imagine rudo losing one of the things you gave him.
maybe it was the carefully knitted handkerchief, a pin or maybe even a small pouch—decorated in pretty colors that reminded you of his eyes.
something small. something he kept with him all the time.
and now it’s gone.
rudo who starts spiraling the moment he realizes it’s missing. retracing every step he took that day, searching every corner he can think of—checking every nook and cranny like the thing might suddenly appear if he just looks hard enough.
but it doesn’t.
it’s gone. and rudo is absolutely heartbroken. devastated even. because how could he lose something you gave him?
he was too careless.
too stupid. stupid, stupid, stupid—
rudo who starts asking everyone around the base if they’ve seen it. each time someone shakes their head, that small flicker of hope inside him dims a little more.
rudo who tries to keep his voice steady when he asks, but the disappointment becomes harder to hide every time the answer is no. because he doesn’t know how he’s going to tell you he lost the gift you gave him. and the thought alone makes his shoulders slump, his head hanging lower and lower.
you eventually notice. it’s hard not to.
you keep catching glimpses of rudo rushing around the base, searching like he’s looking for a priceless family heirloom.
and when you finally stop him to ask what’s wrong—
rudo can’t even bring himself to look you in the eyes. . .
------------------------D:-------------------------
