A/N Oh, poor little fifth. How I love you so, you genius you. (Just so you know, this is before he was given his puppets.)
Enjoy and review?
...
The Houjou household is filled with screams and continuous violent bickering. The mindless yells are coming from the mother and father of Reisuke Houjou, a young child sitting on the floor drawing in his sketchpad.
It's a week night, so Reisuke knows the arguing will cease soon. His parents will go to bed, angry at each other, pretending the other wasn't sleeping in the same room.
Reisuke picks up the red crayon, forcibly scribbling over the drawing of him and his family.
"..Hungry." Reisuke murmurs. He stands, stretching momentarily to redeem comfort. He walks passed his parents stealthily, avoiding their awareness. He hops up, reaching the fruit basket. He retrieves and apple and sneaks back passed his parents undetected, returning to his previous spot.
His parent's hollers grow louder and rougher, reaching their climax. He hears glass shatter, no doubt his mother's flailing causing her to knock some dish over. The horrible noises stop suddenly, and the silence causes an almost deafening pain to Reisuke's ears. The contrast of volumes makes every minor sound significant.
His parents stalk off to to their bedroom, the door latching with a soft 'click'.
Reisuke bites into his apple, allowing himself to diverge his self in thoughts.
He sometimes wonders when and why the fighting starts. Bite. He wonders when his mother and father began neglecting him. Bite. He wonders why they can't just be happy. Bite. He wishes his parents would hold him, love him, and promise him that all will be okay. Drop.
Reisuke feels tears flood down his chubby, round cheeks, wiping hastily. All though he knows no one can see, he feels shame.
He should be strong if he wants things to improve. He has to remain stead-fast, no matter how pitiful and depressing everything may be.
Reisuke closes his sketchpad, hiding under the end table beside the sofa. He curls up on the semi-comfortable sofa, obtaining the thin quilt his mother had knitted for him when he was an infant. He wraps the small blanket around his tiny body, closing his eyes and feiging ignorance to the tears that drop out from under his shut eyelids. Reisuke fantasizes about an alternate reality where he has a happy family, a family that smiles and laughs and holds hands together, and drifts to sleep with that thought in mind.
.oOxoxoOo.