Chapter Text
Kita doesn't remember your birth, not clearly at least, but he knows that you were born only one month or so after his little sister. He was very young, too, at the time, but he generally remembers the time around his sister's birth very fondly. He liked being an older brother even then.
You were his sister's best friend almost immediately. It was a perfect arrangement: the two of you were almost the same age, you lived only two minutes apart, and your mother respected his grandmother a lot, so that she would always entrust her to watch you and take care of you, even when you were still very young. By that time, his parents were already gone, and his grandmother very much appreciated the extra distraction. She even waved away your mother when she tried to pay her for taking care of you.
His grandmother loved you, she really did, and as a result, Kita grew up not only with a younger
sister, but also with you.
As a baby, you were very bright, he remembers that, and he remembers, too, how everyone noticed this pretty early on. It was a very happy time for your mother, because she was young, didn't really understand all the things she was supposed to do as a mother, and yet, despite this, you were doing extremely well, drawing eyes to your startling physical presence.
You were very recognizable by your voice, specific in your gaze, and charming in your gestures as a child. Everyone noticed, everyone commented: look, how she narrows her eyes, she's a thinker, and someone who understands, look, she even widens her eyes when she understands.
You grew up arousing admiration and affection in everyone, because people saw you, felt tender, and wanted to cuddle you close to their chest. You were a very good child.
And in the first years of your life, because the two of you were the same age, Kita's sister often felt compared to you, or unsure of what she could do, because surely, next to you, all her achievements were nothing. The absence of their parents didn't help, Kita knows, but it was also the fact that she took care of you everyday, you, who quickly learned to sit up, and spoke clearly at a young age, without slurring your words.
It was true that she just lagged behind you, and even at a very young age, became somewhat sad because of this.
Kita remembers now how he felt worried about his sister, how his grandmother worried, when the two of you were four, and he was seven.
The two of you, his sister and you, were so very different.
You were filled with lots of energy that resulted in curiosity, which then led you to learn things quickly and efficiently. For your age, you had a large vocabulary, you knew how speak in complete sentences, and you even knew how to get rid of the thick accent of the village. His sister, on the other hand, who was by no means slow, but who always seemed slightly lost in in her own world, didn't learn how to speak properly until she was a bit older, and wasn't someone who was openly curious about the world.
You were different, because even at a young age she preferred to retreat inside of herself, and even though you were friends, she suffered a bit because of your joyful words, because of your extraordinary capacity to understand things and to verbalize this understanding, too. His sister felt that next to you, all her virtues were reduced to nothing.
But in the end, it wasn't something that really bothered the relationship between the two of you, and Kita knows this, because all his life, he's never seen a relationship like the one between you and his sister. The two of you were like two halves of a whole, and one could not be, should not be, without the other. It was always a weird sight: you without his sister, or his sister without you.
The two of you were a duo, never willingly apart, and this became more apparent after his grandmother took his sister to a pediatrician, and everyone afterwards was sure that nothing was wrong with her. His sister was an uneasy child, and she wasn't lively like you, but she was in good health, and as long as people paid attention to her, too, everything was fine.
It was a good time.
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Kita used to carry his sister on his shoulders, because that was something that always cheered her up. He was very good to her, very caring, not at all rough, and he didn't treat his sister like a lot of the other older brothers in the village did theirs: he looked after his little sister, maybe even too much at times. Despite this, he never forgot about you either, because you were also always there. Always next to his sister, always tidy and neat as you were, your long braids blowing in the wind, your eyes shining with affection.
He treated you both well.
His school was far away from the village, and the bus ride was long, but everyday when he came home in the evening, his sister, and you beside her, were there to greet him. The two of you even offered to grab his schoolbag, and help him carry it the few minutes it took to reach the house from the bus stop. Although he thanked both you of politely, it was something he never allowed, and he always laughed it off. He recalls how he instead went up to the two of you, patted your heads, gave you sweets, small presents, and told you calm, gentle stories about his school day.
All the while, he made sure to pay attention to both of you.
His grandmother was always telling him how important it was that he be attentive to both you girls. She said: taking care of yourself is important, and one aspect of taking care of yourself, is taking care of those people who are important to you, and play a role in your life.
Kita understood quickly why you needed to be taken care of, too, and it was something he did gladly, in his own quiet way.
It was true that his sister was the one who had confidence and self worth issues since the village only seemed to pay any attention to you, but it was also true that at home, you lacked the proper care that his sister experienced. Your mother tried, Kita now knows this, but she was young, she was poor, and her boyfriend, your father, was not a good man. He wasn't there often, but your mother nevertheless worked hard to make a living for all three of you. You were too young, and you didn't understand everything, but of course you did notice that your mother wasn't around half as much as you would have liked, and that you were forced to even spend some holidays over at Kita's place.
Kita noticed that you noticed, and made it a habit to, whenever he carried his sister on his shoulders, after a while put her down, and pick you up instead. He wanted it to cheer you up, too, and after his days at school, you would also get a toy identical to the one he gave his younger sister.
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Growing up, you were in every sense of the word gregarious, popular everywhere you went, and able to charm people with your good pronunciation and clear eyes. People said that if anyone would one day manage to leave the village and do something extraordinary out in the world, it would be you. Kita didn't notice it back then, the extent of your influence, but now thinking back, he remembers how even the old, rude man selling the newspapers no one wanted to buy —when you ran into him—was charmed by you.
That man never treated anyone kindly, argued with the adults, called the kids mean nicknames, and especially was mean to the loud boys in the village. He called the giggling girls who walked past him cackling chickens in a barn (what are cackling chickens talking about on this day?), shouted after the loud boys, telling them that they were good for nothing pigs (oi, you pigs can go run now to your oink oink houses, back to your oink oink parents), and said nothing to the quiet kids like him and his sister, even ignoring them when they greeted him politely.
You, however, he greeted, and he called you the girl who picks flowers (How is the girl who picks flowers?), and even sometimes handed you a free newspaper.
But while you were a charming, shining bundle of light, Kita recognized even then that some of your qualities were slightly off at times. He knows now his grandmother knew all along, too, but as a kid, as kids often do, he thought he was the only one to notice how you were also a very submissive young girl in every sense of the word. This was not really a good thing.
While on the one hand it indeed was always his sister who followed after you, you were also the one who followed after his sister, who, unlike you, never gave in when she knew she was in the right (and even when she knew she wasn't). You were different here, because even when the other person was in the wrong and you knew it, you would quickly, without a fight, more often than not give in out of fear of not being liked.
There are a couple of moments he can remember when that submissive quality of yours made an appearance. One of those instances in particular keeps appearing in his head like a reoccurring dream. It's a conversation he overheard by chance, but it's something he'll never forget.
His sister said to you on that one day: "Let's go play in the water near the river."
"You shouldn't tell me where to play."
"I'm not telling, I'm saying we could."
"I'm afraid of the river. I only cross it to get to the flowers."
"We could still go, maybe we can ask nii-san to help us."
"Don't order me to go!"
"I'm not ordering you. If you really don't want to, I'll forget it. Sorry, Y/n."
You then looked at his sister in slight confusion and fear, and Kita can still picture your exact expression today. It wasn't a nice expression, but it told him a lot, and while he didn't understand it then, he does now. You, at age six, didn't know how to say no to something you didn't want to do, and when you wanted to refuse, you soon gave in anyway, even when the person, like his sister, wasn't at all interested in pressuring you.
You continued staring in fear, your lower lip trembling, before you hastily said: I changed my mind, I want to go to the river, and let's go without your brother, I'm not afraid.
Kita's happy that at least on this occasion, because he was there to overhear the conversation, he was able to accompany you down to the river that you feared.
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Shortly before his thirteenth birthday, Kita left the village, and went to stay with a friend. The way to school was a very long one from home, and it was much easier when he lived near the school. His friend and classmate, Aran, was the one who offered, and Aran's family was very welcoming to him.
A range of new experiences opened up for him, and as the days went on, Kita also solidified himself in this new routine. He called regularly to greet his grandmother, and to say goodnight to you two girls. But he only really came to visit when he noticed that he could go on living with this new routine, one where he didn't see his family or you on a daily basis. He came back home when he realized that he was capable of living without the village, but by that time, Kita knew that most of the damage had been done. Aran has a sister, too, who is only two years younger than his sister and you, and while you were never bitter or angry about him leaving for a while, his younger sister was very hurt, felt that Aran's sister replaced her, and subsequently she retreated into herself for a while.
Back then, his sister was a girl who measured her self worth by observing how other people treated her. When she saw photos of her brother standing next to Aran's sister, she felt very hurt, very dispensable. She thought he preferred everyone over her, and tried, perhaps without realizing it, to get you to feel the same way.
But you adored Kita. You affectionately called him 'Shin-chan', smiled brightly around him, and fiddled with the flowers in your hair whenever he placed a hand on your shoulder, or took you by the wrist. In your eyes, he knew that he could do no wrong.
When his sister in a jealous outburst told you that he was going to marry a girl he met at his school, you grew slightly sad, but you never really got angry at him, because that was just not something you would do. You rarely got mad, ever. You told his sister: Shin-chan likes the word 'logical', and it means that something comes from a clear reason, so if Shin-chan is gone for a while, and if he's going to marry a girl from there, it's definitely because there's a very smart reason behind it.
You always tried to protect him, even though it was something he rarely needed. He was a very good kid, quiet, with good grades, and good achievements, and clear goals, but you still looked at him in such awe that got you slightly upset when others weren't as impressed by him as you were.
Sometimes in his head Kita tries to recapture, or maybe reminisce about this fierce loyalty of yours. He thinks that maybe, in that one especially bad week, only a day or so before he returned home, he can feel it in the most purest of forms. Your fierce loyalty, to both him and his sister.
He announced that he was going to come home soon, respectfully thanked Aran and his parents, let his grandmother know over the phone, and made sure that the two of you got the news as well. You were immediately very happy, ecstatic even, but his sister didn't feel well at all after hearing the news, she sounded depressed on the phone, and soon came down with a bad cold. Kita knows that this was his fault, and that his sister got sick from longing, because he wasn't there to be attentive to her. He wasn't there to help the two of you cross the river, he wasn't there to make sure the two of you weren't sweaty when you ran around in the woods, and he wasn't there to pick the two of you up, and gift you little, pretty parcels.
When he returned, he was greeted by no one. No one was at the bus station, and no one was at home, not his sister, not his grandmother and not you. This scene is so clear in his head even now: he didn't panic, he just calmly looked around the empty house after putting down his suitcase. Kita didn't even call out any names. Kita did the logical thing, and went over to your house, where your mother greeted him, and soon told him where everyone was.
Apparently, after falling into the river with a cold, his sister was admitted to the hospital because she had pneumonia. His grandmother, and you, of course, were there with her, and he was told after he called his grandmother that all he could do now was wait at home. Her exacts words: Wait at home, Shin-chan, take good care of yourself for your sister, so that she can take good care of herself, too, and look into the oven, Y/n-chan made some cookies for you, she's very proud.
He heard your meek voice call out a small "welcome back, Shin-chan" before the call ended. You didn't sound like your usual self because his sister's state depressed you. The two of you were always like that when the other didn't feel well.
Kita regrets not having been with his sister during that time, but he was able to muster a small, rare smile when she came back healthy and reluctantly threw her arms around him. That, however, did not mean everything was now okay in his sister's eyes.
She missed him, you did, too, but she was still slightly angry.
He noticed this anger in the way she would no longer want him to help her take care of herself, or even you. She wanted to do things on her own now, and since there was not a single person she adored more than you, she wanted to be the one to always take care of you. She wanted to be the only one.
She said to him once that it was her job, and not his to look after you, and even got slightly hostile with him when he, in his usual fashion, in his laconic way of speaking, tried to take care of you when you hurt yourself after falling down while playing.
Even when the smallest things happened to you, Kita recalls how his sister was always immediately alarmed and struck by a childish terror. His sister got very good at concealing her own pain, because she realized that you being in pain bothered her far more than anything else.
On this occasion, even though it was only a temporary pain in your leg, his sister wouldn't leave you alone. She devoted entire days to you, to taking care of you, by delicately spreading a herbal mixture over your leg, wrapping it, and placing strips of wet cloth on your forehead, despite the fact that you didn't have a fever. She locked the door and stayed diligently beside your bed as you rested.
When his grandmothern or your mother tried to intervene, saying that it wasn't necessary, and that you could even go out to play again, his sister wouldn't allow it, and shrieked at everyone who would come and try to disturb the two of you. The sick friend was hers and hers alone, and everyone else should leave.
Kita was not excluded from this.
But after this episode, his sister soon got better. She welcomed him again with open arms, and allowed him to play with them. She allowed you to talk to him, and you once again became a constant figure in his life. As always you were slightly overbearing, often loud, but always cheerful, and always decked in yellow. You had an affinity for yellow flowers, and you showed it by gifting your mother, his sister, and his grandmother daily wreaths of yellow flowers.
He got some, too, but only twice, and he could tell that it was different for you when you gave him flowers. It was shortly before his sister's tenth birthday that you announced your affections for him, sticking out your hand in which you held your yellow flowers. You even in the days that followed asked him to marry you, in your shy, charming manner that made your mother swoon while watching.
He still has a very vivid picture of your mother, specifically in those days, in his head. She was always proud of you, no matter what you did, and she would pick you up (you were small for your age, but still too old for that), and litter your face with little kisses while you giggled.
He didn't understand why she was so proud of your confession, but he didn't need to at the time.
After he knew of your feelings, you developed a habit of checking up on him at least every few hours in a day. You just wanted to speak with him, have proper conversations with him, because as you insisted, you were a very grown up nine-year-old. He wasn't so sure, but he always smiled at you gently nevertheless.
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One day, in a memory he remembers all too well, you called his name excitedly before jumping up and joining him on the old, brown swing he was cleaning for his grandmother. It was an old swing, and made noises you labeled ghostly ones, but his sister loved it dearly, and he didn't mind doing a little extra cleaning. His sister's birthday was coming up, anyway. He looked at you calmly, a stark contrast to your excited demeanor, and your wide eyes.
"Y/n. Is everything alright?"
"Shin-chan!"
You plopped down directly next to him so that your shoulders were touching. Then you looked up at him with your shining eyes.
"A very, very pretty woman visited our house today! From Tokyo!"
"Prettier than your Okaasan?" he asked you calmly, titling his head at your jittery tone.
"Yes."
"Even prettier than my sister?"
"No."
He raised a brow.
"Does that make my sister the prettiest of them all?"
"Yes, but also no. The two of us are equally pretty. We're the most beautiful girls in the world."
"I see."
"It's true, the lady told me."
"And what else did this lady do?"
"She's important, and she wanted to talk about my drawings."
"That's good. Good job, Y/n."
"She said I'm the next da Vinci, or something."
"She did?"
"Yes."
"Liar. Should I ask my sister?"
"No."
Why this particular memory is so vivid, Kita isn't sure, but he thinks that maybe it's because in the previous few months, you had started gaining an interest in art. His sister, of course, joined you, and soon the two of you started collaborating on various works, with precise ideas, and joyful imagination. Flowers were always there, and angels, too, because after reading some books, you decided that you really liked the image of pretty white dresses, decked in gold, and soaring, glorious wings.
His grandmother always says that this short period before was the best, because it was as if, when the two of you worked together, your minds and ideas melded into one, and the two of you seemed equally fascinating. Two peas in a pod you were, and while you might have seemed more creative, more capable, and more experienced at first glance, his sister was the more determined one, the headstrong one, and the one who pushed through her ideas in the end.
It was clear to everyone that the two of you were a team, inseparable in your bond.
And things kept getting better and better.
His sister soon realized that she was very pretty, too, and no longer felt ugly beside you. She started learning how to hold head high properly, while you also continued changing.
It was a rule between the two of you, albeit an unspoken one. If one changed, the other had to, too.
You father disappeared completely from your face, and you were slowly starting to resemble your mother, just as his grandmother said you one day would. In your nose, in your eyes, in your cheeks something very sweet, and very gentle, was becoming more and more apparent, and everyone was charmed by it. You were a very lovely young lady.
You photographed well, too, and the pretty lady from Tokyo kept returning, asking for the projects you and his sister were working on. She asked, too, if she could take some pictures of you, said that you had a fascinating face, and your mother said yes. The village then found out that your picture was going to appear in a magazine in Tokyo in a month, and even though no one really knew what it meant, everyone grew excited.
Everyone noticed that at that time the whole village was experiencing this good, wholesome feeling. It was July, too, and in the village, near the mountains, this was the most beautiful month. Even the weather held the promise that good things were going to continue to happen.
In happiness, where the sad, the tragic, is not invited, no one expects the bad to come through the door. But because this is a story Kita knows well, because it's a story he lived through, Kita knows that none of these happy events ended up unfolding as planned. He knows that where there should have have been birthday parties and celebrations, there were search parties and tears instead.
And so, no one remembers this time for the good feelings and the pleasant summer days, but rather for that dreaded day, the 4th of July in the year 2007, the day before Kita's birthday. This was the day the story, one that was supposed to be filled with success and happiness, was rechristened into the story of the lost child.
The story of that that who child was lost forever.