Chapter Text
None of the people on the magazine covers had freckles.
Nearly every manga hero Kaito had ever read had beautiful, flawless skin, without a single mark. He didn't equate that to real life for a long time—come on, manga was cool (to him), but he wasn't a dummy! He knew it wasn't real life.
But then when he started school, some things, unfortunately, came to his attention.
He wanted to make friends! Especially with the pretty girls! And yet…
Some of the kids would play with him, sure, but sometimes they would turn to each other and whisper. Sometimes they'd be looking at him while they did, and then they would laugh. That should be good, right? All the articles and stuff said people liked when other people had a sense of humor.
So why did it make Kaito feel so bad?
Then came picture day. Kaito wore his favorite shirt at the time (So cool! It matched his eyes and made them look brighter), and Gram had muttered about how a more traditional fit might look better, but she had helped Kaito comb his hair anyway (even got one of the cowlicks to lay flat for all of five minutes) and even mentioned her pre-order for the prints. It was gonna be so, so cool.
He grinned big when the camera flashed, making sure to not grin so wide that you couldn't see his eyes—he thought he had pretty eyes so he wanted to make sure they were open! To go with the shirt!—and even managed what was a super-popular pose with his hand framing his face beneath his chin. Awesome!
But there was laughing from other kids when he went to sit back down, and then… more whispering. He smiled back at one group of girls, and they burst into more laughter. What the heck? Maybe they just really liked his shirt?
And oh my gosh! One of them was coming over to talk to him! Yes! He straightened up his posture and smiled brightly once again as she approached.
“Ne, Fuji-kun, you forgot something in your picture,” she said, and that threw him. His expression flickered to one of uncertainty as the girl put something down on the desk in front of him.
At first when he looked down, he thought it was a big eraser? After a moment of study, he realized it was… makeup.
His teal eyes that he was so proud of looked up from the cream-colored stick to the girl who had placed it, filled with confusion.
She smirked. “Maybe you can cover up some of those freckles next time!”
Then the others laughed again.
…oh.
Kaito breathed in deeply a few times, trying to quell the hurt, but there was no stopping it. His vision went cloudy with big tears, but before they fell, he ran.
He could still hear them laughing, but he ran.
-oOo-
When he got home, Kaito was glad for his small size. He was careful as could be, not wanting anyone to see his face as red as it was from crying as long as he had. He was also pretty sure he had got some snot on his favorite shirt, but what did it matter anyway?
“...cover up some of those freckles next time!”
He wanted to go to his room, but he also was a little worried someone might notice the closed door and come and talk to him. He really didn't feel like talking right now.
After some thought, he wandered to Gram's room.
The old woman was out, but Kaito always kinda liked that room. Everything was always so neat and tidy, and it smelled a little like the body powder Gram used, so kinda like flowers and vanilla. Gram had a lot of things that were old like her, but not the old like a broken toy or worn out car you might find in an overgrown lot. The things in Gram's room were old like a fancy talisman that a hero was sent to fetch, or like a long lost necklace from a beloved but gone queen; “sparkle old,” he thought, though Gram would probably just say “antique.”
Kaito would never touch the things in there, not usually. He just let his eyes traveled over them, admiring the way the silver pieces looked cold no matter the weather, the way the copper pieces had a sort of blue-green in the corners. Gram had called that “Patty Nah” or something. Whatever, he liked it. Even the wooden parts of furniture were nice in Gram's room, all polished and smelling like a forest.
This time, though, he was drawn to Gram's vanity. Not that the woman wore a lot of makeup; she had some opinions about too much makeup, and besides, who was she trying to impress? But women had vanities, Gram said, and so she maintained a very tidy, modest table with all her brushes and combs and powders and even some tubes of lipsticks.
“...cover up some of those freckles…”
Hardly knowing what he was doing, Kaito climbed up on the chair by the vanity, sitting on his knees so he could see himself in the mirror. What was the big deal? It was just some little spots on his face. He still was a good-looking kid, right? He could be handsome.
Right?
His small hands shaking, he reached towards the closest thing; a silver, chalice-looking sparkle-old with little leaves on the top. He opened it and saw a sort of green paste.
Weird. Gram never looked green.
He poked one finger in the stuff, and it was sort of cool and sticky like mud. Experimentally, he rubbed it between two fingers. He saw some of it absorbed. Oh, okay. So it didn't stay green.
Looking in the mirror again, he tapped some of it on the bridge of his nose.
“This is stupid,” he muttered aloud to himself, but rubbed a little more of the stuff over the bridge of his nose, the higher peaks of his cheeks… over the majority of the freckles, to be precise.
After a bit of rubbing it in, it didn't look green anymore, and it felt kind of cool, but… there didn't seem to be any effect on the little sun-specks.
“Well ‘course not! It's like some kinda lotion or something!” The small child practically yelled at himself in the mirror.
Shaking a little more, almost feeling angry about it now, why would that have done anything, stupid, stupid, stupid—!
There was a more transparent jar on the table, too, a little more modern-looking. A beautiful woman smiled welcomingly on its label, not a single blemish to be seen. Kaito opened it and noted a different cream, this one a fair but tawny beige.
“...cover up…”
Two fingertips pressed into the cream this time, and Kaito smeared it over the bridge of his nose. It was a little more yellow than his own skin tone, but he didn’t see any freckles showing through it.
So he smeared on more.
Painting his face with the pigment, he covered the majority of the freckles first, then started seeking out the strays, the little specks that defied the trends and dotted his chin or his forehead. He tried to hold it back, but soon he was crying again, setting off a vicious cycle where a tear would rinse away some of the makeup, and he'd apply more, and the makeup would crack and collect in the creases formed from his expressions, and he'd see more freckles uncovered, and he'd hear those girls laughing, and his tears would well up more…
“Kaito.”
The jar clattered as, surprised, Kaito knocked it with a shaking hand. He turned and saw his grandmother standing in the doorway… and he burst into more tears.
“Th-they told me… my fr-freckles…” he sobbed, shoulders heaving. “I sh-should…. cover them! Th-they laughed… at m-m-meeeeee……!”
He rubbed at his face, effectively wiping away any makeup he had applied and further covering the sleeves of his favorite shirt with snot and tears, but there was no stopping it. All he felt was that moment, and he couldn't even consider the possibility of getting in trouble for touching Gram's things, for messing with makeup when Gram always talked about it being a woman's thing, that even considering it was not worthy of a young man, much less a Fuji.
The family Matriarch listened to Kaito's blabbering without comment, instead slowly approaching him. She placed one wrinkled hand in his hair, atop his head. The tears kept flowing, seemingly endless, but Gram let him cry for a long moment.
When the elderly woman finally began to speak, Kaito's weeping simmered down to a low sniffle.
“When the gods saw fit to separate the people of earth,” she said slowly, the slightest smile playing on her features. “Some of them were sad because they worried they were separating families.
“Some of those same gods argued: ‘we gave them ships, and feet with which to walk. They need only follow the maps we have left so brightly in the sky.’
“‘But these maps,’ some of the gods argued back with concern, ‘we left them in the stars. How are they supposed to find home when the sun is shining in the daytime?’
“‘We will bless some of them,’ other gods explained, ‘By placing constellations on their skin, so they can always find the way home, if they only look to the secret helpers we have placed among them.’”
As Gram finished her story, Kaito's tears had slowed. He looked up meekly at his grandmother, one more solid swipe of sleeve clearing away both makeup and tears. Gram tapped one finger at her own cheekbones, pointing out the freckles that dotted her own skin with a soft smile.
“Secret helpers, Kaito,” she quietly repeated. “And anyone worth your attention will recognize those constellations on your skin. Anyone who doesn't is foolish. Understand?”
Kaito had found his breath again, and he nodded slowly. Gram reached over effortlessly and grabbed a tissue from her various vanity items before wiping away the smeared—and let's be honest, poorly matched—makeup from his skin.
“Your freckles are beautiful. Don't ever let anyone tell you differently.”