Work Text:
A Munto Fanfiction: Boundary © RedWingedAngel002
Disclaimer: Munto; Sora o Miageru Shōjo no Hitomi ni Utsuru Sekai © Kyoto Animation; Yoshiji Kigami and Tomoe Aratani
Genre: Family, Fantasy, and Hurt-Comfort
Summary: Yumemi was ashamed. For nine months, her heart felt bruised, with a slow-healing wound.
A/N: Hi there! Here’s another scene from Castles In the Sky, which I couldn’t quite fit into the original story, but will be nodded upon.
Much of this was inspired by Yumemi’s end dialogue in episode three, although set afterwards. We’ve got family feelz and angst pulled into the mix. Enjoy! ಥ⌣ಥ
Songs: Hostage by: Billie Eilish, Still Learning and Without Me by: Hasley, and Lullabies by: Yuna
Japanese Index:
-chan: can be used with either a diminutive, or with those who are grown; a indicate affection (Japanese honorific)
futon: a padded mattress originating in Japan, which can be rolled up or folded in two
hanami: flower viewing; the Japanese traditional custom of enjoying the beauty of flowers, usually referring to cherry or plum trees during the end of March to early May
-kun: used by persons of senior status in addressing or referring to those of junior status, or by anyone when addressing or referring to male children/teenagers (Japanese honorific)
manju: a traditional Japanese sweet confection
oyakodon: translates to ‘parent-and-child rice bowl,’ with chicken as the parent and egg as the child, simmered together in a soy sauce and stock broth
sakura: cherry blossoms
senbei: a traditional Japanese salted rice cracker
“Talking.”
‘Thinking.’
Memories/Flashbacks.
One-Shot: Open Secrets
Yumemi sighed in a relished moment of content, taking in the warm rays and blooming air, and walked down the cement path of her neighborhood. Spring had arrived to Kyoto, with school’s seasonal break between grades, and she did her best to not hole indoors and enjoyed the nice weather. It was her first spring in six years where she was without her pink umbrella.
Catching sight of the familiar parked sedan, she passed the Hidaka mailbox and turned right into her household.
“Yumemi, welcome home.” To her left at the front yard was her mother, kneeled and elbow deep in shrubs and bags of soil.
“Oh. Hi, Mom. I’m back,” she crossed over the cobblestone line to the grass and kissed her cheek. Noting the dark smudge, she giggled and wiped it away, along with a brown bang strayed from her ruby hairclip. “You’ve got dirt on your forehead.”
“Oh no! Pay no mind, I’m a mess,” the woman laughed, too, and mirrored the same with a gloved hand, a bundle of bared roots occupied. “Did you have fun with Ichiko-chan and Suzume-chan?”
“M-hmm!” Her bent posture straightened and she hefted the yellow duffle at her shoulder.
“Good, I’m glad,” she said, genuine, her chestnut eyes warm and aglow. “We’ll have to arrange a hanami picnic with Také and the Imamura’s soon. The plum blossoms are budding a bit late.”
“The sakura will pop up after the plum bloom, right?”
“Yes.”
A thought struck, bubbling to the surface.
“Hey, do you think you’ll plant any sakura this year, Mom?”
“It would be nice to have a tree to look at in the comfort of home, wouldn’t it? Ah, but they are difficult to take care of,” she mused skyward and turned back to her, mirthful, “Why, do you want one?”
It was an indulgent request. Dogwood, sakura, and primroses were her top three adored flowers.
“Yeah! I’m sure you can do it! You’ve always got a green thumb!” she encouraged and stuck hers out for show.
“Alright, I’ll see what I can do. But no promises!” her grin spread with peeking teeth, and she sighed, while looking over her handiwork. Much still had to be done. “I’ve got some more repotting to do before dinner. Can you pull out the chicken from the freezer? I’m making oyakodon tonight.”
“Sure!” Bobbing, she skipped to the front door. Oyakodon was one of her favorites!
“Also, Chikara’s friends are here for a sleepover.” The announcement caused her delighted pace to falter and she groaned dramatically. “Oh, don’t give me that. Be nice.”
“But they’re so annoying!” she slumped, “And loud! I can never sleep with them talking. Their ‘quiet voices’ are not quiet!”
“Well, we can set a futon for you in the office if it gets too noisy,” was her compromise, back turned and apron crisscross bow viewed.
“But why do I have to move? Can’t they sleep in there?” she whined.
“Because they will end up playing computer games all night like last time,” she gave her a knowing look, thick brow raised, “Remember?”
“Can I stay at Suzume’s one more night?”
“You just got back from their house, Yumemi.” Her mother opened a bag of fertilizer and dug in, multitasking. “It is rude to overstay your welcome.”
“I can sleepover at Ichiko’s? I’m sure it’ll be okay with Uncle Také.”
“No.”
“Please? We can even help out at the flower shop!” *1
“You are the older sister, so you need to be responsible and act like one. Having boys over is not the end of the world,” she reasoned, and chimed in a sing-song voice, “You never know, pretty soon you’ll be bringing one here for dinner.”
“Mom!” the blonde blushed at the playful jibe, and odd enough, a mane of red hair appeared in her mind’s eye. She blinked owlishly.
Eh? Where did that come from? That was… Weird.
“Yumemi,” her tone hardened and a glare was thrown over her shoulder, “No more sass. That’s final.”
“Fiiine,” she grumbled, dragging her feet. “Jeez, what a pain in the butt.”
“Papa is upstairs if you need anything.”
“Yeah, yeah…”
“And don’t forget about the chicken,” she nudged.
“I know! Jeez!” she growled, her mood exponentially soured, and she veered again after swinging the silver handle open, “Oh yeah. Mom, do we have any more Bufferin? I couldn’t find it the other night before Suzume’s.”
“Aww, sweetheart,” pivoting with her full attention on sat ankles, she looked sympathetic, “Is it bad today?”
“Yeah,” she confirmed, soft, and shied peeking into the doorframe. Unconsciously, a hand rubbed at her cramping uterus.
“There’s a spare pack in the bathroom cupboard by the vitamins,” she guided.
“’Kay, thanks.” Yumemi went inside and scraped her soles.
“We’ve got manju and madeleines in the fridge, too.”
“’Kay, thanks!” she said, much more chipper.
“Not too many before dinner!” Nozomi called over the waning oak.
“’Kaaay!”
Once entered, she was surprised to not hear competitive yelling or videogame tunes.
“I’m home,” she called out, a bit suspicious of the silence when slipping off her sandals, and keeled over sudden, gripping her lower stomach. “Ow. Ow, ow, ow! Mmm!”
Puffed cheeks deflated when the crippling wave passed.
Now age fourteen since February, Yumemi was the most experienced of the trio when it came to their menstruation cycle. However, she still was not used to it, even after five years. Every month was a sucker punch to the gut, followed by haywire emotions, and drugstore medication only did so much to relieve.
It was an absolute curse. Surly her pain tolerance was higher because of it.
Cornering out of the entryway and to the living room, the TV indeed showed Chikara and his little goblin friends had been present. Their game of Super Montaro Brothers was paused mute. Controllers carelessly placed on the wooden table, one dropped at the floor, and plastic senbei snack wrappers nagging to be cleaned… For later. It was not her mess. *2
Sighing, she tossed her bag onto the beige sofa and padded into the kitchen.
Fridge stalled open, an iced tea carton and cup was pulled out for a breather, all while she munched on a madeleine cake between her teeth and grabbed the frozen chicken to defrost. As extra, the girl prepared a large pot of rice for the group of six; rinsing the white grains once, then twice under the sink tap as taught and turned on the cooker. When the timer finished, it would stay warm automatically until they were seated to eat in a few hours.
Back to her tea and one more tempting sweet.
It appeared the boys did not yet find such a treasure, since her mother kept them up on the top shelf. The manju pack came choiced with red and white bean filling! Score!
Pleased, she took a sample of each.
Speaking of which, their cackling boomed and rang boisterous above, and caused her to jump. She fumbled to not drop her glass in surprise and placed a hand on her quickened heart. It was embarrassing to be triggered by something so innocent as laughter. Yet, certain loud noises still caught her off guard, skittish.
Her father’s echo to keep the noise down carried from the upstairs hall. He mentioned something earlier last weekend about an error to fix in their taxes before the end of March.
They had two weeks for vacation, and half of the break was already over.
Starting on April 1st, she would be going into her second year of middle school, and Chikara as a second grader in elementary. It was difficult to not become anxious with the looming responsibilities of the upcoming term. Unlike summer vacation, they luckily did not have as large of a pile of homework to prepare beforehand. It felt like another wave of anxiety was swelling on the horizon, and studying helped her focus and calmed her nerves.
Yumemi decided she would study for an hour in self-promise—but after her snack. There was a quiet moment and she would enjoy it.
Dazed emerald watched the glass door’s curtains billow from a gust and she leaned on her palm at the counter. Savoring the taste with eyes closed, she bit into the manju pastry, chewing slow, and washed it down with a sip. The sound of her mother’s rhythmic scooping could be heard, though unseen.
Then, the peace was disturbed. It was faint, but certain:
“In the reflection of the world in the sky above, today and forever.”
She froze mid-bite.
“May you always be there, unchanging,” her words rang with familiarity, read dramatic as if in a play, “Because I will keep hoping, forever and ever.” *3
“No…” A quiver tweaked at her chin, chest palpitating. “No way! CHIKARA…!”
Chaos ensued. Sprinting, she did not care that her drink tipped over spilling.
“Uh-oh,” was heard and other panicked scrambling.
“Wait. She’s home?”
“Kids! Come on, I’m on the phone!”
Bare feet rushed up stairs, two steps at a time, and she paused to take in the scene:
Chikara was on his bed of their shared room. His two friends, Aoi and Kakeru, were sat cross-legged at his desk chair and the other lounging on a Montaro beanbag. Comics were scattered all around, making it difficult to weave through.
Her gaze flickered to the rummaged bookshelf adjacent the low round table in the corner where a potted ivy and her alarm clock was, to the diary obviously hidden behind her brother's back.
Beet red, she wanted to yell, tackle, and let fists fly. Instead, she calmly planted her feet at the top stair. Crescents dug deep into her palms and her teeth grit with such intensity.
…And she was silent.
Chikara had done some pretty infuriating things in the past: messed with her bras like some little pervert, ripped Bunny’s tail at tug-a-war (now re-sewn), and even once cut a three-inch chunk of her hair when she was in elementary, which had to be evened out at shoulder-blade length.
But this… This was too much.
Lungs heaving, she walked and hovered over the trio, shaking.
“Ooo! You are so busted!” they giggled and failed to grasp gravity of situation, of what privacy was invaded.
However, Chikara slowly realized his wrongdoing, sinking afraid as she got closer with each poised step, and his mischievous grin faded. He gulped.
“S-Sis, I—”
“How much did you read?” she whispered, cold. Her throat ached, rage threatening to spill with the nausea and fire in her veins.
“Uh…”
Their snickering silenced at her piercing glare. She was not only angry, she was scared, more than anything, and they saw that.
“Is she crying?” Kakeru asked.
“How much did you read?” her pitch was high and pathetic, and rung with tears. Twin emeralds welled the same.
“We were just—”
“You were just what?” she hissed, thickened with choked-back sobs, “This isn’t funny! It’s mean! These are my thoughts! Only for me!”
That was not entirely true; they were not only hers… Some were unconsciously Munto’s, too. Because of that, she could not help but wanting to protect it so fiercely—his lonely, golden heart. She did not want judgment for either of them.
It was their secret: the connection they shared. Forced and bound, heart and mind, was the taboo consequence of crossing beyond the walls of time.
“I-I’m sorry!”
“What is wrong with you?!” she screeched at the boys, but mostly directed at her brother, and ripped the book out of his hand, crinkling the pages he clung to. “You are just so—! So—! Arg! You are such a brat!”
The computer room sounded and she fled in that same direction, trying to time it before being caught. However, Shigeru’s wide frame evaded her escape, a failed attempt. The bathroom door was right there.
“Yumemi? Hey, hey, slow down,” his hands rose up in offense. “What’s going on with all this noise? You two may have holiday, but I’m still working. …Wait, are you crying?”
“Tell Chikara to keep his stupid nose in his own stupid business!” she pointed in accusation, stomping rabbit-like upset, and pushed his concern away. “Ragh! I hate him!”
Slamming the bathroom shut, she locked it like her heart, and crumpled sobbing in the corner by the washing machine, while clutching the book to her thundering chest.
“Yumemi? Yumemi,” he knocked, worried, “Come on, sunshine. Don’t lock the door. I’m sure it wasn’t that bad to be causing a scene. We’ve got guests over.”
Translating to: “Your feelings do not matter because you are the eldest. You need to apologize for something that was not your fault.”
That was utter… bullshit! Something colorful, which Munto would say.
Despite their vastly different personality types, they were very similar in that sense: locking themselves in to reaching loved ones when hurt.
She always, always was the quiet one—always the bigger man and ended up saying sorry first to avoid conflict. Always hidden away safe from the spotlight. There was the new school year. That could change. But would it? Probably not. She could be stubborn when determined.
“Then deal with them! Just leave me alone, Dad!”
“Chikara,” her father sounded tired, she could practically hear him rubbing the bridge of his nose, “What happened now, bud? You promised your best behavior for friends.”
She barely caught the seven-year-old’s starting wail over her own tears.
How much did he read? How much did he read?
Over the nine months, her small pile of pastel journals had grown with weekly entries. She kept them organized for safekeeping. It was her mother’s suggestion to write down how she felt, to calm the whirlwind inside.
Why did he think it was okay to snoop?
Her voice was terrible at vocalizing her own troubles. It was how she grown into habit, to survive childhood bullies—and yet of course, she would not hesitate to defend others she cared for. Most of these troubles were what her family could not fully comprehend, often relating to the psychic realm.
Ichiko and Suzume knew of her island sky and had an idea of who Munto was from last summer, but both sides did not have the headaches, visions, or vertigo, which came with crossing the continuum. No one knew these intense, panicked symptoms were from sharing traumatic experiences of life that was not her own.
If she had the courage to speak up, that would certainly be a one-way trip to the loony bin. Her past mantras of craziness still haunted her.
Yet, she always had her prophetic dreams and her head up in the clouds, recalling all the way back to the age of five, if not younger. She could accept that now, that she was different—and that was all right, she was no longer afraid—and understood her role connected to the Akuto because of Munto last June.
However, things had changed since then. It was terrible at first.
Now, it had gotten… better. A lot better, compared to even six months ago, around Chikara's birthday. There were no more migraines or panic attacks.
But it was not one hundred percent.
She still spaced off in her thoughts and found parts of her day simply checked-out from reality in dissociation—in a limbo between worlds—with the random flurried flashbacks and occasional nightmares.
…Sometimes she could hear Munto, too, in her heart. It was not a voice, but a feeling. And sometimes there was his voice in the back of her consciousness, crying out.
She was no artist like Ichiko, but she could paint with her words, and tried her best to create their lyrical vision in quotes, aimless writings, or forms of poetry. It did not matter how dark or grotesque some may be. His demons became hers. *4
Whatever it was… Munto did not sound fine.
She had her bubbling questions: Was the Akuto restored back to normal? Did Ryueri gain her sight back—could she? Was the Magical Kingdom safe?
Remembering the upcoming United Army attack through his eyes seemed without mercy. The raids often switched battle tactics and were led by a different country Elder each month, seven against one. Enda’s weaponry and Commander was used the day they met. It had been a half-year of protecting and countless sacrificed, and he was desperate enough to ask the neutral Outsider for help in his absence, and was led by faith in a dream: to find her.
She worried for him and what he considered precious, and maybe in a strange way, she considered it precious, too. Often going to the same red bridge and trying be brave and connect like before.
Alas, silence. Her growing questions, unanswered.
Maybe it was over? Her job was done, after all. It had been almost a year without a peep.
But goodness, her mind could be so loud at times, despite her quiet persona. Writing was the only outlet she had, and Chikara overstepped that line of trust. He was being just the nosy kid like he always was, but he should have known better!
He took that security from her. And she absolutely resented him for it.
She knew her little brother saw what she went through behind closed doors—what a struggle it has been. Even Ichiko and Suzume did not know the full truth. There were secrets she kept from both sides of her support group, all at arms-length.
She simply was too scared to open up. For if she did, the words would tumble and she did not know if she would be able to stop. Their whole family was different because of her episodes, and she could not help but feel guilty for it. They were trying to adjust. So was she.
Just… Why? Did his friends bribe him to do it? Were her feelings meant to be stomped on and made fun of, for laughs?
Yumemi was ashamed. For nine months, her heart felt bruised, with a slow-healing wound.
At least, now she could sleep.
Before Munto fell from the sky, she would constantly have the same dream. Not every night, but one she knew the steps to before they happened when dropped in the prophetic vision.
That vision finally came to be last summer. Luckily, such a dark future was avoided thanks to her power. But it came with a price.
When they connected and went their opposite ways, she could do anything but sleep. It took her brain a day to catch up, and when realizing what was happening, it refused to shut off from tidal memories rising to the surface. She would close her eyes—bitterly dreaming when awake, as her preschool bullies accused her of—and all she could see was blood, tears, and heartbreak.
Munto had such a bittersweet childhood—a childhood, which ended too early.
She knew what it was like to blind herself with her umbrella, be mute to believing makeshift securities, and forced deaf to scorned jeers: all to protect herself from the hurt.
It appeared Munto went through the same thing but in different scenarios. Instead, he refused the same outcome and did not hide from the Sun’s scorch flames. It was very brave and admirable. She wished she could be as strong as him.
As she wished she had a pen. She could write now.
An occasional knock came from parents within the hour stewed, alongside Chikara’s hiccupping apology:
“I’m really sorry, Yumemi! Aoi made me, and—!”
“Chikara,” her father’s warning softened, “What did you tell me downstairs?”
“Umm… You’ve been writing s-so much, and—! And I-I only wanted to get cl-close to you again! I’m really, really sorry for hurting you! I didn’t mean-n to!” he sobbed. “Please don’t hate me! I’ll do anything!”
Jeez… How dramatic. He made it sound like the end of the world.
Maybe it was. Maybe it was the end of their relationship, aside kinship blood. She could be silent forever.
She managed to stay quiet for five years since her umbrella, which she graduated from last summer and reserved it only as purposed for her favorite rainy days. That would make seventy or-so years more to go, right?
No, that was silly. But she was determined to get her point across.
Their pleas to open the door were ignored and she turned on the shower as a reply. A bath would help calm her frayed nerves.
Removing her honeydew cold-shoulder blouse and jean miniskirt, she fell into the warm spray and turned the connected faucet halfway for the pipe to fill the tub at the same time. Once she was washed and shampooed, her thoughts spun in loops, while sat on the floor. A red stream contrasted bright against the pink tiles of the running water. His color.
Another knock came, voice muffled.
“Sweetheart, it’s Mama.” There was a pause. “I talked to Chikara and your father. They understand now why this is so personal to you—why you are acting a little more upset. It’s all right to be upset from this. What Chikara did in reading your diary went past your boundary, and he is thinking long and hard on how to properly apologize. Isn’t he?”
The way she spoke made it seem the two were hovered beside her.
“Just know we hear you, honey, even in your silence. However, we can’t work this out unless you open the door.”
Turning the faucet off, she contemplated the option, finding herself not quite ready, and made her steps extra loud when entering the hot bath.
“Alright…” she encouraged, patient. “Don’t forget the Bufferin is in the cupboard if you still need it.”
Low whispers could be heard beyond the settling waves.
“Help the boys gather their things. I’ll give Aoi-kun and Kakeru-kun’s parents a call.”
“Alright,” Shigeru quietly agreed.
By the time she was pruned in the now-lukewarm water, there were reluctant farewells from the window on her left. It sounded like his friends were leaving early. The sleepover must have been postponed for another day.
That was her cue—an opportunity to creep out without being bombarded by fired questions.
Wrapping a towel around her body and another at her hair, she did a quick scrub to the tile floor, pushing the long sponge handle towards the drain, and checked for any blood or blonde leftovers. Nope, nothing noticeable, but a film could be felt if not cleaned properly, as found as a part of her allowance chores, and she put in better effort to the tub and sprayed it down once finished.
More time passed, likely cusped to two hours, her painkillers ate and damp hair brushed, and she stubbornly stayed with drawn knees curled in her bloody undies.
A knocking struck again, soft.
“Yumemi… Dinner is ready. I made your favorite. Come down when you like… Alright?”
She simmered with her jaw set, frowning.
…But she was hungry. Her stomach gurgled at the mention.
“Okay,” she whispered.
A sigh of relief was heard behind the door.
“Alright, sweetheart. Take your time.” The woman’s footsteps quieted away from exit.
Eyes of emerald stared ahead at the closed journal for a long, long moment. In her protest, she had re-read some of the old entries back from the New Year, which caused her doubts to spiral once more.
She did not know whether her unexpected journey with Munto really ended.
Maybe part of her was a little angry with him, too. He got he wanted, the Akuto crisis was averted and restored (probably?), and their worlds saved. His request to share her power was given freely for their races’ survival.
Then why did it feel like deep in her gut that it was not over?
She was anxious, uselessly waiting, and feeling a bit taken advantage of. Perhaps it was fate? She was the Girl of Destiny—it was in her name. Destiny.
However, neither of them had the choice to be psychically linked to one another by space-time.
At least, she was pretty sure it was not intentional. Was she so naïve to trust him?
No. He was dying right in front of her, for gods’ sake! His thought stream did not add up to such malice—although he did have self-martyr tendencies. Admiral Gntarl, on the other hand, was a different story.
They could talk about it? It would be nice discuss it with someone who really understood. That was all she wanted: to be accepted and understood.
The time or distance did not matter. They managed before? Friends checked in with one another, especially if they were hurting.
…They were friends. Right?
Yes, for sure. Starting introductions may have been not the best, but she would consider it so by the end.
And he was definitely hurting. It was hard to admit, but so was she, too. Like her cup was half-empty.
Forgiveness did not happen all at once—whether for the Magical King or her brother. Even to her current self, and what could never be as before.
She would have to try to move forward, despite how it felt like a rooted standstill. After all, as taught by Munto’s father, that was why people fall: to learn to pick themselves back up.
Yumemi could not give up hoping they would meet again. She just needed to get a little more stronger.
A/N: Yumemi is in a transitional period, both as a child and a teenager; but also in holding responsibility between her and Munto’s worlds (and hearts). It’s a heavy burden, and I’m sure she needed much alone time to confirm these feelings with her arms-length support group.
I absolutely love their psychic connection and love to explore it at more lengths. However, as I grow older, I realize how much of a double-edge sword it must be being bound to someone with so little choice in a matter. And yes, the part of Yumemi ‘offering her power but feeling taken advantage of’ was meant to sound like stolen virginity. OTP is hypothetically ‘married’ with crossing the ‘river of time,’ like Kazuya and Suzume. That bond will only grow stronger as they do with their love and trust. (ﾉ;◇;)ﾉ*･ﾟ✧
Phew! Fingers crossed I’ll get chapter four of Castles in the Sky done this year! The final fifth is already finished! (Keeping the expectation bar low, lol.) Thank you again for reading!
—Ari [3.30.22]
*1: Ichiko’s father, Také (Takae?), was confirmed to have his own flower shop from the blu-ray commentary: [tmblr.co/ZE8fixbIhlug4y00]
*2: Super Montaro Brothers was also a part of the commentary. ^_^
*3: Lyrics of Yumemi’s voice actress’ song, The Sky I Dreamed Of: [tmblr.co/ZE8fixUQPH45]
*4: Ichiko’s artistic ability was observed by her sketchbooks and photos littered around her room in episode five. Some of the original fliers by Tomoe Aratani also show her drawing in very shojo-esque style: [tmblr.co/ZE8fix1IpNk49]
*5: Just a general visual diagram of the Hidaka household: [tmblr.co/ZE8fixsT4EV3]