Chapter Text
The iron gates of the Monad Charity House closed behind him with a hollow, final clang. The sound rang out across the courtyard and seemed to linger in the stone itself, as if the building had swallowed it and decided to keep it. Carlo didn’t turn around. If he did, he might still see the carriage waiting at the end of the gravel path. Might see his father, Geppetto, sitting inside, posture rigid, gaze fixed forward like this had already been decided long before today. Or worse, he might see him hesitate, stepping out, calling him back. He didn't. So Carlo kept his eyes forward.
The gravel shifted beneath his boots, each step loud in his own ears despite how quiet everything else seemed. The courtyard stretched wide before him, framed by pale stone walls and tall windows that reflected a dull, washed-out sky. Nothing here felt lived in. It felt...maintained. Controlled. Indifferent. Children stood in small groups scattered across the open space, their movements contained, their voices low. They looked at him, quickly, carefully, then looked away again. But not before he saw it. Measured curiosity, distance, disdain. Carlo moved through them like he didn’t belong, and in truth, he didn't. He wasn't an orphan, but his father saw more important things than his own son. Might as well make him somebody else's problem. He felt it settle under his skin.
His dark-brown hair sat unruly against his head, soft waves catching faintly in the light, just long enough to curl at the edges. His face, still young, held something that didn’t match it, a tension in the jaw, a heaviness behind the eyes. His expression rarely shifted from that guarded stillness, but beneath it, something restless churned. Something sharp, livid. Something that hadn’t been given a place to go.
He climbed the steps to the entrance without slowing, pushed open the heavy door, and stepped inside. He didn’t look back.
__________
The first days blurred together in quiet observation. Carlo learned quickly, not because he wanted to, but because he had to. There was a rhythm to the place. A structure that pressed in on everything. Meals came at the same hour. Lessons followed strict order. Even the children seemed to move along invisible lines, like they had learned exactly how much space they were allowed to take up.
Carlo didn’t fit into that. He adapted around it. He took the edges. Corners of rooms. Ends of benches. Places where he could see without being seen too clearly. He kept his head down. Ate alone. Sat at the edge of rooms where no one could come up behind him without him noticing.
He could feel it building anyway. Pressure. Waiting. They wanted something from him. A reaction.
He noticed everything. Who flinched when voices rose. Who laughed too quickly, too loudly. Who avoided eye contact, and who didn’t. Which boys shoved each other in the halls when no one was looking. Which ones laughed too loudly at things that weren’t funny. The same boys, more than once. Lingering too close. Looking too long.
It started small. A shoulder brushing his harder than needed. A muttered comment just behind him.
“Must be nice. Getting dropped off instead of left.”
Carlo didn’t react. Not at first. But the words didn’t disappear. They stayed, built around his heart, layered it with ice.
__________
By the fourth day, the tension had found its shape. Late afternoon stretched long shadows across the courtyard, the pale light thinning as the sun dipped lower. Most of the younger children had already been called inside. The air had cooled, carrying a faint chill that settled against skin and stone alike.
Carlo sat on the low wall at the edge of the courtyard, one foot braced against the ground, the other resting lightly against the stone. His fingers turned a small splintered piece of wood over and over, the motion absent but steady. Footsteps approached. Three sets of them. He didn’t look up immediately.
“You’re still here.”, one of them said, resentment clear in his irritating voice.
Carlo’s fingers stilled briefly, then resumed. Slowly, he lifted his gaze. “Was there somewhere else I should be?”
The boy in front of him smirked, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Hear that? He thinks he's clever.”
Carlo tilted his head slightly. A short laugh came from one of the others. Not amused, sharp. That boy stepped closer. “You think you’re better than us?”
Carlo held his gaze, something dark flickering behind his eyes. “No.”, he stated.
A beat.
“I know I am.”
The silence snapped. The shove came fast, hard enough to force him back half a step. Carlo steadied, breath catching for just a moment, and then he struck. His fist connected with the boy’s jaw, the impact sharp and immediate. Everyone followed. Hands grabbed, pulling him off balance. A knee drove into his side, hard enough to make his breath collapse in on itself. Pain bloomed deep, spreading outward with every shallow inhale.
He twisted, swung again, felt his knuckles connect with something solid. Another hit landed, this time across his lower ribs, glancing but enough to jar the already bruised area. A hand yanked him backward. He lost his footing, his body hitting the stone with a harsh, scraping impact. His right arm struck first, skin tearing against the rough surface, a burn of raw pain following instantly. A kick slammed into his thigh. Another glanced off his side. Carlo curled instinctively, then fought his way back up, grabbing at one of them, dragging him down. They hit the ground together, limbs tangling, breath colliding.
He pushed himself up, and took a fist straight across his mouth. His head snapped to the side. Skin split along his lower lip. Blood welled instantly, warm and slick, trailing down the line of his jaw. His vision blurred. His chest burned. Still, he didn’t stop, wouldn’t.
“Enough!”
The voice cut through everything. Soft, but steady, firm in a way that didn’t need volume. Movement stuttered. A kick halted mid-motion. Hands loosened. One of the boys swore under his breath. Carlo blinked, dragging in a sharp breath as the pressure around him eased. The boy who had grabbed his collar shoved him back once more before letting go. Carlo staggered back, breath uneven, chest rising sharply with each inhale. He stayed upright this time, barely.
And then he saw her. A girl stood a few steps away. She looked fragile at first glance. Slim, almost delicate in the way she held herself. Her dark-brown hair was tied into a bun at the back of her head, though softer strands had slipped loose, framing her face gently. The movement of them caught faintly in the breeze, brushing against her temples. But it was her eyes that held him. Sapphire blue, clear, bright, and filled with something that made the moment slow. Her hands were clasped together tightly, fingers interlaced as though she needed something to anchor herself.
“Please.”, she called again, quieter now. “Stop.”
The boys hesitated. Not because she was imposing. Because she wasn’t. Because she was something else entirely. One of them scoffed, though it lacked it's earlier bite.
“Stay out of it.”
She didn’t step back. Didn’t raise her voice. She simply stood there, still, gentle, unyielding in a way that didn’t push, but didn’t give way either. The silence stretched. Then-
“Come on.”, one of the others muttered. “Not worth it.”
The first boy wiped his mouth, glaring at Carlo, then at her.
“Witch.”
The word slipped out under his breath. It hung there.
Carlo saw it. That tiny, fleeting reaction. The faintest twitch at the corner of the girl's mouth. Not fear. Not anger. Something quieter. Something that hurt. Then it was gone.
The boys turned and left. The courtyard seemed to exhale. Carlo stood there, shoulders tense, breath uneven. Blood traced a slow path down his jaw, dripping onto his clothes. His ribs throbbed with every inhale, sharp and insistent. The girl stepped closer, careful, measured. Like approaching something that might bolt.
“You’re hurt.”, she said softly.
Carlo let out a rough breath. “No- really?”
It came out rougher than he meant it to. She didn’t react to the tone. She nodded slightly, as if that answer made sense.
“Let me help you.”, she said, voice calm.
Not 'I’m going to help you.' or 'Can I?'
'Let me'
Carlo hesitated. He didn’t know why. He should’ve said no. Should’ve walked away. Instead, his eyes flicked over her, her posture, her expression, the way she held herself. There was no pity there. Just…concern.
“…Fine.” he muttered.
Her shoulders relaxed, just a little. “Thank you.”, she said softly, like he’d done her a favor. That was…new.
__________
The infirmary was still. Sunlight filtered through tall windows, settling gently across clean surfaces and neatly arranged supplies. The air smelled faintly of herbs and something sharper beneath it, clean, controlled. The girl guided him inside. She stayed just close enough without crowding him, her steps quiet, almost hesitant, as if she was careful not to disturb the stillness of the room.
“Sit here.”, she said gently, gesturing toward a chair near the window.
Carlo lowered himself down slowly, his movements stiff, controlled. Pain flared along his ribs, his shoulder ached, the wound along his arm pulling uncomfortably. She moved around him, gathering what she needed. Her hands were steady, though her movements carried a certain softness, like she was always aware of the space she occupied. When she returned, she knelt slightly in front of him.
Up close, her features were even softer. On her left cheek, a small beauty mark made itself visible against warm skin. The dark strands of hair framing her face caught the light, her blue eyes lifting toward him with a quiet attentiveness that didn’t demand anything.
“May I?”, she asked, lifting the cloth.
Carlo gave a small nod. Her touch was gentle, careful. She cleaned the blood from his face slowly, her fingers steady as the cloth moved across the cut. When it stung, she paused, not pulling away, but easing the pressure just enough.
“I know this hurts...”, she murmured softly. He didn’t flinch. “You don’t have to pretend it doesn’t.”, she added quietly.
Carlo glanced at her. Something about the way she said it, not calling him out, but acknowledging. He looked away again.
“I’m fine.”
She didn’t argue. And somehow, that didn’t feel dismissive. She moved to his arm next, carefully cleaning the scrape along his skin. Her touch lingered just long enough to make sure he wouldn’t pull away.
“You don’t have to fight everyone.”, she said gently.
Carlo let out a quiet breath. “Feels like I do.”
She looked up at him. “You don’t.”, she said, with a soft certainty.
She wasn't forcing the idea onto him, just placing it there. It didn’t sound like an argument. It sounded like hope. He didn’t answer.
When she finished, she tied the bandage carefully, smoothing it down with light fingers. “There.”, she said quietly.
Carlo shifted slightly, testing the movement. “…Thanks.”
Her smile was small, shy, but warm. "You're welcome."
For a moment, neither of them moved. The room was quiet again, just the faint rustle of fabric, the distant echo of footsteps somewhere far down the hall. Light filtered through the window behind her, catching in the loose strands of her dark-brown hair, softening the edges of her silhouette. She seemed to gather a bit of courage, her fingers brushing lightly against each other before she spoke.
“I’m Sophia.”, she said gently. It wasn’t formal. Just offered.
“…Carlo.” His voice was quieter than before. Less guarded at the edges.
Sophia nodded, like she’d expected it. “It’s nice to meet you, Carlo.”
Something about the way she said it, simple, sincere, made it sound like she meant it. Carlo didn’t answer that. But he didn’t look away immediately, either.
__________
The next day carried a softer quiet. Not suddenly safer. But less sharp. Sophia found him again, or maybe she had been looking. He was huddled near the courtyard’s edge, where the light fell more gently and the noise didn’t press in as much.
“There are some people I’d like you to meet.”, she said, her voice a little tentative.
Carlo glanced at her. “Why?”
A faint color touched her cheeks. “Because…I think you might like them.”
He studied her for a moment. He almost scoffed. Instead-
“Alright.”
__________
They found them in a patch of sunlight near the far side of the courtyard, where the stone gave way to a strip of grass softened by afternoon light. A boy around his age lay stretched out on his back, arms folded behind his head, completely at ease in a way that felt almost foreign in this place. His posture was loose, unguarded, like he belonged to the space instead of adapting to it.
Beside him, a girl sat with her legs tucked to one side, posture straight but relaxed. Her hands rested loosely in her lap, her attention drifting somewhere between the ground and the sky, as if she was always quietly thinking.
The boy noticed them first. He lifted his head, squinting slightly against the light, then broke into an easy smile.
“You’re back.”, he said, pushing himself up onto his elbows.
His gaze shifted to Carlo, taking in the bruises, the bandage, the tension still held in his posture.
“Oof.”, he added, clenching his teeth. “You look terrible.”
Carlo scoffed faintly. “Didn’t ask.”
“I’m Romeo.”, the blonde said anyway, sitting up fully now, brushing grass from his shirt as he stood.
He stepped closer, holding his hand out for Carlo to take. Carlo watched him. Measured him. The way the light played in his genuine hazel eyes, the way his posture revealed a certain confidence that Carlo found himself admiring, the way he openly invited Carlo in. Then, after a brief hesitation, he took it.
“…Carlo.”
Romeo grinned. “Good. Now we’re not strangers anymore.”
The red-haired girl's gaze lifted then, settling on Carlo with quiet attentiveness. She didn’t smile immediately. Didn’t speak right away. She just…looked. Not judging. Understanding. Her eyes flicked briefly to her sister Sophia, then back to him. A silent exchange. Then she inclined her head slightly.
“Lea.”, she said simply.
Carlo nodded once. Silence lingered, but it wasn’t uncomfortable, only new and fragile. Romeo stretched slightly, rolling his shoulders as he looked between them.
“So," he started, “you planning on getting into fights every day, or was that just for the grand entrance?”
Carlo huffed quietly. “Depends.”
“On?”
“If people keep talking.”
Romeo laughed, easy and unbothered. “Oh, they will.” He dropped back down onto the grass, propping himself up on his elbows again. “But it gets easier.”
Carlo looked at him, raising an eyebrow in disbelief. “Does it?”
Romeo’s smile softened. “Yeah.” A pause. “Especially if you’ve got people who’ll pull you out before you get yourself killed.”
Carlo glanced, almost unconsciously, toward Sophia. She stood slightly apart from them. Almost distant. Not...fully inside the moment. Watching. Always watching. Their eyes met. And for a second, it felt like she already knew how all of this would end.
Carlo looked away first. But he didn’t leave. And somehow, that mattered more than anything.