Chapter Text
Atsushi had always liked to write, even his earliest memories of the orphanage he had liked it. He never knew why he did it. Perhaps putting to words the aches and the bruises eased the pain of his body as tears smeared the ink off the page. Most of his earliest sentences were illegible for that reason.
He was 12 now. He couldn’t remember his time before the orphanage. The headmaster told him that his parents had hated him, but he knew that wasn’t true. Because someone out there loved him. And who else but his parents would? After all, he was blessed. He just had to be!
He had read all the books about magic and abilities and supernatural powers. He had read about the gods and written prayers to all of them. None of that was the answer. When Atsushi bruised, he healed in a matter of hours. When he got a paper cut, he swore he imagined the pain as the cut sealed before his eyes. But the most damning evidence was in the burns on his stomach that no longer scarred. They had when he was younger. What had changed?
Sometimes he was thought his parents must be dead, that was what being an orphan meant after all. But either way. There must be someone looking out for him-
“Atsushi!”
“H-huh? Sorry!” He ducked his head so quickly he didn’t even take in the appearance of the person who spoke to him.
“Your cleaning leaves much to be desired. I mean, the floor is still soaking!”
“W-what…?” Atsushi dared to glance up from his sitting position. He gripped the rag in his hands tightly. His eyes widened as a foot extended to kick over the bucket of soapy water, spilling across the floor far too serenely.
“Oh! What a hazard” Atsushi’s eyes welled up as the click clack of heeled boots sloshed through the water and out to the other side of the hall.
He had no mop, only a threadbare rag. No way to wipe up the spill, and no way to finish cleaning the floors.
He must be blessed. He had to be.
Because if he wasn’t…
How would he get through this?
———————————————
Atsushi was 18 now. He didn’t think he was blessed anymore. Just a fast healer. Maybe he truly did have the worlds’ most lackluster ability. Hah. As if he was lucky enough for even that. Yellow and purple eyes watched him the shining tiles. The footsteps that passed him were quick and were ignored. People tended to avoid him as of late. He didn’t know why, just that it was less tiring than the alternative.
A pool of water formed, blurring his reflection. He thought briefly of all the times that had happened before, but he couldn’t recall the last time it was so small.
He wiped it up with his rag and carried on. There was no use in reminiscing on the past. The thoughts that fueled him in what would be his last day here were not of nostalgia, but they hurt his heart with the same wrenching grip as with times he wished hadn’t passed. The light through the window bright red with the setting sun.
He was leaving. He had packed no bags, no belongings, and no money. The notebook and pen he had stolen from the caretaker’s desk all those years ago had since ran out of pages and ink. He had no use for memories of times past.
But his heart saddened like he was losing something. Why.
Why did he care for this place. This prison, this cell which was his only home.
Was freedom nice? He didn’t know. Maybe the future him would — if he survived.
He blinked. He was standing outside the gates. Had he been zoning out that long? The sky was still red, but was it… sunrise? How could that be? Where… does he go now.
He decided to follow the road. He knew that the orphanage was not far from Yokohama. Maybe an hour walk? He could see the tall towers in the distance. In some 1900s film that had been put on for the oldest kids in the orphanage, a mafia had resided in them. He wondered who really worked there.
Maybe he could find work in Yokohama? As a delivery boy? Or maybe a barista? He had no talents or real education to speak of. Maybe writing… but no matter what, he had no house. His situation his him hard as. He realized his reality. He was homeless. Homeless. Jobless. Moneyless. And he had no family or friends to speak of. He sat down on the side of the road, head in his lap, and sobbed. He sat there until the sun reached high in the sky, bawling his eyes out in loud, screeching cries. What did he do to deserve this? What did he do to deserve this!?!
The tears slowed like a jug running out of water. So he picked himself up, and walked forward.