Work Text:
Fuyuhiko lay on his stomach on the soft red carpet of the living room, his legs kicking lazily in the air behind him. In front of him, a sheet of paper rested against a heavy encyclopaedia, just steady enough for the messy art he was creating. He scribbled furiously with the coloured crayons he'd smuggled from Natsumi's playroom, pressing hard enough that the wax left thick strokes on the white page.
It was late.
Peko was already in bed, worn out after a long day of kendo practice. She'd fallen asleep quickly, leaving Fuyuhiko free to slip from his room next door and tiptoe down the hallway and stairs to the empty, quiet living room.
The night outside was dark and warm–the late evening on the 29th of June.
The night before Peko's seventh birthday.
Fuyuhiko held the pink crayon between his teeth as he scrawled with the grey one, his hand moving in quick, purposeful strokes. When he dropped the grey, he plucked the pink from his mouth and returned to the page. His head bobbed from side to side, feet swinging absently behind him.
He reached for the red.
Despite being so young, Fuyuhiko wasn't stupid. He knew that Peko had a different role to him, he knew that she wasn't treated the same as him or Natsumi. To his parents and to the clan, she wasn't as important.
But to Fuyuhiko, she was the most important person in the whole universe.
Which was exactly why he was determined to make her the best birthday card ever.
It was decorated with waxy, multicoloured balloons tied with swirly black ribbons, and crayon confetti sprinkled messily across the page. Along the top, thick colourful letters spelt out 'Happy Birthday Peko'—written in Fuyuhiko's best handwriting (which was about as neat as Peko's worst, but she wouldn't mind).
At the bottom of the page, he had drawn a big, sweet birthday cake, candles of all shapes and sizes scattered across the top. Now, Fuyuhiko was just finishing the final touches—right in the centre—a messy drawing of himself and Peko holding hands, their faces lit up with large, happy smiles.
Fuyuhiko couldn't help but grin at his masterpiece. It was amazing.
He set the crayon down and stared proudly at his work. Everything about it was great—Peko would obviously love it.
But... something was missing. There was a blank patch of white space, just above the stick figures of him and Peko. He frowned, feet lowering to the floor as he racked his brain. What could go there?
He thought and thought.
Then suddenly—it hit him.
The perfect idea.
He picked up the red crayon and decorated the empty space with a big, lopsided love heart.
Now it was perfect.
Carefully, Fuyuhiko folded the paper in half, turning it into the shape of a proper card. He opened it again, grabbed the red crayon (Peko's favourite colour, of course) and began writing his message inside.
As he finished, he closed the card and pushed himself up to his knees. He shuffled forwards, grabbing the crayons and shoving them into his pyjama pockets. He'd return them to Natsumi tomorrow. With quiet care, he tiptoed out of the room, switching off the light as he passed through the door. Up the stairs he crept, clutching the card tightly in his hand, practically buzzing with anticipation for the morning.
∘₊✧───🎂───✧₊∘
"Happy Birthday Peko!"
Fuyuhiko bounded into the kitchen, hands tucked behind his back, a wide grin stretched across his face. Peko was sat at the table, chewing quietly on a piece toast. She looked up at him, eyes still foggy with sleep, the haze not yet cleared from her lashes. Her braids were messy, little loose strands sticking out at odd angles.
The morning sun beamed in through the window, illuminating both the table and Peko's sleepy frame.
"Um... thank you." She mumbled, blinking at him, slightly caught off guard by his enthusiasm.
Peko never really celebrated her birthday. Sure, Fuyuhiko's parents got her a small gift every year—usually a new kendo sword or uniform—but nothing more. Nothing special.
Fuyuhiko hauled himself up onto the chair next to her, trying his best to hide the card behind his back.
"What have you got in your hands?" Peko questioned, already onto him.
His eyes widened. "N-nothing!" He blurted. "You didn't see anything, right?"
Peko tilted her head slightly and shook it, eyes narrowing behind the thick lens of her glasses. Confusion and intrigue flickered cross her face. Fuyuhiko let out a sigh of relief.
His fingers twitched behind his back, nerves beginning to race through his small body. Should he give it to her now? Should he wait until she'd finished eating? He couldn't decide. His mind swirled with indecision, and must've gone quiet for quite a while, because suddenly—
"Can I see it?"
"Uhm..." Fuyuhiko stammered, his cheeks tinting a soft pink. "Y-yeah."
He slowly brought the card out from behind his back and held it out to her in both hands. His gaze dropped to the floor, unable to meet her eyes, a wave of bashfulness washing over him.
"Happy Birthday, Peko." He mumbled, voice barely above a whisper. His heart thudded as he felt the card leave his grasp.
He was suddenly overcome with shyness, a sharp contrast to the enthusiasm he had been feeling only moments prior. The kitchen was quiet; only the hum of the refrigerator and distant tweeting of birds breaking the silence that felt like Fuyuhiko was drowning in.
He couldn't look up. His eyes locked onto one singular floor tile, and his fingers fidgeted nervously in his lap.
She hadn't said anything.
Why hadn't she said anything?
Was his card bad, or something? Did she hate the balloons? Or what if the cake had eight candles instead of seven? Did she not like how their figures were holding hands? Was the love heart too much?
Fuyuhiko chewed on his lip, anxiety rising in his throat, threatening to burst out in a flood of sobs. He slowly opened his mouth, voice small and ashamed.
"It's okay if you don't like it... I know I'm not that good at drawing."
More silence.
If this went on any longer, Fuyuhiko might just explode. So—gathering every ounce of courage his six-year-old heart could muster—he slowly looked up.
She was staring down at the card. Tears had welled in her eyes, quietly dripping onto the lenses of her glasses.
Fuyuhiko's heart dropped.
Oh god, she did hate it.
His stomach twisted, panic bursting out of him in a rush.
"I-I'm sorry! I really tried hard! Did I draw your face wrong? Is it the balloons? They're not all red, I know you like red the best—but I thought maybe you'd want other colours too—was that dumb? Is it my handwriting? You can't read it, right? I—"
"I love it." She whispered, barely loud enough for Fuyuhiko to hear. His words caught in his throat, dying before they could escape.
She... she loved it?
"You..." he started, hesitant and unsure. "You don't hate it?"
Peko looked up at him, a small, grateful smile tugged at her lips—soft and a little shaky.
"I love it."
Fuyuhiko sat frozen, mouth slightly agape. And then suddenly, she launched forward, wrapping her arms around him, clutching him with all the love her tiny heart could hold.
Fuyuhiko gasped, nearly falling off his chair, but he caught himself just in time.
"I really love it, master." She murmured into his pyjama top, holding on tight, her glasses digging awkwardly into the bridge of her nose. "It's the best card ever."
Fuyuhiko felt blood rush to his face, his cheeks flushing an embarrassingly deep rouge. He thought she would like it—but not this much.
What he didn't know was that Peko had never received a card before. Not once, in all her seven years of life. He'd just assumed she had.
"I—I knew you'd like it," he mumbled, slowly snaking his arms around her in return, trying to play it cool—like he nearly hadn't burst into tears a moment ago.
Peko cried silently into the cotton pyjamas, her tears soaking the fabric as she listened to the quick-paced thudding of Fuyuhiko's heartbeat.
A swell of pride and warmth bloomed in his chest—so strong it nearly knocked the breath from his lungs.
Without thinking, he tilted his head down, resting it gently against the top of her head. Her hair tickled his cheek as he slowly breathed in the scent of her rhubarb shampoo.
He squeezed her tighter, feeling the steady rise and fall of her breath against his chest—a silent promise that he'd always be there.
Yeah. His card was totally a good idea.