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Yuichi Usagi didn’t think about his parents much.
Or so he said, anyway.
Yuichi Usagi thought about his parents a lot.
He remembered his mother’s tight hugs, the way she would caress his face and press his ears back against his head as she kissed his forehead, and he remembered how his father taught him how to hold a sword, even if he had only been five. He remembered a lot more about them than he’d ever like to admit to anyone, including his aunt.
There were things that Auntie kept from him, and he knew that because he remembered the things she wouldn’t tell. It was to protect him, he knew that. She hid the painful knowledge so he wouldn’t have to deal with it, and that would be okay if he didn’t remember any of it.
“They wanted me to keep you safe, they never told me from what.” She’d said on one occasion, “They said they’d come back for you.”
He was sixteen years old, nearing seventeen. Eleven years ago they’d dropped him off with his aunt in the dead of night, and he knew that because he remembered it. He was sure Gen would say something about trauma, that’s why he remembered, but he wished he didn’t.
He remembered the conversation, the way his mother had held him to her chest as her and his father ran up the path to his aunt’s house. He remembered his mother’s voice and how she’d shush him gently every time he opened his mouth to ask what was going on.
“It’s going to be okay, Yuichi.” His father had spoken as his mother held him, only finally meeting his gaze after Auntie opened up her front door.
His father’s hand had caressed his face as he’d unwillingly been handed off to his aunt and his father pressed a kiss to his head. His fur felt wet, the top of his head damp with tears from his parents.
“Keep him safe. We can’t protect him anymore, we’re—we’re afraid of—“
“You know I’d never let anything happen to your son.”
“Mommy?” He’d finally been able to speak but his voice wavered, because, by god, was he terrified. “Where—what’s goin’ on?”
“Oh, Yuichi.” She’d spoken so sickeningly sweet, even as he watched her eyes gloss over with a new wave of tears, “You’re gonna stay with auntie, okay?”
“W-what? Why?! I—I wanna go with you—!” He remembered reaching out desperately for her but she’d only taken his hands and squeezed them tightly.
“You can’t come with us, baby.” She’d whispered, “We’d love to take you with us, you know that, but we can’t. You know we love you, right?”
He’d been so quiet then. He knew if he answered, they would leave.
“Yeah… ‘f course I know that.” Yuichi had said softly, his voice so soft and fragile as a child’s was.
“Of course you do.” His mother had laughed softly, “My intelligent boy, I love you so much.”
The memories hurt worse than the loss itself. Clearly hearing their voices in the memories, their faces scarred into his brain like a pencil that was heavily dragged against a piece of paper. Erasing it didn’t make the etches go away.
If he’d known that was the last time he’d ever see her face, the last time she’d ever press his ears back softly and kiss his forehead, he would’ve held onto her for just a little bit longer. He would’ve reached out for his father’s hand and held it tightly. But he didn’t know.
He remembered waiting until he couldn’t see his mother and father anymore to burst into tears, and he remembered holding onto his aunt’s shirt as tightly as his small paws would allow. His aunt had tried so hard to comfort him, to shush his cries, but all of it was to no avail.
He didn’t remember when he stopped asking his aunt when his parents would come home.
“Sagi? You okay?”
The voice rang through his ears as his senses forced himself back into the present, the blue mask was the first noticeable thing in his vision as his head turned. He smiled softly as he closed his eyes, resting his chin on the palm of his hand.
He’d rather be in this moment, his head falling into the ninja’s shoulder as he sighed softly, contently even.
“Yeah, I’m okay, Len.”
Yuichi Usagi didn’t think about his parents that much, at least, he’d like to pretend he didn’t.