Disease - Inuyasha - PG13
Fandom: Inuyasha
Title: Disease
Rating: PG13
Word Count: 950
Note: Angst. Souta. Posted March 24, 2009. Request fic for yaburetayume.
Summary: If only Kagome actually had one. Souta and his guilt
Souta is a very big boy now. When he wakes up in the morning, he takes a look in the mirror and tells himself, “Things will get better.” Not to say that there is anything wrong; mom still hums when she washes the dishes, grandpa still grumbles when perusing the antiques in the back shed, Buyo still tries to sneak out to the well house. Not that he ever gets in it. Souta is very careful about that now.
But Souta is older and has a certain understanding of things. There is nothing exactly wrong, but there is nothing exactly right either. Like the lies, for instance. His friends ask him all the time what is wrong with his sister today. He doesn’t always know what to say. The cold. The Flu. Mono. Arthritis. Malaria. Diabetes. Once, flustered, he blurted out Cancer. But soon, his friends had told their sisters, who had told their friends, who were overheard by their mothers, who had whispered and stared whenever Souta and his mom went to the post office or the department store or the supermarket.
One day, one of his mother’s friends approaches them down the cereal aisle. Souta can feel the question lurking in her eyes as she and his mother chat about inane things, like the recent weather and the rising expenses and the prime minister. He feels it in the rise of nausea in the pit of his stomach, the acute embarrassment of what is to come. Souta shifts nervously, chewing on his lip, waiting for it.
At last, the woman carefully ventures, “My Mika told me recently that your Kagome is still not in school.”
To Souta’s horror, his mother smiles. “Oh yes, but she is getting better. Why, I’m sure she’ll be back in school within,” she pauses, and Souta knows she is counting, “oh two weeks or so.” Real joy helplessly filters into her eyes.
Souta cringes at the flash of pity in the other woman’s face. “Ah. I shall have to tell Mika the good news.”
It is true! he wants to shout, but not in front of his mom. She doesn’t-shouldn’t-know. What the other families are saying, what their children are saying. She can never know about the get-well cards his classmates made that he burned in a bucket behind the well house, or all the times his teacher have taken him aside and tried to “talk.”
He feels vertigo all the time now and doesn’t know why. Doesn’t know why he feels like he is slipping down a steepening slide, but knows only that he can’t, at all costs, reach the bottom.
I’ll tell her, he decides, meaning the lady, as he watches from behind a shopping cart. Not the truth. Never. Just that it’s all a mistake. Just rumors. Kagome is getting better.
When they bid their dues and the lady departs, Souta sneaks away and follows. He waits for the perfect moment, but it never comes. Or if it did, it passed. All too quickly, she is by the registers. Souta stops by a fruit cart and watches as the lady walks towards an old, frail woman with papery skin. A single grocery bag rests in a gnarled hand. The younger woman shakes her head and takes the bag. “Poor Higurashi,” she says. “She keeps it so well hidden. Mother, how can she be so strong?”
The old lady gives a sympathetic smile. Her hands are shaking as they clasp her daughter’s shoulder. “She must. That is all any of us can do.”
Souta, feeling like he is intruding on something painfully private, retreats.
When Souta finds his mother again, she fondly scolds him. “Leaving your own mother to go and sneak off!” she laughs, and ruffles his hair. “I better not find a pack of gum snuck in the cart.”
Souta, disturbed without knowing why, says nothing.
Later, Souta carries all the grocery bags home, despite his mother’s mild protests. “Now don’t hurt yourself, Souta,” she says as they exit through the sliding doors. It is sunset outside. Orange light refracts off the glass, washing her hair in a golden bath.
He shoulders the bags, though the plastic cuts bitterly into his fingers. “Don’t worry, mom,” he says. “This is nothing.”
His mother smiles. “I keep forgetting. You’re such a big boy now.”
But Souta is no longer listening.
It really is nothing, he reflects an hour later, rubbing the ugly red marks on his hands where the bags rubbed the skin. He flexes his fingers and stares at the grooves. Kagome would have laughed at him, if she saw him. There must have been six or seven bags, all dragging on the ground. She would have whisked the bags away and teased him mercilessly. And they would have taken the brand new carrots out of the grocery bags and had a sword fight in the kitchen while their mother wasn’t looking. And Kagome would have let him win.
I miss you. The though comes suddenly, unbidden and unwanted. Souta clenches his fist.
Just stay away, he thinks viciously. But then immediately takes it back. He can't say it. Not even in his head.
His room is dark save for a small beam of light through the door crack. It cuts across the carpet and reflects off a shiny surface right into the corner of his eye. When Souta looks in his mirror, he is startled to see a wet shine on his cheek. He quickly dashes it away.
“Things will get better,” he tells himself.
But the problem is they can’t. There is nothing wrong at all with his family.
And it is not exactly right.
Title: Disease
Rating: PG13
Word Count: 950
Note: Angst. Souta. Posted March 24, 2009. Request fic for yaburetayume.
Summary: If only Kagome actually had one. Souta and his guilt
Souta is a very big boy now. When he wakes up in the morning, he takes a look in the mirror and tells himself, “Things will get better.” Not to say that there is anything wrong; mom still hums when she washes the dishes, grandpa still grumbles when perusing the antiques in the back shed, Buyo still tries to sneak out to the well house. Not that he ever gets in it. Souta is very careful about that now.
But Souta is older and has a certain understanding of things. There is nothing exactly wrong, but there is nothing exactly right either. Like the lies, for instance. His friends ask him all the time what is wrong with his sister today. He doesn’t always know what to say. The cold. The Flu. Mono. Arthritis. Malaria. Diabetes. Once, flustered, he blurted out Cancer. But soon, his friends had told their sisters, who had told their friends, who were overheard by their mothers, who had whispered and stared whenever Souta and his mom went to the post office or the department store or the supermarket.
One day, one of his mother’s friends approaches them down the cereal aisle. Souta can feel the question lurking in her eyes as she and his mother chat about inane things, like the recent weather and the rising expenses and the prime minister. He feels it in the rise of nausea in the pit of his stomach, the acute embarrassment of what is to come. Souta shifts nervously, chewing on his lip, waiting for it.
At last, the woman carefully ventures, “My Mika told me recently that your Kagome is still not in school.”
To Souta’s horror, his mother smiles. “Oh yes, but she is getting better. Why, I’m sure she’ll be back in school within,” she pauses, and Souta knows she is counting, “oh two weeks or so.” Real joy helplessly filters into her eyes.
Souta cringes at the flash of pity in the other woman’s face. “Ah. I shall have to tell Mika the good news.”
It is true! he wants to shout, but not in front of his mom. She doesn’t-shouldn’t-know. What the other families are saying, what their children are saying. She can never know about the get-well cards his classmates made that he burned in a bucket behind the well house, or all the times his teacher have taken him aside and tried to “talk.”
He feels vertigo all the time now and doesn’t know why. Doesn’t know why he feels like he is slipping down a steepening slide, but knows only that he can’t, at all costs, reach the bottom.
I’ll tell her, he decides, meaning the lady, as he watches from behind a shopping cart. Not the truth. Never. Just that it’s all a mistake. Just rumors. Kagome is getting better.
When they bid their dues and the lady departs, Souta sneaks away and follows. He waits for the perfect moment, but it never comes. Or if it did, it passed. All too quickly, she is by the registers. Souta stops by a fruit cart and watches as the lady walks towards an old, frail woman with papery skin. A single grocery bag rests in a gnarled hand. The younger woman shakes her head and takes the bag. “Poor Higurashi,” she says. “She keeps it so well hidden. Mother, how can she be so strong?”
The old lady gives a sympathetic smile. Her hands are shaking as they clasp her daughter’s shoulder. “She must. That is all any of us can do.”
Souta, feeling like he is intruding on something painfully private, retreats.
When Souta finds his mother again, she fondly scolds him. “Leaving your own mother to go and sneak off!” she laughs, and ruffles his hair. “I better not find a pack of gum snuck in the cart.”
Souta, disturbed without knowing why, says nothing.
Later, Souta carries all the grocery bags home, despite his mother’s mild protests. “Now don’t hurt yourself, Souta,” she says as they exit through the sliding doors. It is sunset outside. Orange light refracts off the glass, washing her hair in a golden bath.
He shoulders the bags, though the plastic cuts bitterly into his fingers. “Don’t worry, mom,” he says. “This is nothing.”
His mother smiles. “I keep forgetting. You’re such a big boy now.”
But Souta is no longer listening.
It really is nothing, he reflects an hour later, rubbing the ugly red marks on his hands where the bags rubbed the skin. He flexes his fingers and stares at the grooves. Kagome would have laughed at him, if she saw him. There must have been six or seven bags, all dragging on the ground. She would have whisked the bags away and teased him mercilessly. And they would have taken the brand new carrots out of the grocery bags and had a sword fight in the kitchen while their mother wasn’t looking. And Kagome would have let him win.
I miss you. The though comes suddenly, unbidden and unwanted. Souta clenches his fist.
Just stay away, he thinks viciously. But then immediately takes it back. He can't say it. Not even in his head.
His room is dark save for a small beam of light through the door crack. It cuts across the carpet and reflects off a shiny surface right into the corner of his eye. When Souta looks in his mirror, he is startled to see a wet shine on his cheek. He quickly dashes it away.
“Things will get better,” he tells himself.
But the problem is they can’t. There is nothing wrong at all with his family.
And it is not exactly right.