Chapter Text
There was one day that Huang Zitao remembered better than all the rest. It was a sad day as it was filled with leaving and tears, but it was a happy day as it was filled with hugs and paper airplanes. He was six. The day before, his mother had a bit too much to drink as she put on a show for the next door neighbors. The next door neighbors who had a little boy and a little girl of their own, both just about Zitao’s age.
All Zitao remembers is seeing a rose laying on the table, picking it up, and hearing “awws” as he walked toward the neighbors kids. Those “awws” quickly stopped when he walked past the little girl, smiled, and gave it to the little boy instead. Before he knew it, the neighbors were out the door and his mothers hands were leaving bruises on his arms.
The front door opened to show his fathers smile disappeared and somehow Zitao got up to his room, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t hear the yelling that continued until he had no more tears. He didn’t wake up until he realized that the room was light and his father was crying while playing with his hair. Every second of that day had stuck with him.
“Daddy,” Zitao whispered with his eyes as tightly shut as he could get them, “Mommy didn’t really fight with you last night, right? You give her roses, and that means that you love each other. It was a bad dream. I’ll wake up any second,” the six year old slowly opened his eyes to show his very broken down man shaking his head.
“Zitao, is um-,” his father hesitated, “Son, why did you give the rose to the neighbors son instead of their daughter. Tell me honestly, I won’t react like your mom.”
So it wasn’t a dream.
“I wanted him to hug me like mommy hugs you when you bring her one. Roses mean you love each other, which is when you like like someone.”
A sigh and a tighter than usual hug followed. “I love you, and I won’t even like like someone who hurts you like that, not even mommy,” six year old Zitao didn’t realize he was crying until his dad used a finger and a smile to brush his tears away, “You know what Taozi, roses don’t mean anything, let’s make something that does.”
That was the morning that Huang Zitao learned how to make a paper airplane.