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Chapter Text

The house was in complete disarray. Dirty dishes piled up, forming a mountain that threatens to fall at any given moment. Every corner of the house was decorated with dust and spider webs. Trash bags that were placed near the dustbin only ever seemed to increase in abundance. Pepito never thought that this was what being adopted entailed; a horrendous house paired with dysfunctional inhabitants. It was only last night when his father, Cellbit, was found barricading the bedroom door and windows during one of his episodes. Pepito shivered as he recalled the events that occurred. 

–

His father, Roier, was desperately trying to break in whilst Richarlyson stood behind. Loud banging broke the quietness of the night. "Cellbit? Gatinho?" Roier yelled as his hands came into contact with the door once more, striking the surface even harder. The only response that came from the other side was the sounds of nails being hammered into the walls.  

"What's going on?" Pepito looked around nervously, his eyes still groggy from waking up in the middle of his sleep. 

Roier never responded, too preoccupied with trying to pry off the locked wooden door. 

Richarlyson, with eyes full of pity, took Pepito's hand and guided him away from the scene. "It's okay, Pepito. Don't worry about it,” He uncomfortably smiles. 

“Apa Roier and Pai Cellbit are just playing hide and seek." 

Pepito's gaze shifted from his father trying to tear down the wood and to his brother. He stared for a moment at his face. There was a light shade of redness that surrounded his features. His eyes grew moist and wet which only made the image reflected on it significantly clearer to Pepito. He saw his own face staring back at him with an even sadder expression. 

“Okay.” Pepito sighs and follows Richarlyson which leads the both back to their rooms. 

The sounds of wood cracking and being torn apart travelled from the hall and into Pepito’s bedroom. The boy crashes onto the bed as he hopes that whatever noise that was signified the end of the fight. However, shouts and screams followed. He takes the very end of his pillow and folds it on top of his face, hoping to block out everything that was happening. Minutes passed and the noises finally died down. 

Before his mind fades into unconsciousness, he thinks of his older brother and how he might be doing in this circumstance but Pepito knows better to not check up on him for fear that it might only make things much worse. Richarlyson often had mood swings especially when his parents were fighting. Despite his previous actions in aiding Pepito away from the disastrous scene, the younger still did not dare to approach him as he was afraid that his brother’s mood had already turned sour. 

And so, Pepito continues to lay in bed as his eyes feel heavy and any remaining thoughts fade as he finally drifts off to sleep.  

The memory of the night before ends here. 

–

A hand grabs the popcorn stuffed toy off the bed before reaching for the comb and a bottle of water that was placed on the table. All items were thrown hastily into a small red backpack that had one of its pockets ripped. Pepito stares at the items in the bag, counting them, shuffling them around, rechecking– and rechecking before he’s finally convinced that he has brought everything. He zips the backpack quietly and throws the straps over both his shoulders.

He gets up off his knees and looks around his room. With how last minute it was put together and how the last remaining items that adorned the place were now in the child’s backpack, the bedroom was empty and void of any personality. All that was left was a bed and a dustbin in the corner below the table. 

Pepito quietly travels through the hall and tiptoes down the stairs before finally reaching the front entrance of the house. It made a slight creak as he tugged on one of the heavy doors with as much force as he could muster. With how little strength he had, only a small opening was made. Fortunately, it was enough for Pepito’s little figure to squeeze through. He shoves his way through the opening with his right arm sticking out first. Then, his right leg. He tries to push ahead further however he finds that his waist is wedged between the gap. 

The child looks inside, afraid that someone might have woken up. He waits a little longer but with silence the only response he receives, he turns his head around and continues to push through. A few minutes passed and he was still in the same predicament. His body was aching and his heavy backpack only made the situation worse. He needed to find a different approach quickly. 

His mind runs, trying his best to come up with a solution. He stares forward and spots his right arm and leg completely free. Pepito decides to take this advantage by stepping and latching onto the designs of the other stiff unopened door. He braces himself before pushing his entire figure forward again but this time using his free limbs as leverage. 

A big thud travels through the air, causing nearby birds to fly away and the croaking of toads to stop. Pepito’s knees buckle and harshly graze across the grass, making him roll down the matted hillock. His hands reach out in panic to reduce his momentum as his body flies forward. He feels a weight lift off of his face and his back as he tumbles further. Sooner enough, the world stops spinning and everything stays still. The boy looks up with his vision blurred. His eyebrows furrow, desperately trying to focus on his surroundings. 

He touches the grass that surrounds his figure in search of his glasses. With every frantic movement, the feeling of dread grew stronger. He moves his arm to the left as he feels the round edge that represents the temple tips of his glasses. Relief immediately washes over him and displaces his earlier feelings. He picks it up and places it over his face before realising that he was facing the house. With his vision now back to normal, he could see every detail clearly. 

The front door was now wide open due to the previous impact, letting the interior bathe in the moonlight. It illuminated the room and left his home unrecognisable. Light travelled across the living room, highlighting its desired spots on the various surfaces of the furniture. In contrast, shadows were drawn in such an abstract manner and stretched over the walls, the stairs– all the way up to the ceiling. 

Pepito adjusts his glasses as he gets up from the ground. He shakes off any remaining dirt on his pants and takes a step further to get a closer look. 

The figure of the messy pile of dishes now looked artistic under the moody lighting. The spider webs glimmered in the dark, resembling stars in the sky. For once, the place displayed in front of the boy gave him a new sense of warmth and belonging he had not felt in ages. It was the first time the house felt more like a home to him. 

He takes a step forward, admiring the view before a sudden creak puts the boy in high alert. He shook his head around, from left to right and vice versa, attempting to find the source of the noise. Creak! It came again but this time it was much louder than before.

Pepito looked around once more but to no avail, the boy still found nothing. Creak! – This time, it was continuous. The boy stood frozen, as the noise echoed further. He widened his eyes as he discovered the sound was coming from within the house. Someone other than him was awake. 

Pepito ran back immediately and searched for his red backpack. He stumbles upon it in a bush with a few loose threads coming from the torn out pocket. It had tangled and wrapped itself around a thorny branch. In no time, the boy grabbed the bag swiftly, causing a loud rip to travel the air. He looks back at his home for the last time with beads of tears in the very corner of his eyes before running as fast as he could down the hillock, off to nowhere.

–

Heavy footsteps increased in volume as he descended down the stairs. Roier winced as each step on the floorboards made an irritating sound. He aimed for the kitchen with an empty glass in one hand before being hit by the light coming from the front door. He stared at it, unbeknownst to him that only one of his sons remained in the house. 

Chapter Text

Everything seemed alright at first. Roier turned in his bed and felt relief seeing his husband still there resting peacefully. He brings a hand over to Cellbit’s cheek, gently brushing his fingers across his skin before kissing him on the forehead. He gets up silently and heads over to the window, carefully peeping behind the curtains. Ribbons of light flashes him in excitement. 

“Good morning to you too, Bobby.” Roier giggles. 

Before reaching out to press his hand on the glass, he spots the many tiny holes on the wall next to the window; some of which still had metal nails in them. He feels a lump in his throat when he recalls the chaos that happened not long ago. Roier turns back to look at his son, not wanting to allow those feelings of hurt to spread and ruin his morning. He briefly touches the window, feeling its warmth.

Once it was done, he heads out of his bedroom and walks along the corridor to Richarlyson’s room. He gently twists the doorknob to see the little egg still covered under the blanket, sleeping away. Roier enters the room as quietly as he possibly can and sits on the side of the bed. He gazes at his son, seeing his mouth agape with drool hanging down from it, spreading all over his pillow and his sheets. Roier bites back a laugh from the sight. 

However, his happiness soon expires when he notices a black line underneath the boy’s eyes. Roier puts his hand on his son’s face and his thumb travels across the line. He frowns when he comes to the conclusion that his son had not been sleeping well or perhaps had trouble with his nightmares again. He kisses his cheek and gets off from his bed. The door closes with a slight creak and Roier proceeds to Pepito’s room.

When he faces the door and is just about to open it, he stops in place. His hand lingers on the doorknob with a few of his fingers in contact with the cold metal. Guilt overcomes him as his body stays completely still. Roier was not sure how to feel about Pepito. The little egg came when he was at his utmost worst; when he had no one left and had even lesser patience or even sanity to offer. 

Roier knows he has not been the best father, especially at the start of their relationship and these past few days, or weeks, but he hopes to make it up to the child once everything settles. Once Cellbit is back to normal again, if that is even possible at this point. Once Roier is much more stable. Everything could just be the way it was back then. Chaotic but happy. 

“It’s not too late.” Roier mutters and cracks a small smile at the slim hope that he might have his happy family back. He takes a deep breath before entering the room—to find an empty bed.  

His smile drops entirely.

–

The rhythmic beat that follows every time a foot crashes onto the verdant ground combined with the strong gushes of winds heightened Pepito’s anxiety. The extra stimulus he was facing did not at all help with his growing dread and uneasiness as he steps further into the forest. 

“We’re almost there, Pepito.” Roier continues to walk ahead as the toddler trails behind nervously. 

As much as Pepito despises the feelings of complete fear and distress, he absolutely abhors uncertainty. If a bear were to attack him out of the blue, at the very least his mind could see the threat as it is, that the fear he had been feeling up until that moment has now been justified and his concerns were now proven legitimate. But with doubt and foreboding, there was nothing to be exactly afraid of. Which made Pepito question himself, “What’s wrong?” 

He felt a lingering threat in the air as though something out there was waiting to jump at him. But there was nothing. Still, he felt it. Somewhere out there, he felt its presence so incredibly close that he could feel its warm breath drawing upon his small frame, constantly teasing his fight-or-flight response. It was almost as if the threat was right in front of him, veiled behind a thinly loose translucent fabric. 

Pepito sighs as he attempts to rationalise the situation. He understood that the valley was nowhere near safe but his father was around. Ready with a sword in hand in case of an emergency. 

“So, why am I still afraid?” He thinks. 

The child could not shake off this heavy suspicion that was deeply rooted in his chest.

“He will protect me.”

“He will keep me safe– that sword will keep me safe” His heart thumps against his ribcage and his legs go cold. His breath quickens as his mind drifts back and forth between thoughts.

However, wherever his mind runs off to and whatever train of thought it hops on, it always comes back to that same idea. 

“That sword is not for me–....He will protect me.” He struggles between breaths. 

A metallic glimmer runs down the weapon almost as though it were signalling to Pepito. The boy eyes it, having the sense that it holds a gruesome motive. 

The rhythmic beat in the beginning stops. 

“Pepito?” 

The boy staggers suddenly. 

The man in front turns around with an unnatural smile. A glint present in all of his eyes. “Everything alright?”

The air grew thick and tense as he repeated, “Pepito?” 

One by one, without even noticing, tiny little feet move backwards slowly and carefully. The man’s shadow expands and swallows the small figure whole as he draws closer. 

“Pepito?”

With that final call, his mind goes blank when he sees the sword brought swiftly up into the air. The child stares at the shining metallic surface, his face reflected in all of its angles. He notices something peculiar and odd. The boy in the polished metal looked rather calm. His defeated eyes stare back, boring a hole into Pepito’s soul.

Before he knew it, a sharp high-pitched whistle echoed in the air as the sword comes crashing down. Everything turns dark and peace plagues the boy as he is freed from the prolonged anticipation. He is not sure what becomes of his body but he feels a smile decorating his face ever so slightly, knowing that he does not need to run or hide anymore. 

–

His body shudders awake and his arms flung around in shock, rustling the leaves of the tree that surround him. Pepito blinks a few times, struggling to face the blinding star. He sees Bobby showering the earth with a warm honey-like glow that juxtaposes the green scenery. Despite the beautiful view, his initial feelings of peace drains out of him as he realises his current predicament. 

He had just run away from home. Hair stuck to his skin with sweat as the glue. The design of his red and white striped sweater was masked by spots of wet dirt and the bottom half of his khaki pants were now an opaque dark brown. Furthermore, without any proper experience in the wild alone and lack of supplies, the boy’s future seemed dim and even Pepito knew of it. 

He wonders to himself whether he should turn back but as soon as he does, his chest burns and his throat closes in. He pictures the dirty corners of the house, the unwashed dishes, and all the incessant yelling. That familiar rhythmic beat comes back alongside the nauseated feelings of anticipation as his mind runs, hopping onto different imaginative scenarios that may await him when he gets back into the house. “Will they be angry? Will Richarlyson be sad? What about Apa Roier?” “What will he do to me?”

“Would he even care?” 

“Would any of them actually care?” He ponders. 

He chases after a water bottle located inside his backpack, almost breaking the zipper, before gulping it down. The beat remains but only softer this time. The boy lets out a sigh, trying to consider the other option of not going back. But he thinks again of the conditions he is currently in and his limited supplies. “It’s no use.” Pepito says, slumped up against the trunk of the tree. 

He looks around to see if he could recognise anything or find something useful. He spots the tip and edges of a few of his grandmother’s buildings but he highly doubts how that could be of any use to him. The last thing he really wants at this moment is to be in contact with his family. As much as the child loved his grandmother, he could not risk it. 

The thought of meeting Foolish, voluntarily or accidentally, would consequently bring Roier into the picture. Pepito could not handle that, or anyone for the matter. All citizens of Quesadilla Island were united through various of ways, and the most common were the eggs. In spite of all the drama, violence, and legal battles, the residents would still most definitely come together to rescue a missing egg. 

And so, Pepito sits up in the tree all alone. The rays of light flowing from the sun shudders slightly as if it were providing some sort of solace to the poor boy. It embraces him and Pepito now feels much warmer than before. 

–

Pillows and blankets are thrown up in the air as Roier frantically calls out for his son, “Pepito!” He scans the room with all of his eyes now wide open. 

He exits the room and runs downstairs, missing a few steps on the way down. He calls for him again, but no reply. Roier enters the living room and then the kitchen, and then the storage closet before crashing into the study room. He enters and enters, and re-enters but no sign of his son. “¡Ya mijo, deja de jugar!” (Stop playing around!) 

“Guapito..?” He hears from a distance. Roier goes back to the living room to see his husband awake, standing near the end of the staircase with his hand on the railing. 

“Is everything alri–” He anxiously asks. 

“Cellbit!” He cuts him off. “Do you know where Pepito is? I can’t find him anywhere.” 

“Shouldn’t he be in his room…sleeping?” 

“Well, he’s not!” He shouts. 

The last syllable cuts through the atmosphere, leaving both the men tense. All goes silent as the couple stares back at each other, unsure of what to do or what has happened. 

“You don’t think that they took all the eggs again, did they?” Cellbit whispers and faces Roier with a pained expression. His blue eyes now appeared gloomy and his pupils were dilated.   

“But only Pepito is gone. Richarlyson is still here, I checked up on him just a while ago.” 

“Then, are they planning to do another–” His voice stops. “–another ‘event’ with the newer eggs?”

 “You mean like Purgato–”

“Don’t!” Cellbit yells and his body jumps back, almost tipping over the wooden stool and coffee table behind him. His arms cling to his chest without realising his claws have already been drawn, the tip of each nail scratches his linen shirt. Roier rushes to his side and takes one of his hands in an attempt to calm the other down. 

He guides Cellbit to the couch. Slowly, the two men sit down with Roier’s eyes still on his husband and hands still connected. He gently brushes his hand on Cellbit’s, waiting for his breathing to even out. He continues the motion as his mind runs.  

The man could not fathom as to why only the older child remained in the house. He thinks to himself that perhaps his husband was right about the newer eggs going missing again but was it not too soon? The memory of Purgatory seemed so fresh in Roier’s mind and Cellbit had just recently gotten back from it. He jumps on another train of thought, “What if it’s the Federation this time? Or…the codes?” He sighs and hopes that maybe Pepito is actually just hanging out with Foolish or somebody else as of right now. “Maybe he’s not in trouble at all…” Roier thinks. 

A sudden hand pulls him out of his thoughts when Cellbit lays his palm against Roier’s left cheek. “Are you okay, Guapito?”

“No, of course not, nothing really makes sense right now.” 

Cellbit sways his thumb on Roier’s cheek. “We’ll find him, I’m sure we will…like how you guys found me.” He forces a smile in an attempt to reassure his husband. 

“It was all Richarlyson and Pomme.” 

“But I’m sure you had a part in it.” 

“Yeah, I tried but it was really mostly them.” Roier sighs. He looks down, breaking away from the other’s hold. “What if we don’t find him?” 

“Roier–”

“Or what if he becomes like Bobby?”   

Roier feels his hand being squeezed tenderly and looks up to see everything blurred. He immediately pulls away and wipes the tears falling down his cheeks but Cellbit pulls him closer.

“We will find him, okay?”

Roier does not respond but only nods. 

The two sat in silence again with eyes not leaving the other. A beam of light makes its way into the living room through the window opposite of them. It flashes the couple and for once Roier feels a bit of hope. He closes his eyes for just a while and the other follows suit. They laid on the couch, trying to gather a moment’s worth of peace before facing whatever has happened. They both sighed as the day has just begun and so has their journey to finding their missing son.

“What are you guys doing?”

“Richas?” 

Chapter Text

The blazing meteoroid that is the news of Pepito’s disappearance crashed onto the island, shaking up the quiet atmosphere. After countless of unfortunate experiences the residents were forced to go through, many were under the presumption that the eggs were going missing again which entailed yet another frightening event to come. With the reminder of Purgatory and the risk that there might be another, islanders immediately gathered their eggs and began the count; finding that other than the missing boy, all were present. 

The residents felt relieved but that feeling did not last long as dread immediately took its place. Pepito’s disappearance renewed the sinister idea that the children will eventually go missing one-by-one again, much like the past, and there was nothing the others could do about it. However, some believed otherwise as they figured that it was just too soon for it to happen again. 

Regardless, everyone agreed that overthinking did absolutely nothing for anyone, much less for the unfortunate family. And so, the islanders considered it best to focus on the issue at hand which was finding the missing boy.

–

It was almost night time at this point and Roier was about to lose it. He had hoped that grouping up with a few of his family members could expedite the search but now it all seemed futile as time was ticking and he still could not find his son. The man paces around the fields just right outside his house with the tips of his nails being gnawed at anxiously, awaiting for some sort of miracle to take place while the rest watches over him with pity. 

His father finally steps up and tries to comfort him. “It’s gonna be fine,” Foolish reaches his hand out and presses it firmly on his son’s shoulder, “he probably wandered off somewhere near the house and we’ll find him sooner or later.” He ends his sentence with a light laugh, hoping that the frown etched on Roier’s face will disappear but it does not fade in the slightest.

When a response does not come back, Foolish tries again. He opens his mouth but nothing comes out. No words come to mind that could reassure his son at this moment. The usual ‘we’ll find him’ had lost all meaning after its 3rd or 4th occurrence, and Foolish dared not admit this but he himself was starting to lose faith. 

He could not fathom how the boy had gotten lost since he was not rebellious like the other kids nor was he the adventurous type. It had only been a few days ago when he took care of Pepito alongside his daughter. He recalled Leonarda offering her many different heads for Pepito to wear; he ultimately chose the same one which made their bond even stronger. He thought it all so funny now since Leonarda had been particularly afraid of the boy at the beginning, going so far as to call him a demon but look where they are now. 

“Look where they are now.” His face drops. The last phrase echoes in his mind and beats against his head, continuously appearing left and right as it attaches itself to every memory he has of Pepito. Slowly that thought mutilates itself, the sentence structure breaks and rearranges –to then transform again, this time with a few words being torn apart and discarded in addition to the newer ones. It blends in with the old and what is left are strung up together, forming a much more profound meaning: “Where is Pepito now?”

It was a simple question that was constantly brought up during the search but this time it held a different meaning altogether. The question that arose in his mind in the morning or afternoon, when it was still bright and sunny, did not scare him the same way it did as of now. As the sun sets and the night stalks, he could only imagine the horrors of being a child surrounded by vast darkness and to be only accompanied by monsters lurking in it. 

A wave of despair runs through him as he realises that Pepito has no choice but to survive the night on his own lest he had been kidnapped which seemed unlikely, but not completely out of the question. Regardless, all Foolish could really do at this moment was pray and hope the boy survives, at least long enough for them to find him. 

–

“Pai, look.” The boy leans towards the window. He sticks his pointer finger on the glass, leaving a fingerprint.

“Yeah Richas, I know…it’s almost night.” Cellbit replies back, staring outside. 

The two were inside the messy house that was now covered from head to toe in notes and documents, with red string tied haphazardly in a manner to connect all of the pieces of information together. Originally, Cellbit was part of the group searching for Pepito outside before departing halfway throughout the day in hopes to work better alone. However, Richarlyson did not want to leave his father by himself and decided to tag along. 

As the towering sun sets below the horizon, he sees the shadow of his husband’s figure pacing back and forth whilst the rest of the group idles around. Foolish and Bad were sitting on wooden makeshift benches whilst Bagi and Tina were lying on the matted ground, holding one another.  Despite being unable to see their expressions clearly, Cellbit could very well tell that most if not all were beyond tired –from the way they walked to the way they positioned themselves.  

“Do you think we’ll ever find Pepito?” Richarlyson starts again with his head held low, not daring to make eye contact. 

“Of course we will.” Cellbit bends down until he meets his son’s face. He smiles and ruffles his hair but as soon as his fingers entangle itself in the strands, he notices something dripping. It falls from his face and stains his vibrant shirt. 

“Richas are you…crying?” He withdraws his hand slowly and places it on his son’s back.

The boy immediately brings his hand up and quickly wipes away at his face, “No– no I’m not!” His words come out slightly muffled as he rubs his face even harder and slaps his father’s hand away. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, I’m just tired.” 

He was not just tired. And Cellbit knew of this except that he did not know what to do or how to react. It had been a long time since he was the one giving comfort or advice, and not being on the other end of it. Especially after all that had happened on the other island, he was not really sure as to how to even approach this situation as he too had a loose grip with his own emotions. 

“Roier was always the one good at this sort of thing,” he thinks. Whenever the Brazilian had nightmares or delusions again, Roier would be there, tending to his needs. But now, Cellbit was in his position and he had no clue what to do. Nevertheless, his son was crying and Cellbit could not just stand there doing nothing. It was time for him to take action after weeks of not doing so.

“....It’s okay to cry,” He says with a sympathetic smile, “I understand things are hard right now but it’s all going to be okay, I promise.” He lifts one of his hands and sticks out his pinky finger in front of Richarlyson, hoping for his son to reciprocate.

“But I’m supposed to be the older brother…a-and older brothers don’t cry.” He sniffles with his arms still covering his face as even more tears drip down. 

“But they do, anyone can cry Richas, it’s normal.” He pats his back before pulling him into a warm embrace. This time, the boy does not swat his hand away nor does he reject the hug but instead, he buries his face into his father’s shoulder.

The two remained in that position before Cellbit began feeling a wetness that clung to his skin near his neckline. He then feels Richarlyson gripping the folded hem of his jacket tightly as he heaves against his chest. 

“But Bobby never cried.” 

“I’m sure he did too…there’s nothing wrong with crying, Richas.” He tightens his hug a little bit more, “…I do it too.” The man awaits for his response but all he receives is silence in return. Cellbit pulls away slightly from the hug and faces his son with a worried expression. “Filho?” He whispered.

“Do you think…” He sniffles with his head still down, “that if Bobby were here instead, Pepito wouldn’t be gone?” 

Cellbit stares back at him in slight shock, “Why do you think that?” He tilts his head slightly with his eyebrows furrowed. 

“Because well, I– I don’t know? He always knew what to do, I guess.” He wipes away another tear as he mutters under his breath, “Maybe Pepito would still be here”

He feels his heartstrings being pulled at when he hears that last sentence. Cellbit wondered how long his son had been feeling this way. Richarlyson had seemed fine throughout the entirety of the day up until now, he was not distraught or even sad. Instead, he appeared calm and motivated to find his brother, and Cellbit did not question it. But that was the problem, he did not question it.  

This was unusual for him especially since he had always questioned everything. From when he was a kid in the midst of war– to a teen who spent his time in prison, and then to an adult that was constantly hunted down by the Federation. And yet, he never saw anything wrong with his son. How his eyes would droop down from time to time, when he would fiddle his hands aggressively, or how his voice would suddenly break. 

Cellbit wonders just how many clues went unnoticed, how many times were signs presented in front of him and he just could not see. Everything felt foggy and as much as he wants to believe he is the same man that entered Purgatory with a sharp mind, he was not. He wondered how things would have been had he worked with a better mind, a flawed and tainted one no less but still a great one. The one that decoded all those scrabbled messages, the one that managed to find Felps. He wonders if Pepito would have been found by now. But he hasn’t and as much as Cellbit wishes to dwell on that, he first needs to help Richarlyson. He could not afford to fail him too. 

Cellbit hesitantly starts, “I…” He pauses, racking his brain to come up with a response. “We don’t know what exactly happened to your brother but whatever it is, Richas…it’s not your fault.”

The boy remains quiet with his head still facing downwards. Cellbit reaches his hand out to give his son a light pat on his head. “You’re a good brother y’know,” He smiles.  

Richarlyson slowly lifts his head just enough to meet his father’s eyes. His eyebrows twitched in doubt of the words given to him, eliciting Cellbit to start once more, “I see the way you take care of him, you’re always by his side– like how you and Bobby were.” He ruffles his hair as the boy continues to rub away another tear that drops. 

Cellbit reaches to touch his cheek, tilting his head forward so that he could see his full face properly. “And I’m sure,” He smiles, “Pepito feels the same about you.”

He hears soft murmuring in return. “Hmm, Richas?” Cellbit’s ears perk up. 

“Even though sometimes, I’m a bit…mean to him?,” He fiddles with his hands as he turns his head away.

“Even if you’re a bit mean to him.” 

“But…what if he never talks to me again when he gets back?” 

“Filho–”

“What if he hates me!” The child cut him off, clearly panicking. 

Cellbit, unsure of what to do, pulls him back into a hug once again. “He won’t, okay? Siblings fight here and there, there will always be unpleasant moments and pleasant ones.” 

“Like you and Bagi?” 

“I–” He hesitates for a second, “Y-yes like me and Bagi.” His eyes drift off from his son’s, afraid that he could sense his own uncertainty. Silence overtakes the room before he starts again, “Are you okay, Richas?” 

“Yeah,” he bluntly says.

“Are you sure?” Cellbit asks, to which Richarlyson responds with a nod. “If you have any problems, I’m here for you– and I mean it this time.” 

He presses his head against the other gently, “I’m not going anywhere, not like last time…” His voice breaks into a shallow muffle before continuing, “...I’m here for you and I always will be.”

He brings his hand up to the boy’s head and gives him a warm pat before letting his fingers glide down, disentangling the numerous brown curls. Richarlyson remained still and quiet which surprised Cellbit as the boy never liked anyone touching his hair. 

“I know I haven’t been the best father lately but I promise I will be better, for you and for Pepito.” 

He hears nothing in response from the child but instead he feels a growing warmth on his back as two tiny frail hands wrap around it. It grabs onto the fabric of his vest and shirt in an endearing hold. And to that, he smiles.

They stayed that way for some time, bathing in the moonlight as they finally found solace in each other. Cellbit buries his head further into the embrace, his hand falls from the other’s hair to hold his back instead. He hums a simple melody as he taps rhythmically on his son’s back, the sound comes out clear as the house was quiet for once. 

Nothing was said and there was nothing to be said. It is almost as if everything had been forgiven. The memory of countless nights when Cellbit was absent, the fights and vile arguments between him and Roier all seemed to have withered away or dispersed into nothingness. That the past had been put to a pause with only the present remaining of just a father and son holding one another dearly.

Cellbit wished this could go on forever and that he could make this the very beginning, and erase whatever that was before. He yearned for a new start and he knows Richarlyson desires the same. He could feel it and see it, the burdening guilt that weighs on his son. So much so, the child was starting to resemble someone he was once so familiar with; a young boy amidst violence, starved with only the flesh of his own kind to eat. As much as the man wants his son to resemble him in some ways, he does not wish for him to inherit his pain. He does not wish anyone to have that pain. If only he could stay like this and never get out but deep down, he knows that there is a long way to go before he or his family could ever feel right again. 

Suddenly, the wetness that rested on his cheek pulled him out of his thoughts. He withdrew from the hug to look up to see his own vision blurry. Richarlyson separates away too in confusion and notices the damp area under his father’s eyes. His expression shifts from shock to laughter as he chuckles to himself. Cellbit furrows his brows, pretending to be annoyed but he ends up laughing along as well. 

“O que é tão engraçado, hein?” (What's so funny, huh?) He playfully smacks him. “I gave that whole speech to you about crying and now when I do it, you’re laughing!”

“I didn’t know you were such a chorona!” (crybaby!) 

“You’re not exactly one to talk, Mister!” Cellbit retorts. 

The child sticks out his tongue at him while running off only for his father to chase after him. Laughter fills the air as the two play a game of cat and mouse, circling each other around the couch. And for once in a long while, Cellbit feels alright and Richarlyson is happy. 

However, that momentary happiness comes to an end when Cellbit notices something off in the very corner of his eye. He stops in place, leaving Richarlyson confused.

“Pai?”

The man steps towards the window to see a small gathering near the bush. They were huddled together, surrounding something. His eyes light up with a certain thought in mind, “Have they found Pepito?”

–

It was extremely dark if not for the light emanating from the torch that Foolish carried. “Are you sure that belongs to Pepito?” Bad asked with uncertainty. 

“Of course I am, I know my own son.” Roier sighs under his breath as he stares at the red torn fabric that hung on one of the branches of a berry bush. 

It was a lie and Roier knows it, no matter how hard he tries to convince himself otherwise. He did not actually know the boy very well despite being with him for some time now. Roier knew basic things about Pepito like his favourite colour and his favourite comic hero but he never actually sat down and had a thorough conversation with the boy. 

And now, much like all the other times that was related to Pepito, he was unsure about the red fabric that stands before him. Roier did not actually know whether it belonged to his son. However, the bright red cloth stood out so much amongst the green bushes, he felt called to it. As though somewhere deep inside his gut was telling him that his son was right here– maybe not at the moment but once was. 

He swallows down his doubt and turns to his father. “Give me that.” He points to the torch. 

Foolish does not say anything back but hesitantly hands him the fire. In one swift motion, the man snatches it impatiently and directs it to the cloth. 

“Woah, careful! You don’t want to burn it.” Foolish exclaims. 

The fire sits just a few centimeters away from the red material as Roier eyes it carefully. He brings out his hand and gently unhooks it from the thorny branch. With the flame so close, he could see every detail; the needlework in black that resembled a spider’s web that dragged from the top to the bottom until all that remained were loose threads. When he turns it around, he finds that the material was not fully red but had dark blue edges. In the very center of it, laid a wet brown spot from all the mud nearby. 

“Here.” He hands the torch back to his father before using his current free hand to scrap away the dirt. Foolish takes it but ensures the flame hovers over the cloth in order for Roier to see carefully. 

“What is that…”

“What are you doing?”

Murmurs and questions were brought up but Roier did not answer but instead, kept scraping away. He grimaces as wet dirt starts piling under his fingernails however his mind needed to know, he needed the confirmation even though deep down he already had the answer. As the last bit of thick mud was discarded and what’s left is a brown dirty stain on the fabric, he sees it. 

“It can’t be…” He widens his eyes as the fire nearby cackles almost as if it were mocking the man. Right there sitting in the middle of the fabric, lay a simplified illustration of a spider. 

“Maybe it’s mine?” And just when the man starts doubting again, his eye catches something bright red at the side of the spider’s abdomen. 

He pushes his face nearer to the cloth and squints at the detail whilst the others stare silently in anticipation. The atmosphere was quiet, almost as if everything and everyone around him was holding in their breaths. Roier tips forward and guides the flame that Foolish was holding closer to the fabric. 

Suddenly, in the distance, loud footsteps can be heard. “Roier?” It sounded like Cellbit but he could not turn around, he could not pull himself away from the fabric– not now when the answer was just right there, within his reach. 

What appeared on the abdomen were red threads, resembling disheveled fuzzy hair that had been crushed and flattened multiple times. The threads stuck out in all directions and had been amateurly woven together to form a word. He pushes away the excess fibers sticking out and tips his head forward. It spells out exactly what Roier already knew all along. 

“Pepito”