A/N: Written for tumblr user crimsonfire3. I hope this fits what you've imagined, dear!
Prompt: "Just as long as it's FDKD, and it's not AU and genderbend is fine with me. A little bit of slice of life would be nice though :D I don't want to bother you so a oneshot would do. Something like pre!GO Fudou doesn't have a house to live in and bumps into Kidou at a convenience store."
Disclaimer: Inazuma is still not mine.

through your walls

-o-o-o-

Lately, Kidou has taken to wearing a hoodie when he's outside his home. This year's summer has turned out having a particularly nasty weather; lots of rain, and he can't be bothered with an umbrella when he's about to shop for an amount of groceries that would likely occupy both his hands. So, it's easier this way. There is also the fact that he has begun to finally get rid of some of his dreadlocks; they are horribly hard to maintain, and now that he's in high school, he doesn't have as much time to bother with it, unless he gives up on sleeping - because, there is no way he is giving up on study time; it was already hard enough to convince his father to let him join the soccer club of his high school, and that, too, was only allowed with the promise that he would keep maintaining his top grades, and that he doesn't go off to any tournament that would hinder his studies (so Kidou spends a lot of time on the bench these days, although he is still used as his current team's major tactician). He has decided to keep the top locks, and tie them together a little higher, but the bottom ones are going back to being regular hair; and after so many years of keeping them all tied up, it's a painstakingly long and tiring process to untangle them one by one. (Most people just cut them short, but, Kidou with hedgehog head? That's just not happening.)

His hood is uncomfortably damp, and he can feel some of his higher locks sticking to it, but he is not taking it off in public. He enters the convenience store with an unreadable expression behind his tinted glasses that he has switched for just recently, after he's gotten a few nasty comments on his goggles from fellow classmates - Kidou has never really been a sensitive person, but, so many things have changed lately, and he has felt so off and lonely anyways, one more couldn't really hurt. Getting a cart, and beginning to browse through the shelves methodically; the sun is about to set outside, but it doesn't make much of a difference, since everything is obscured by rainclouds anyways.

He is reaching for a can of raw tuna when the other catches his eyes. He almost drops the can on the floor, but in the end, it topples right into the shopping cart, metal clattering against metal as the blond's mouth falls slightly open. It can't possibly be...

The boy has shoulder-length, wavy brown hair, with a few remaining traces of white hair dye in the bangs in front of his eyes, but it looks knotted and unkempt; not only as if the dye hasn't been corrected in months, but as if it didn't even see a hairbrush in the same amount of time. From as much as is visible of his eyes underneath all the hair (it looks so strange, all grown out, Kidou thinks), from a sideways angle, there are circles under the blue eyes that look darker than the hair itself. Hands stuffed into the pockets of a hoodie that's slightly similar to what Kidou wears, except rumpled and dirty to the point that's bordering gross, the brunet is staring idly at the stack of food labelled SALES - everything that got half its price taken off for being too close to expiration date.

Kidou knows these signs all too well - except, he also knows the other probably wouldn't want him to take notice. He would expect him to just walk past him, write him off as everyone else does; someone being beyond what he was once worth. But that's not how Kidou thinks of the other. However strange it might be, considering how much the brunet hurt him in the past, he still cannot bring himself to pretend he isn't seeing what he's seeing - to turn his back on someone who was once (however begrudgingly) a comrade.

"Fudou."

The brunet spins on his heels, and no matter how quickly he regains composure, only to flash his all too well-known cocky grin at Kidou, there has been that one split second that the genius tactician's eyes did not miss: an expression of shock, mixed with shame. "Oh, if it isn't Kidou-kun," he says, his voice dragged out almost tauntingly, "It's been a while, hasn't it?," and yet, his eyes are still saying go away, go the fuck away, and Kidou can't even tell if Fudou wants to scream it with fury, or rather, beg.

"You look like you've slept under a bridge," Kidou says coolly, leaving the other's empty pleasantry without comment (they both know it wasn't heartfelt anyways). Fudou laughs, an empty, hollow laugh, and raises a hand to run his fingers through his messy hair. Kidou is glad that his glasses hide the way his eyes widen at the motion, because he can barely keep his mouth from actually dropping open at the sight; yes, there are a few traces of a reminder of what used to be white hair dye in his ex-teammate's hair, but the rest of what he thought to be the same are actually a couple of locks that have gone gray.

It's as if Fudou senses what's going on in the other's mind anyways, but all he does is smirk even more widely - it couldn't be more painfully obvious now (and Kidou realizes with somewhat of a small shock that it has probably always been, even back when they were teammates, when he was too angry at him to not be ignorant to everything Fudou Akio really was,) that his blatant cockiness is just as fake as when he tries to pretend to be actually polite, and underneath it all, there is an entirely different Fudou, one the blond perhaps doesn't know at all, and never has known. "A bridge?" Fudou repeats. "Did you draw that conclusion from my wet hair, smartass? In case you haven't noticed, it's raining. I don't sleep under bridges."

Is it just his imagination, Kidou wonders, or is the other sounding somewhat defensive? Either way, something has hit close to home, and Kidou himself cannot really tell if it's a sick sort of curiosity in him, or genuine concern, but he continues prodding in a way that's rather unbefitting him. "Are you going to buy anything? You've been staring at the same apple for the past ten minutes."

"Don't you have anything better to do than stare at me?" comes the instant, biting response, and this time, Fudou begins to sound actually angry. For a split second, Kidou feels like recoiling - but still, under the top layer of thin anger, there seems to be an iceberg of bitter resignation, and it just nudges Kidou forward to ignore the other's poisonous tone, and press forward.

"I was just asking because..." A momentary pause, in which the blond reaches under his hoodie to readjust a lock of already un-dreaded hair that was tickling his neck. "If you're done with your shopping, you might as well come get some dinner with me." Fudou blinks, seemingly uncomprehending. "You know," Kidou continues, and, for the first time, it's him sounding slightly mocking, as if in disbelief about how slow his ex-teammate is, "catching up, or something? I haven't seen you in years."

Another blink - comprehension dawns - and then Fudou laughs again, this time not even attempting to hide the bitterness and the pain his laughter is saturated with. He averts his eyes - ironically, he is once again looking at the same apple -, and mutters, as if only talking to himself, "... do you think I'd be here if I had the money for a proper meal?"

Perhaps Kidou shouldn't be so shocked to hear that. The bigger part of the shock is probably the fact that he is hearing it out loud, not the knowledge he gains from it. It scares him, somehow. It's not all that hard to tell now, looking back at the past years, that Fudou's temper and abrasive attitude was nothing more than a wall to keep others away from where he could be hurt, but the wall was strong, definitely (after all, Fudou was more or less unapproachable), and to see him now act actually somewhat humble, at least to the point of being this honest with Kidou... it makes him feel as if the brunet's walls have long since cracked, and things are leaking through, perhaps not even far from completely falling apart. Inexplicably so or not, Kidou is only sure of one thing - he does not want that to happen.

"Come to my place, then," he hears himself say, without even thinking through what he is actually saying. Of course, it's not as if his father would object to him having an old friend over (old friend? Can he actually call Fudou that?), but the entire decision comes so quickly that the blond is surprising even himself. It's more like Endou to think up things so quickly and thoughtlessly, not Kidou, who thinks and plans everything through carefully. Yet, there is no thinking and planning when he looks at Fudou, ragged and exhausted and hungry Fudou, with salt-and-pepper hair before he'd have even turned eighteen. The past be damned; there is only one thing that matters right now, and it's the look in the brunet's eyes: disbelieving, hovering on the thin line between wanting to reject the offer to protect the last shreds of his dignity, and needing to do the exact opposite. He doesn't leave him the option of choosing the answer himself; he's taking the other by the wrist, and tugs him after himself, ignoring the shocked "Hey!", and pushing his cart forward (there are still a few items he needs to collect, after all).

"... Won't your parents mind?" is all he finally comments, when they are already in line for checkout. Kidou shrugs. "My father definitely won't," he says, and as nonchalant as he sounds, there is a definite needle-stab feeling in his chest as he adds, "and my mother is in the hospital, so she won't even know."

He lets out an involuntary gasp as he is suddenly grasped by the shoulder, but by the time he'd turn around to glare at Fudou questioningly, the other's grip is already loosening, the brunet averting his eyes. "Ah, so that's why you're doing the grocery shopping," he says with a brisk chuckle, arm being dropped back at his side, but even as Kidou simply responds with "Indeed," he knows there is something more going through the other's mind.

The groceries end up in the kitchen; they have the staff to take care of the rest. (Truthfully, Kidou wouldn't have needed to go grocery shopping on his own in the first place, but it was a nice break from studying, an excuse for a bit of free time.) Dinner will be on its way soon, too, and till then, they end up on the comfortable couch in Kidou's room, both of them sitting awkwardly stiffly (looking at it from the outside, Kidou has to admit it's a bit laughable), with Kidou continuously reaching up to scratch at the itching spot on his neck, and Fudou folding his arms and avoiding the blond's eyes with all his might.

"You can take that hoodie off, you know," Kidou finally says as he takes a better look, and notices Fudou is still shivering slightly, despite how warm the house is. "It's really damp, you'll catch a cold."

"You haven't taken yours off either," Fudou says, looking at him for the first time since they've arrived, but only to glare (quite possibly to hide something, but Kidou is used to it now). Sure enough, Kidou still has his hood on; for some reason, he doesn't quite fancy Fudou getting to see the state his hair is in. However, at this point, it seems rather inevitable, especially since his own clothes are damp, too, so he'd better take his own advice. Some silly part of him would like to say 'don't laugh at me', but the rational half knows saying that would be both futile and ridiculous. And, sure enough - as soon as he tugs the thick clothing over his head, allowing his locks to fall all around his shoulder onto his shirt, the laughter - this time, a genuinely amused one - just explodes from Fudou; he even unfolds his arms as he stares at his ex-teammate. "What the shit?!" he exclaims, one hand pointed at Kidou's half-dreadlocks, half-messy hair, while the other is clasped over his mouth to muffle his unconcealable laughter at least a little.

"Oh, shut up," Kidou mutters, frowning, and he reaches for the hairbrush on the table to untangle his proper hair, before reaching for the crochet needle instead. Fudou's eyes widen a little, his hands lowering, and he watches in silence as Kidou begins on another dreadlock. He's having a harder time now; the lock he's working on is at the middle of the back of his head, and he can't see what he's doing; his lips are pressed together in pain as he continuously pulls at his hair, and almost five minutes pass (in which he didn't manage to get more than three millimetres up) before he happens to glance in Fudou's direction. "I told you to take that sweater off," he comments, dropping the needle in his lap. "Get on with it." He seldom sounds this authoritative, and Fudou actually swallows, as if wanting to say something - then he simply obeys in silence.

If Kidou hasn't put the needle down, he would drop it now at the sight. Fudou has grown quite a bit since they've last met - but it looks as if all the height plus has been taken away from the weight; simply put, he looks skin and bones. The hoodie has covered it up, but now that he's sitting only in a shirt, it's painfully obvious; Kidou thinks he can see his hipbones quite clearly, and the outlines of his ribs as well... and the question escapes the blond's lips quicker than he could stop himself, or even think it through. "What happened to you?!"

There's the laugh again, for the umpteenth time, and Kidou hates it more than ever. Fudou is staring down into his lap, his fingers folded together, and the blond gets the feeling that he doesn't quite want to be here and feel obligated to explain himself, even if he gets things in return that he is obviously in dire need of. Still, at this point, there is no way for him to back out of it - Kidou hasn't left him a way -, no matter how hard it might be to swallow his pride. "Do you even need to ask?" he returns the question, his voice bitter, of course, it's a lot easier to blame Kidou for forcing him into this situation, and yet, at the same time it seems as if the former midfielder is laughing at himself, at his situation, at his whole life. "You seem to have lost your sharpness, Kidou-kun, eh?" Kidou doesn't respond; he merely continues staring at him, at his terrifyingly thin and bony shoulders, at his cheekbone that seems to be popping out now that the shade of his hood isn't covering it up. And finally, Fudou gives in. "You know where I'm coming from. You know how my family fell apart..." Silence is the only response still. "My mother was declared mentally unstable, and put in a mental hospital..." There it was, the answer to the vehement reaction to what Kidou said at the checkout. "And I was put in an orphanage." As the brunet goes on and on, it seems that it becomes easier for him to talk; as if he's only needed an opportunity, someone to actually listen for once. "Those places are utter shit, man..."

"You don't need to tell me that," Kidou interjects softly at this point, cutting off the flow of words for a moment. Fudou only stares at him in response, and then slowly, he gives a nod, something inexplicable softening in his eyes. It's an odd feeling, to have something this much in common with Fudou Akio, a person he has futilely tried to not hate for such a long time, but, strangely enough, it feels relieving.

"I ran away from there," Fudou carries on, his gaze once more returning to his lap. "You weren't too far off with the bridge guess. But the underground is better," and then, suddenly, shockingly, there is that cheeky grin again. "At least I don't get rained on."

And for one, completely incoherent moment, a second of sheer madness, Kidou finds himself wishing he could just wrap his arms around the other.

Dinner has been had - Fudou actually tried to be modest with it, but, about halfway through it, he seemed to have come to the realization that there is simply none left of his dignity anyways, and he dug in ferociously, having probably not had a proper meal in God knows how long. The remnants cleared away, the two of them keep sitting on the couch, this time in a long, but somehow not uncomfortable silence; Kidou has put in a DVD of some old soccer match's recording, one of their FFI ones, and while Fudou's eyes seems to be glued to the screen, an openly wistful expression on his face that he doesn't even bother covering up anymore, Kidou returns to struggling with the bang at the back of his head. (This is going to take weeks.) There has been no word spoken out loud about what comes next, but Fudou is obviously in no hurry to leave, and neither does Kidou have the slightest intention of kicking him out. As strange as it might be, considering who it is that he's sitting together with, the blond feels an odd sort of lightness in his chest, as if the loneliness that has been weighing down on him ever since he has graduated and left Raimon is lifting up now a little. And if he has been that lonely, even while having all the good circumstances he could have asked for, he dreads to think about how Fudou has been feeling, living from day to day, basically without a future. The thought makes Kidou's throat tighten a bit, and he accidentally tugs at a particularly painful spot with the crochet needle, turning the sound escaping his throat into something like a choked-off sob, even though originally it would have just been a yelp.

"Give that to me," Fudou says quietly. Startled, Kidou looks up to meet his eyes. It seems to be Fudou's turn to stare at him without a blink, and Kidou's to avert his gaze in embarrassment. "You have no idea what you're even doing, let me do it," Fudou insists, and, for some godforsaken reason, despite the fact that he has never before allowed anyone else to touch his hair ever since his biological parents, he silently pushes the needle into the brunet's held out hand, and then turns his back to him to give him easier access.

All he can feel is Fudou's fingers brush against his neck as he lifts the stubborn dreadlock - and then nothing. There's the occasional movement of the other's hand, a little twitch here and there as he shifts his position a little, but there is no tugging, no pulling, no pain. Idly, for a moment or two, he wonders if Fudou is even doing anything other than playing with his hair - but then he reaches back there (Fudou jerks his hand away, as if caught in something he shouldn't have been doing), and he's surprised to find that almost half of the lock is untangled now (although, of course, still horribly messy, and in need of a lot of conditioning). "... Wow," he says in a low voice, and he can more feel than actually see that Fudou relaxes behind him. "Where did you learn to do this?" The answer, once again, is just one of those maddening laughs, and Kidou doesn't press it this time.

Instead, he turns around, pulling the needle out of Fudou's hand and setting it on the table, then picking up the hairbrush instead. From the way Fudou's mouth opens slightly, Kidou has the feeling he knows what's coming before he would even say a thing. "It's my turn."

Fudou's hair is a lot thicker than Kidou's own. It has a rough texture - quite befitting the midfielder, Kidou thinks idly, as he himself is rather rough around the edges; yet the touch of it is pleasantly soft, much like how Fudou has a hidden layer of himself under all the hardness as well. It's a painstakingly slow process, to work his way through all the knots without causing pain, but Kidou is patient, and, oddly enough, Fudou doesn't say a single word. For a while, Kidou doesn't think much of it; he is immersed in what he's doing, as well as listening to the commentary with one ear - but the deeper the brush reaches into the mass of Fudou's hair, the more he can feel the brunet relax against him, as if each stroke of the brush is pulling off another layer of frustration, sadness, loneliness, all the weight of life that he shouldn't be carrying on his shoulders all alone. By the time Kidou reaches the side bangs, it would be impossible not to notice that the other has leaned fully against his chest with his back, his eyes shut close, but there is a thin, yet steady stream of moisture spilling from under his lids.

The brunet's eyes flutter open as the motion stops - seems like both of them are doing half-jobs tonight -, then widen as he sees Kidou putting down not only the brush on the table, but his tinted glasses as well, revealing his bright crimson eyes in the process, full of indescribable emotion as they meet his light blue ones, and Fudou suddenly feels a maddening urge to explain himself. "I just-..." He can't stand those eyes; he glances away, back into his lap, and the tears he's fighting to hold back are stinging the back of his eyes more than ever. His voice is nothing but a hoarse whisper; if it weren't just the two of them in the quiet of the room, Kidou wouldn't even hear him. "I don't remember when was the last time anyone-..."

"Shut up." Such a response sounds odd, coming from Kidou Yuuto's lips, but, for Fudou, who fancies reverting to this kind of language himself, it's no trouble to understand the real meaning behind the rough words. "I know," Kidou says softly as he returns to his earlier position. Sans the hairbrush this time, Fudou doesn't hesitate to lean against him again, and unlike earlier, Kidou, too, gives up on trying to fight himself, and wraps Fudou up in his embrace, chin settling down on the bony shoulder.

There is a moment of unexpected stiffness - a very last ditch attempt to recover the walls that have long since been broken down, erased like pencil marks. "I don't need to be saved," Fudou says, a hint of a grumble in his voice, and still, it's as if he's saying the exact opposite. You don't need to ask, you idiot, Kidou thinks - but what he says out loud is, "Who said I'm getting nothing out of it?"

Outside, the rain is pelting harder than ever.