The blood was dripping, running down his arm in thick, crimson rivulets. In an almost sick, morbid way, it was comforting. It reminded him that he was alive. The pain was there, raw and sharp, the occasional pang twisting through him a constant beat that told him he could still feel.
The opening and closing of a door from upstairs followed by the protesting creek of footsteps on floorboards caused him to lift his head, listening and daring not to move as the sounds drew nearer. He had been careful, not having wanted to wake anyone. Sometimes there would be someone waiting for him, Kosuke or Towa-chan more often than not, someone for him to laugh and joke with as he always did. Tonight there was no one, and he was grateful for the solitude.
As the footsteps drew nearer, he stood, preparing to leave; no one needed to be bothered with him right now. But he did not have a chance to take even a step before the light was turned on, illuminating the entire room, and causing him to wince, blinking quickly as the harsh flood of light.
"You're hurt." Even if he had wanted to run then -- and he could have, he was not the phantom thief for nothing -- the clipped, no-nonsense tone froze him in his place.
"Sit down."
He did as he was told, sitting automatically on the long couch, careful to keep his arm elavated in a vain effort to not drip blood on the carpet. It made no difference given how much he had tracked in behind him, but any effort at all was better than none.
She sat down beside him, in her lap a basin filled with warm water, and settled down fresh bandages between them. Dunking a cloth in the water, she soaked it up and then applied it gently to his arm, cleaning away the area around the wounded flesh. He flinched each time the cloth touched tender skin, but bore it through, not uttering a sound.
She did not ask him what happened, only tended to the wound, cleansing it free from infection and wrapping it with the fresh gauze. He watched the movements of her small, delicate hands as she did, almost unconciously noting the few calluses she bore as any mother would. But unlike his scars and calluses that marred him, her touch was always soft and gentle. That was the grace of a mother, not a thief.
But he wondered if that care and concern was for him, or was it for Daisuke?
She drew her hands away then, and the words left him, spoken softly. "... sometimes I close my eyes and wonder what it feels like to actually have a mother."
She stilled then, the tips of her fingers brushing lightly across his skin. She must touch Daisuke in that same way, he thought; the same gentle, caring touch of a mother that came so naturally to them, an instinct to protect and love their children.
He laughed, smiling to dismiss his words. "Stupid of me, huh?" He fell silent a moment and shook his head. "But... I do envy Daisuke."
A hand lifted, a palm touching gently to his cheek, and then drew away again, fingers lightly flicking his nose as she dropped her hand.
"This house has room for both you and Daisuke, Dark," she said. "Don't forget that."
She said those words, but he did not feel their meaning. He was a plague on their family, a virus that ran rampant through their blood and lived through them.
Still he smiled as she stood and left him, tended to and bandaged. He always smiled. It was his mask, and no one ever saw what he was hiding.
