Chapter Text
*12 years ago*
„Yo-chan, can you please come inside, darling?“
The sweet voice of his mother chirped through the window so he can hear her when he was in the garden, making the 5-year-old Isagi Yoichi stop playing with his precious ball.
„Okay!"
His little legs carried him as fast as he could inside, to the diningroom, where both his parents sat at the table with a plate of Kintsuba waiting just for him.
His big blue doe-eyes sparkled in delight, when he noticed his favourite dessert.
He ran even faster to the table as a high-pitched squeak escaped his mouth: "KINTSUUUUUUBBAAAAAA!!!"
It seems like his parents had some special news today for him, since it's not common for his parents to give him more than two slices.
So obviously, he is going to listen very carefully.
„Yo-chan, we have special news for all of us!"
Ah, so he is right.
„Your dad and me have gotten an amazing opportunity for work!"
But for some reason his parents got nervous all of the sudden.
„But... we have to move to another country for that."
He, who was happily munching on his sweets, stopped for a moment:
"Huh? Where will we move to?"
His parents exchanged a worried look with each other, concerned about theyr darlings reaction.
After all, moving away will be without a doubt a big deal for theyr son, who has lived all his life in Saitama.
But his father cleared his throat before announcing:"We are moving to france for some time."
*Silence*
His mouth hung open and his eyes were wide open.
He even dropped his dear dessert on his plate carelessly.
Issei and Iyo were already preparing to comfort theyr only-child, while also searching for ways to coax theyr child into agreeing.
But the moment never came.
“…“
He was jumping around the room in absolute happyness and hollering cries of joy.:
„We are going to France!, We are going to France!, We are going to France! The birth country of Noel Noa! Noel Noah!!!
Yeahhhhhhh!"
Oh, this was surprisingly easy.
But he never was a defiant child, so they wouldn't really have problems with him.
¡~!
They hat meticulously prepared theyr departure for two months.
Most of their stuff has been packed into a truck and sent on its way to their new home.
His room, once filled with soccer merch from floor to ceiling, seems so big and empty, now that it all has been put neatly into boxes and sent away.
Even their beds have already been sent to France, only leaving back their Tatami-matts to sleep on.
He hasn't slept on those for a long time.
Now he lays in his quiet, empty room on the hard matt.
All the noise from the day fades away, finally stopping the rush of information and sensations entering his overstimulated brain.
But that also means that the doubt lingering in the back of his mind coming forward, forcing him to think it out loud.
"..."
He feels the tears slowly welling up in his eyes.
Poor Yo-chan...
The sensitive boy is scared of many things.
And the list gets even longer:
What happens if he can't understand anyone there?
Will he find any friends?
Can he play soccer there with anyone?
What if nobody likes him there?
These questions and more cross his mind again and again, stabbing his mind with these unpleasant thoughts.
The tears finally escaped his wide eyes, rolling over his rosy cheeks.
The little boy didn't scream or throw a tantrum.
He simply cried in silence, choosing to suffer without a fuss.
*Ніссир, Hiccup*
Well, as quiet as he could.
So our little Yoichi fell into a restless slumber.
i~!
Finally, it's the day of their departure.
The house stood empty, as if it had always been this way.
He was sad at first, unsure if he'll see the house ever again.
But to his relieve, they'll just rent the house out, so they'll be able to return anytime.
Yoichi is glad.
It gives him a sense of security.
„Yo-chan! It's time to go! We are leaving."
„Okayyyy!"
He turned away from the house, his little legs hurrying as fast as he could to the car, while clutching his precious ball in his hands.
They already sold their car, this was just an unfamilliar rental, which they'll leave behind too.
It's cofortable, smelling brand new.
The airport isn't that far away.
Probably just half an hour.
He can't really tell.
He just simply observes the familiar background turn more and more unfamilliar.
His heart is racing.
Even faster than the imaginary parcours-guy jumping over street signs while running along the car.
They finally arrived.
The building was already humming with quiet urgency.
Glass walls stretch high above, letting in pale daylight that reflects off polished floors.
Automatic doors slide open with a soft hiss, and suddenly they are inside.
He got hit by the loud sounds of rolling suitcases, hurried footsteps, and overlapping announcements echoing from unseen speakers.
It was overwhelming, he had to cover his ears.
The first stop is check-in.
Long counters line one wall, each marked by glowing screens listing destinations.
Some passengers queue to hand over passports and luggage, while others cluster around self-service kiosks, tapping screens and printing boarding passes.
It all happens fast and stressfull.
He hates it here.
Next comes security.
They are scary.
Shoes come off, laptops slide out of bags, pockets are emptied into gray plastic trays.
The air feels tighter, quieter, punctuated by the beeping of scanners and the low murmur of instructions.
One by one, passengers step through metal detectors or full-body scanners, pausing briefly in that moment of stillness before being waved through.
He was allowed to hold mom's hand while they crouched down to him with a friendly smile to search him carefully.
Beyond security, the airport opens up again into a wide concourse.
This is the departure area, almost like a small city.
Bright storefronts sell everything from perfume to books.
Cafés hiss with steaming milk and clatter with cups.
Travelers sit in clusters:
some eating, some dozing, some staring at their phones or out the massive windows where planes glide slowly across the tarmac like giant birds.
Overhead screens flicker with flight information: boarding times, gate numbers, delays.
He can't start anything with these information.
Ever so often, an announcement cuts through the noise:
calm, practiced, slightly distorted, calling passengers to gates or warning of final boarding.
When it's time for them, his dad took him by his hand too and guided them inside the plane.
Rows of seats face a desk where airline staff scan boarding passes.
Everybody is fumbling with theyr bags, putting them up and down or sitting down and chatting loudly.
It's so loud...
He is seated by the window, the hum of the engines already a constant presence: low, powerful, almost soothing.
Almost.
The air smells faintly of recycled coolness, mixed with traces of coffee, fabric cleaner and the fuel of the plane.
The seat is small and uncomfortable, but for him the size is no problem.
In front of him, the seatback is close, closer than he'd like, with a folded tray table latched into it and a pocket stuffed with a safety card, a magazine, and maybe a crumpled airsickness bag.
Nothing interesting.
A chime sounds overhead: not quite clear but gentle, and the cabin conversation dips slightly.
A flight attendant steps into the aisle nearby, standing with practiced posture and an easy, reassuring smile.
"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome aboard. We're delighted to have you with us today. Please make sure your seatbelts are fastened, your seatbacks are upright, and all electronic devices are set to flight mode. If you need anything during the flight, we're here to help. Just let us know."
Her voice is warm and steady, the kind that seems designed to smooth nerves without drawing too much attention to itself.
Around him, people adjust their seats, tighten belts, and glance briefly at one another before settling in.
Another chime follows, slightly more authoritative this time.
Maybe it's the captain, who started to speak, but whose words were not understandable.
„What did he say, dad?"
His father scrached his beard and answered:
"I never understand them, but he probably says the details of this flight. Like time, wether and stuff. Don't worry about it."
He ruffled his hair and he giggeled quietly.
There's a subtle shift in the atmosphere after that, an unspoken acknowledgment that things are about to begin.
He looks out the small window.
Outside the window, the runway lights stretch into the distance guiding the plane.
The plane starts to move, slowly at first, then with growing intent.
A low vibration builds beneath his feet, rising into a steady tremor as the engines deepen into a powerful roar.
He feel the acceleration press his back into your seat, the ground rushing past faster and faster, until it slowly grows smaller.
The city falls away beneath them, lights shrinking into patterns, the world turning quiet and distant as the aircraft lifts into the open sky.
It's making him tired.
He won't miss too much, right?
He could take a little nap...
His eyelids grew heavy, until they shut close and the gentle hum of the plane lulled him to sleep.
He can't wait to see France...