Dawn marched into Orphanage Seven like a strict supervisor arriving early to audit operations. The building creaked awake: pipes rattled, windows whined, and the muffled sounds of children negotiating the impossible sharing began to rise from the halls.
Matron Lysa, already up and fully functional, initiated her daily oversight cycle with the cold efficiency of someone who ran a miniature kingdom on zero budget and too much responsibility. Clipboard in hand, she moved through the corridor, stopping only to break up a pillow-based turf war and reprimand two boys attempting to barter marbles for biscuits.
She reached the kitchen and halted.
On top of a table, illuminated by the early morning light like a dramatic deity, stood Kaze. Shirt uneven. Hair chaotic. Eyes sparkling with dangerous confidence.
"Good morning, my sunrise," he announced.
Lysa blinked hard. "Kaze… why are you on my table?"
"I am elevating myself to be closer to your radiance."
"That is not how elevation works. And definitely not how relationships work."
She plucked him off the table like lifting a misbehaving kitten. He landed with a squeak, then immediately grabbed for her hand.
"May I escort you through your culinary domain, my queen?"
"This is a kitchen."
"In my heart it is a palace."
"Kaze… go wash your face."
"Will you do it for me?"
"No."
"Then may I wash yours?"
"Go."
He marched off dramatically. Even his footsteps were loud.
Just in time for Vyre perfectly neat, perfectly composed to appear in the doorway.
"Kaze's awake," he said, face grim.
"Yes. I noticed."
"I apologize in advance for the rest of the day."
"Noted."
Breakfast was organized chaos. Tin bowls clattered. Children argued about portions. Someone tried to steal butter using sleight of hand learned from who knows where.
Then Kaze appeared at Lysa's side again, clearing his throat like an actor preparing for curtain rise.
"Matron, I wrote you a poem."
Vyre turned so sharply he almost sprained his neck. "When?"
"Just now." Kaze lifted his chin. "Roses are red, violets are blue, bread is nice, but not as nice as "
"No," Lysa said immediately, shoving a bowl into his hands and nudging him toward the line.
Kaze frowned like a wounded prince. "You didn't even let me finish."
"I don't need to."
He leaned toward Vyre and whispered, "She's resisting because she's flustered."
"She's resisting because she's sane," Vyre replied.
Later, as chores commenced, Lysa assigned the boys to sweep the courtyard. The air smelled faintly of soap and dust. Children bickered over brooms. A toddler chased a chicken that did not belong to the orphanage.
Vyre swept with precision and purpose.
Kaze… twirled the broom like a battle staff.
"You're so serious," Kaze said as he spun past.
"Someone has to be," Vyre replied.
"But street life wasn't that bad," Kaze insisted. "We survived fine."
Vyre stopped mid sweep, looked at him sharply. "Kaze… you nearly died."
"That was one time."
"That was three. Do you want the list?"
Kaze shrugged. "Go ahead."
"Falling off the abandoned bridge."
"I was practicing balance."
"You screamed all the way down."
"I was excited."
"You fell into garbage."
"Soft landing."
"Then the cutpurses."
"I charmed them."
"You sobbed."
"One of them smiled."
"And the soup incident."
Kaze sighed wistfully. "That soup changed me."
"You burned both hands."
"Worth it."
Vyre stared at him. "It wasn't an adventure, Kaze."
"But I had you," Kaze said simply.
Vyre's hand froze.
The broom handle trembled.
Soft words.
Simple words.
Weighted words.
"…Yeah," Vyre murmured. "You had me."
"And now the matron has me too," Kaze added with excessive confidence. "Forever."
"Stop saying that. Please."
The rest of the day proved Lysa needed hazard pay.
During laundry duty, Kaze snatched her apron, tied it around himself badly and spun.
"How do I look?"
Lysa stared flatly. "That is twice your size."
"I will grow into it. For you."
"Take it off."
"Matron "
"Now."
He sighed dramatically. Children watching laughed.
During blanket sorting, Kaze popped out from behind a shelf.
"Matron, if you ever need a husband when I'm older, I can submit an early application "
"Lunch. Now."
He followed her instantly, grinning like he'd won a small victory.
Evening dimmed into calm. Lanterns lit the halls. Children settled under patched blankets. Lysa made her rounds, ensuring everyone was accounted for. When she reached the boys' room, both were awake.
Vyre sat organizing their few belongings with disciplined care.
Kaze lounged on his bed like a prince in exile.
"You two adjusting well?" Lysa asked.
"Yes, Matron," Vyre said.
Kaze sat up. "We could adjust faster if we had bedtime stories."
"No."
"Tuck in?"
"No."
"Okay… tuck him in then."
"No."
Kaze fell back dramatically. "You will love me one day."
"Please don't," Lysa sighed softly, closing the door.
Darkness settled cozy around them.
"Kaze?" Vyre whispered.
"Yeah?"
"You really think we're safe here?"
"Yeah. And I don't ever want to go back out there."
"You won't."
For a long time neither spoke.
The calm felt… foreign.
Good.
Strange.
Safe.
"Kaze?" Vyre whispered again.
"…What?"
"Stop thinking about the matron."
"I can't. She's too "
A pillow slammed into his face.
"STOP."
Kaze giggled. A soft, warm sound Vyre hadn't heard since they were small, before the streets hardened everything.
It echoed through the dark like the sound of a place called home.
Minutes passed.
Then Kaze's voice softened into something rare.
"Vyre… how did you end up out there? On the streets, I mean."
The room went quiet.
Still.
Thick.
Vyre's breath caught barely.
Finally he whispered
"I'll tell you… if you tell me how you ended up there too."
Silence froze between them.
Not empty.
Not hostile.
Just… full of things neither had ever dared to say.
Kaze whispered, barely audible:
"…Okay."
A deeper silence fell.
History waiting to be spoken.
Wounds waiting to surface.
Two boys finally stepping toward the truth.