here, a story of two OC's

Sal walked through the forest near his castle. It was a silent day, which was very common. His footsteps echoed as he stepped on leaves and branches that lay scattered on the ground. With every step, there was the satisfying crunch of leaves and broken branches.

"It's such a nice day out..." he mumbled to himself.

Sal looked around before he accidentally bumped into someone.

"Oh! I'm sorry—" he began, looking up at the person in front of him.

The boy was beaten up, blood staining his face. He had a black eye, numerous cuts all over, and a clearly broken wrist.

"Oh my god! Are you okay?!" Sal exclaimed, a wave of concern washing over him.

Before the boy could answer, Sal reached into his small bag—a bag he always carried that was filled with bandages and plasters.

"I'm—... No... Not really..." the boy spoke weakly. His voice was soft but unmistakably audible.

Sal quickly set to work, bandaging the boy's wounds as best he could before deciding to take him to his house.

"Don't worry! I'll get you fixed up!" Sal said with a warm and reassuring smile as he helped the boy up.

Eventually, Sal finished treating the boy's injuries and applied the last of the bandages.

"I never got your name," Sal said cheerfully as he looked at the boy, who was now sitting on his bed.

"It's Seiko... What's yours?" Seiko asked nervously, his voice hesitant.

Sal's smile widened, and he extended his hand gently. "My name's Sal! Nice to meet you, Seiko!" His voice was kind and loving, putting Seiko at ease.

"Are you feeling okay now, Seiko?" Sal asked as his brow furrowed with genuine concern. "You looked like you had a big fight, but if someone hurt you, they must be the dumbest person ever." His tone was full of warmth and affection.

Seiko hesitated for a few seconds, staring at the floor. Finally, he looked up at Sal.

"Someone did... and they were being very rude as well..." Seiko said softly, his voice shaky and nervous.

Sal's face showed surprise, but his expression quickly shifted to one of even deeper concern.

"Can I ask who did that to you, Seiko?" Sal's smile had faded as he watched the tears spring into Seiko's eyes.

"You don't have to tell me, it's okay," he said gently, offering Seiko a kind smile.

"It's because my dad... he did it... I don't really want to talk about it, though..." Seiko admitted, his voice barely a whisper as his gaze fell back to the floor.

Sal took a deep breath and sat down beside Seiko on the edge of the bed. He could see how Seiko's hands trembled slightly and how his small frame looked fragile in the dim light of the room.

"Hey, Seiko," he began carefully, "you don't have to tell me everything if you're not ready. But you're safe here now. You don't have to worry about anything for a while."

Seiko looked at him, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. His voice wavered as he spoke.

"I know... it's just... I can't escape it sometimes, you know? Even when I try to get away, I can still feel the way it hurt."

Sal placed a reassuring hand on Seiko's shoulder. His words came softly but with great sincerity.

"Hey. I promise you this: you're not alone. You've got me now, okay? We'll figure out how to make everything better together."

For the first time, Seiko let out a small, shaky breath. The tension in his shoulders began to loosen, even if just a little.

"Thank you, Sal..." Seiko murmured, his voice barely audible.

Sal offered a small smile and stood, stretching his arms. "I think you could use some food and rest. Come on, I've got a cozy little kitchen that makes great vegetable stew. It'll make you feel better, I promise."

Seiko hesitated for a moment, unsure of what to say, but his stomach growled before he could answer. His face turned red as he looked down at his hands.

"...I guess a bit of stew wouldn't hurt," he said quietly.

Sal chuckled lightly. "I'll take that as a yes!"

He began preparing the meal in the kitchen while Seiko remained seated on the bed, unsure of what this kind stranger wanted from him. It felt surreal: someone so kind, so warm, who didn't look at him with judgment or fear.

While the stew was cooking, Sal came back into the room with a warm smile.

"You've got time to tell me about your favorite things while I get the stew ready if you're up for it," he offered.

Seiko looked at him hesitantly but decided to trust the warmth in Sal's voice.

"Well... I like forests," Seiko admitted after a pause. "They're peaceful. They make me feel calm, even when things are bad."

Sal smiled and nodded. "I get that. I love the forest too. It has a way of making you feel connected to something much bigger than yourself. It's a great place to think."

Seiko looked out the window at the distant trees swaying gently in the breeze. He could hear the faint sound of birds in the distance. His voice came out a little stronger this time.

"Maybe... maybe I'll get to go on a walk here one day with you," he said quietly.

Sal grinned. "I'd like that very much, Seiko. You're always welcome here. Remember that, alright?"

Before long, the smell of the stew filled the air, warm and inviting. Seiko felt his stomach rumble again.

"Come on," Sal said, extending his hand to help Seiko to his feet. "Let's eat. You've got nothing to worry about here."

Seiko took a deep breath and looked at Sal, allowing himself to trust, even if just a little.

"...Okay," he whispered.

Later that evening...

Seiko and Sal sat at the small wooden table in the corner of the cozy kitchen, the warm stew steaming between them. The atmosphere was calm, the only sounds the crackle of the fireplace and the quiet clink of spoons against bowls.

As they ate, Seiko felt a sense of safety he hadn't experienced in a long time. The food was comforting, nourishing, but it was Sal's kindness that made him feel at ease.

Sal looked over at Seiko and smiled. "You're not alone anymore, Seiko. This place, this castle—it's not just for me. It's for anyone who needs it. You can stay as long as you need."

Seiko felt a lump in his throat. The offer was genuine, and for the first time in a long while, he believed someone cared about him.

"Thank you, Sal," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "I never thought someone would be this kind to me... especially not after what happened."

Sal reached across the table and placed a hand over Seiko's. His touch was warm, firm, and comforting.

"You're worth kindness, Seiko," Sal said, his voice soft but sure. "You've been through so much, and you deserve peace. You deserve happiness, and I'm going to do whatever I can to help you find that."

Seiko's heart raced in his chest, overwhelmed by the emotions stirring inside him. He had been running for so long, hiding from the cruelty of his home, but here, in this place, he felt like maybe he could finally begin to heal.

Sal gave Seiko an encouraging smile, squeezing his hand gently. "You don't have to face everything alone, alright? I'm here. And I'm not going anywhere."

Seiko nodded, a tear slipping down his cheek. He wiped it away quickly, embarrassed, but Sal didn't comment on it. He simply smiled warmly, and that smile made Seiko feel like maybe, just maybe, he could learn to trust again.

Days later...

Seiko had stayed in the castle for a few days now, resting and recovering. Sal had made it a point to keep him occupied, showing him the gardens, the library, and even the stables. The days were slow, but each one felt a little brighter than the last.

Sal took Seiko under his wing, offering small moments of guidance and care. Seiko slowly began to open up more, sharing stories from his childhood—stories filled with laughter and love before the darkness had begun. It was in these quiet moments that Seiko found himself beginning to trust Sal more deeply.

One afternoon, as they were walking through the garden, Sal stopped and turned to Seiko.

"Hey, I know it's been hard, but I've been thinking..." He hesitated, choosing his words carefully. "You could stay here, if you wanted to. Not just for a little while, but for as long as you need."

Seiko stopped in his tracks, surprised. "What do you mean?"

Sal looked down, his expression thoughtful. "I mean, you don't have to go back to what you were escaping. I know it's not always easy to leave behind the past, but here... here you could start over. It's your choice, of course, but... I just want you to know that you're safe here."

Seiko's eyes widened. His chest ached. The thought of staying—of making this his home—felt impossible, but it also felt tempting. He tried to find the words to respond, but they felt stuck in his throat.

"I... I don't know, Sal," Seiko whispered, looking down at the ground. His heart was a flurry of emotions—hope, fear, confusion, and sadness.

"You don't have to decide now," Sal said quickly, seeing the way Seiko's shoulders tensed. "Take your time. I just want you to know that you have a choice here. You can leave when you're ready, or you can stay."

They stood there in silence for a moment, the wind gently rustling the garden flowers around them. Seiko could feel the weight of Sal's words sinking into him, but his mind kept going in circles.

The castle, so grand and beautiful, felt both foreign and comforting. The silence at night, free from shouting and pain, felt strange but welcome. Here, he could breathe.

The next few days...

Seiko tried to push his feelings aside as he busied himself with small tasks—cleaning out the flower beds, organizing the library, and spending time in the stables with the horses. Sal had a way of making even the most ordinary things feel safe. His laughter, the way he shared stories about his own childhood, the kindness in his voice—everything felt as though it belonged in a dream.

One evening, as Seiko stood by the fire, his hands held out to the warmth, his mind wandered to his father. He could still see his father's angry eyes, the sharp words, the cruel fists. The memories came uninvited, and they hurt more than he wanted to admit.

Sal came into the room at that moment, noticing the distant, sorrowful look on Seiko's face.

"Hey," Sal said softly, sitting down on the armchair by the fire, "you alright?"

Seiko stiffened, not wanting to reveal his thoughts. He tried to put on a smile but it came out weak and shaky. "Yeah. Just... a little tired, I guess."

Sal didn't press the issue but studied him for a few moments, his eyes keen. "You know, if you ever want to talk, you can. No judgment, no pressure."

Seiko swallowed hard and nodded, his throat dry.

"Thanks, Sal," he managed to say, though his voice sounded strained.

The room fell quiet again, the crackling fire filling in the spaces between words.

A week later...

Seiko began to learn his way around the castle with Sal's guidance. The large stone halls, filled with old paintings and tapestries, felt vast and mysterious. There was so much history here—books that whispered ancient secrets, old portraits of kings and queens staring down at them from their frames. Sal took Seiko on small adventures through the winding corridors, showing him hidden nooks and cozy spaces.

One afternoon, as Seiko sat by the window in the library reading a book about ancient myths, Sal entered the room.

"You know, you're good at this," he said, gesturing at the book Seiko was reading.

Seiko looked up, a little startled. "Good at what?"

"At learning. At finding joy in the small things," Sal said, a smile on his face. "You've got a sharp mind, Seiko. And you're stronger than you give yourself credit for."

Seiko's cheeks turned pink. He looked back at the book, unsure how to respond.

"I... I guess I never really thought about it," he admitted quietly.

Sal walked over to him and set a hand on his shoulder. "You should. You've come so far already. Trust isn't easy for people who've been hurt, but you're learning to trust again, and that takes strength. Keep going. You've got this."

Seiko felt warmth spread through his chest at Sal's words. He closed the book and looked at him, tears threatening his eyes again.

"Thanks, Sal," he whispered.

"No problem," Sal said, ruffling Seiko's hair affectionately. "You've got my support no matter what, kiddo."

And with that, Sal stepped out of the room, leaving Seiko alone by the window. His gaze lingered on the horizon, the golden hues of sunset dancing on the trees, and for the first time in a long time, Seiko allowed himself to dream.

He could stay here. He could try.

And maybe—just maybe—it would be okay.

With each passing day, Seiko took small steps toward healing. While his father's shadow lingered in his memories, the warmth of the fire, the laughter of Sal, and the safety of the castle became his sanctuary.

Here, in this new home, Seiko would learn to trust, to dream, and to live.

And maybe, one day, he would be okay.

Days turned into weeks...

The days continued to be calm, filled with small routines and adventures. Seiko learned to cook, to garden, and to find joy in reading the old, forgotten books of the library. His hands became familiar with the spade and rake as he dug through flower beds, and his laughter started to return when he shared jokes with Sal or watched the horses gallop through the stables.

But some nights were harder than others.

Seiko would wake up in the middle of the night, the sound of his father's angry voice cutting through his dreams. He'd sit on the edge of the bed, clutching his broken wrist as though it could protect him. It wasn't every night, but when it came, the nightmares felt real enough to shake him to the core.

One night, as he sat up in bed staring at the ceiling, he resolved to push the thoughts away. He was safe now. He was with Sal, in a real home, in a real bed, with no yelling, no fists, and no pain.

But healing wasn't as simple as just saying you were safe.

That morning...

Sal found Seiko in the kitchen that morning, sitting at the table, staring into his steaming cup of tea. His expression was distant, his hands trembling slightly as he held the mug.

"Hey," Sal said, setting a bowl of fresh fruit on the table in front of him. His voice was gentle but alert. "You okay?"

Seiko flinched, looking up, trying to compose himself. His voice came out hoarse.

"Yeah, I'm fine," he mumbled, forcing a smile that didn't reach his eyes.

Sal studied him for a moment. His intuition told him something was wrong, but Seiko was closed off, as though building a wall to keep his emotions hidden.

"Seiko," Sal said, leaning his hand on the table, "you don't have to lie to me, kid. You can tell me anything, you know that, right?"

Seiko hesitated, unsure how much to reveal. His gaze fell back to his tea, his voice barely a whisper.

"It's nothing," he said again.

Sal let out a small, knowing sigh. He didn't push but could see Seiko was struggling with something beneath his carefully constructed mask.

"Alright," he said, "just know I'm here if you ever decide you want to talk."

The kitchen grew quiet, the sound of birds chirping and the wind brushing against the windows filling the silence. Seiko stared at his tea, willing himself to stay composed.

A few days later...

They went on their first real adventure together.

Sal had invited Seiko to come with him to the nearby market in the nearby town. Seiko hesitated at first, unsure about leaving the relative comfort of the castle, but the prospect of seeing something new piqued his curiosity.

The market was bustling—vendors selling fruit, bread, colorful fabrics, trinkets, and spices. Seiko's eyes widened as they walked through the crowd. The laughter of children playing in the distance, the smell of fresh bread, and the bright colors of fruit felt overwhelming but magical.

"Look at this," Sal said, holding up a handful of red apples for Seiko to see. "They've got the best apples here. Want to try one?"

Seiko looked at the fruit, hesitant. "I guess," he murmured.

Sal handed him one, and Seiko took a bite. The sweetness exploded on his tongue, and for a moment, he forgot about his worries.

"Wow," he said, amazed.

"You like it?" Sal laughed, ruffling Seiko's hair.

"Yeah," Seiko said with a small smile, looking down at the apple. His voice sounded lighter now.

As they walked, Seiko let himself forget about everything—the nightmares, the past, the voice of his father. For the first time, he could simply enjoy being.

It felt strange. And yet, it felt good.

That evening...

Back at the castle, as the sun dipped behind the horizon and the sky turned a mix of purples and golds, Seiko stood by the window again. His hand rested on the cool glass as he watched the sky shift.

Sal came up beside him, the sound of his footsteps gentle. He could sense Seiko's mood—like he was processing something, though what, he wasn't sure.

"It's beautiful tonight," Sal said, his voice calm.

"It is," Seiko said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Sometimes the hardest thing to let go of is the idea that we can't leave the past behind," Sal said after a moment. "But you can leave it behind, Seiko. That weight doesn't have to follow you forever. You've already taken the first step."

Seiko looked at him, surprised at how wise those words felt. His throat tightened as tears threatened again.

"I don't know if I can... I don't know if I'll ever stop being afraid," he admitted, his voice shaky.

Sal turned to him, his eyes soft. "It's okay to be afraid. Fear doesn't make you weak—it makes you human. But trust... trust can give you strength. Trust gives you a way to build something new."

Seiko stayed quiet, staring at the horizon. His hand clenched against the windowsill.

"Can I ask you something?" Sal asked, his voice low.

"Yeah," Seiko said, turning his gaze toward Sal.

"Do you want this? Do you want to stay here, to build a new life here?"

The question hung in the air. Seiko thought about his fears, his memories, his father's angry eyes. He thought about his broken wrist and the nightmares. He thought about waking up in his new bed, warm and safe.

He closed his eyes.

"I think... maybe I do," he whispered.

Sal smiled. "Then we'll take it one day at a time, alright?"

Seiko nodded, his breathing uneven but steady.

"Yeah... one day at a time."

The first steps toward healing...

Seiko began small routines—spending more time in the garden, learning how to make bread with Sal, reading at night, and enjoying the warmth of the fire. Every day felt like a tiny victory. Fear still lingered, but so did hope.

With Sal by his side, the darkness didn't seem so powerful.

Seiko learned to trust again. It wasn't perfect, and some days were harder than others, but slowly, he began to feel as though the past didn't have to define his future.

The journey wouldn't be easy, but he could take it. With Sal, in this home, one small step at a time.

A Lesson in Trust

One day, as the snow began to drift through the trees in small, white flakes, Sal decided that they would venture into the nearby woods for a small hike. The snow-covered paths would give Seiko a new adventure, a way to reconnect with nature.

They wrapped themselves in warm cloaks and headed into the crisp, quiet woods. The snow crunched underfoot as they walked, and the air was sharp and cool. The trees were beautiful, their bare branches etched against the gray sky.

Seiko hesitated at first, his breath catching. The forest had always been a place of memories—memories tied to pain, to darkness. But Sal was by his side, and his calm presence felt grounding.

"You okay?" Sal asked, noticing Seiko's pause.

"Yeah," Seiko said, taking a deep breath. "Just... it's been a while since I've come this far into the woods."

Sal smiled, understanding. "Well, just take it slow. There's no rush. We've got all the time in the world."

Seiko looked down at his feet in the snow and took another breath, stepping forward. It was small, but it was a start.

As they walked, Seiko could feel himself relaxing. The sound of his own breathing, the crunch of snow underfoot, the quiet of the trees—it felt safe.

The fear wasn't gone, but it didn't feel as sharp anymore.

By the time they returned to the castle, the sun had set, and the stars were beginning to fill the sky. Seiko felt different. His steps were lighter. His chest didn't feel as tight as it once had.

He would still have nights of doubt, memories that lingered, but he knew he was learning. Slowly, piece by piece, the walls he had built were coming down.

With each moment, each small step, he allowed himself to trust. To heal.

And as long as Sal was there beside him, he felt like he could do anything.