Chapter Text
Yuki loved his grandparents, but even he had to admit they could sometimes be hard to understand. He didn't really get why his grandfather yelled so much at the rugby matches that would sometimes be playing in the background of the Byrne household. Of course, Yuki didn't really get why people got so excited about football or baseball either, but at least when those were playing on TV he could understand what was going on. Great Grandpa Byrne’s rugby matches were always in English, and whenever Yuki tried to talk to him during those times, it was overwhelming. The constant back and forth between Japanese and English both from the television set and his grandfather switching between addressing Yuki and the game going on was too much. Worse was how it always seemed to come back to Yuki’s English not being up to the man's standards.
“They aren't teachin’ you it in school, boy?” Grandpa Byrne would say, as though Yuki not being fluent was some personal affront or familial failure. Yuki was too polite to mention how terrible his grandfather's Japanese was, but sometimes his mother let little comments slip about it that made him feel a little less alone. Honestly, she'd say, He's been living here for years and he still can't bother to pronounce Kouki’s name right. Even at his young age, Yuki knew his father Kouki was a source of conflict between them. Ever since great-grandpa Byrne had come to live in Japan, there often seemed to be tension boiling up between Aiko and her grandparent.
Yuki couldn't understand that either. From what he could tell, his great grandfather had lost his wife too; that's why he'd come to Japan to be with his family in his senior years, instead of being alone. But instead of being a point of connection over their shared grief, Kouki hung between them like a barrier. Of course, Yuki had never met his father, so he had no way of knowing why, and sometimes, it was hard to feel sad. He didn't know what to feel about not having a father. Didn't you have to know someone to miss them? He only knew his father through photographs, and the sad fondness in his mother's eyes whenever she talked about him. It didn't explain the hurt between the two adults, but it was okay for Yuki not to know everything. He could sense he was being shielded, and being silently told that's for adults.
Despite the tension, Yuki still loved visiting the Byrne household. Grandpa and Grandma showered him in affection, and read him fairytales. Grandpa would take him out to the garden where Yuki would ask him about each and every plant, even if he'd heard some of the explanations many times before. Grandma was sometimes a little scary, but she was kind and an excellent baker. Whenever she made blueberry scones (her husband's favorite) or melonpan (one of Yuki's) she'd let him have the first bite.
The house itself was a fun place to be, too, in Yuki's opinion. The Byrne home was old and big, with lots of nooks and crannies to hide away in and explore. It had a courtyard garden with roses and lavender and a huge weeping willow. Long ago, the family had paid a large sum to have a western-style fireplace built, and the family often spent their evenings curled up beside it. Yuki was pretty sure the small kotatsu back home was way cozier, but unlike there, everyone could sit in front of the fireplace together. So even if sometimes, his mother and great grandfather exchanged polite but tense words over the dining room table, or his grandma started talking about old legends and old wounds and other things from the past Yuki knew nothing about, he still thought of it as another home.
That was, until one particular day when he was quite a bit older. A few last embers had been burning cozily in the hearth, and he'd been sitting before it with a mug of hot cocoa, thinking about nothing in particular. It was getting close to bedtime, and his grandparents had already gone off to bed, asking him to mind the fire and make sure it was put out before he went to sleep. He'd been excited about being left to his own devices and the trust that entailed, but after a while, Yuki had started getting sleepy too. Deciding he was getting about ready for bed himself, he'd stopped feeding the fire and waited for it to go out. The flames had dwindled to embers, but sparks still remained. Wanting to hasten things along, Yuki had reached for the fire poker to scrape over the coals.
His fingers closed around the iron rod, just as casually as they would to pick up anything else. But to his shock, a sharp, burning pain exploded against his skin, causing him to scream and immediately drop the poker. It landed with a loud bang against the hearth, and a moment or two later, Aiko appeared in the doorway, hurrying to his side with his grandparents and great grandfather showing up not long after.
“What happened?!” His mother held his shoulders and looked him up and down, eyes widening with concern at the tears in his eyes. Yuki didn't know, and could only shake his head.
“I…I don't…,” he whimpered, holding up his palm, which was red and still stung terribly. It was more painful than anything Yuki had experienced before. His mother pursed her lips in concentration as she examined his hand, then paused to give him a small kiss on the forehead before continuing.
“Did you burn yourself?” She held him close as she guided him over to the kitchen. Yuki could only shrug and nod half-heartedly. It hurt too much to try and figure anything out. Behind them, his grandparents exchanged worried conversation and gave him kind looks before going to examine the fireplace and put it out for the night. As Aiko helped him run his hand under cold water, he wondered why it still hurt so badly. If it was a burn, he couldn't understand why the poker hadn't felt hot. “Oh Yuki, there there, it's alright,” his mother soothed, seeing the intense expression on his face. He had begun to cry, but she hugged him tightly and stayed with him until the tears stopped and the pain faded.
The burn, or whatever it was, faded quickly from sight and stopped hurting entirely after a few days. They hadn't even needed to go to the doctor, and it hadn't left a mark. However, it stayed in Yuki's mind even so, and afterwards, something was always different in the Byrne household. His great grandfather seemed to be watching him always, and he could sometimes hear his grandparents whispering in the other room. It was hard to shake the notion that he was missing conversations behind closed doors, and for some reason, his grandparents' smiles no longer reached their eyes.
After one particularly strange evening, when his great grandfather went on yet another of his long tirades about the old country and some old legend Yuki could hardly keep up with because it was mostly spoken in quick, mumbling English, he had the sudden realization that the man was glaring at him. Aiko had quickly taken him aside and told him something reassuring before leaving him in the garden so the adults could talk. He hadn't been able to hear the words from his place below the willow, but it was clear they were arguing. He’d tapped gently on the snowbell flowers around him, watching the heads bobble lightly back and forth like tiny ringing bells no one could hear.
Eventually, Aiko had come back for him, and for the first time, they left without saying goodbye. She'd bundled him up in her arms for a long time afterwards, too, and spent the rest of the night watching one of his favorite movies in their little living room with all the lights dimmed and cozy blankets on.
In the end, he'd never truly understood why. But by the time he was a teenager, his mother took him to her parents' home less and less, and it stopped being a warm place he could call home.
Of course, he had a real home still. It was smaller, and quieter, sure, but it was warmer, and he knew he was wanted there. He knew he belonged there, beside his mother, surrounded by all the things they shared. His room was filled with posters and soft blankets. The cupboards held his and Aiko's favorite mugs and the lunchbox he used to take to school with lovingly prepared meals each day. Just beyond the genkan, photos of him and Aiko and their loved ones filled the hallway. That was how Yuki knew he was supposed to know he belonged here
...He belonged here. Of course he did. But despite all that, ever since that day, every now and then, he felt something disonant, and it was always hard to shake.
It was like there was something; just one small thing he couldn't identify, still left out of place.