Chapter Text
Chosen kisses Orange good night. Tucking him in, in the only bed they had in their one bedroom apartment. Orange was already out like a light.
Chosen smiled to himself, seeing the peaceful expression of his precious baby brother. Orange was about 8, turning nine in 6 days.
When he left Orange’s room his smile dropped. Rent was soon due and he was still 200 short. He knew that it was between a birthday gift for Orange or them paying for this shit apartment of theirs.
Chosen had no choice.
Putting on his beat up leather jacket, that he stole, Chosen pulled out his keys and hid his switch blade behind his back. Putting the old black leather jacket over it. Hiding that he had any weapons. You never knew what could happen and Chosen couldn’t be too careful. Not when he actually had something- someone- to return to.
[~][~][~][~][~]
Nothing really had mattered when it had been just him and his abusive father. For a long time, Chosen could do nothing but take it. But then he was introduced to street fighting while scouring the streets for food. His so-called father had refused to give him food. He’d rather let him starve than share his bread. Only after watching multiple fights did he start copying them. He’ll never forget the face of Alan when he first decked him. Best. Feeling. Ever.
So when his father returned with a bundle in his arms eight years ago, Chosen knew something had to change.
Holding that fragile little baby in his arms, his big orange eyes staring at him. That small hand with even tinier fingers gripping his pinkie with surprising strength… it mended something in Chosen. The father-shaped abyss in his heart suddenly didn’t feel so endless.
He had named the small newborn Orange. He knew he had no creativity but he wouldn’t- couldn’t- call him his second coming. He wouldn’t let him end up like him.
He wanted to run away the moment he realised he was willing to do anything and everything for the small life form in his arms.
But he couldn’t. Not when Orange needed formula and diapers he couldn’t possibly afford. His father though… that was another story. While he didn’t actually do anything for Orange, he brought the necessities. Chosen did the rest.
But it wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows. Nothing ever was for Chosen. Orange’s cries would agitate their father.
That meant beatings.
Chosen was only 14, he couldn’t always fight back. Yes he’d throw some punches but that would only give him bad results. Like the belt or being locked in the old chest in the basement. So he’d take it. Not fight back in fear of being thrown back in the chest.
Not because he was afraid of the dark, tight space.
But because he was afraid of leaving his baby brother alone with his drunken father.
So he’d take it. Those first two months were the worst. Apparently babies were way more difficult to manage and keep alive than the movies showed… and the library could only do so much. He was never taught to read, so he only had the pictures.
He wanted to ask for help too, but who would help him? He had no one. Only Orange.
His skin was littered with bruises. At least, not all were from his bastard of a father.
Some came from fights.
At the age of ten, Chosen saw his first street fight. He understood fast that the stronger you were, the more you could have. The more you could eat. So Chosen watched, Chosen learned.
His first fight? He lost miserably. His second? Also lost miserably.
But with the tenth, the fifteenth, he started winning. He started being able to read his opponents. He started training to become stronger so he could eat.
Later, it was becoming stronger so Orange could eat.
But he couldn’t simply live on that. He couldn’t steal and fight for food, then return to his abusive father.
So, when he knew enough about how to keep Orange alive and had enough money saved up. He ran.
Chosen stole everything he could from his father. He knew the code to his safe by now, having watched Alan take out money. But he didn’t just take money, he also took jewellery and his and Orange’s documents.
So at the age of 15 he ran from home with a one year old boy in his arms, a backpack with a few clothes and food and 2000 dollars to his name.
[~][~][~][~][~]
Chosen grabbed his boots and slipped in. It was nearly nine and he didn’t want to be late for his nightclub security job. It was tedious work but it paid. Not enough though. Never enough. At the age of 23, Chosen was juggling three jobs. Cleaning houses from five to 11, went home and do housework, fight in the ring for quick cash in the afternoon and a security guard job at this high end nightclub.
It was barely enough to pay rent and groceries. Electricity and water were another problem entirely. He had to pick up the night guard job to pay those.
Things like toys and clothes were all from shelters or stolen from a park. Although he must say, the lost and found box came quite handy too.
Trekking down the streets he saw drunken men swaying and laughing. Sometimes in groups, sometimes alone. Mostly alone. Or maybe they were talking with the rats? It’s a viable option, thought Chosen.
Suddenly a pained groan came from the dark alleyway he was passing by. But before the curiosity could even properly take root he was already speed walking away.
“Think of Orange and don’t get involved.” He muttered to himself. While it was true he did some… less than legal… side jobs… that didn’t mean he wanted to get seriously involved in organised crime.
Child services were already on his back. He didn’t want to get more attention by getting his hands dirtier than they already were. You have jobs now, you don’t need to do those things anymore. Chosen reminded himself.
There was a time when he thought that the justice system was, well, just. But it wasn’t.
When he was eleven he called child services on his father. Hoping they’d be his saving grace. He was wrong. When they came, the only thing his father had to do was press a 20 dollar bill in their hands and they vanished.
That night Alan was angrier than he’d ever seen him. That night was the first time Chosen begged whatever god there was to make him disappear. The first time he wanted to die.
—————
Before Chosen knew it, he had arrived. Entering through the back door into the changing room, he hastily put his uniform on. Mostly bulletproof but hella tight suits that made him super uncomfortable.
He looked in the mirror and took notice of the dark circles under his eyes. So he took the makeup provided to him and applied it until his oily skin looked smooth. He hated how his boss wanted him and the other guards to look “presentable”. Apparently they were such a high end place that even the security guards needed to look good.
And yet his boss couldn’t even give him 30 dollars an hour. Fuck his life.
”Apply eyeshadow too.” Came the syrupy voice of his manager. Chosen wanted to roll his eyes and yell at her. But he couldn’t. Instead, he turned around. “Good evening, Jessica.” He said curtly. Nodding in her direction. He really hated her. She was the devil in disguise. Hidden beneath hundreds of layers of makeup and an infinitely sugary voice. What he hated the most was-
“You have such a pretty face, it’s truly a waste of beauty to work as a security guard. Just imagine how much success you could make as a stripper!” She said, stepping closer to Chosen. Yeah, that’s what he hated the most. “I appreciate the offer but my answer is still no.” He said politely. Her smile became just a tad crueler. “A shame, really.”
She stepped into his personal space and grabbed the makeup. “Close your eyes, I’m doing the rest of your makeup.” She commanded as she took the brush and tipped it in the red eyeshadow. He wanted to punch her but I need to pay for Orange’s food. Yes, think of Orange. Think of his happy smile and his warm hugs.“Today we have a very special guest and I want everything to be perfect and…” Maybe he could find some free time and pose for Orange. The kid loves to draw. He doesn’t know why, but apparently he’s the favourite thing that his baby brother can draw. “Chosen, are you listening?”
Shit.
“Of course, Jessica.” He lied. C’mon Chosen you’re better than this! Concentrate damnit! She gave him a sceptical look but let it go. “Sit, I need to finish your makeup.” She said as she pushed his 6 ft body into a chair. “You’re so tall, such lanky limbs too. Those hands could do a lot of things, you know?”
Oh, he knew. He knew because she kept on telling him every day they met.
What he didn’t know was how he grew so tall. He never quite had enough food and- “Ahrg-“ he began as the brush poked his eye. She didn’t even apologise. This bitch.
Back on the topic. Point is, he’s tall. He probably would’ve been even taller if he was fed properly. But where did it come from? His father wasn’t that tall. Maybe his mother?
He didn’t know his mother. Nor did he want to. Who leaves a baby with a man such as Alan? The only thing he knew was that he looked very similar to her. Something his father hated. Another thing he knew is that Orange has a different mother than him.
Then he saw his manager take out a lipstick. Oh hell fucking no.
“Jessica, lipstick is not needed, I’m a night guard for god’s sake!” He hissed as he saw her pulling out a red lipstick. “Ah, ah, ah! I make the decisions. As I’ve said before, we have a special guest so everything and everyone has to look perfect. Now put this on and go. I need to check in with everyone else.” She pushed the lipstick onto his hands and left.
“Fall down the stairs and break your neck.” He muttered once she was out of earshot. He put the lipstick on, his pride crying.
A special guest she said? How wonderful it’d be to throw hands with them right now.
Chosen stood up and dusted himself off. Looking in the mirror he didn’t even recognise himself. He looks like a doll. Mascara, blush and an over the top fire pattern design on the sides of his face. It’s part of the eye shadow, he thinks.
“You look like a fucking doll, but it’s ok. As long as it’s for Orange.” He said through gritted teeth.
Walking out the door he was greeted with flashing light and loud music. There were people dancing and smoking. Some were drinking while others were watching the strippers perform.
It made him uncomfortable. But he pushed the feeling down. There was no emotion visible on his face. Like what was asked of him. He walked over to his station and stood there. Watching the people eat and drink and dance and- was there a kid at the bar? For fuck’s sake he just started his shift!
He walked over and it didn’t take long for the kid who had faked an ID to get in to be escorted out. They begged him to let them stay. Saying they wanted to see their favourite musician or whatever.
Yeah, fuck that.
Who even believed this dumb teenager?? The mother of idiots is always pregnant, Orange told him once. Where did he hear it from? No clue. Maybe school, he didn’t know.
After that was over he returned to his station, knowing this was gonna be a long night.