Over the past few weeks since they've been adopted, Seto's grown to recognize Kano by virtue of the jacket he wears, because his facial features swim and twist on his face every time he looks away. It's not as bad as talking to Kido— he takes his eyes off her for a second and she's gone, he wonders if she's left the room, until he feels hands on his shoulders and desperate eyes fade into view, her voice repeating "I'm here. I'm here!" and he answers "I know," his tone shaky and unsure—because once you get used to the fact that Kano will look different the next time you see him, it's easy enough to anticipate.

The lies are a little less easy to get used to.

"Big sis wants you outside!" It's late afternoon, and Seto is surprised to hear Ayano's home so early. The three of them aren't enrolled in school here, not yet. Their adoptive mother is waiting for the bruises and cuts to fade just a little bit first. But he won't keep her waiting, not Ayano, so he jumps to his feet and jogs down the stairs, joining Kano at the door. Today the other boy's eyes are wide and bright and innocent, his smile polite. The fist-sized bruise on his upper arm no longer shows, but Seto can tell from the way he leans against the door that it's not gone at all.

It's a difference in facts, a cross-referencing of what he sees and what he 'sees'; a child just like him, dutifully relaying a message, is what he observes at first. But against his will, a painful curiosity swims to the surface, a sharp-edged caution even with people he should trust. He blinks, and like an overlay sees the smile change, impish and twisted now. The bruise blooms into view, along with scattered old scars on the boy's arms and legs. And like a whisper, Kano's voice floats into his head.

"I'm going to lock him outside." Accompanied by laughter but said desperately, Seto jerks back at the revelation.

"She's not even back!" He stares at Kano, betrayed. Kano's eyes narrow.

"Ahh, caught again. I can never fool you, can I?" And that would be the end of it, it really would, if it weren't for Seto still peering at him in that way. Like a lift-the-flap book, another murmur swims through the air between them.

"He'll tell on me. They'll be angry. They'll punish me."

There's fear tinging the words, just a bit, but more than that is the desperation, a desire for the world-system Kano grew up with to re-establish itself. He doesn't understand a world without angry grownups, without swift punishment for every misstep and rude word. Seto swallows. He can't give that world back to him. He's not capable of it.

"…It's fine. It was just a joke, right?" The lie burns his throat as it comes up, singing his tongue on the way out.

The double-exposure again shifts in front of his eyes. The bottom layer regards him with confusion, eyebrows knitting together. The top layer grins widely.

"'Course it was," Kano replies, his little-kid fingers curling against the edge of the door, though there's no reason they would open it now. "What else would it be?"

Seto can't answer him.