Rudo has never been very good at sharing things, the food he eats, the trash he collects, the clothes he wears, its novelty- this wonderful feeling of having something, anything, just to yourself.

there is being protective of what you have, and then there is Rudo, he’ssss……territorial, if you will, he’s never really had much to call his own in life, on the ground, all these things he now claims ownership over, the feeling is near euphoric.

it gets him real antsy to hand things off to somebody, even for a second, the possibility of somebody breaking what he’s given them or running off item and euphoric feeling in hand is simply too much to bear, rudo doesn’t do sharing, or trust, of that matter.

That’s why you confuse him so much, you make him feel so…trusting? He doesn’t quite know the name for this feeling just yet. You make him want to give you things, you make him want to share things with you, trash, trinkets, moments. you’ve never cared how big or how small, That expression on your face at receiving a gift from him Is far better than any high he’s ever been brought from holding onto a nice find.

He’s never been any good at sharing moments either, never had a special memory, a special somebody just to himself, people think he’s odd, scary. You don’t think he’s scary. You listen when he lists off the different ways of restoring key caps or the three main types of sheet metal, and he finds himself growing inexplicably, infuriatingly, helplessly, awfully, fond of you.

So that’s what lands you here, sat side by side cross legged on the floor of his quarters at the cleaners base, before you lays possibly the largest accumulation of trash you’ve ever seen in somebody’s room, like seriously, the place is borderline hoarder status. and next to you sits rudo, contentedly yammering away about the process of what he’s doing as he takes a screwdriver to what seems to be some kind of vintage tv planted in his lap.