"Pee-Rick?" he asks at the phone, for once in three weeks finally not on silent.

"Yeah, kid."

"You've got permission to go to the internet. But hear me out, and this is an order. You may not damage physically, mentally or in any other form, a living being or anything related to a living being, be it a cause, a historical place or something like that. Do you hear me?"

"Yeah, yeah. On it, fruit cake."

.

.

"Son, are you okay?" asks his dad when they're cleaning the dishes, two months after his fall out with SHIELD. There have been only four Hollow attacks so far, but he's tired as he's always had to be prepared to run. They have also appeared a little farther every time, so he always has to run. Also, he's in constant anxiety about when the next one will come.

There is a month left before he can summon his scientist and he's a step away from counting the days until he or she arrives.

Still, no need to think of that. He gives his father a smile he hopes is sincere enough. "What do you mean, dad?"

His father's frown doesn't ease. Instead, it grows serious. "Never smile if you don't mean it, son."

The smile on his face falters. He sighs. "Sorry."

"Don't need to tell me sorry. You know we are here for you, don't you? Whatever is bothering you, you can share it with us, son."

Feeling stressed from everything that's happening, his throat tightens and his eyes prickle, but he still nods.

"I know," he says, but he can't tell them, can he? He's not their son, not really. How would they feel if he told them their son disappeared and instead of an almost seventeen-year-old boy, they have the soul of a woman inside their kid?

He thought it would be easy, being this new person, but it's hard when his parents are so nice to him, so loving. He doesn't enjoy lying to the people he loves, never did, and now he constantly has to do it.

It's true he doesn't remember his old family or has a lot of personal information about himself, but he still has some memories. He—She doesn't remember her mother but remembers she was a harsh but fair person, always wanting to help others. Sometimes people tried to take advantage of her because of her good nature, but she had four daughters to defend her.

Her sisters always make fun of her for being the youngest, but it was in good fun. She remembers being a tomboy and her sisters always dressing her up despite her protests. Eventually, she grew to love dressing up, if only for the memories it brought of better times, but...

She can't really remember them. When was their birthday? What were their favorite foods? Their voices and faces are so far away and she can't—He can't—

It would have been better to be born an orphan, he thinks. Hating himself for even thinking about it.

He feels a hand rubbing his back as his dad hugs him. And he realizes then that he's crying. His father is murmuring comforting words and that, the being so loving, makes it worse. He cries harder.

Luckily, it only takes a couple of minutes to compose himself.

"Better?" his father asks, patting lightly his head. "I don't want to put pressure on you, but... I'm worried. What's wrong?"

He shakes his head, but his mouth still opens. "Would you love me even if I wasn't your son?"

His father quirks his eyebrow. "You are my son."

"Dad."

At his tone, his father chuckles lightly. "Even if you weren't my son, I still raised you, didn't I?"

But you didn't. Not the woman inside your son's body.

So he nods with a small smile. "... Yeah, you did."

Hugging his father one last time, he excuses himself to his room. When he goes to his bathroom and sees his face, he isn't surprised to find his puffy eyes.

He sighs. He wants to hit something right now. "No Hollow sightings, P-Rick?"

"Nah, Fruit cake." Then, after what must be some hesitance, he asks, "You okay, kiddo?"

"I don't know." He walks towards his bed and throws himself onto it, taking P-Rick out of his pocket. "Mind if I ask you a question?"

"You already did, but meh. Whatever. No promises in answering though," he says with a burp.

"Why did you sign the contract?"

A couple of long seconds pass where he thinks P-Rick will not answer, but in the end, he does. "I was gonna die otherwise, not much option in it."

"Can I ask why you were going to die?"

"It was that original Rick, the dick. He created me before his wife died and his life went to Hell, before his dickish ways consumed him. I tried to help him but he didn't want anyone's help and kept getting even drunker. He always liked to drink, but it was becoming worse as the days passed." Then there's a silence, before he adds, spitefully, "He tried to erase me when he was hungover."

After P-Rick finished talking, Souma turns his gaze from the phone to look at the ceiling. Strangely, the silence doesn't feel awkward but amiable instead. "You don't hate him, though, do you?"

A loud burp, like a scoff, sounds. "Why do you say so, fruit cake?"

"If you hated him and his drunken ways, you wouldn't have added his burping into your speech."

A hum is his answer. He thinks he surprised him, but in the next second, he says, "I think your two brain cells are finally fucking, fruitcake. Hopefully, they would give birth to another one."

Souma smirks. "Is that your way of saying I'm right?"

"Don't rub it in, twink. No one likes a smug person."

He laughs. "Thank you, Pee-Rick."

"Yeah, whatever. I need to watch some chick-on-chick porn, as I think my estrogen levels are too high now."

"Watch some football while you're at it."

"Ew. Sweaty men going at each other. No, thank you."

Then he burps.

Souma can't help the smile that forms on his face.