Jazik woke with a sharp gasp, a nightmare's icy grip still clutching at him. Sterile labs and the cold, probing touch of experiments flashed behind his eyes. He blinked, dazed, finding himself in a dimly lit, unfamiliar room. Three figures stood over him: a tall man with a kind smile, a gentle woman, and a girl with dark pigtails. His instincts screamed for caution. He tensed, ready to bolt, his eyes darting between them.
He knew G.O.D. loved disguises—comforting faces, unassuming folks, all to weave a false sense of security. They'd offer help, promise sanctuary, then the experiments would begin. Years of painful observation had etched this into his very being. Gentle smiles and soft voices often hid the sharpest scalpels. He even noticed the girl's bright clothes, a stark contrast to G.O.D.'s usual muted tones, but it could just be another layer of their deception. Every little detail could be a trap. He'd learned this lesson too many times, each instance leaving a fresh scar.
The man stepped closer, his large hand reaching out. Jazik flinched, his muscles coiling.
"Hey there, easy now," the man rumbled, his voice soft, almost like a lullaby. "You're safe with us."
Tom's broad shoulders seemed to fill the small room as he settled into a nearby chair, his presence warm and steady.
"You are quite safe here," he said, his voice a low, soothing rumble. "No need to be scared, little one."
Sabine offered water, her gaze soft. Marinette watched, concerned. Jazik's coiled tension eased; their kindness, a warmth he hadn't felt, chipped away his walls. This wasn't G.O.D.'s cruelty. The air, thick with baking scents, felt safer than any place he'd known.
Jazik carefully took the glass from Sabine's outstretched hand, his fingers brushing hers for a brief, almost imperceptible moment. The water was cool, and he drank it slowly, feeling the liquid soothe his dry throat. He handed the empty glass back to Sabine with a small, quiet nod.
Jazik managed a quiet, almost hesitant, question. "Where am I?"
Marinette's smile softened a little, easing some of his anxiety. "You're at our home," she said, her voice gentle, "above the Dupain-Cheng bakery."
The smell of fresh bread and sweet pastries, subtly present earlier, seemed to intensify then, wrapping around him like a warm blanket. It was a comforting scent, one that spoke of safety he hadn't known in years.
"Where are you from, if you don't mind me asking?" Marinette asked, her head tilted slightly, her pigtails swaying.
"I am... lost," he said, the words heavy. "Thank you for your help, but I should go now. I have imposed enough."
His stomach chose that exact moment to let out a loud, mortifying rumble, echoing in the sudden silence of the bakery. He felt a flush creep up his neck.
Tom laughed warmly, a deep, comforting sound that vibrated through the floorboards.
"Seems somebody is hungry," Tom said, a wide smile on his face. "If it is alright with you, how about you come eat with us?"
Jazik paused. A warm meal. It was a simple offer, yet it felt like a heavy weight, an anchor dropped in the turbulent waters of his solitary existence. He thought about the stale nutrient paste from G.O.D., then about the scent of fresh bread that still clung to the air here. The bakery felt safe, an unfamiliar kind of safety that didn't sting with hidden barbs. He looked at the three faces, full of genuine, unburdened kindness.
"Yes," he replied, a small, almost imperceptible nod accompanying the word. "Thank you."
Jazik sat at the kitchen table, a warm cup of herbal tea steaming gently before him, the scent of chamomile mingling with the faint aroma of fresh bread. Tom settled into a chair across from him, his smile warm and expansive.
"I'm Tom," he said, his voice a comforting rumble, "and this is my wonderful wife, Sabine."
Sabine offered a soft, knowing smile, her eyes radiating a quiet warmth.
"It's lovely to properly meet you," she added, her voice a gentle murmur.
Marinette, perched nervously on a stool nearby, offered a small, shy wave.
"And I'm Marinette," she whispered, her cheeks tinged pink.
Jazik studied their faces, each one open and kind, a stark contrast to the guarded expressions he was accustomed to. He had expected suspicion, fear, perhaps even anger, but found only genuine welcome. A tiny, unfamiliar spark ignited within him, a sense of connection he hadn't felt since before the experiments, since before he lost everything. It was a fragile thing, easily extinguished, but it was there nonetheless. He took a steadying breath, the names echoing in his mind. Tom. Sabine. Marinette. They felt strangely right on his tongue, a soft rhythm in the quiet bakery.
"Jazik," he said, his own voice barely above a whisper. "My name is Jazik."
Sabine smiled, a gentle knowing curve of her lips.
"Jazik is a nice name," she said, her voice soft, carrying a comforting warmth.
Tom clapped his hands together, a sound that brought Jazik back from the quiet contemplation of his new name.
"Well, Jazik, go ahead and eat," he announced, his voice booming with good humor. "We always have plenty of pastries left over from the evening. A baker's perk, you know."
He moved towards a large wooden counter, laden with an array of croissants, pain au chocolat, and various fruit tarts. Jazik watched, a faint hunger stirring in his stomach. He hadn't had a proper meal, a truly prepared dish, since before G.O.D. captured him. His sustenance had been rationed, bland, and wholly utilitarian.
He chose a croissant, its flaky, golden crust promising warmth and sweetness. With the first bite, the delicate pastry melted in his mouth, a richness he had long forgotten. He ate slowly, savoring each mouthful, the simple act feeling like a luxury he did not deserve. The flavors were so vibrant, so real. It was a stark contrast to the nutrient paste and stale rations that had sustained him for so long.
Tom, with a kind nod, laid the fresh clothes beside Jazik.
"So, Jazik," he began, his voice still gentle, "where do you come from? Paris is a big city, but you were quite a ways from any main roads."
Jazik carefully folded the new clothes, his movements precise.
"I came from... far away," he said, his gaze distant.
Sabine leaned forward, her expression soft.
"And your family?" she asked, her voice laced with concern. "Are they looking for you? We could call someone."
A quiet stillness fell over Jazik. His hands paused in their folding, the soft fabric momentarily forgotten. The warmth of the bakery, the kind faces, blurred for a second.
"I no longer have parents," he said, his voice flat, devoid of emotion. The words felt heavy, yet they were true. "They are gone."
Marinette gasped softly, her eyes wide with sudden sympathy.
"Oh, Jazik," she whispered.
Tom's face fell, a shadow passing over his usually cheerful expression.
"We are so sorry, son," he said, his voice thick with genuine regret. "We didn't mean to pry."
Sabine reached out, her hand resting gently on his arm again, a silent offer of comfort.
Jazik offered a small, almost imperceptible shake of his head.
"It is fine," he said, the words a practiced reflex. "It happened a long time ago."
"Do you have a place to stay, Jazik?" Sabine asked gently, her dark eyes filled with a quiet concern.
Jazik grew silent. He looked down at his hands, then around the warm, inviting kitchen. He had no home, not truly. He was merely a fugitive, a specimen on the run. The thought of burdening these kind people, pulling them into the shadows of his existence, made his chest tighten. He couldn't impose. He shouldn't.
Sabine and Tom exchanged a soft, knowing look. They seemed to understand his unspoken answer.
"You can stay here, if only for the night," Tom offered, his voice firm but kind. "You are welcome."
"We insist," Sabine added, her tone gentle yet resolute.
He opened his mouth to refuse, the automatic words of self-preservation already forming, but their genuine warmth felt like a physical barrier. He was tired, so deeply tired of running and hiding. A part of him, a small, fragile part he rarely acknowledged, yearned for this unexpected kindness.
"Okay," he said, the single word a quiet surrender. "Thank you."
Tom noticed the worn state of his clothes. The fabric, once dark, had faded in uneven patches, and several small tears marked where it had caught on rough surfaces during his flight. He disappeared briefly into an adjoining room.
Tom returned a moment later, a stack of clothes folded neatly in his arms. The garments were a soft blue, a simple white shirt, and dark trousers, all freshly laundered. He held them out to Jazik, a kind, expectant look on his face. Jazik's own clothes, once a functional dark grey, were now stiff with dried mud and marked by the alley's grime. They hung loosely on his lean frame, worn thin from the constant attacks and hurried escapes. He took the offered clothes, the fabric soft against his fingertips, and inclined his head in a silent thank you.
"These might be a little big," Tom chuckled, a warm sound that filled the kitchen. "I'm a bit larger than you are, son, but they will be more comfortable than what you have on now."
Indeed, the shirt, when Jazik changed, hung on him like a sail, and the trousers pooled around his ankles. He had to roll the cuffs multiple times to keep from tripping. The humor of the situation was not lost on him, a faint, almost imperceptible curve touching his lips.
Marinette then led him through a narrow hallway at the back of the bakery, the scent of vanilla and rising dough growing stronger with each step. She pushed open a door, revealing a small room.
"It's not much," she said, a slight flush on her cheeks, "but it's quiet. Just a bed, a small desk, and a window."
Jazik stepped inside, his eyes taking in the simplicity of the space. A narrow cot occupied one wall, covered with a thick, quilted blanket. A small wooden desk stood beneath a window that overlooked a secluded courtyard, already darkening with the evening light. The room was clean, sparsely furnished, and utterly peaceful. This quiet corner, tucked away from the bustling bakery, felt like a small haven, a stark contrast to the sterile labs and hurried escapes that had defined his existence.
He turned to the family, a genuine warmth spreading through his chest.
"Thank you," he said, his voice soft but sincere. "For everything."
Tom gave a nod, his smile unwavering.
"Rest well, Jazik," Sabine added, her voice a gentle whisper. "We'll see you in the morning."
They left him then, closing the door softly behind them. The quiet click of the latch echoed in the small room, leaving Jazik alone in his temporary sanctuary. The spare room, usually reserved for extra storage, transformed into a temporary sanctuary, reflecting the Dupain-Chengs' impromptu generosity.
Alone in the small room, Jazik let out a quiet sigh. He ran a hand over the soft fabric of the offered shirt, a small, almost imperceptible smile touching his lips. From the pocket of his worn trousers, a tiny, blue, gummy-like creature peeked out. It was a Poppingummy Gochizo, its big, curious eyes blinking up at him.
"You are still here," he murmured, his voice hushed. "I am glad."
The Gochizo (っ˘ڡ˘ς) < GUMMY! GUMMY!
The Gochizos, like the Poppingummy nestled safely in Jazik's pocket, were small, sentient snack-creatures. They emerged from his Gavv organ, a unique biological transformation device on his stomach, whenever he consumed human sweets. Each Gochizo type, named for the snack it originated from, possessed distinct forms and abilities, acting as his faithful, if sometimes mischievous, companions.
Jazik gently pulled up the oversized shirt, revealing his abdomen. A smooth, blue mouth rested there, its surface faintly pulsing.
The Gavv, for those unfamiliar, is a secondary mouth located on the abdomen of a Granute. Its thick, blue outer "lip" could part to reveal a dark internal cavity, lined with blocky white teeth. This organ was not merely for eating; it was also a biological transformation device, capable of extending a prehensile tongue up to three meters to grasp objects.
Jazik gently nudged the Gochizo into the large shirt's pocket, the small creature (っ˘ڡ˘ς) < GUMMY! GUMMY! in soft mumbles. He lay on the cot, the unfamiliar softness of the mattress a stark contrast to cold laboratory slabs or hard ground. The rhythmic ticking of a distant clock, a gentle lullaby, slowly pulled him towards sleep. For now, the warmth of the Dupain-Cheng home felt like a fragile shield against the memories. He closed his eyes, allowing the quiet peace to settle over him.
***
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