Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

February 2nd, 2013.

Early Morning . 

The Kurusu apartment is quiet. Akira rolls his shoulder as he exits his room, feet padding across the western style carpet floor. The knock at the door returns, a sharp, abrupt rapping that hits across the solid wood three times. Whoever's waiting out there isn't very patient, which is only more annoying. All the people Akira knows are polite enough to give him a call or text before they appear, so this must be a stranger.

He holds onto his phone with trepidation as he approaches the entryway. When he presses his eye to the peephole, he's surprised that he finds only one person standing in the open air hall. It's the all too familiar tug in his heart that pulls at him that causes him to open the door without a second thought. Akira takes a moment to scold himself, since following his gut went so well last time, but that's all far away now. 

A boy no older than fourteen stands outside. He's wearing a light brown trench coat— it's clearly too big for him, bunching at the shoulders and hanging a little over his palms. He holds a black suitcase in his right hand, wearing gloves due to the chill in the air. His hair is frizzy enough to rival Akira's, which is a little rare. Red eyes meet his own gray ones, and distantly, Akira can feel the world pausing and holding its breath. 

"Ah," the boy says, eyes widening in mild alarm, "you look different." His left hand, raised to knock again, falls to his side. It's still clenched in a fist before the stranger visibly takes his time to relax his hand. 

Akira notes with mild amusement that he has no memory of the boy before him. "Have we met?" 

The mild-mannered teenager comes back to himself. "No, ah, I thought you were someone else for a moment. I'm Akechi Goro, an intern for a police precinct in Tokyo. I have a few questions for you, Kurusu." The lie is predictable and boring. 

"Inaba's pretty far for a precinct in Tokyo to care about," Akira replies. He's not surprised that Akechi knows his name, though it still grates under his skin. It could've been from his file. It could've been from the news. 

Akechi smiles, perfectly distant and mild mannered in the manufactured way Akira's familiar with. "The Inaba murders are still notorious, Kurusu-kun. I'm sure you're aware of the popularity." The comment is flippant and impersonal. Akira manages to keep his eye from twitching at the very last moment. 

"You look rather young to be an intern," Akira remarks, leaning against his door frame. He can tell from the way Akechi's eyes dart just beside his head that the boy's trying to look further into the apartment, but Akira's not too concerned with hiding anything. There's nothing much to see. 

The boy remains polite and impersonal. "I was lucky enough to be accepted early and given a work permit," Akechi explains, giving a slightly exasperated smile. It is the perfect performance. Akira briefly wonders if he should take notes. He's been a little too genuine as of late. It rubs him raw in all the wrong places. 

He could test the boy further. Could try and rile him up until he leaves. After all, clearly he's not running this line of questioning through the local police. 

There's that tug again. Akira is a creature of fate. "Come in," he says, stepping back and holding the black door open. Akechi steps in, moving to the side to remove his shoes as Akira lets the door fall shut. The apartment is perfectly neat. The light haired teen tries to get away by looking down the hallway, presumably towards Akira's room. "The living room's over here. Take a seat, I'll pull out some tea."

Akira leaves before he can see the other's reaction to being left alone. In all honesty, he'd rather get this done sooner than later – he does have things to do. The tea making process itself isn't anything foreign to him. It's all repetitive motions.

Briefly, distantly, he wonders if he's going to die today.

"You really don't have to go through all this trouble, Kurusu-kun," Akechi's voice drifts from the living room. It's an open concept conjoined room, so when Akira turns around, he's able to catch Akechi's piercing gaze before it softens. 

Akira smiles placidly. "I insist."

The kettle whistles. Akira pours the boiling water, puts the tea bags in the tea cups, and sits in front of Akechi in the living room. His father's large television has since been replaced by a bookshelf and extra seating. Despite having moved the television himself, he still settles into the white armchair with concealed unease.  

"Are your parents home?" Akechi asks, stirring his tea a little. Akira, perhaps rudely, only realizes that he'd made it black with no offerings of milk or sugar. Akechi seems pleased by this, frustratingly enough. The entire boy's presence is irksome to Akira. 

Something always goes wrong in February. "They're on a work trip," Akira answers honestly, "they'll be back at the end of the month."

If Akechi's surprised, he doesn't show it. "That's an awfully long time to be on your own."

"If you're as familiar with my file as you claim to be, you'd remember that I'm thirteen. That's a perfectly good time to begin finding some independence, don't you think, intern-detective?" 

A polite cough. "Junior investigative assistant, actually. Aha, I do suppose I can't judge your situation too unfairly. As an orphan myself, I suppose I tend to overestimate the dependency other children have on their parents."

Akira's eye is going to twitch. What a personal confession to make to someone you met less than fifteen minutes ago! If he'd been younger, he may have even felt bad. Instead, he merely takes a sip from his coffee. 

"If you were hoping to speak with them, you should've probably called ahead."

Akechi shakes his head. His hair is frizzy, in a worse way than Akira's was before his neighbor's granddaughter taught him how to do his hair. Everything about this teenager – no older than fourteen, and yet sitting like the weight of the world is on his shoulders – drags against his soul. There's a knocking in his chest, going: remember, remember, remember—

"In this matter, I really only need to clear up your testimony. Of course, if you'd like, we could do so with a lawyer present—"

"No." 

Akira's ashamed by the way the answer rips itself out of his throat. When he first refused to give testimony at eleven years old, it'd been excused as trauma. When he refused again at twelve, no one was going to force him from his hospital bed.

He's thirteen now. He can't quite escape this time, can he? 

Akechi smiles, a touch of false concern. "If you're uncomfortable at any time, please let me know. I'll be more than happy to return at a later date."

He's sure that Akechi would enjoy spending as much time in Inaba as he could. Akira has secrets to hide, however, and he's not letting another detective prince pry into his life. "This is about the murder of my aunt then, yes?" 

Akechi's smile is still bland. "No, your testimony is quite thorough about that matter. I'm clarifying your testimony regarding your relationship with Adachi Tohru."

Ha. Everything always comes back to Adachi, doesn't it?

"That's not an easy story," Akira deflects, finally looking away. He's staring at the bookshelf, at the previous indent in the carpet of the entertainment center, past the books and into the poorly patched hole in the wall. "If my previous testimony was so effective, I don't see the point in digging deeper into the past."

Akechi tilts his head, smiling in a patronizing way, thin lips pulled too wide. "Unfortunately, my supervisors would like some elaboration. If you're uncomfortable, I can visit another day with a lawyer present, but regardless, we will need your testimony."

Sly bastard. 

Akira smiles. A butterfly takes off from a stray dandelion, setting into motion events that will change the future. Or, rather, a butterfly was blown off course over two years ago, setting into motion events that changed the future, the very future stretching between the two of them at this moment.

Dark eyes meet deep red eyes. Fate holds her breath.

"Very well then," Akira replies, through gritted teeth and clenched fists.

Akechi pulls out a tape recorder. Old technology for someone so young. A gloved finger presses against the record button, the click echoing off of the barren, abandoned walls of the Kurusu apartment. "Please state your name and today's day for the recording."

"My name is Akira Kurusu, speaking on February 2nd, 2013, regarding my association with Adachi Tohru, the Inaba Killer." 

He takes a deep breath.

March 29th, 2011.

Afternoon.

When eleven-year-old Akira Kurusu opens the door, he's not expecting there to be luggage in the entry-way. 

It's not very much baggage, of course, but Akira's able to recognize his aunt's brand of red carry-ons. He takes a moment to process his mix of annoyance at his aunt being here and also that no one told him that she was coming. Trying to process things around his aunt also involves trying to process some of the rumors that's been going around about her, so Akira tries to clear away some of the negative thoughts lingering behind his hesitation to greet her.

Akira might not like his aunt very much, but he's not the disloyal type either. With a stern, brave face, he squeezed past the red plastic, ignoring his reflection in the entrance mirror. He can hear the faint murmuring of his mother and his aunt, but he can tell that whatever they're discussing, they're doing so in the privacy of his mother's room. 

Unfortunately for them, Akira is very skilled at eavesdropping. Shoving his shoes off and leaving them in the sunken, tiled entrance, he steps out onto the carpeted floor. He takes his time going down the hallway to his room, passing by the entrance to the bathroom, the closet, his mother's room's door– and quietly entering his room.

Akira puts his bag down gently, before moving towards his closet. The walls in the apartment are thin, yes, but his closet's back wall is the only wall separating his room from his parents'. Akira crouches, going under his hanged and neatly ironed clothes, pressing his ear to the wall. 

"-- understand your reservations Mayumi, but there's no need for you to stay at that old inn rather than with family." His mother's voice is strong, though hushed. She's not the type to argue or raise her voice in front of polite company, and Akira supposes that his aunt counts as polite company rather than "family."

His aunt's voice is a little louder. "Miyako, you're leaving tomorrow morning for a week. Kenji's going to be coming back in April. I don't want to risk bringing media attention to Aki-chan." The eleven year old wrinkles his nose at the childish nickname, which has persisted since his birth, but there's still a burst of affection when he hears it. 

He didn't know his mother was going to be leaving. His heart clenches a little painfully. His parents had explained to him when he turned eleven that they were going to be picking up a heavier workload, but he still found himself getting bitter every time they left him on his own. It's not as if he was completely alone; Mrs. Kujikawa had been tasked with checking in on him once a day or so.

Still, he leaned against the wall separating his closet from his mother and aunt, pulling his legs to his chest. Akira felt a little ashamed for the way he was reacting, he was in middle school! Most of his friends would be jubilant if their parents left them alone for a couple weeks or so. 

It was selfish to expect them to put their lives on pause for him. They hadn't expected him or planned for him, but they still loved him anyway. That should be enough for him.

His mother sighs. "Have it your way, then. At least stay the night, Mayumi, it's the least we can do. We can share the bed." 

"No, no, I'll take the couch. I won't impose any further than I already have." His aunt was  being unreasonable in his opinion, the couch his mother had bought recently was stiff and uncomfortable. His mother had surely thought the same, seeing as she didn't spend much time on it herself, but she simply sighed again. 

A brief silence buzzed from the other side of the wall. Akira began to peel away from the wall, but he heard his aunt begin speaking again. "I know how you feel about your reputation, Miyako. I won't ask you to burden yourself." 

Silence. 

"Thank you, Mayumi. I'll get some blankets from the hall."

Another pause, one even Akira could tell was charged. "You're welcome to visit Akira anytime you'd like. He likes your company." 

Well that was just a lie . Akira pulled away from the wall with a huff, carefully crawling out of his closet and moving to his desk. His room was simple like the rest of the apartment, a cream carpet and a small bed pressed against the furthest corner of the room with a view of the closet. His bedsheets were the only real childish thing he had kept after his tenth birthday, and that was because they were covered with images of Jack Frost, his favorite character. 

It wasn't a real character from a show or anything, but ever since a baby, his aunt had been supplying him with merch for the character, and Akira had fallen in love. That certainly didn't mean he enjoyed his aunt's company, he was simply taking advantage of her wallet. Akira's desk was close to his bed, functioning as a sort of bed table. He set his backpack on the floor and collapsed into his hard plastic spinning chair, which was a far more respectable dark red rather than the bright neon reds his aunt preferred. 

He was beginning his daily journaling when he heard someone knock on his open door. Akira looked over to see his aunt in the doorway, giving him a gentle smile. He scowled, but when he saw her crestfallen face, he couldn't stop the confusion showing on his face. 

"...and the other woman involved in the affair is announcer Yamano Mayumi—"

The realization sets in a little too late. His aunt is already trying to cover up her action with a mild grimace but returns to smiling brightly in an instant. "Your mom just headed out to grab some dinner! If you could help me with my luggage in the meantime, that would be great. I have a gift for you, since I know how you feel about plans being suddenly changed." His aunt's voice is kind and soft as ever, though her last sentence earns her a nasty glare. "Oh, come on Aki-chan! Don't be put off by it, it's perfectly normal." 

He kept his sullen expression, but got up from his chair to follow her. Mayumi sent him a grateful smile, but mostly he felt guilty for upsetting her. He was quiet by nature, so they worked in companionable silence to move the luggage from the entry and towards the furthest end of the couch, so it would be out of the way. 

Along the way his aunt almost tipped over his mother's precious potted plant (that he mostly took care of), but he quickly saved the tacky thing from tipping over. "I'm such a mess today, aren't I?" His aunt said, clearly aiming for it to be humorous. The frown on Akira's face only deepened. 

"I don't think you're a mess," he said, kicking some of the fallen dirt under the pot. It left a mild mark, but his mother barely went over here anyways, so he didn't worry too much about it. 

Akira kept his back to his aunt so she could take some time to clear her throat. She was prone to getting choked up, so he was used to giving her space to pull herself together. It was all about presentation, after all. 

Mayumi cleared her throat for the last time, clapping her hands together. Akira stopped inspecting the wilting, waxy leaves to turn around and look at her. His aunt had red-rimmed eyes, but still gave him a bright smile. "Well then! I ought to give my little helper his gift, huh?" 

Unable to hide his own curiosity, Akira awkwardly stood to the side as his aunt went over and rummaged through one of her smaller suitcases. After a few moments, which he tried and failed to look over her shoulder for, she triumphantly pulled out a white cardboard box. "I didn't have time to decorate it," she said sheepishly, "I got ah… caught up just trying to buy it." His hands clenched on the box, the cardboard giving way under his grip. 

"Go on! Open it, don't let my rambling distract you!" She ushered him to the couch, hands on her hip while she grinned wide as he pried the tape off the lid. He didn't have to even remove the lid all the way to be… pleasantly surprised by the gift. It was a set of some nice pajamas, the fabric having a repeated print of Jack Frost's face. Akira smiled for a second before being reminded that it was juvenile, so he quickly tried to cover it up with a scowl. 

From the way his aunt just grinned wider, he clearly hadn't managed to hide his delighted expression very well. "...thanks, auntie." 

Mayumi's grin was blinding. It wasn't like the one she put on TV, the soft delicate expression, but her goofy and fun one. He watched her programs when he could, but it always irked him that she was obviously being disingenuous. "You're welcome! I had to get my little Jack Frost a set of pajamas to match his icy interior," she giggled, clearly delighted by Akira's reactions to her teasing.

It's not that he disliked his aunt. If he was being entirely honest with himself, it's more that Akira actually found his aunt to be… different. She doted on him to an embarrassing degree, the proof lying with his unearned gift. "I didn't do anything to earn this," he said, voice plain and quiet as usual. His mother was still trying to encourage Akira to speak louder and he was well aware she was beginning to get annoyed with him. 

Akira prepared himself for a similar comment from his aunt, but he only felt a soft hand on his shoulder. "You don't earn gifts, Akira. It's a gift, with no expectations attached. You're too young to be worrying about something like that," Mayumi said softly, crouching a little to be at eye level with him. 

His face reddened. 

"I'm not young," he whined, rolling his eyes, "I'm eleven ." 

Mayumi just grinned again and poked his nose. "You're a baby ."

Akira would've argued further, but his ears caught the sound of the doorknob to the apartment rattling. His aunt quickly stood up, heading towards the door, but it opened before she got there. His mother walked in, carrying a grocery bag of some food. "I'm home," she called, giving a little bit of a startled shout by Mayumi's sudden appearance. 

He couldn't catch his aunt's expression, but he could see her shoulders tense. "Sorry, sorry! I just… wanted to check. Let me get that for you." She took the food from his mom without another word before heading towards the kitchen. His mother's face was pinched, though she smoothed out her expression when she caught his eye. 

Akira most closely resembled his mother— he had her dark curly hair and dark grey eyes. His soft face probably came from his father, though, since his mother's face was rather angular. His mother didn't really keep around childhood photos. "Hello darling," she breathed out, walking towards him and gently grabbing his face with her hands. 

He hated it when his mother did this, which was almost everyday, but he suffered through it for her benefit. She checked him over before pressing a kiss to his forehead and letting him go. "How was school, sweetie? Tell me about it," she began walking towards the kitchen, obviously expecting him to follow. 

The boy padded after her, dutifully reciting his day. "We're out of school, mom. I spent today just at the bookstore and by the river." His mother went behind the counter and helped his quiet aunt with unpacking the food, though she sent him a disapproving look. 

"Akira, darling, we've talked about this. You need to raise your voice. Why were you out and about if you didn't have school? You should've stayed home." His aunt glances up, looking at her sister from the corner of her eye. Akira sits at the kitchen counter, keeping his hands folded in his lap.

He goes to say something, but his mother beats him to the punch. "Oh well," she sighs, placing his bowl of ramen in front of him, "just make sure not to sit in the sun too much. I wouldn't want you to tan like your father does. And make sure not linger around like a ruffian, I hardly trust that group you hang around." 

Akira scowled. His mother narrowed her eyes at him, clearly about to lay into him for being disrespectful, but his aunt chimed in. "Are you excited for the new school year? We should go uniform shopping together—" Mayumi cut herself off, visibly frowning, "ah. Nevermind. You'll surely do that with your father, right?" 

That's an idea. He's been meaning to go to the school supplies, but it's a bit of a walk and it's been more humid than usual. Akira's mother hates it when he lets his hair get all frizzy, but he hates the feeling of hair gel, so he just avoids invoking humidity's wrath. If his dad just drives him there, it shouldn't get too bad. 

"I'll ask," is all Akira says on the topic. The three of them eat dinner in mostly silence, with Akira excusing himself immediately after finishing his food. He disposes of the black plastic bowl and turns the corner in the hallway, lingering to see if his aunt or his mother speak again. 

It must be his lucky day, because he manages to eavesdrop just a little. "Mayumi, I love you, but please stay out of Akira's tantrums. And what were you thinking, offering to go uniform shopping with him? He's old enough to be doing it himself!" 

His nails dig into the flesh of his palms. Akira winces in pain and uncurls his hands from fists into a normal resting position. 

"Miyako, he's just a kid. I'm sorry for offering to go shopping with him, but I'm not sure if he should be alone for it. Especially with… everything going on." 

The older woman lets out a harsh sigh. Akira tenses, fingers digging into the paint on the walls of the hallway. "And whose fault is that ?"

Unable to bear listening to more, Akira quietly hurries from the hallway and into his room, slowly and carefully closing his bedroom door. After a few moments of consideration, he turns on his lamp, as it's gotten dark outside. It's probably too early to go to sleep, but he lays in bed anyways. 

He forgot his gift in the living room. For some reason, that bothers him more than anything else. If he was braver, he'd go out of his room and try to escape the notice of his irate mother. If he was braver, maybe he'd have stuck up for his aunt instead of immediately running away.

Still, it's a little true, isn't it? If she hadn't—

Akira pulls the covers over his head and shoves that thought violently aside. That's too cruel of a thought to spare for his aunt. Annoying or not, Mayumi is— she's—

With a huff, Akira screws his eyes shut and turns his head to the side, pressing his cheek against the cotton of his bed. He'll think about this later, when he's not so tired. Out of respect for the rising voices outside of his room, he puts his hand over left ear, and dreams. 

It's the middle of the night when he wakes up again. It's probably just a need to use the restroom, but when Akira looks at his desk, his chest swells with relief to see the bland white box that held his pajamas sitting there. Pulling the sheets aside, feet hitting the soft carpet floor, he gingerly picked up the small note his aunt had left behind. 

He must've lost his glasses while he was sleeping, since he has to squint and bring the piece of paper close to his eyes to make out his aunt's tidy scrawl. 

For my Jack Frost,

don't forget these next time!

Akira scowls. He shoves the sticky note into one of his drawers and shoves the box somewhere under his bed. 

March 30th, 2011.

Morning.

Blearily getting dressed, Akira's more than content to just focus on the quiet noise of city pop echoing from his CD player. Usually, his mother would have the TV on, or recently, Akira would let the radio fill the gaps of silence, but the Kurusu household has been avoiding live media. The weather's not too bad, but his friends aren't really interested in fishing the way he is. They'll probably just aimlessly wander the plains as usual, making up their own trouble. 

It's not as if any of their parents would let them stay inside. Well, Akira probably could stay home, but his parents don't really have any entertainment for other kids his age. Of course, there's the issue if they really count as friends at all, mostly school friends that meet up during summer break for a lack of anything better to do. 

Sometimes they follow the tracks, as if they'll get anywhere with that. 

Regardless, a black t-shirt and some red cargo shorts should do well enough, though he's careful to make sure his shoes fit the color scheme. His mother had been overjoyed that he was developing a "fashion sense", even if his father had worried about what a normal age is for a boy to worry about his clothes. 

His music lulls for a second as he's about to exit the room, which is finally when he hears someone— not yelling, really, but angrily raising their voice. Akira knows his parent's angry voices pretty well, so he doesn't think it's off the mark to assume that his aunt must be yelling at someone on the phone. The raised voices are too clear for it to be a neighbor, though he has noticed that Mrs. Kujikawa seems more stressed than usual. 

Regardless, his aunt is really tearing into someone by the sound of it. Akira already feels bad for eavesdropping a little the night before, since he's been on the other side of a thorough dressing down from his mother too. She has a talent for making you feel bad about things you haven't even told her, honestly. Nosy as he is, he backs away from his bedroom door to wait out the end of the CD track.

After a few minutes, Akira feels confident on pressing pause on the DC player, approaching his bedroom door and hesitantly sticking his head out. His mother must be sleeping in, rarely enough — maybe that yelling secession had tired her out? The dark haired boy feels a momentary wave of concern wash over him, exiting into the hallway and pressing his ear against his mother's door. He doesn't hear anything, but he suddenly remembers that his mother was leaving for a business trip.

Akira stands outside his parents' bedroom feeling lost. Usually, she at least says goodbye, or leaves behind a hasty note. Was it his aunt's presence that made her feel comfortable enough to leave without a word?

He's being childish, the eleven year old decides. There's a lot worse things to be concerned about rather than throwing a fit just because his mommy didn't kiss him goodbye or something. Feeling humiliated, Akira walks down the hallway with his hands in his pockets and backpack over his shoulder. He's not needy nor does he particularly need comfort or attention. Akira's parents have always been proud of him for being low maintenance — not shy and not too friendly either. 

A perfect happy medium kid. 

Stepping outside of the hallway, he's a little startled by his aunt's appearance. She looks refined and pretty as ever, but she's still standing near the landline, which is just right outside of the hallway. 

It can lead to some frights if you're exiting the hallway and don't notice that someone's at the telephone. It's worse that she's just… staring at the wall with this blank look in her eye. She doesn't even notice him, not even as he quickly backs up to give her space. The expression she was wearing was… Akira doesn't know how to explain it. That sort of expression is never one he would imagine on his aunt, scary and dark and — miserable. He's never seen anything like it. Akira never wants to see it again. 

He takes a few steps back into the hallway, all the way back to his door, and slams it shut. When he exits the hallway, his aunt doesn't have that vacant stare anymore, but is still giving him a dim smile. 

"Morning, Aki-chan!" Mayumi chirps, wearing her TV smile. It makes Akira want to scowl, but he holds it back for a passive expression instead. "Your mother ah, she left for work earlier this morning. Don't worry, though, I'm here to watch you instead!" 

Now he really does scowl, unable to hold it back. "I'm not a little kid," Akira plainly states, "you don't have to take care of me."

Mayumi pulls a face. At least it's a genuine expression instead of her plasticy, fake one, so he doesn't mind when her smile falls. She doesn't say anything for a long, long while. Akira crosses his arms while looking away. His aunt has never yelled at him, but— still.

She lets out a long exhale. "You'll always be little to me, Aki-chan!" 

Akira huffs and pushes past her. "I'm going fishing!" He shouts, grabbing his backpack from the closet by the door and shoving on his shoes. His aunt's laughter rings pleasantly throughout the apartment and he can faintly hear it when he slams the door shut behind him. 

It's only when he's made it down the cement stairs that he allows himself to put on a victorious smile. For all his aunt insists she's taking care of him, he's taking care of her!

She hasn't laughed like that in weeks. 

March 31st, 2011.

Afternoon.

His aunt is all packed up and staying at the local inn by the next day. Akira thinks the apartment's too quiet, but he can't use the TV for background noise anymore. Too many channels are playing the same news segments. 

Before she goes, Mayumi stands by the door and stares at him unhappily. "You can't defend me out there, Aki-chan," she scolds after he unplugged the TV when he got home, "this is adult stuff to handle."

Akira stares at his shoes. His aunt doesn't scold him much, but it's worse when she does. Her face is pinched and pale and tired. He doesn't want to add to that. "I don't like the things they say about you." And the things people are saying are cruel . His aunt sighs, before opening the door.

"I don't either, kid. But I'm grown up, I can handle it. I'll be fine." 

He stares at the carpet more intensely. "Can you?" He asks, sounding small. It's shameful. 

A pale hand lands on his cheek. "I promise." 

Akira tries to hold onto those words when he's outside in the fields, he really does. He goes fishing with his friends, biting his tongue when they mimic their parents and start talking about that damn news segment . 

And he does well. The boy's not just saying that, he genuinely kept his tongue shut the entire time. 

"I mean, people like that should just die , that's what my mom says." 

When he snaps back to reality, Shu's on the ground. His glasses are askew and he's staring at Akira with shock. Everyone is— he's not the type to do this. He's quiet and obedient and he's going to be in so much trouble. 

He doesn't know what to do. "Sorry," he says lamely, "you shouldn't say things like that." And then he runs home, biting his lip and trying not to cry.

Akira's really good at that. Ruining things at the last minute. 

April 1st, 2011.

Early Morning.

Thanks to the thin walls, Akira is woken up by the sound of the front door opening. Trodding out of bed, wearing his new pajamas, he peeks into the hallway. There's the familiar shadow of a man being cast onto the beige carpet thanks to the lamp near the door. His father's home and all Akira can feel is dread in his stomach. 

He backs away from the hallway when his father starts coming down the hall. Akira panics, because it's not like he can just go back to sleep, so he plasters himself against the wall. 

Unlucky as he is, his father pokes his head into the room and shouts when Akira's right next to the door. It's right in Akira's ear, so he also jumps in fear. "Kid," his father says, "don't do that , that was horrifying. Your little beady eyes in the darkness and everything, Lord." 

Akira shuffles awkwardly. His father's mouth falls into a grim line. "I'm going to put my things away, but we need to talk." 

Internally, because he can't curse in front of his parents, Akira goes shit shit shit shit . Outwardly, he hums while studying his white and blue socks. They're also Jack Frost themed. 

… Maybe he's a little bit of a Jack Frost fan now. Just a little bit.

That's not even his fault, though. It's her fault, mostly, but whatever. Akira hovers awkwardly in his door frame while his father lugs his work bags back into his room. Their bed is a little dusty, since his mother wasn't there for long before leaving, but his father doesn't notice. Akira thinks he spots a cobweb in the high corner, but — well. It's none of his business.

His father's exhausted. Akira feels even worse. His dad leans against his own door frame while Akira fiddles with the knob of his door. "I got an interesting call from Ms. Nakajima," his father begins, his disappointed stare weighing heavy on Akira's shoulders, "that a certain someone pushed her son down in the flood plains." 

The door knob jiggles in the silence. 

"Akira, look at me." 

He keeps fiddling with the door knob. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees his father take off his glasses and rub at his eyes. Akira thinks his father looks more tired than ever. He's supposed to be a good kid who's well behaved. "I'm sorry," he says, staring at the brass door knob, "I already apologized to Shu."

His father sighs again. "You're not a violent kid, Akira. What the hell made you do that?"

Akira mumbles something.

"Speak up, Akira, I can't hear you when you do that. Say it clearly or don't say it at all."

"He said Auntie should die , dad." 

The door knob jiggles in the silence. Akira huffs through his nose, frustrated that he just couldn't keep his mouth shut. If he just stayed quiet and took the scolding, it would've been fine, but he always has to open his stupid mouth. 

"Your aunt isn't your job to worry about," his father finally says, harshly in the early morning, "and you shouldn't try and defend her. Her actions are her own." 

Akira keeps his face perfectly plain. 

"Don't let her mistakes reflect poorly on you. We're not those kinds of people." 

The door slams behind his dad. His father will apologize in the morning for being harsh but still remind Akira to keep his distance from his aunt. The eleven year old will nod while picking at his fingers until his nail beds are red and raw, and then they'll go over to the Nakajima's and apologize. His father will lie and say there was a death in the family. 

Akira will stare at his shoes the entire time. 

Something in him will remind him that this isn't fair.

Something in him will remind him that this isn't him .

Something in him will remind him that he used to be more. 

February 3rd, 2017.

Evening.

Have you ever had everything you ever wanted?

Once. 

Chapter Text

April 1st, 2011.

Evening.

After getting scolded by his father and apologizing to that annoying nerd, Akira spends most of his day outside of the apartment. It's a bad idea, considering how frizzy his hair is by mid-day, but he just can't stand the idea of going home. 

Briefly, Akira thinks about going to visit his aunt, but that idea is quickly dismissed. He can only have so many bad ideas in the span of a couple days before it settles into bad behavior. If he acts up, the boy is well aware that it'll drive his parents to rage. So Akira spends his day doing some shopping for school, to have a good excuse for his absence. 

To be more efficient, Akira just enters Junes to get most of the shopping done with. It's a little crowded, but Akira makes sure to not draw too much attention as he grabs some stationary. He considers a new backpack, but the budget his parents gave him needs to be carefully managed. They're not hurting for money or anything, but they won't be able to give him any cash while they're away, so Akira needs to be responsible with how he manages his funds for food.

At least it's not a small amount, because Akira's still too young to cook most food, they allow him to have as much junk food as he would like. It's not too bad, he supposes. 

Other people have it worse. 

Eventually though, his excuses wear thin and he returns home with two bags that are heavy and hard to carry, but he continues on anyway. Akira's standing outside of his front door when he first hears the faint sounds of shouting from within. More than familiar with sneaking in during arguments, Akira comes in as quiet as possible. As far as he can tell, the fighting is happening in his parent's room, so he darts to hide behind the couch to listen in.

"Mayumi, look, as much as we love having you over—" 

"God, do you seriously expect me to believe that, Kenji? You're telling me to stay away from my own nephew! You're not even here for him!" His nails dig into the meat of his palms. 

"Akira is eleven years old, Mayumi! He has nothing to do with your own childish, stupid mistake and I won't have you dragging him down while he's alone !" 

"I didn't do anything wrong, it was just heat of the moment and—"

"Didn't do anything wrong?" His father shouts, voice reverberating throughout the entire apartment, "You slept with a MARRIED MAN!"

Despite his better judgement, Akira covers his ears with his hands. His father still yells loud enough for him to make out his berating. "You acted like a common whore !"

His heart drops to his stomach.

Akira doesn't hear his aunt's response. At this point, his hands are pressed so tightly to his ears that it hurts. He can't physically curl up any more into himself, stuck with his knees to his chest. Akira's very good at making sure he doesn't cry loudly, because he's old enough to know it's weak to cry, but he can't help hiccuping every now and then.

The argument lasts awhile. 

Eventually, the door slams shut. Akira carefully removes his hands from his ears as his father walks into the living room. The boy blinks a couple of times before peeking his head over the armrest of the couch. His father is rubbing at his face while looking towards the door, back to him. This is probably his chance to sneak into his room, but the crinkling of the bags as he goes to move makes his father whirl around.

His father's face is tightly pinched. "How much of that did you hear?" 

Akira tries to respond, but his voice refuses to come out. It would be worse if he mumbles, so he just shrugs. His father sighs. 

The boy almost flinches away when his father starts walking over to him, but is kept still by his better judgement. His father kneels down to be face to face with him, though his father ends up being a little shorter than Akira. He's at that awkward height that no matter what his parents do to "get on his level", they can't.

"I'm…" his father trails off, not looking at him, "sorry you had to hear that." 

He hums. His father continues on. "Your safety is more important than anything to your mother and I. We have a duty to protect you, son." 

And     something   in   him—     "You called her a whore."

Akira's mortified the moment he says it. His father's face turns stormy, placing a hand on Akira's shoulder. It's too heavy and his grip is too tight to be comforting. "Your aunt did something very bad , Akira. It's something unforgivable. She shouldn't drag us into this nonsense because she made a mess. People like that will only drag you down." 

"She's my aunt," Akira whispers, "we're supposed to be there for family."

His father sighs. "It doesn't matter what someone is to you, Akira. Sometimes you have to let people go to be successful. Sometimes you have to be selfish to live ." 

Akira doesn't say anything. His father lets go of him and ruffles his hair as he stands. "Why don't you tell me about what you bought? I was going to go shopping with you, but it seems you did it on your own!"

The chipper tone is too much. Everything is too much . But Akira begins talking anyway, explaining his purchases one by one. He doesn't mention that he wanted a new backpack, he doesn't mention the careful budgeting, he doesn't mention how hard it was to carry the bags all the way home on his own. He doesn't mention anything really and neither does his father.

They're just going through the motions of a family. Akira thinks to himself: if I get in trouble like that, would they abandon me too?

And deep, deep down, like a flower blooming, his heart knows the answer: yes. Of course they will.

April 2nd, 2011.

Early Morning.

His parents are arguing on the phone when he wakes up. 

Akira nearly slams his face back into his pillow, but today's the first day of school, and it's not a short walk. Carefully, he begins dressing in the light blue uniform, eavesdropping. He's pretty sure his dad's going to get ripped a new one for the things he said yesterday, if only because Akira overheard it. They're not perfect parents, but they at least don't try and expose him to arguing. 

They just happen to argue often. 

"...can't just say those things, Kenji!" His mother's shrill, electronic voice comes from the landline, "especially not to your own sister-in-law! You two could've been overheard– no, you were overheard by our own son! Our own son, hearing you call his aunt a— a—" 

His mother's never been lost for words before. Leaning against his bedroom door, Akira marvels at the fact that she even stuttered at all. 

"I'm sorry, alright!" His father whisper-shouts, a little harder to pick up by Akira's ears through the plywood door, "I didn't know what to say, with all those news segments and— Akira got into a fight about it, Miyako! Akira ! In a fight !" 

His mother doesn't respond, or if she does, he doesn't hear it. "I know she's your sister, I know we have duties to her, but our son has to come first. I won't expose him to that kind of media storm and I won't expose our reputation to that sort of hit." 

"Inaba's a small town," his father continues, rushed and hushed, as if he's trying to get all of his points out in one breath, "if even one person saw her coming over, the gossip mill would never stop. I'm thinking about Akira's future— what will happen if people keep coming to him about details of his aunt's affair? What will happen to him if people keep bothering him for more and more details?"

Akira doesn't hear what his mother replies. There's a long bout of silence, though, so Akira just leans against the wall and waits. The sun is shining softly through his windows, but it should be early enough that he doesn't have to worry about being late to school. He gets dressed anyway as the silence persists, besides hushed whispering from his father. 

The man must've realized it's about time Akira wakes up. As Akira tugs his school uniform shirt over his head, he overhears one last comment from his mother before the conversation is over:

"She's my sister. I have a responsibility to her. That doesn't mean I'm willing to bear the burdens of her actions either, Kenji. Don't misconstrue me like that."  

And that's the end of that. His father offers Akira a ride to school, but he doesn't accept it. 

From his father's expression, he seems hurt, but Akira can't bring himself to feel bad about it.

When Akira arrives at school, he's pulled aside by his homeroom teacher. He's a mostly strict man with an unfortunate hairline that only shows sometimes. Standing inside the teacher's room, in front of the sitting man, Akira feels smaller than ever. 

"I was informed by Mrs. Nakajima that you had an altercation with Nakajima-kun," the man states, looking unimpressed. Akira doesn't look at his feet, exactly, but stares at the bridge of the man's nose so he doesn't have to meet his impressive glare.

It's not as if he has a retort to that, after all. He's the one who pushed the other boy onto the ground. "It was a mistake, it won't happen again," Akira promises, resisting the urge to pick at his nails. To be even more sincere, he includes a bow. He doesn't go as low as he probably should.

The answer isn't enough for Mr. Watanabe, of course. "It better not!" The man bellows, "We're not trying to deal with a delinquent. I understand boys mess around, but if I get another call about your behavior, you'll be sorry !" 

Akira doesn't flinch. Mr. Watanabe's reputation isn't as infamous as that one teacher at the high school, but he's become more belligerent as of late. Not for the first time, Akira finds himself on the other end of that nasty attitude. It certainly makes for an interesting first introduction. 

The elderly man sighs. "Go find your seat, Akira, and we'll see if I find a reason to bring you into this office again ." 

The eleven year old doesn't exactly rush out of the room, but it's a close thing. He flattens himself against the wall to take some deep breaths when he hears his teacher grumbling to someone else in the room (and isn't that humiliating, to be scolded like that in front of other teachers). 

"That boy, he's got such a creepy gaze. Like there's nothing in there. I'm going to have to deal with teaching another dunce, won't I?"

There's a pause of someone mummuring. "Yeah, yeah, you wouldn't get it until you really look into his eyes," his teacher says, "they're dead. Those glasses he wears sometimes do a good job of hiding them. It's not until you're up close that you notice."

Akira doesn't stick around for any longer after that comment. There's no need too, really, it's nothing he hasn't heard before. 

Though, he starts wearing his reading glasses a lot more often. He keeps telling himself that it's not as if he's affected by the comment, but when he catches his gaze in his reflection off the classroom window, he feels miserable all over. Maybe that's why people think his dark gray eyes are so ugly— they have nothing but misery in them. How embarrassing.

Lunchtime is more of the same as it was before. Akira sits with the usual bunch of people, childhood acquaintances. Some people congratulate him on "finally putting that smug jerk" in his place. The eleven year old feels mollified by it — Nakajima Shu is an asshole, there's no reason for him to feel as torn up as he does about getting sick of the guy. 

Akira eats school lunch without a fuss, not paying much attention to things outside of his own thoughts, before the topic of local news comes up. 

Not for the first time, and certainly not for the last time, his friends begin talking about Yamano Mayumi. 

"My mom said that she hooked up with a married guy," his friend titters, "practically jumped at the chance to help him cheat." 

"She's not even that hot," another one chimes in, "but I guess that singer isn't either. Too many girls have short hair these days."

Akira wants to cover his ears, but that's too public. Akira wants to get up and leave, but that's too public. 

"I mean, she looks a little bland, doesn't she? Chicks like that are always chasing after guys." 

"It's disgusting," they giggle, "like seriously, what a slut!"

Akira doesn't say anything. 

There's nothing left to say, really. Maybe his father was right — maybe this really is all her fault. 

The last bell rings, bringing an end to Akira's first day back. It's a blessing, really, that has Akira walking slowly back home. For a second, he considers visiting his aunt, but realizes it would be a bad idea. It would just spark his father's ire. Yet when he returns home, his dad isn't home. 

… he really, really wants to talk to his aunt. Standing before the landline, he shakily presses the buttons to reach his aunt, carefully watching the door to make sure he doesn't miss anyone approaching. 

"Hello? Kenji, is that you?" His aunt's voice is calm and cool as usual, the same tone of voice she uses when dictating bad news or informing the public of various tragedies. It's a relief, really. If she sounded sad or anything, Akira wouldn't have the guts to approach her about this. 

Even so, Akira still takes a second before giving a breathy response. "No, it's me, auntie. I… wanted to talk to you." 

There's some shuffling on the other line. He tries to imagine what she might be doing, shut away in the Amagi Inn. "Hey, Aki-chan. What's wrong? Is everything alright?"

"I'm fine," he lies, "just… been hearing things about you. I don't…" 

His aunt doesn't say anything. 

"I don't know what to do. Dad keeps saying it's your own fault, but people are talking about things they don't know anything about and it's— they're talking about you like you're some sort of—" 

He can't bring himself to repeat the words his father said. "You're not a bad person, auntie," Akira says quietly, like he's trying to reassure both of them.

His aunt sighs. It's not the disappointed sigh of his homeroom teacher, or the frustrated sigh of his parents, but a sort of sad noise that his aunt has been making more and more often these days. "It's not your job to defend me, Akira. I…" 

Mayumi trails off. "I did a bad thing. I made a huge mistake. I was selfish— very, very selfish."  

Akira replies before he thinks better of it: "I don't think there's anything wrong about being selfish."

His aunt laughs. "Oh, Akira, everything you do for yourself will hurt someone else. I was cruel. I was childish."

"I'll be alright, kid. Don't let your father catch you talking to me, okay? I love you." 

His aunt hangs up. Akira lets the dead line ring for a while before returning the landline phone to its spot. For all his aunt boasts about how talking about things is supposed to make you feel better, he just feels worse.

April 3rd, 2011.

Early Morning.

Akira wakes up when his father presses a gentle kiss to his forehead. 

"Work calls," the man says, apologetically, with a tight smile. 

Akira gives a solemn nod. Anything else he would want to say feels too bitter. Before his father leaves his room, though, he's able to summon some quick parting words: "stay safe." 

return home soon , he doesn't add. 

But his father's already gone by the time he summons his voice. 

April 4th, 2011.

Early Morning.

When Akira's walking to school, stomach empty due to his lack of oversight to buy any breakfast options, he runs across a bit of an odd scene. There's a little girl with light brown hair struggling to clean up an overturned trashcan. While other children just walk by, Akira sighs and walks over to help. 

"Do you need a hand?" He asks, only to receive a startled screech for his thoughtfulness. The girl looks around like she's going to hide, before bringing her dirty hands together and nervously clutching them to her chest. 

"It wasn't me, I promise! A boy crashed into the trashcans and instead of cleaning up he just left! and Ms. Tanaka is always telling us how important it is to be responsible so I'm making sure to clean it up so it doesn't bother the poor trashmen but—" 

Akira is overwhelmed, to put it mildly. "I can do it for you," he says, before the kid can work herself into tears. 

The girl stares. The dark haired boy shuffles awkwardly under her appraising gaze. "Are you sure?" She asks timidly, "I can handle it myself…"

She most definitely cannot . The trashcan is the same height as her. "I've got it. Go off to school and wash your hands before you're late." 

To his surprise, the girl puts her foot down (figuratively, though she does look like she's about to start stomping in anger). "You can help, but I'm not letting you be late for school too!" She declares like a battle cry before returning to pick up loose trash. 

Akira sighs, moving his bag out of his way as he crouches down and begins cleaning up. The work isn't too hard– he picks up a larger bag of trash that was knocked out with the gray haired girl's begrudging permission, after she fails to pick it up. Mostly they gather small bits of trash, such as food waste and papers and takeout boxes. It's not hard, but it's certainly gross . 

The eleven year old carefully holds his hands out in front of him while walking back to school. After the work was done, he'd firmly sent the elementary student off on her way, rolling his eyes at the way she pouted. Kids were annoying — or at least, people in general were. 

He made his own way to school in a grim slouch, ignoring the glare of his teacher while he was in class.

The school day itself passed without bother, despite the mild turmoil in his mind. More rumours flying around even the middle schoolers, some of which about his aunt. As a mantra, he keeps telling himself: ignore it, ignore it, ignore it—    

Honestly, he's hardly paying attention on his walk home until the brown haired girl from earlier starts frantically waving at him further up the way. She's standing by the trash they cleaned up earlier, smiling at him brightly. It almost hurts to look at. Akira changes his course to approach her. Before he's even in earshot, she's talking to him. 

"I wanted to thank you for helping me!" Her voice is loud and despite the fact she's clearly nervous, wringing her hands and rocking back and forth on her heels, she seems to be trying to appear friendly towards him. 

Akira's grip on his bag tightens. "It's fine," he replies, automatically. It's a bit of a dead reply, so he winces and goes to open his mouth more, but she's more than content to continue. 

"Um, I just couldn't let it be, but when I told my teacher, she scolded me about my own safety, and so I wanted to thank you for making sure nothing happened to me!" 

That's inaccurate to what Akira's goals were at the time, but he realizes that they could've been hurt from the trash as well. "You're welcome," he replies, again not offering much. 

The conversation begins to fizzle out, both because of his own simple answers and the girl's confidence failing. It's a good way for him to just leave, but— well, ha. 

"Does that happen often when you're walking to school?"

The girl startles and looks at him funny. "Um, what do you mean?" 

Akira shifts his weight and looks away. "That you get distracted on your way to school." 

She doesn't respond. There's some light puddles on the sidewalk further up ahead. It's really not his business what the kid does before getting to school, but there's something keeping him tied down. Akira isn't really the helpful type, he doesn't understand what's—

"Yeah," the girl sighs, voice forlorn, "but my dad doesn't walk me to school or anything, and as long as I arrive on time—" 

"—no one notices you got sidetracked?" Akira finishes for her, looking back at those big (sad) grey eyes. She gives a sad nod, shoulders slumped and everything. He's familiar with absentee parents and in the back of his mind, he looks at this kid and sees himself. It's a little humiliating, how he must look from the outside, but Akira just shrugs his shoulders and shifts his weight again. "I can walk you to school," he offers, annoyingly sincere. 

The girl scrutinizes him. "Really? You promise?"

"Cross my heart," Akira swears, offering a pinkie finger. The girl lights up, wrapping her small pinkie around his. 

"I'm Nanako Dojima!" 

Akira pauses. He's pretty sure he's heard the name Dojima before, but he can't recall where. "Akira Kurusu," he returns. 

The girl beams. "See you tomorrow!" Dojima shouts, running down a side alleyway, "Right here, alright? You promised!" 

Akira offers a lame wave. After she's out of sight, he slumps and returns to walking to his empty apartment. 

April 5th, 2011.

Early Morning.

His first day as Dojima-chan's escort happens on a foggy morning. It's probably for the best that they walk together on a gloomy day like these, all sorts of accidents happen when they get heavy fog. Akira arrives at the meet-up spot before his younger companion. The middle and elementary school buildings are combined into one, so up until he gets to the middle school gate, he'll be accompanying the little Dojima across the flood plains. 

For not the first time, Akira regrets his offer, but the cheerful Dojima shows up soon anyways. 

Though, she's not as cheerful as usual. It seems she's a little shy this time, focusing on her feet. Akira isn't good at starting conservations, nor carrying them, so after they exchange a wave, he walks with her in silence. 

He's content with this until they come to their first crosswalk and he has to snag her by the loop of her backpack to stop her from walking before the sign goes off. Dojima-chan looks at him oddly, more than a little confused. 

"There's no one at the cross walk," she whines, pouting. Akira shrugs. 

"Better safe than sorry," he replies, repeatedly hitting the cross walk button. 

Dojima takes the break in routine as an opportunity to talk. "You sound like my dad," she accuses. 

"If multiple people are telling you something," Akira drawls, "you should probably listen to them." 

To this answer, the young girl resolutely shakes her head. "You should think for yourself!" Dojima-chan cries, in apparent outrage, "and trust your gut! Just because others are telling you something, doesn't mean they're right." 

It's— a good point, but he doesn't really want her to start walking into crosswalks just because she wants to think for herself. Before he has to answer, though, the walk sign lights up, so they return to their mutual silence as they walk together. 

Or, at least, the silence lasts a solid five minutes before Dojima-chan begins talking again. "You really do remind me of my dad, though," which is not a soothing thing for Akira's ego, "cause he says we should always follow the rules." 

That certainly hits Akira in the ego. "That's not what I meant," he snaps, offended for reasons beyond him, "rules are made to be broken, but you should still stay safe, you know?" 

She gives him a sideways glance. The idea that Akira is acting in any manner of an authority figure is killing him inside. It was absolutely a bad idea to agree to accompany this mean little girl, he decides, trying to hurry up his pace to drop her off sooner. Dojima keeps up, though, with seemingly little effort. 

"My cousin is going to be moving in with us soon," she confides in him, "so you can stop walking with me then. What if he's mean, though? I hope he isn't mean." 

Akira resigns himself to the loss of a quiet morning. "Your father wouldn't let someone mean live with you." 

She huffs. "My dad isn't even home most of the time! If my cousin's mean, then I'll have to tattle on him." 

"My aunt can be a little mean," Akira absently says, "but she's not mean to me. I think it's important if he's not mean to you." 

Dojima hums. "I wouldn't mind that," she offers like a peace treaty, "because if he's mean to others but nice to me, then he can scare off any mean kids at school for me." 

Before he can worry about Dojima being bullied, though, she changes the topic. "At least I'll have someone at home with me," she states, plainly, in a way that makes Akira's limbs sort of lock up, "it gets lonely when my dad works his long hours." 

The middle school gates are pretty close, maybe he can get away with not saying anything. It's just, well, he makes the mistake of catching the familiar expression on Dojima's face, the one that he scrubs off in the mirror, and— "I understand," Akira says, lamely. 

Dojima stops. Akira stops not long after, looking back at her. Suddenly, she looks so sad. It's odd, really, that she's more upset about this than her own situation. 

"Do you have someone who's gonna stay with you?" 

Akira doesn't answer at first. He's not supposed to bring up his aunt, but — no offense to Dojima, she won't say much. Even if she did, no one would connect the dots. She certainly wouldn't, she's a grade schooler. 

Like a prayer, he whispers: "my aunt." 

Dojima's smile is bright. It almost makes the heavy weight in his chest dissipate. 

April 6th, 2011.

After School.

Akira's mother returns home in the morning, but it's when Akira's already at school. He's surprised to see her in the living room, though she's sleeping, watching the news. No one in the family had been keeping the news channel on for a while, so Akira is a little starved for content.

It's the usual, though. It seems the local channels can't get enough of speaking ill of his aunt. His nails dig into the palms of his hands while his aunt's former co-workers gives a flat, pleasant report about her life, about how poor, poor Hiiragi, the devastation, the community outrage; and not for the first time, Akira thinks to himself: why doesn't anyone blame him ?

He doesn't even know the name of the man who cheated on his wife. All anyone talks about is Yamano Mayumi, a promising reporter who threw away her entire career. 

It's not fair. His aunt was wrong, yes, but why is it that everyone only holds her liable?

His aunt isn't a bad person. She's annoying, sure, with how she coddles him. Insisting on sitting next to him on the couch and tucking him in when she used to babysit him, and always fussing about if he's eaten, and yeah, yeah she does get on his nerves when she ruffles his hair and messes it up or hides his reading glasses or tries to get him to smile or acts childishly —

She's not a bad person. 

She just did a bad thing. 

Akira turns the TV off. 

It doesn't have anything useful to say anyways.