Freminet.

He knows she doesn't mean it, to scare him. She's just sick is all. She's been sick for a while now, and she says praying makes it better. Freminet wants to believe her, but she doesn't look any different to him.

The only time he had seen her get better was back early on, when she had started taking special medicine. Her eyes weren't so wild and she seemed to say a lot less scary things. When the Mora had run out though, so had her options for affordable treatment.

"Oh Freminet," she whispers to herself, likely presuming he had fallen asleep as he cuddled against her in her rocking chair. Her nightly lullaby tapered off and he felt her hold the side of his head like it was something precious. He hears the sound of sniffling suddenly, tears present in his mother's voice. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry dear. I could not give you a good body, a good home." She cups his hands where they laid freshly bandaged and clean, "You and I are both so weak, so frail against this cruel world."

"But don't worry, my treasure," she whispers, voice ghostly, "I'll make sure you're looked after. Even when I leave, I'll do everything I can to care for you. There are better things to come. I swear it on my grave."

.

.

.

Maman is sick. She's been sick for a while.

Her illness soon gets worse, and she often finds it hard to breathe properly. When the coughing fits started to come with more frequency, it became harder for her to stay balanced on her feet. She's often left no option but to hunch over their rusty sink, spitting out globs of dark red phlegm for almost hours at a time, passing out from time to time. It's scary, and Freminet's half worried her lungs are gonna collapse as he watches her, unable to do anything to stop it. It fills him with a sense of helplessness, and it drives him to do anything in his power to help ease the burden she carries.

At just eight years old, Freminet's Maman is made bed bound. Not by her own decision of course, but by the scary realization one morning that comes when her muscles refuse to let her get up. He's put in charge of taking care of the house; doing the cleaning, laundry, and food preparation, bringing his mother whatever she needs like a proper dutiful son would. It's a lot of hard work and it often leaves Freminet bone-tired, but he's glad he gets to help his Maman at least in this way.

On good days, she calls him a good boy and pats his head, eating meals together and even getting a strained lullaby from her. It sounds ragged and her voice cracks a lot, but she always insists on finishing the song. She tells him she loves him, and he reciprocates with a relieved smile.

On bad days, his Maman doesn't even recognize him. She panics when she sees her own eight year old son prance into the room with her next meal, inane and undecipherable words spewing out of her mouth often forcefully delving her into another coughing fit. It's like she's stuck in a mindless haze, muttering unintelligibly under her breath while her eyes glazed over. She barely manages to eat anything, and Freminet is left to worry for her all alone.

Her unstable behavior makes him want to flee, but he always stubbornly chooses to stay by her side, wiping off whatever blood she'd coughed out with a towel when she inevitably tires herself out. She'd do the same for him if he was in her shoes, right?

"Maman, please just eat," he pleads, hand carefully hovering under the lukewarm spoon he has. It's a mixture broth and canned chicken-not even a soup-but he wants her to at least have something in her system, "Just one bite, then we can get you ready for bed. I- I can even get your hair done if we finish fast enough..."

"Lay me back in my cradle...dearest Amrita..." she slurs out numbly, wide bloodshot eyes trained directly onto the ceiling. Her platinum hair lies frizzed and ruined from the humidity, sweat coating her body and nightgown as she makes no move to even acknowledge the food he brings her, "Return me to...the realm...of Lochfolk..."

Freminet lets out a long sigh, tired eyes blinking down at his mother as he resigns himself to his mother's state. Even when he sets the old porcelain bowl down, he makes no move to leave her room yet, instead kneeling on the edge of his Maman's bed and holding her catatonic hand. He holds her hands and wishes for nothing more than to have his Maman back.

They get more bad days than good, unfortunately.

The routine stays the same until one rare good day late into the night, house silent as Freminet prepared for bed. Maman had thankfully finished the half-sandwich he had made her but remained upright, staring at Freminet with an unreadable silent expression as he cleaned her plate. Before he can leave, she beckons Freminet over and clutches his hands, gently placing her well-worn locket in his cupped hands. 

"Keep this on you, okay?" She insisted, voice strained from an earlier coughing fit, "-It's really special, and it'll give you protection when you most need it. I made sure of it." She forces his hands to close over it, pushing it towards his chest, "-So don't lose it, no matter what."

She also gives him a small bag of Mora and a small paper with an address shakily written on it. She instructs him when morning comes to find a nice wagon rider and or merchant and politely ask them to drop him off at the address.

Freminet had been rightfully worried at the sudden proposition, anxious about taking on such a daunting and unexpected trek on his own. He pleaded for his mother to at least guide him halfway through the journey, but she had simply pat his head and kissed him on the cheek.

"Sorry treasure," she had said, trying to give him a smile. It was just as sad and hollow as her cheeks were, "Maman can't come with you this time. Be a good boy and find your own way, okay?"

.

.

.

The following morning, Freminet awakes to the smell of rot.

He treads through the small house, quiet and soundless as not a single thing stirs in the old home. Freminet finds himself anxiously wringing his hands, pattering towards his Maman's room faster as the foreign isolation bears down on him. In spite of it looking like his home-Knick knacks splayed on shelves, old family photos hung with pride-there is no sense of belonging to be found anywhere.

He finds his mother's lifeless body still tucked into her cramped bed, quilt tucked all the way up to her chin. From a distance, she simply looks like she's still asleep, eyes closed with an unusual expression of peacefulness settled over her worn features. He can't make out her wrinkles from here, nor the coughing, nor hear the strange dialect he'd come to dread.

She was always so stressed-dark eyebags and wild eyes-that looking at her now, finally at peace, he can't help but feel like he's looking at a stranger.

Even in death, he does not recognize that this new woman is still his mom. An imposter had taken her place, wearing her skin like an old wrinkled gown.

Freminet does not leave immediately. He walks to her bedside and climbs in beside her unmoving form, just like he had back when he was younger and plagued with nightmares of deep sea monsters and thunder. He feels no heat radiating from her skin when he wraps his arms around her side, only the cold feeling of rigor mortis meeting him.

Freminet closes his eyes and tries not to think, instead just wanting nothing more than to fall asleep by his mother's bedside. He wants her to wake up now, to turn over and wrap her warm arms around his small body and hold him in a gentle embrace until he falls asleep. He wants to hear her lullaby, hear her snort of a laugh again. He wants his real Maman to come back now, to get rid of this lifeless scary imitation of her she had left in her place.

'Is it over now, Maman?' he thinks numbly, feeling utterly lost, 'Is this the part where you come home now?'

.

.

.

"My name is Freminet. I am eight years old and I am one hundred and thirty centimeters." His voice is clear and neutral, looking mostly composed, if you ignore the glaze over his eyes, "I don't eat a lot and I'm good with machines."

This time, no one sang his praises for his well-spokeness. Instead, an old, middle-aged lady bends down from where she stands at a doorway to examine him, adjusting her thin glasses as she observes him. The warm light flooding from behind her contrasted the dark blueish landscape of the snowy forest around them. The large royal looking building had been hidden behind a looming set of pine trees, chimineas and bright windows flaring up the place like a beacon. The architecture looked like something straight from Fontaine's main city, a place he remembers very little of.

It had been ice cold the whole ride here, an inch of snow laid down over the road when Freminet had finally set out to the address. The wagon rider he had found had passed him a weary glance, probably wondering why such a young boy was out and about before the sun had even risen.

Now he stood in front of an open doorway, an old lady with a long cigar regarding him with quiet dead eyes. All Freminet could take with him was Pers and the clothes on his back; anything else too big or too heavy to carry for such a long ride. That means he had to leave behind all his fairytale books, tucked away in his home's small library shelf. At least he knew they were safe.

" Mhm ," the lady eventually hums, taking a drag of her smoke as she batted her heavily-eyelined eyes, "And where are your parents?"

"Gone." He responds simply.

"Hm. Okay," she murmurs with a groan, reaching behind her and whipping out a clipboard and etching her pen on it diligently. "-And how did you find out about this place?"

He blinked owlishly, "...my… Maman told me to come here."

The old lady hums out a muffled 'huh' sounding vaguely similar to a huff of a laugh. Like there was something funny about that. 

Freminet doesn't see the humor in his statement, but to be fair he hasn't felt anything since he walked into his Maman's room. Just a cold, deepslated numbness; like the waves came crashing against him and dragged him to a place with no light. Maybe it's just that.

"Well then, I suppose there's space right now," she flips a paper, before bending down and gesturing it to his hands. She removes the cigar from her mouth and blows smoke onto him. It smells terrible. "-sign here."

Freminet does as he's told without complaint, holding Pers in the crook of his arm as he crookedly writes his name. She takes the clipboard back and moves out of the way of the door, gesturing to him to enter the door.

"Welcome to the House of the Hearth, kid." She welcomes dispassionately. Freminet steps inside.

It's all a haze afterwards.

—

Freminet was known as a delicate child.

His skin was always a permanent ghostly white, gawky and easy to bruise and scab under the slightest injury. 

His hands were almost always covered in old dirty bandages, palms reddened and irritated from the gauze's rubbing. His nose would often bleed with little warning, staining whatever clothes he had on a violent red if he didn't stifle the blood flow fast enough.

It hadn't been a big issue, back when he still lived with his Maman. She had fussed over him and sometimes scolded him over staining his new clothes, but that was as far as she'd go. He knew she was stressed and tired, and her concern for him came second nature with him having such a weak constitution. 

He misses it, dearly so. He misses not having to worry about whether he'll get a meal for the day. He misses the days where all he had to worry about was reading stories past his bedtime and cleaning out Maman's bloodied handkerchiefs.

He quivers against the cold rain that hits the shed walls, the wood groaning in protest. He brings his small hands up to his mouth, shaking out a breath in hopes of warming his freezing hands.

Freminet wants to plead to be let back in. To beg for the Director's forgiveness over his incompetence and swear to be better next time. He'd get on his hands and knees cry if he had to.

But he knows it's a fruitless venture. The Director had explicitly told all the children that there'd be dire consequences if one of them tried to take more food than just their assigned portion. 

He knew the Director never gave threats lightly, and Freminet had the fullest intention on listening to her-good boys do what they're told, afterall-but he was just so hungry . The older boys had gotten bolder at taking his portions, as Freminet was much too small and weak to even contemplate trying to fight for it back.

So when the Director found him out, she naturally followed through with her threat and threw and locked him in the orphanage's shed. She said she'd only think about letting him out after two full days, only deciding as much when she deemed his lesson 'learned'.

She was an evil woman, not at all like Maman. She had to be the human-equivalent of a Gorgon, thin eyes cold enough to turn you to stone. She wore heavy charcoal-like eyeliner and sported a clean, inky bob and undercut, ebony makeup made to match with her black heart. She smelled like smoke and held no patience or love for any of the kids there, reminding him of what his biological father had been like. The comparison sours a small, bitter part of his heart.

In any case, Freminet had reaped what he sowed. He did something bad and now he's being punished; the textbook descriptor of punishing behavior. He should have expected this.

But now he's locked in a pitch-black box, barely large enough to fit a horse inside and packed full of sharp and dangerous tools, and he wishes to be anywhere but here. 

Freminet wonders if he's gonna get sick, by the end of his punishment. Maman had barely scraped together the money for medicine, back when he got colds. He doubts the Director would shill the same sacrifice for him. He shudders, gripping his forearms with cold fingers.

It's so cold. 

During the day, the shed is a furnace of heat and sweat, the rust and iron from the tools filling the space with the smell of metal so overwhelming it makes him gag. During the night, the shed drops to an ice cold temperature that his clothing can barely retain heat against. It's pitch black, not even able to make out his hand right in front of his face.

And it had been bad then, during the day. Now though, it's somehow worse .

Because it's night and it's raining, water rocking the wooden walls around him precariously with the force of the howling winds. Multiple leaks spring from the shed's leaky roof, the sound of water droplets falling filling his ears.

Freminet tries his best not to get wet, stuffing himself into one of the drier corners of the room, but it's no use. The humidity alone leaves his wild hair and clothes an uncomfortable damp, frame shivering from the cold. 

He squeezes his eyes shut and imagines he's at the bottom of the ocean. He imagines all his friends- the Fox, the Donkey, the Crow, and the Dragon -are there with him, coming across the discovery of a locked treasure chest.

The Fox tries to pick the lock open, while the Dragon says it's wiser not to touch someone else's treasure. Freminet agrees, but he also wants to see what's inside. "Maybe it's shiny Mora!" The Crow exclaims, and the Donkey says he hopes it contains a barrel of apples-

A cold drop of water splats on his hair, and Freminet yelps out loud with surprise. He tries to look up-even in the pitch dark-and another drop splats directly onto his face.

He realizes with horror that another leak has sprung, this time right above him. He can't afford to move from where he's curled up now, in fear of knocking over or-even worse- cutting himself on one of the rusty tools clattered around him. That would definitely get him sick.

Another few drops land on his head, trickling over his forehead as a shiver courses through him. Freminet bites his wobbly lip and resigns himself to his fate, dipping his head to rest against Pers' cold metal body . 

He forcefully squeezes his eyes shut-ignoring the water mists around them-as he willed his mind farther away, father from here. Deep in the warm and welcoming waters of his mind, the inviting current sweeps him off his feet and carries him away and right back down, down, down-

-he imagined all his friends together, gathered around a warm fireplace as they sang songs and played games. The Dragon was much too big to fit in the couch with them, so he laid his huge body around the couch, forming a protective shield. His Maman comes in holding a full Rotisserie chicken, steaming alongside baked potatoes and sweet potato casserole as she smiles warmly at him, as she always does. She's wearing her old fish-patterned apron and her eyes shine lively, freckled skin rosey and healthy just as he remembered. 

They all help her set the table, long enough to fit all of them in one place. They eat heartily and sing their praises of his mother's cooking. Freminet grins happily and feasts on his dinner, cleaning his place twice over as he basks in his friend's happiness.

Here, he is warm and fed. Here, he has a solid roof over his head and a fire to keep him toasty, alongside friends that cherish him for who he is.

Here-with his friends and mother-he is safe.

It's all he's ever wanted.

—

The day Freminet meets Lyney and Lynette was one he had originally dreaded. 

If going about your day at the orphanage while the Director was around was comparable to walking on eggshells, then doing so while Father was around was more like walking over shattered glass:

Dangerous and easy to mess up. The consequences for losing your footing would be dire.

Father was scheduled to come back for a visit at the beginning of every month. She would only stay for a week or less, likely just keeping up to date with the orphanage's status, but those few days were always the scariest at the Hearth. 

Every single child-no matter the age or temperament-is wise enough to be silent, not quiet. No fights or even normal conversations could be held when Father visited, tension so thick only the smallest whispers could be passed. 

Freminet almost looks forward to her visits, if it means no one is going to mess around and try to steal his food.

Almost.

The day Father finally comes, however, it's with the surprising presence of two young teens trailing in close behind her. One boy had scruffy low swept hair, while the girl's long hair was pinned back haphazardly, two cat-like ears pointed to attention at the top of her head. 

They both look older than Freminet by a few years and look strikingly similar in spite of being opposite genders. They're probably related… siblings perhaps…

They also look distinctively well-groomed, as if they'd come straight out of a noble's house. Freminet would almost be tempted to say they were noble children, if it wasn't for their haggard and darkened features. Dirt and soot clings to their forms, as if they'd just come straight from a house fire.

There's also this sharp and defensive look in both their eyes, cold steel in their pupils as they glaze over the crowd in front of them. The girl's expression is flat but clearly tense, while the boy's face is pinched with what looked to be restrained intensity. 

They gaze around the mess hall full of children with a certain fierceness, looking most of them up and down. As if they're sizing them up.

"Listen well, as I'll only say it once," Father announces, poised voice carrying over the dead-still mess hall, "These new guests are to be your new siblings, children. Treat them as you would treat each other, or so help you all."

" Yes Father ," a chorus of robotic voices echo through the huge mess hall, perfectly synchronized with enough practice. 

Silently, Freminet despairs, grimacing. He wonders if he'll have to deal with two new tormentors trying to steal his portions. 

Apparently, he doesn't despair quietly enough.

"-Freminet," Father calls, and the boy tries not to jump and pass out from the fright alone, "Why don't you show your new siblings to their rooms? Give them both a proper , warm welcome." 

" Y-yes Father ," Freminet responds out of instinct, digging crescents into his palms with the effort to fight off a tremor. 

The mess hall is filled with pin-drop silence once Father lets out her command, his fearful hesitancy only keeping him in place for a moment. He forces his legs forward, commending himself for not falling over from the overwhelming pressure alone as he shakily approaches. The last place he wants to be is at the center of attention, but defying one of Father's direct orders is a fate worse than death.

He tries to ignore the dozens of eyes on him as he quietly beckons the siblings towards him, trying not to look too pathetic in front of his new 'siblings'. He keeps his eyes trained on the carpeted floor as he leads them through the halls, jaw so tense he probably couldn’t open it even if he tried. 

Thankfully, the siblings trailing behind him didn't seem too eager to break the silence either, instead opting to curiously take in their new environment, sometimes whispering hushed words between each other. They take their time through the winding halls, decorated in royal furniture.

He soon arrives in one of the unoccupied rooms, two neat and tidy twin sized beds pushed against either side. The twins step in without hesitation, doing a passing glance over the room as Freminet murmurs out whispers of information.

"Curfew is at nine," he mumbles, eyes glued to the floor as he wings his wrist, "Breakfast is at eight everyday. Don't be late," he warns.

Neither of the siblings say anything at first, busying themselves by sweeping the new environment. The girl lifts and looks under an old decorated bottled ship on the nightstand, while the boy hoists one of the beds off its  worn frame, neither paying him any mind. 

Are they looking for something? An escape route? It's not the nicest room out there, sure-given the amount of orphans residing in the House, they always housed multiple children in one room-but it wasn't so bad either. Did they not like it here? They haven't even been in the place for an hour…

Freminet wonders if he should take his leave now. He can do that now, right? They're both busy and haven't even replied to him, not that he minds either. Neither of them owe him anything, even their respect.

He could chalk up their cold-shoulder to just that: a disinterest in entertaining the likes of him. Though, even then the reasoning falls flat in his mind, his eyes unable to miss the state of the older kids.

It's obvious now, how both teens just radiate anxiety. 

They routinely glance behind their shoulders, even when Freminet knows all they'll see is concrete walls. The boy maintains the same pensive look he had back at the mess hall on his face, while the girl is more pinched- scared even. Her hands shake as she handles pillows, the leftover tremors

Both of their shoes are stained with specks of blood, dried and splattered across their worn boots. 

'Blood ,' Freminet realizes belatedly, eyes hardening, ‘It’s blood’.

When Freminet had first come to the orphanage, he had mostly just been scared, still getting used to the ever-present food chain of the place. It had taken him weeks to get a grip on himself, and to learn he had to prioritize himself above all else if he wanted to come out of this place alive.

Neither emotions could be found in these two, though. They move with practiced ease and experience, in spite of their shakiness. When either catches their limbs trembling, they shake it off like an annoying pest. For some reason, their behavior makes his skin itch in anticipation.

Freminet won't pretend to have known what these two went through, nor how exactly they ended up in the hands of someone like Father. He doubts he'd like to no either.

But there's no way it could have been anything good. These teens work like a well-oiled machine, in spite of the clear stress hanging over their shoulders. It's like they've lived in it, learned to work alongside that kind of pressure. 

Freminet would have killed to have some sort of assurance of any kind, to know he was on the right track. His younger self often didn't know what he was doing, and a simple word of encouragement in such a dark and scary place would have eased him, even just a bit.

In spite of his nerves, the thought moves him enough to speak.

"Don't worry," Freminet says suddenly, voicing his thoughts before he can stop himself, "You'll both be fine."

He means it too. Neither the girl or boy may have any sort of muscle, but they look plenty well-fed and miles healthier than Freminet's own gaunt frame. They're also older and much taller than himself, guaranteeing them a natural edge here. There's also the simple fact that Father herself had come in to give them a personal introduction, unconsciously giving them both a shield sowed from fear of their Father's wrath.

Yeah. They'll be fine. No one's gonna mess with them.

In spite of his self-assurance, Freminet almost regrets his earlier words with the way both siblings snap to look at him, wide eyed and stunned. They freeze in their movements and both their eyes are wide, seemingly not having expected his words. He feels like he's being picked apart with their gaze, analyzed as if they hadn't noticed him before.

'Did I say something wrong?' he thought  queasily, wringing his hands, 'Was it because I didn't say anything on the way here? Did they not expect me to talk at all? I think I'm gonna be sick…'  

He's just about to spew out an apology and scamper off when the boy steps forward, posture cautious but a little unsure. From up close, Freminet can make out  the boy's wispy gray hair and youthful complexion, eyes worn down by dark eyebags. His rigid frame deflates a bit, as if finally easing from the continued strain it was under.

"Thank you," the boy says, and he sounds strangely genuine. Freminet blinked owlishly before thinning his lips and nodding.

Neither of them say another word as Freminet leaves, silently closing the door behind him.

And that's the end of that.

—

Nothing actually happens until a few days later, when Father finishes up whatever duties she has left at the orphanage. She leaves without fanfare, exiting as silently as she had come in.

He can only assume the two teens are settling in fine enough, now that a few days have passed and they've gotten the chance to set up a routine. The Director should have probably given them a proper schedule by now.

Not that he would know. The siblings would have probably gotten the older kid’s scheduled routine, making running into each other close to impossible without deliberate effort to do so. And on the few occasions he had caught the two teens-mostly only at the mess hall during meals-Freminet had decided to steer clear of their path. 

Their meeting may have been short and concise, but it’s likely one of the most positive interactions Freminet had had with anyone older than his age. He hopes the amiable encounter was enough to dissuade them from bringing about any of their ire.

Then again, maybe Freminet was getting in over his head. He wouldn't be surprised if they already forgot he existed, another sparse moment in time destined to be forgotten.

It's always been easy to forget someone like Freminet.

When Father leaves, things at the orphanage finally start getting back to their standard normal. All the orphans seem to let out  a collective sigh as the high tension dissipates, kids seeming to ease back into their usual skins and routines. Loud conversations and skirmishes pick back up again, and in a way it starts to feel like the Hearth again.

For Freminet and the other younger kids, however, that means having to worry about getting picked on again. More specifically, getting their food portions stolen.

The older kids go right back to terrorizing the younger, smaller kids, daring to swipe their meager portions knowing they can't physically retaliate. As long as a conflict like that doesn't break out into a full fight-one that had bruises and blood, one that would require paperwork and reporting- then the Director couldn't care less.

Her apathy means kids like Freminet can't fight back unless they want a proper punishment along with it. 

It makes the mess hall at lunch a one sided bloodbath, but when everyone's hungry no one really seems to care.

So, when Freminet is shoved down onto the bathroom floor and manhandled by an older boy for his meager sandwich, he really should have expected it to happen.

He had tried to squirrel himself into the restroom to eat his food in secret (and as fast as possible), but clearly someone must have seen him and followed him in. That, or Freminet has the world's most rotten luck.

The older boy hadn't been mean at first, all things considered. He had grabbed him by the collar, hauled him up enough to dangle in the air, and simply demanded the food- a courtesy considering he didn't immediately go to pull his hair or twist his arm instead. Freminet's lucky to have already set Pers on the floor, far from the altercation.

Usually, Freminet would be wise enough to know a fruitless venture when he saw one. He's not stupid; the boy looks almost twice his age and weight and has had a dangerous glint that tells him he's not in a patient mood. He wouldn’t want to take the boy’s charity for granted. Usually, he'd give up whatever meal he had in the exchange of not getting his face caved in.

But Freminet is just so hungry and he's not sure he'll survive another night of twisting and turning full of hunger pans. Hunger makes him stupid- they cloud his sharp mind and wise judgment.

Which is why he unthinkingly jabs a finger directly into the boy's eye and tries to make a run for it, survival instincts searing him like a hot prong. The older boy cries out and drops him as if burned, hissing in pain as he rubbed at the spot. Freminet stumbles to his feet from where he'd been dropped, grasping at his opportunity to flee as he tries to make a break for it.

Unsurprisingly, it doesn't work. He gags suddenly when a hand flies to yank at the back of his collar, pulling him back hard enough to cause him to trip. Freminet cuts his losses and throws both his arms around his scarce meal, hugging it against his chest as he's manhandled and pushed onto the cold tiled floor.

The older boy curls his fingers around the back of his head and slams Freminet's face on the ground, spewing insults as they try to get him to let go. A sharp pang of white hot pain flashes through his body as he cries out, head pulsing agonizingly, but he stubbornly refuses to let go.

He should probably just give it up. Freminet can only curl up in a defensive ball for so long before he gets tired, but he was just so hungry and he doesn't want to go back in the shed-

The sound of a creaky door opening rings out in the background, before a new, loud voice of another boy speaks out furiously. It sounds oddly familiar, but he can't tell from where he's heard it before.

He can't make out what they're saying, only that the boy on top of him starts yelling back, frustration and annoyance clear in his tone. The sounds of enraged voices ring out across the room, multiple voices and words escaping Freminet as the ringing in his ears stung painfully. 

One moment he's pinned against the ground by the full weight of a body, the next he's free- the weight and presence above him having disappeared. He doesn't register what's happening around him, breathing laborious as the ringing in his ears muffled everything around him.

Freminet tries to pick himself back up off the floor, stumbling feebly and holding his forehead as he feels a fresh bruise pulse through it. He whimpers in silent pain, gritting his teeth as the distant taste of iron fills his mouth.

'I need to get out,' he thinks, 'I need to get out-'

"-re you alright?" A soft, quiet voice asks, sounding like it was practically on top of him. He jumps out of his skin and his watery eyes snap open, darting up towards the presence of the voice he hadn't even realized was there.

He almost immediately recognizes as the girl from that night, even in a set of new clothing. She's wearing a delicate polka dot dress shirt covered over an overalls skirt. Her cat ears perked fluffily on the top of her head as she kneeled right in front of him, contrasting the deadpan stare boring right into his soul. 

She leaned forward, impassive eyes raving over him, neutral face melting into a small frown that crossed her features. Freminet belatedly realizes that there's a steady trickle of warm liquid dripping from his nose, the bleed going practically unnoticed from the pain his fresh bruises send him.

Freminet doesn't look stellar on a normal day- all frail frames and seeming inability to hold onto any weight-so he can only imagine what he must look like now, bruised and haggard and splayed on the bathroom floor. Did she see him get his face bashed in? How embarrassing…

"M' fine," he forces the words out, voice shaken and strained. Fremient makes himself sit up properly, bruised knees bending painfully as he wiped off whatever grime got on him. He can feel a thin trickle of blood run down his nostrils and lips, but his nose is only sore. At least it's not broken…

He readjusted his grip over his sandwich, guard still up as he hugged it against his chest. It was probably crushed and cold by now, but Freminet honestly couldn't care less. He could have dropped it on the gross bathroom floor and he still would have eaten it. 

"There's blood. Here," she points a delicate finger to the space between her own lips and nose, reminding him of his nosebleed, "right here." 

"Fine-" he gurgles out, barely suppressing the sudden urge to hurl as he gags, "-I'm fine. I get- get nose bleeds a lot. It's normal…"

"That doesn't sound healthy," the girl notes, stating it as if it wasn't obvious. Her tone was almost factual, head tilting as she stared straight at him, "Is getting beat up 'normal' for you too? Is that how your nosebleeds happen?" 

'Shut up' he thinks tiredly, almost voicing his thoughts too. Freminet is still holding his head weakly, closing his aching eyes as he still fights against the urge to get sick. 'Please stop talking to me, please just leave me alone…'

He almost wants to take a tantalizing bite out of it now, but the thought of eating while someone stared at him like that freaked him out a bit. He needs to get out-

Freminet flinches as a new body suddenly pops up from behind him, but finds himself surprised when it completely ignores him and simply slinks past him to move beside the girl, sitting down with a grunt as he mutters under his breath.

Freminet realizes belatedly that it's the same boy that he saw with the girl last time- her brother, he thinks. Only now, he's sporting two new fresh bruises on his face, irritation pinching his face into a grimace. He runs a hand through his wispy hair, expression stormy and filled with ire.

Freminet fears that in a second that it'll be directed at him. 

'Run' his mind screams, 'Whatever they want from you, it can't be good.'

"You got hurt," the girl repeats, her attention now aimed towards the boy. She gestured a hand to her own face, pointing at her cheek and forehead, "Here. And here. And there."

"It's barely a scratch," the boy huffs with a grumble, readjusting the top hat on his head, "I'm just rusty Lyn. You know I don't pick fights I can't win."

"Let's pretend that's true for a moment," she grumbles with an irritated huff, "-Did you really have to just jump in and start hitting someone? Barely a week in and you're already gonna get us in trouble."

"Okay, now that's not fair," the boy bites back, animatedly gesturing to Freminet offhandedly, not catching the way the boy jumps, "-you literally saw him throwing this guy on the floor! Completely defenseless! You're telling me I should have politely asked him why he was trying to give some little kid a brain injury?! What else was I supposed to do?! "

"I'm just saying that you have to be more careful," she hisses, looking a second away from bonking him on the head, "These aren't the streets anymore Lyney. Neither of us can get away with things like this anymore. We can't afford to get in trouble here unless we want to get kicked out."

"Oh please," the boy scoffed, "You really think they'll just let some boy get away with hitting a little kid like that? If anyone in here should be getting in trouble, it should be sleeping beauty over there."

" What?" Freminet cries, too stunned at the implications of the boy's words. Freminet snaps his head around, back to where the boy had come from behind him.

Lo' and behold, he spots the figure of the older boy who had just been tormenting him, crumpled against the wall while completely out cold. Bruises marred his face, skin around his lip and left eye swollen with patches of red and purple. He looked far worse than the gray-haired boy.

Oh. Oh crap.

"You- you idiot! W-why would you do that?!" Freminet bites out, turning his attention to the siblings. His fear and skittishness lie forgotten, instead replaced with fear-driven anger. What were they thinking?!

"Hey! Why are you getting mad at me? I literally just saved you!" The older boy retorts with a huff, glaring angrily down at the younger child. Freminet would have probably shivered and pulled away from the boy's line of sight had he been any less mad.

"You don't get it! Starting fights is against the rules! Now we're gonna get in trouble!"

"Why would we get in trouble?" The boy inquired, pinching his brow in clear confusion, "Can't we just say it was self-defense? The guy was literally trying to break your face open. I don't see the issue here."

"Of course you don't," Freminet growls back, hands shaking as he scowled ferociously, "You don't know how things work here yet. You don't know what it's like- you don't know anything! Things like this-" he gestures to the unconscious boy behind himself, "-aren't allowed!!"

"What? So you were just gonna let him do that to you? You'd be fine with that?!" 

"NO!" Freminet yells back petulantly, emotions bubbling up against his chest. He grinds his teeth together, eyes misting over as the concoction of frustration, anger, and fear swims in his head. The waters of his mind slosh violently, waves crashing against his skull as his heart beats in his ears.

"Of course I'm not! I hate it! I hate it! I-" he sniffs angrily, tears hanging from his stricken eyes. He brings his sleeve up and wipes it off with irritation, repeating the action as more tears spring from his eyes. "-I don't want to get hurt a-anymore! I'm so so tired of g-getting picked on- tired of going hungry, I-"

He misses Maman. He misses his Maman so so much. Freminet just wishes she would come and save him from this place already, pick him up, and apologize for leaving him here all by himself for so long. 

He'd forgive her in an instant. He'd sink into her warm arms and hug her back, cry and cry and just finally feel safe again. He'd beg her to never make him come back to this evil place again, promise he'd be good and behave for the rest of his life if that's what it took.

"I- I hate this place so much-" he whines out pathetically, shoulders crumbling in on himself. Freminet hides his eyes behind his hands, unwilling to look at either of the teen's faces. "- I wanna go home…I just wanna go home…"

For a while, there's no sound other than Freminet's own tearful sniffling. The gauze wrapped around his hands is stained with his tears, but Freminet can't find it in himself to care. The strength in his limbs waned and the energy he once had leaked out of him like water, leaving him drained and too exhausted to care about anything anymore.

 The sounds of low murmurs catch his ear, too low for him to discern, before he feels a hand placed on his shoulder. Freminet doesn't even have the energy to flinch at the contact, instead only managing to shiver.

"Hey," a low voice, gentle and soft as he talks to him. The hand soothes the spot on his shoulder, trying to placate his overflowing emotions, "-hey, it's okay. Everything’s alright now."

His assurances don't reach Freminet. If anything, his words just make him more emotional, and the tears stream from his eyes with more vigor as he sniffles.

"Crap-! -Um… I'm sorry- please don't cry," the older teen sweats, likely figuring he's at fault for the boy's renewed cries. "Um- here! Here, look at me for a second."

Despite his nervous apprehensiveness, Freminet manages to peel his hands off his face and do as the boy asks him to. The buzzing yellowish light bears down on his sensitive eyes, puffy and sensitive from crying.

Here-up close-the boy's features are clearer to Freminet. Periwinkle eyes shone brightly, a certain mirth present in his eyes. His lips tugged into a bright smile when he caught Freminet's teary eyes, his cheery grin a complete opposite to his earlier enraged scowl.

Twisting his arm out as if intentionally trying to be flashy-he animatedly removed his top hat, dipping his arm in it all the way to his elbow. When he starts to pull his arm back out from the hat, Freminet's jaw practically drops to the floor when the teen pulls out an unscathed Pers.

"- Tada!!" The teen grins toothily, outstretching Pers towards a shocked Freminet. Freminet reaches out and practically snatches Pers from his hands, tucking him into a shaky hug now that he is back in his rightful arms. His friend's presence instantly soothes Freminet from his immediate shock and confusion, rocking left and right as he hugs him tightly.

"Saw you carrying him back when you first brought us to our rooms. Figured he belonged to you." The older boy informs him, not seeming to mind the way Freminet coddles the toy clockwork. He gently smiles down at the boy, fixing his hat back on his head, "Wouldn't want you to lose him; he seems important to you."

Freminet sniffs tearfully, peeling Pers from his chest a small bit. "He is," he confesses, voice small and hushed.

The teen nods, seeming to have guessed his answer already. Silently, the girl kneels beside her brother, seeming a bit unsure with the way she glances between him and her brother. When the teen boy gestures a nod towards Freminet, she seems to make up her mind and reaches towards her pocket. 

Freminet watches her cautiously as she seems to take out a handkerchief, eyeing it with stunned confusion as she stretches it out toward him. He grabs in quietly, inspecting the grey tabby cat pattern imprinted on the soft cloth in his hands. He looks up slowly, brows furrowed as to the exact reason he was given this. Was she... trying to gift it to him? It's cute yeah

"Nose," the girl says simply, voice silent as she clasps her hands. Freminet's eyes widen in realization, suddenly remembering the unsightly nosebleed he must still be sporting. 

Before Freminet can say anything, the door to the bathroom slams open. Standing in the doorway stands the Director in all her glory, cool and dangerous aura coldly analyzing the scene in front of her. Her eyes thin and focus in on the boy behind them, before flicking over to the trio with the eyes of a killer.

"Hello children," the Director speaks, voice clipped and impatient, "-would one of you mind telling me what's happened here? And possibly just why one of your siblings is hunched against the wall, unconscious?"

None of them dare to say anything for a moment, air tense.

"Miss, I can assure you none of us instigated the fight-" the older girl starts cautiously before suddenly being cut off.

"-So you admit to it being a 'fight' as you say, Mrs. Lynette." The lady declares, unkindly glint shrinking the child before her, "I understand you and your brother may be new here, but physical fights of any kind-whether in 'self-defense' or not-are strictly prohibited. Both parties are at fault, and must therefore be-"

"-It was me!" Freminet suddenly yells out, "I did it! I uh- I started the fight."

'Why am I doing this?' He panics to himself, heart beating rapidly, 'Oh Gods, why am I doing this?'

"Oh?" She asks, raising a brow at him, "And what of these two then? Did our newest guests simply… happen to get those bruises?" 

Freminet catches the way the boy's eyes widen, hand ghosting over the injuries on his face. He bites his cheek, trying to keep his focus solely on the Director.

'Don't leave room for doubt,' he sweats, 'Don't make her think twice.' 

"I did it," he explains, voice breathless but steady, "They um… they were in here when- when we fought. I thought they were with him and… um- I got… scared."

The Director stares him down, shadowed eyes trying to crumble him in place. Freminet remains steadfast though, even when his hands tremble.

Eventually, after far too long, the Director lets out a long-suffering sigh, eyes wicked as her expression shifts into a full scowl, "Ah… Freminet. So young and yet you still make such a troublemaker. Perhaps I should have come to expect this."

The sound of a painful slap echoes in the voiceless restroom, Freminet yelps as he crumples to the ground with the force of the Director's hand. He cups his reddened cheek in his own hands, shakily attempting to stand up again as the world spins a bit.

"Get up," she bites out, no kindness present in her tone, "You keep this behavior up and I'll have your 'doll' pay a visit to the boiler. Do I make myself clear?"

Freminet's heart hammers painfully, tightening over his hold on Pers at the scathing words. He tries to keep his eyes trained on the floor, thinning his lips in an attempt to stop them from wobbling.

"...Yes mam," he whispers, shaking like a leaf at the warning. Freminet's taken the brunt of a lot of things his whole life, but the notion of ever losing Pers-his only friend-is one that he fears his heart can't handle. 

"-And my sincerest apology to you, my newest guests," she apologizes, not an ounce of true sympathy found in her formal words, "I hope you won't take Freminet's actions here to heart. Here at the House of the Hearth, nothing is more important than maintaining love within our family. Quarreling with each other is strictly prohibited, and you can rest assured he will be punished accordingly."

The Director says nothing more after that, instead reaching out her manicured hand and seizing his pale wrist in a vice grip. She all but drags him out of the bathroom, unable to even give him a chance to see the teen's reactions.

—

And just like that, Freminet spends another two nights locked in the orphanage's shed.

With summer finally giving way to autumn, an icy chill starts to permeate the air in the cramped room. If the room had any windows, they would have likely frosted over with a thin layer of ice by now. Freminet huddles in his designated corner, holding his knees to his chest tightly as he tries in vain to preserve heat. He's pretty sure if he focused hard enough, he would be able to see his own breath ghost over his face each time he exhaled- kind of like a dragon's steam.

The chill from the freezing temperature actually escapes him, seeming more like a pesky fly in comparison to his vicious hunger pangs that haunt Freminet. His muscles and bones creak from the soreness of staying in such a cramped position for so long, but he doesn't dare attempt to move in fear of triggering his stomach into yowling for food again. Strangely, the misery that always seems to cling to feels slightly absent now, a thoughtful feeling invading his emotions now that he has the chance to think things over.

Freminet doesn't particularly want to think about the siblings, doesn't want to imagine their perception of him after basically going out on a limb for them. It was stupid for him to have done it in the first place, knowing he'd just wind up spending another night out here, but he can't deny the sort of obligation to volunteer in place for the teens. The boy-for whatever rhyme or reason-had fought off Freminet's pursuer at that moment, and even tried to... cheer him up afterwards? It was confounding really, seeing as he didn't even know Freminet and was basically a stranger. 

'You were a stranger to them too,' a voice in his head reminds him, '-and yet here you are'.

Freminet groans out loudly, hoping the headache building up behind his eyes is one formed from the cold. He knocks his head against the cool metal of Pers' metal body and closes his eyes, stress pounding at his frail mind. He finally lets himself revel in the embarrassment of having cried and been so vulnerable in front of those two, confessing his desire to go home. As if he was little again. What was he thinking?

Not that it matters anymore. With the Director's threat fresh in his mind, he can't risk getting into trouble anymore. Not even for the simplest things, like being late for curfew or the breakfast bell. Freminet is a strong boy, but with the danger of losing Pers hanging over his head, he'll have to stay far far away from anything that could drive him to break the rules; which should probably include those two teens.

He doesn't know much about them but based on the girl's words, it seems like getting into fights and scuffles was a common occurrence for them. It would explain why they were so nonchalant about knocking a boy unconscious. If they had that kind of indifferent attitude with their own behavior, then Freminet can't risk associating himself with them. 

Even... even if they were strangely nice to him... and they fought the boy with the intention of...'saving' him, he can't let himself cross that threshold. The best course of action from here is probably ignoring their existence altogether. The small boy can only hope that taking the brunt of the punishment like this will at least put him in a more neutral standing, instead of making Freminet feel like he owes them something in return. He hopes that the siblings appreciate his sacrifice enough to leave him alone. 

He dips his head between his knees and crushes his body into itself, shivering violently as the icy temperature bites him all the way down to his bones. His thin clothing does nothing to cover his bare legs, gauze biting into his delicate skin as he resists the urge to scratch at his skin. He'll have to get used to them cracking again now that winter's coming. Freminet shuts his eyes and tremors quite pathetically, imagining himself and his friends going ice skating across a frozen-over pond.  

The Fox's orange pelt had turned a beautiful white Winter's coat, while the Dragon has a single long wool scarf wrapped around the entirety of his long scaley body. They file into a long conga line, ice skates shredding against the frozen lake as they try not to fall over one another. The line leader finally slips and inevitably causes everyone else to crash into one big pile of laughing bodies. Freminet huffs breathlessly, cheeks reddened from the cold, grinning toothily as his friend's joy rubs off on him.

Here, in the warm soothing waters of his mind, the long hours edge by slowly. Not for a moment does Freminet feel sad. He is surrounded by friends through the entirety of his punishment, laughter and fun following them close after.

—

His hope to be left alone by the siblings is almost immediately thrown out the window, much to Freminet's displeasure.

Freminet returns back to his routine without much fanfare, no one likely even noticing his absence while he spent his the in the shed. He does his best to keep his head down and continue about his days as silently as he can, tinkering with loose parts in his bed and completing the basic chores they assign him without complaint. It works just fine for a while, much to his relief, so of course that's when his luck decides to run out.

He has multiple run-ins with them around the later parts of the afternoon, where both their routines happen to coincide with Freminets. He catches their eyes for only a split second before he breaks it, trying to pretend as if nothing had happened. But it's too late. They attempt to approach him on several occasions after that, all within the span of just a few days, but Freminet remains resolute on not communicating with them.

Both their methods vary in approaching him, but they're both relentless. 

The girl always nears with soft-footed steps, like that of silent paws. She'll softly approach him, having the most tendency of seeking up from beside him in an effort not to make. She seems to understand that Freminet is about as skittish as a cotton mouse, so she's always sure to talk with a soft voice and her hands clasped behind her back. He appreciates the thought, but her sneaky approach just serves to give him a heart attack every time it happens.

The brother, on the other hand, seems to prefer a much more... direct approach. Instead of silently sneaking up on him or anything of the like, he'll spot him across the room and dart right for him. His eyes light up in recognition as he starts waving him over, which just serves to make Freminet's heart jump to his throat. The teen boy will unabashedly yell after him-no matter the audience that they may be present-and give chase if Freminet dares to scamper off (which happens every single time).

"Heeey!!!" The boy hollers close behind him, apparently bearing no shame as he yells in the halls. Freminet sweats as he stumbles through a crowd of kids, weaving past them like a madman trying to get away from his pursuer. "Stop running! I just wanna talk- Archons you're fast-"

It's horrifying, on every single level. The fear of being hunted down is one he’s never experienced before, not until he had to hide under one of the mess hall tables in order to shake off his purser. Now Freminet finds himself constantly glancing over his shoulder, anxiously either expecting a cat girl to sneak up on him or a boy to start chasing him half across the orphanage's ground. He tries not to lose sleep over it, but it's difficult to calm down after days of this game.

He wonders when they'll decide to give up on chasing him down when they realize they won't be reaching him. Freminet really can't put together why they've already spent so much effort trying to talk to him; if he were in their shoes and someone was purposely trying to ignore him, Freminet would have been more than happy to give them their space if they so desired it. It's so strange, honestly.

It all comes to a head when Freminet's headed to the mess hall for dinner one night, lagging a bit behind on his attendance as he had been busily squirreled away in his room repairing Pers. When he turns a corner to head in, his eyes widen when he spots the familiar head of grey hair staking out by the side of the big hulking wooden door. He's leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, sporting a bored expression from where he stood.

'What's he doing out here? ' he panics internally, 'Is he waiting for something? His sister maybe?'

Freminet snaps out of contemplation when the boy finally notices his presence, periwinkle eyes widening with recognition. Freminet's breath gets caught in his throat, unconsciously backing up a step as he clutches the locket around his neck. Before he can do anything else, the boy speaks out.

"-I'll give you me and my sisters' food if you stop running!" the boy rushes out, already expecting Freminet to take off running. He was not wrong, seeing as the frail boy had already started turning away.

Freminet freezes in place, feeling like a deer caught in headlights. Did he say two portions? He should probably reject it, take off while he still can, but for food? That's… that's too good to pass up. Way too good from Freminet's perspective, whose barely been getting by as of late. His stomach answers for him then, grumbling loudly as a sheepish look tugs up his face.

And so he risks it.

Here he sits in the mess hall's busy corridor, situated under the warm glow of chandeliers as he gouges his mouth full of food. Their dinner today consists of an appetizer of cabbage and tomato salad, along with roast beef, potatoes, baked tomatoes, and some sort of greens Freminet can't remember the name of. Not that he cares; anything would taste delicious to him after not eating well for almost two days. Both siblings sit opposite to him, idly watching him ravage their food.

"Did you really have to ply him with food?" The girl asks, a deadpan look aimed towards her brother, "Could you not have thought of anything else? You're treating him like an animal."

"Oh, come on, it all worked out! Chasing him down wasn't working so I had to think of something," The older boy concedes, reclining his chin against his hand, "Plus, I wasn't seeing you doing much better either. I just made everything easier for everyone, that's all."

"I was making progress, slow and steadily," the girl hisses, crossing her arms over her chest. She tilted her head at him, eyes glaring as she squinted at him, "-and what do you mean you 'chased him down'? Were you trying to scare him off? No wonder he didn't want to talk to either of us, not when you were out and about chasing seven-year-olds."

"Nine," the boy quietly interjects, voice quiet. "I'm... nine years old."

"Oh," the girl responds simply, responding with "Sorry. You don't look that old."

Her blunt remark earns her an elbow and a stern look from the boy beside her, but Freminet doesn't really find that he minds the confusion that much.

"It's fine," he placates, eyes glued to the plate in front of him, "I uh... I didn't eat properly when I was little, so I didn't grow right either. I get it."

"Still, I should have thought it through before speaking" the girl laments with a sigh, before her gaze becomes inquisitive as she looks at him shoveling another bite into his mouth. He shifted under her gaze and was about to assure her again that he hadn't been upset by her words, but she gestured to her nose before he could speak.

"Here," she gestures to her own nose, brows furrowed, "You have something here."

Freminet cocked his head in confusion as he swallowed his food, clumsily bringing up a hand under the area she mentioned. He blinked in surprise as warm liquid met his hand, raising his fingers up to his eyes to catch the violent red of blood.

"Oh," he says simply, "Sorry that- that happens a lot." He grabs the edge of his oversized shirt and hurriedly stifles the flow of red, raising the cloth up to his face as he momentarily exposes the expanse of his front. He had made a tendency of wearing dark shirts specifically for this purpose, now that his nosebleeds were starting to come in more frequently. The movement is trained and practiced, and that's why he's kind of confused when he finally stops wiping and notices the vaguely sick expressions both teens are sporting.

He freezes momentarily, unsure of what they'd exactly seen. Had it been something about his skin? Sure he's never looked that healthy nor has he been able to successfully retain a lot of weight, but he's always looked like this. Even before coming to the orphanage, he can't say he looked any better. What's the big deal?

It looked as if the girl was about to say something, but her voice died in her throat as a hand was placed over hers silently. She sends her brother a questioning glance, but the boy just looks steadily past her, a foreign emotion dancing in his eyes. 

"Hey, I'm sorry to spring this up on you," the boy suddenly apologizes, now attempting to grin nonchalantly. Freminet can't help the weariness that creeps up his nerves, the whiplash between his companion's expression striking him as a bit odd, "-but that boy from the bathroom... does he do that often? Take your food? You don't have to tell me if you don't want to, but I'd like to know."

"Oh… uh… I'm not sure," Freminet admits, scratching his thin hair sheepishly, "I um... I lost track of who's exactly doing it after a while. It could be the same person but... I honestly can't remember," he says truthfully, directing his attention back to his second meal he had yet to eat. Maybe he should wait a few minutes, just to avoid the possibility of getting sick. "That's just the way things are here." He shrugs.

"Does it really happen that often?" the girl mutters disbelievingly, looking a slight bit perturbed, "Neither I nor Lyney have experienced anything like that yet, so it's hard to believe something like that actually happens in a place like this."

"A lot of bad things happen everywhere," Freminet advises, voice grim and dull, "But I wouldn't worry so much if I were either of you. The reason nothing's happened to you two is because you're both strong, not to mention older, and... when you have someone by your side, you're always bound to stand a greater chance." he picks at his food, strangely not feeling at all hungry, "Things like what happened to me happen to the younger kids here all the time. It's... pretty bad, but I'm used to it-"

"Then don't be used to it," The boy- Lyney interrupts with a nonchalant tone, crossing his arms good-naturedly, "Stick with us."

"Huh?" Freminet blinks, blanching at the gray-haired teen at the completely unexpected comment, "Hah??"

The older boy grinned with amusement, gesturing wildly, "I mean it! You just said it yourself! 'When you have someone by your side, you're always bound to stand a 'greater chance.' And if me and Lynette really are such powerhouse by your standards, then there won't be a thing to worry about if you stay by us!"

"You can think of it as a transaction, if you want to," the girl- Lynette cautions wisely, likely having picked up on how strange the offer sounded to Freminet, "-Like you said back in the bathroom: Me and Lyney are still new here and don't know a lot of things. In return for sticking by us for protection, you can help us try to get a better grasp on how exactly this place works. This conversation has made it clear we don't know nearly enough yet."

"Yeah! Well said Lynette!" Lyney whoops loudly, big grin plastered on his face as he swoons dramatically, "Oh my dearest twin sister, the beauty and the brains of the family! What would I ever accomplish without you."

"Nothing, probably," she responds easily, "You'd probably chase someone down an orphanage and wonder why they don't like you yet."

"Ha! That's because everyone already likes me," he rationalizes with a pout, "-It'd be strange if someone didn't."

"Right," the teen girl deliberated, wisely deciding not to comment on the boy's words.

"I-" Freminet choked out, eyes flitting over rapidly as he sweated nervously, "I- uh... um- I'm- that's-"

Freminet forcefully stops his nervous blabbering, swallowing thickly and he properly thinks over the sibling's offer. His instincts begged him to refuse, rationalizing that it wasn't too late to walk back out. Things in the real world never worked out the way they did in the waters of his mind, where nothing bad ever happened and his trust was never misplaced. He doesn't think Lyney and Lynette will hurt physically hurt him this far in, but the thought of it happening would crush whatever meager faith Freminet's bruised heart contained.

'Think of it as a transaction' she had said, tone soft but genuine. Thinking of it in that way settles the more skittish parts of his mind, now that he can put a proper reason behind their suggestion. After all, no one here ever did anything for free or out of the kindness of their heart. At least not in this part of his reality, where none of his friends reside.

"Okay," he agrees breathlessly, heart thumping in his little chest, "Okay- I- yeah, I agree. I can help you, and... you can help me. Just please... no more fights."

"Can't promise anything little man," the boy smiles, seemingly over the moon with his agreement. He reaches over and ruffles Freminet's hair, earning him an uncomfortable grimace. "-but sure. If anything happens, we'll make sure to keep you out of harm's way- safe and sound. We won't get you into any more trouble."

"It would be nice to talk to someone other than Lyney for a change," the girl- Lynette mumbles out with a contemplative drawl, clearly amused by the annoyed huff her brother gives.

—

Things... actually turn out to be more simple than what he had initially feared.

To summarize it all in one breath: Lyney and Lynette had taken one look at Freminet's scrawny figure, oversized clothing hanging off his bones, and into his pathetically innocent big doe eyes before proceeding to pluck him off his feet and tie him to their sides. He's unsure and rightfully weary at first, but as time passes his nerves settle more and more until he's comfortable enough in their presence. They take things slowly too, only initially meeting him during meal times, likely having learned their lesson about hovering over him and instead giving him time to come to them.

A lot of things change once they do that. Mostly for the better, surprisingly enough.

A big one is that he no longer had to worry over his next meal and whether he'd get it stolen or not. Now that he had Lyney and Lynette hang around his side like proverbial bodyguards, his status as an 'easy target' had significantly decreased. His meals are filling and boost his energy, now that he's actually eating three of them a day.

That alone might have saved his life, with the way things had been going before that. Freminet likes to believe he would have been clever enough to find another solution, getting more food that wouldn't result in him getting in trouble, but when he thinks about other possible avenues he always comes back empty.

It's surreal to think about, the thought of dying like that, and the craziest part is that he's quite surprised he made it past that. Maybe he had been living in a state of malnourishment for so long that he had forgotten what it was like to resemble something healthier, where his hands didn't shake so often and his weakness didn't make his hair thin and his skin fragile.

So admittedly, he owes it to the twins. It makes him open up a bit more around them, once he realizes they really didn't want anything else from him. And he, of course, gives them a clear rundown of the facilities in the Orphanage and how they worked, along with how to behave around certain people and the rules they had to follow. They were clever and picked up on his instructions early on, but he just couldn't predict their chaotic natures at all.

Freminet didn't know what to think of the twins early on; they came off as strange kids with odd quirks, but were surprisingly stable for what he could imagine they'd been through. Archons know they aren't nearly as bad as some of the other kids at the orphanage.

Lyney may have been abrasive and a bit on the impulsive side, but he was also extremely earnest and kind-hearted to his core. It may have taken him longer to warm up to the older boy thanks to his earlier encounters they had had, but Freminet found out along the way that an action like that was mostly rooted in his overzealous nature. Extreme just seemed to be his thing.

Lynette was a tall regal girl with a rigid poise and a naturally flat face, but she was incredibly in tune with everything around her. She often registered things around her quite differently than others, and it often led to her saying things in a way that may offend some people- her words were often blunt and too direct. Her quick-witted personality was most harshly directed towards her twin brother, but she made a clear effort to dial it back when she talked with Freminet directly, which was something he at least appreciated.

He finds out they do magic too, which is… honestly not the strangest thing about them. Technically Freminet should have already guessed that, but he honestly thought the hat trick with Pers would have been a one-off thing. The first time Lyney had tucked a dime into his sleeve and reached to pull it out from Freminet's ear, the smaller boy had almost jumped out of his skin. It was admittedly not the best reaction to have, but when he went to apologize Lyney simply waved him off with a smile and said he 'should have expected that, honestly.'

Past their rough and bumpy exteriors, their love for performance and acting allows for a more kiddish side of them to appear. Their mockup performances even manage to enrapture some of the other kids from the orphanage, which basically never happens in such a cold depressing place. It earns them a snug spot in the good graces of everyone- and by relation, so is Freminet.

It's so strange to really think about; his waking life had always been full of consistent misery, from his mother's departure to his struggle in the orphanage. He had gotten so used to the draining exhaustion that came with being awake and conscious that he often found it difficult to live again.

In a way, Lyney and Lynette had brought back to life a part of Freminet he hadn't even known he had. Its revival is slow but surprisingly steady, and he feels the visceral need to escape to his mind doesn't grapple his consciousness as much as it used to. Being awake becomes easier, and it doesn't strain his tired mind as it once had.

Speaking of, his friends change too, deep in the gentle waters of his mind. 

The arrival of two Siamese cats comes a long while after settling in with the twins, cunning and sly natures fitting for a jester. They're tall and have blue eyes and sport a nearly identical pelt design, but they're both attached to the other by one single long tail. They often play jump rope with it, beckoning Freminet to play with it as often as they can. His other friends big compared to him, too big to actually play with them, so they often pester Freminet into indulging them.

The Cats were completely in sync, both in movement and in speech. They were very handsy and eager to get into Freminet's personal space, often picking him up and tossing them between each other as if he were a ball while laughing. He never minded it, of course, but it could get rowdy from time to time.

"They are quite the characters, those two, " the wise Hydro Dragon hummed, speaking directly to him. " They seem like very kind individuals to me. Perhaps one would find it in themselves to call them friends."

Freminet's expression melts into a pout, confused by his friend's wording as he looks to where the Cats and the Fox are squabbling, "What do you mean? The Cats are my friends."

The Hydro dragon simply smiles knowingly, staring down at him with large sea-blue eyes. His blue scales shimmer against the Summer's rays, large luminescent horns glowing as light filters through them. They're large and mesmerizing, like precious gems, but also look a bit scary looking. 

Not that Freminet himself is scared. He could never be scared of his friends, especially one as gentle as the Dragon.

"All I'm saying is to open your heart a bit more, child," he informs him, "It's alright to find comfort and companionship with oneself, but it's also crucial to make such connections in the living world ."

Oh. He's talking about Lyney and Lynette,  isn't he? Freminet's not even surprised he knows about them, seeing as he always seems to always know some strange aspect of Freminet's real-world life. Maybe it was some strange ancient Dragon knowledge powers.

"I don't wanna," he murmurs petulantly instead, pulling at the fresh green grass at his feet. 

He knows he's acting like a brat, but he's just not sure his heart can take it. Maman would scold him if she saw him behaving like this.

"Come now. Are you really willing to give up before you even try?"

"It hurts," he whines, frowning as his lips wobble, "People never stick around. Everyone… always either finds a way to leave or to hurt me."

" I know ," the Dragon acknowledges, and then more softly, " I know." 

His large scaly head moves to rest on his outstretched legs, and Freminet immediately goes to run a hand along his horns. The material is smooth under his hands, like fortified glass. The reptile's  form shifts as he seems to get comfortable under Freminet's touch

" All I'm asking is for you to try ," he advises gently, jaw unmoving as he speaks directly to him, " And if you can't find it in yourself to continue past that… I'll be here for you."

The sentiment is sweet, and he knows it's true too. The Hydro Dragon has been one of his oldest friends, silent and regal as he is. Freminet leans his head against his friends, letting out a long-suffering sigh.

"Thank you," he murmurs sincerely. The Dragon says nothing.

In the end, he decides to take the advice to heart. The Hydro Dragon has never steered him wrong in any of his decisions before this, his suggestions were simple encouragements he could or could not do.

There's also just something inherently easy about getting along with Lyney and Lynette. He initially chalks it up to them simply being good kids-who wouldn't want to be friends with them?-which is true, but Freminet's sure there's more to it. Freminet himself thinks he's a pretty good kid, but he doesn’t have droves of other children exactly climbing over each other to talk to him.

No, he's sure now that what makes Lyney and Lynette so special is their nature to just put themselves out there. Lyney's presence practically demands attention the moment he walks into any room, voice boastful and proud, and Lynette is unapologetically herself, still willing to shine under the spotlight even with a silent disposition.

They're just so big… and Freminet is just so small. The idea of befriending anyone suddenly seems a lot more daunting after Freminet realizes that.

But he doesn't give up, not this time. He scraps together all his specks of courage and bravery he has and manages to tell the twins about himself. He tells them about Pers and how he made him, tells them about his passion for clockworks. He tells them about his love for fairy tales, even all his friends- even when he was really nervous about that one. 

And the twins? They return the favor by sharing things about themselves. Lyney tells him of a time they lived on the streets, and how they'd picked up magic acts for a particularly special man. Lynette tells him of nobles' houses they stayed at, of parties and grad celebrations they were able to perform at.

They tell him of a dark moonlit night, of scarlet puddles and sharp knives. They tell him of the night they came to the Hearth, disorientated and on their guard after a walk back from hell, only to relax when someone else assured them the nightmare was over. Freminet flushed an embarrassed red when the said that, voices amused and eyes looking at him with nothing but fondness.

And Freminet? He returns the favor by telling them about the day he ended up at the orphanage... eventually. He admits it in the dead of night, where he'd been snuck into the twin's room due to an earlier thunderstorm. A sense of peacefulness had snuck up on him, and the usual tightness present in his chest and body wasn't squeezing him to death. 

Almost unconsciously, Freminet had opened his mouth and recounted a tragedy no one but himself even knew of. From the start of his mother's illness to the spiral she suffered to the very moment he first stood in front of the orphanage's doors, with only a heart locket, a clockwork penguin, and the clothes on his back left to his name.

A sense of deep-seated relief eases him down once he's finished spilling out his heart, his whole body feeling lighter afterward. It's only when he spots the looks of absolute horror followed by deep sadness from the pair that he has to wonder if he's said too much.

But instead of bombarding him with any sort of ridicule, the twins simply got up from their bed and… hugged him.

First, it's Lyney who practically grapples him like an octopus, before Lynette gently moves to hold both of them in a careful hug. They held him gently and with lots of love, a sensation he hadn't even remembered since years ago.

"You're real brave, you know that?" Lyney admits, voice strangely gentle. He’s usually so loud and boisterous, tone never fluctuating from a loud cheer. Now-with nothing but moonlight to illuminate his features just seems solemn, his eyes crinkled in a pitiful kind of sympathy. “To soldier through that kind of adversity…it takes a whole other level to make it past that. You're so strong Freminet."

'Strong?' He thinks idly, mind slightly dizzy, 'No, I'm not strong. I'm not brave, I'm not anything. You've got it all wrong. I was terrified.’

And Freminet-who had only felt a despondent, distant kind of sorrow when recounting his Maman's passing- feels his eyes mist over as his small body is encased in warmth between the two. He clutches the fabrics of their clothing in a white-knuckled grip, unrelenting even as he tremors.

“I…didn’t make it past anything,” he weakly admits, voice edging into a plea as he grips Pers tightly, “Sometimes… I like to think that she’s still just back home, trying to get better so she can pick me up again when she’s ready. I imagine that she’ll make us both a big seafood platter the day she brings me home, and that… she’ll let me fall asleep beside her again.”

‘Sometimes it’s the only thing that keeps me going,’ he admits to himself, the truth spilling out of him like an open wound as his head pounds. ‘Sometimes, even my friends aren’t enough to keep me afloat. Sometimes, I dread the day I run out of excuses because I'm scared of what I'll do when it comes.’

A powerful current of unsuspecting loneliness hits him like an ocean wave, and it strikes him at the very core of his being, sweeping him right off his feet with a violent clutch. He never even realized just how alone he truly was until the fact looked him dead in the eyes, scathing liquid pain straight into his heart.

‘Maman isn’t coming back,’ a voice inside him taunts, ‘She died on that bed alone. There was no imposter, no fake props of a mother for you to fool yourself with. Everything was real. And you clung to the foolish wish that she'd come to get you the same way you clung to her cold corpse- like a maggot.’

Freminet wants to cover his ears and scream, wants to tear his hair out and cry until his throat is raw from the pain. He begs for release, and his mind’s automatic response is to try to push him under the cold waters in his head, back to where his friends are. It’s his instinct, and Freminet would have been more than willing to sink into it had he not had two of those right in front of him.

Before his body gets a chance to shut down his mind, a hand comes to lay on his shoulder, causing him to jump slightly. Even in the caress of darkness, periwinkle eyes shine comfortingly under the light of the moon. 

"It's okay to want something that isn't possible. Me and Lynette think about our parents a lot too, even when we know we can't reach them." he tilts his head, humming as he considers his words, "-It's important not to get caught up in that line of thinking forever and ever, but just because you have your whole life ahead of you doesn't mean you have to forget about the people behind you. Even when they're not here, they'll always be a part of us."

Freminet swallows roughly, hand unconsciously drifting to clutch at his precious locket, passing a gentle finger over the fine gold patterns engraved into it. Lyney's sad smile brightens a bit as he reaches over and ruffles Freminet's hair, an action he's slowly become accustomed to facing.

“And word of advice: don’t think so loud in there,” he gently taps his index finger against Freminet’s forehead, which the younger boy rubs at the spot with a grumble. “-I know you’re a boy genius and everything, but it’s important to not to stay in your own thoughts. You gotta say them out loud from time to time."

“I do it too,” Lynette suddenly confesses, voice hushed, “Though, it might just be a ‘quiet person’ thing. I think about everything I want to say, so I don’t say a thing.” then, she jabs a thumb towards her twin, “-Lyney just says everything he thinks. He has the opposite problem.”

“You wish you had my problem,” the boy grumbles petulantly, crossing his arms. “You see what I have to deal with Freminet? You 're both quiet, but at least you say smart things! Lynette just likes to insult people for no reason- ow! Okay okay, I take it back stop pulling my ear-! ”

Freminet manages a small smile as he watches the two siblings roughhouse, heart light with his friend's words. In a life led by so much tragedy, Freminet can't help but feel a bubble of hopefulness stir in his heart. It's foolish, he knows, but it makes him smile all the same.

Maybe Maman was right. Maybe there are better things to come.

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