Chapter Text
In a large house, in an even larger city, lived a small boy, who wished he were smaller. Even though the Kozume family was fortunate enough to keep their residence in a peaceful, well-kept space in a growing, cramped urban area, the quiet kept outside their home only reflected the opposite inside it.
Kenma Kozume, age 7 and a half, has learned to keep his mouth and his eyes shut whenever his parents brew another argument in the kitchen, in the living room, in the dining room — almost toppling the whole house away with their yelling if they could help it. They are a rowdy, loud bunch, but he doesn't mind. He is hardly ever in the room when they start to bicker anyways, his presence no more than a ghost’s, flickering in and out of existence. Kenma almost feels like a part of the aging wallpaper, watching, hoping someone would rip him clean from this place already. Their mouths at the dining table are filled with more snide commentaries than food — snarling, quick remarks thrown so swiftly like knives — and if only, knives were made solely for cutlery, without the sharp potential to kill.
But he doesn't mind, no, especially not, when at age 8, he realizes that parents can do so much more, and so much worse, when he witnesses by chance, the strangled moan of a kid much younger than him, as his father lashed out on his thighs they almost bled, cutting the skin in thin lines blistery and immediately red, that it almost made Kenma puke on the spot. He doesn't mind, he thought, when he learns to put on his headphones and blare music at full volume, almost louder than the high-pitched voices of his parents just outside his door. They don't yell at him, no, much like the complaints he's overheard from gossiping, sloppy classmates — for a moment, he wonders if he’s the weird one but he shakes the feeling off. But sometimes, he thought it much worse to be ignored than to be yelled at, before the image of the boy he’d seen that one summer brings him back to reality, and grounds him.
It is in the quiet, Kenma realizes, at age 9, that his parents' voices ring the loudest. When there's nothing to cover your ears from — it’s when the ache of something ugly rears its head, in the darkest and most silent of nights. He curls himself up into a ball and screams so tightly against his pillow, his voice is hoarse by daylight.
But he doesn't mind. He hasn't minded in a long time.
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It is a windy summer afternoon when things start to change. School had ended, and as cheery goodbyes and teary-eyed children exchanged hugs and kisses, Kenma quickly made his way through the crowd of overbearing parents and teachers, as they usher the children to have a little more discipline. Kenma squeezes his way out easily, his skinny figure giving him the clear advantage in this escape.
A sigh of relief passes through his lips, as the warm air of April ruffles his dark hair. Kenma walks home alone and soon enough, the sound of children screaming fades in the distance. The boy makes his way through the straight route home, as he kept close to the shade of trees peeking and squeezing through the fenced yards in the neighborhood. Soon enough, he’d see the big maple tree guiding his way home.
The residence area Kozume’s family dwelled in was pleasant, to say the least — there was a lot of variety everywhere you looked, the spaces that set the boundaries of each house marked by trinkets and plants, little fountains and flower boxes, each family showcasing their home’s personality. The Kozume residence had filled theirs with the largest tree that can possibly be contained in a metropolitan district such as this, but its long branches raised to the sky were thick enough to block out most of the sunlight, and still thin enough to let the breeze pass through, drifting through its leaves gently. Kenma’s mother never liked flowers though, and compromise came through the form of one big tree, and that was it — the backyard was empty other than that tree, and the giant rocky steps that lead to it.
Kenma liked the tree a lot because it shaded the veranda overlooking his bedroom, but the branches were big enough for Kenma to catch a glimpse of the view beyond his little room. Sometimes, the smaller branches would sway enough for him to reach it. Sometimes, he’d hold unto one, try to jump unto one of the larger branches, but finding his courage drained by the time he’d sit on the railings.
“I don’t know what you want me to do, Hanako,” a muffled voice echoes throughout the house when Kenma arrives home. He is careful to make sure that the door doesn’t creak when he opens it, and slowly, he takes his shoes off and places them on the shoe shelf.
“I’m home,” Kenma whispers to no one in particular. Sometimes, he thinks that someone might finally hear and greet him back. Instead, Kenma tiptoes, as the lights from the living room spill through the hallway. There is no route to his room that does not pass through it, despite the temptation to slink away as quickly as he can.
Still…not even shadows pass through that hallway without his mother’s permission. So with a deep breath, Kenma peeks from the doorway and bows to his mother and father.
The two snap their gazes at Kenma, with his mother’s hands on her hips and his father’s lips pursed in a thin line. The immediate drop in silence makes Kenma feel the tension in the air, so compact and solid you could almost cut through it. He finds it hard to breathe, but manages, and calms himself again. “I’m home,” Kenma repeats, and his father nods in acknowledgment.
Kenma shuffles his feet awkwardly, but before he can take another step out the door, his father sits on the couch and sighs, beckoning him to come closer.
“Er…how was school?” He scratches his head like they haven’t been doing this routine yesterday and the day before. Kenma’s mother sits next to him with a huff, her arms crossed in front of her chest.
Kenma’s heart beats rapidly and gulps. “Fine,” he whispers. “Oh,” Kenma turns his head towards his mother. “Summer starts tomorrow so, you don’t have to pack my lunch anymore.”
“Wonderful,” she smiles thinly, her fingers now tapping on her arm impatiently. “Kenma, will you go upstairs please?” Kenma immediately straightens his back, as his grip on his bag tightens. “Your father and I have to…talk.”
Kenma would not be told twice. He bows quickly and heads for the stairs, the muffled voices starting again. Before he disappears upstairs, Kenma hears his name mentioned once. He shakes his head and turns his bedroom knob open, as a breeze escapes the room, tussling his hair lightly.
Kenma blinks quickly, trying to recall whether he remembered to close the veranda doors before he left for school. Not that it mattered anyway, because the wind felt so good on his red almost blistering skin, after days of seeing and feeling nothing but the sheer intensity of the sun’s heat. He approaches the veranda, the glass doors slightly open, as the curtains flap lazily against it.
Here, this city felt so small, as big as his palm, if he moved far enough from the maple tree and the railings. From here, he could hear the rustling of the leaves clearly and peek at the trees lining his daily route from school. Sometimes he could hear children his age playing on the sidewalks, or the cars passing by the road. Kenma often wonders where they’d go, where they’d end up, and maybe if one day, he’ll be one of those little people going to their little destinations in their little lives.
Maybe when he was bigger or smarter or taller, he could. Maybe then, he’d have a destination in mind, away from this city, this neighborhood…this house.
Kenma broke from his daze as a blaze of colors took his eye, certainly unfamiliar with the foliage he was so used to seeing. It was shaped in a triangle of sorts, with a tail attached to its colorful body. On a closer look, Kenma found him looking at a kite, stuck on one of the branches quite close to the ground. It wasn’t bent, simply attached — it would only need one person to climb up there and untangle it from the leaves —
And there that someone was.
Kenma’s eyes widened, his hands immediately going to the railing to get a closer look. Orange hair poked from the leaves until a set of eyes appeared too, and suddenly, a whole boy emerged, seemingly trying to get the kite off. Maybe by intuition, by chance, or the sound of Kenma clambering on the railing, the boy turned his head upwards and watched Kenma for a moment. Kenma almost reeled in, as he squatted down and hugged his knees, hiding behind the railings. When Kenma looked down again to take a peek, the same boy was still watching him but was now waving excitedly.
Kenma’s forehead scrunched in confusion, as he slowly stood up. The boy only seemed to be encouraged by this, as he waved even more enthusiastically — he cheered at Kenma incoherently, but whatever it was he wanted to say had been lost to the wind. Perhaps realizing this, the boy began pointing his arm down in quite an exaggerated manner and seemed to be gesturing for Kenma to meet him down. A slight panic builds inside Kenma, making his heart pound.
If anything, he could just ignore the boy— close the door, close the curtains, and hope to god he never meets him again. But if he got roped into whatever this kid has been doing, it could as well get him looped into it regardless.
That was one thing Kenma couldn’t afford to have — he’d prepared to be ignored for the entirety of his life, but never the opposite of it, and he wasn’t going to risk it now. He’d get that boy out of that tree and be out of the backyard in 10 minutes tops, and then he can just pretend it never happened, and hope the boy gets the message.
Kenma breathes in slowly and lightly slaps himself in the face. The breeze has turned his fingertips cold, so after one last glance at the boy, he turned away and closed the doors.
He’s been through enough to at least realize that most things just don’t work out the way he wants them to, but it’s worked out for him for a while now, so who’s to say it won’t work out this time?
The bedroom door clicks closed as Kenma quietly steps into the corridor and down the stairs. A quiet, startled gasp escapes Kenma’s lips when he hears the sound of his father’s car outside, whirring open until the sound of the car had completely faded away. He’d gone to work then, so this really only leaves the potential occurrence that his mother might catch him…sneaking around.
Tiptoeing as quickly as one possibly could, Kenma notices the light coming from the kitchen. As he neared closer, the tinkling of glass puts a small frown on Kenma’s face. The sound of a drawer opening quickly follows, and the pop of a cork after. Liquid is poured heavily, and his mother’s loud sigh echoes resoundingly against the house, and against Kenma’s pounding heart. The glass from the mirror adjacent to the kitchen’s entrance mimics Kenma’s hunched frame and scrunched disappointed expression. He looks away quickly.
Kenma moves on and avoids the kitchen stealthily until he finally reaches the sliding doors leading to the backyard.
Opening it quickly, Kenma runs towards the maple tree, skipping the short, curving rocky path leading towards its roots. Heaving quietly, Kenma turns back towards the path carved approaching the sliding doors leading inside. From here, he can hear the wind chimes tinkling against the sweet god-given summer breeze passing through.
“Hey!” a yell from above makes Kenma flinch, as he turns his attention towards the voice. Kenma's large seeking eyes find itself resting at the sight of a young boy who had climbed up for the kite and had gotten stuck, for who knows how long he’s been there.
The boy stares back with unrestrained curiosity, his skin sunkissed and his cheeks flushed against the summer heat. Kenma’s gaze trails from his bright orange hair, like blazing fire, as leaves and sticks crowned his head — to his eyes, like brown pools of warm chocolate, watching him back. On one hand, he tightly held the kite, and on the other, he tightly clutched onto one of the branches. Kenma blinked at the light spilling in between the leaves, as the boy took his silence as a sign to continue talking.
“I thought you left me hanging just back there,” he grinned. “No pun intended,” he added quickly, but a chuckle left his lips.
Kenma quirked his head in response.
“Tough crowd,” the boy mumbled to himself but sheepishly smiled at Kenma.
“I-”
Before Kenma could say anything else, the slightly creaking of branches took both of them by surprise, as the boy’s grip on it falters, and he falls, the moment so quick and surprising he didn’t even have time to scream.
Kenma didn’t have enough time to process what he’d done either, because by the moment the boy reached the ground, he’d been there to cushion his fall, his arms and legs aching at the weight.
The boy’s closed eyes quickly flutter open, his head turning to face Kenma so quickly that it must have hurt. Up close, Kenma can see the worry in the creases of his brow, the leaf on his cheek…and how pretty his eyes were. Kenma thought of woods so dense they appeared to be one single entity, like one giant pool he could fall into and not land on anything for days.
He feels the boy’s shaky breath fanning his face, the panic slowly sinking in his expression, and Kenma’s fingers shakily remove the leaf on the boy’s cheek without saying anything.
“You’re heavy,” he finally whispers, and with inhuman speed, the boy removes himself off him, leaving the kite atop the tree’s roots before going back to lend Kenma his hand.
Kenma takes it and feels the warmth seeping through his skin, as it breathes life into his cold fingers. He feels like he’s on fire, somehow.
“I’m so sorry,” the boy sniffles, as he continued to hold Kenma’s hand softly. “I didn’t think—”
“SHOYO!”
Suddenly, a woman appears from the fence next to them, her face oddly familiar to the boy. She was carrying a little girl with the same orange hair, and the same brown eyes, who was pointing at the kite. Kenma realizes this must be his mother and sister, and they must live next door.
Next door. Kenma freezes.
“Oh shoot,” he curses, as he quickly let his hand drop to the side. “I forgot about Natsu!!” He quickly grabs the kite and gets ready to sprint, but not before sparing Kenma a glance one last time. “I’ll make it up to you, I promise,” he said, rather seriously. And then, he was gone like the wind.
Kenma stands in the shade alone, with his hand burning aflame.