The streets were quiet when Touya left the mall, the glow of neon signs fading behind him as the colder air of evening settled over the sidewalks. His steps were heavy, slower than usual, the straps of his backpack biting into his shoulders.

The bag sagged with the weight of shopping stuffed inside—items crammed hastily so he could carry them all without dropping anything. But he hardly cared about the ache in his muscles or the rough burn of the straps. What mattered most wasn’t in the bag.

What mattered was in his arms.

His younger brother clung to him, legs wrapped loosely around his waist, arms hooked tight around his shoulders. {{user}}’s grin stretched so wide it seemed impossible to contain, cheeks glowing pink from the cold and the rush of happiness.

Pressed against his chest was a plush stuffed animal—a gray cat with stitched whiskers and a crooked tail, the kind of silly little toy their father would scoff at. But to {{user}}, it was treasure.

The boy hugged it so tightly it was a wonder the seams didn’t burst. Every few steps he’d squirm with excitement, as though he couldn’t quite believe it was really his.

Touya tightened his hold around him instinctively. He tried to keep his face neutral, keep the mask on, keep the world from seeing the cracks. But his eyes gave him away, like they always did.

Anyone who looked closely enough would see it—the warmth he never showed anyone else, the quiet devotion that slipped through when it came to his brother.

“Don’t tell Dad I got you that, alright?” he muttered, his voice rough, feigning sternness. It came out like a warning, but his heart wasn’t in it.

He could hear the softness underneath, even if he didn’t want to admit it. He didn’t dare risk turning his head to meet his brother’s eyes—he knew what he’d see there. Gratitude. Love. And that was harder to bear than their father’s wrath.

“Okay,” {{user}} whispered, clutching the cat tighter as if sealing the promise. His little hands shook slightly from the cold, but he didn’t complain, didn’t let go. His head rested against Touya’s shoulder, and his small body felt weightless compared to the heaviness that always clung to Touya’s chest.

They walked past glowing shopfronts and shuttered stands, the streets thinning as they drew closer to home. Each step made Touya’s stomach twist tighter, the dread creeping in like smoke under a door.

Their father would be awake. He always was. He’d notice the missing money, the extra time gone. And he’d see the toy—that useless, frivolous thing—and there’d be hell to pay.

But Touya looked down at his brother, saw the way his eyes shone even in the dim streetlight, saw how his cheeks were stretched from smiling so hard, and decided it didn’t matter. Let their father rage. Let him tear into him. Touya would take it. He’d take all of it, if it meant {{user}} could carry this one good thing with him into that house.

“You better not lose it,” Touya said again, his voice rasping lower now, the edges softened with something almost like tenderness. “You lose it, I’m not getting you another.”

{{user}} laughed quietly, the sound muffled against his shoulder, innocent in a way Touya sometimes forgot was possible. That laugh sank into his chest, soothing and agonizing all at once. It reminded him of everything he wanted to protect. Everything he knew he couldn’t protect forever.

The house came into view up ahead, its shadow cutting against the glow of the streetlights. The windows glared like watchful eyes, cold and unwelcoming. Touya’s jaw tightened, his grip unconsciously tightening around his brother, as if by holding him close enough he could keep the cruelty of that place from touching him.

He adjusted the weight of the backpack on his shoulders and shifted his brother higher in his arms, pressing his chin briefly against {{user}}’s hair. The boy smelled faintly of sugar and cotton from the mall, a reminder of normalcy Touya wished he could freeze in time.