Konnichiwa minna-san

Konnichiwa minna-san! Considering I have no life, I'm stuck writing and praying for reviews YET again…I know I should be working on "Paper Moon", but after OD-ing on Zetsuai (don't try this at home kiddies) and getting all depressed over the ending of Banana Fish…I guess I just HAD to write something like this. And naturally, my "daisuki na chara-chan", Jyou, is going to be the one to suffer for my mistakes. I suppose I should be happy to have Plant-Boy as my bodyguard…

Anyway, seeing as how my puedo-disclaimer didn't explain much, I suppose I should tell you what's going on. This features Jyou. It has a lot of angst, but no suicide or death. If I get enough of a response, I might actually DO something with this, otherwise it's just a one-shot.

Blood Thicker Than…

"No! Absolutely not!"

The boy cowers as the walls shake. Usually his parents can at least make a fair pretense of a working, loving marriage, but underneath the thin veneer black painful words can come bubbling up surprisingly easily.

He knows he is to blame.

Sometimes he can't help but wonder what would have happened had he never been born. In the multitude of pictures he sometimes pours over in an almost obsessive frenzy, pictures of his family, before he had come along to spoil things, he sees three happy people. His older brother, laughing. His mother, the lines of worry gone from her face. His father, not in his self-imposed exile at the hospital.

"You've never cared about him! Not like I have!"

"You might as well be choking him with those damn apron strings of yours! This is for the best!" Then lower. "It's not just for him…it's for us too…"

There is the wet sound of flesh meeting flesh. A hand to a face. And heavy footsteps down a hallway before the all-too-familiar slamming of a door.

Dimly he cannot help but wonder, in normal families, the ones that live down the halls even, does such a reaction ever occur? Over something so simple as a boy going to summer camp?

***

My name is Kido Joe, and I am more frightened than I ever have been in my life. The cause? Soon, I will die.

It's almost a certainty, from the moment we arrived in the Digital World. I wanted to run and hide somewhere, curl up and sleep, then the nightmare would be over and we would be back to where we had started.

The others don't understand. How can they? Even if I told them, explained to them that it's not just mild asthma attacks I'm afraid of, that it's not the just the fact that my feet hurt, that I'm hungry, and I miss my own twisted version of family…then what would their reaction be?

***

"JOE! Get away from there!"

He turns around at his mother's frantic call. His new friend looks at him in alarm over the obviously insane woman beckoning to him.

***

His new friend. The only one in the apartment building that doesn't know. He just moved in two days ago, and he had gone to inspect the movers with a typical child's curiosity. His mother was taking a nap…for once he had ignored her strict orders not to leave their apartment for ANYTHING.

He had peered at the new furnishings being moved into the adjacent apartment. Only to find a pair of sea green eyes staring at him just as inquisitively.

"Hello. My name is Masahiko. Do you want to play?"

He could only nod silently, something in his small frame choked up at the mere thought of someone WANTING to play with him. Of a child in the complex that wouldn't snub him, whisper cruel things as he walked past.

***

And now there was his mother, standing there look furious.

All he had done was play on the swings.

"Do you have any idea how DANGEROUS that is?!" She whispered tersely to him, gripping his tiny hand tightly as she all but dragged him back to their apartment. His prison.

He belatedly looked behind him, but Masahiko was talking to another boy on the playground. Masahiko gestured slightly to him, worriedly. The boy whispered something in Masahiko's ear and Joe felt something icy worm its way down his stomach.

***

Every step is pain. Dull and throbbing, deep in every joint. Sometimes one of the others look back at me, curious as to why I can't keep up with them.

How long has it been since I've had my medication? Two months? Three?

I look at my skin and wonder if anyone else feels the way I do; skin is merely a delicate wrapping over our vital parts, it can be torn, rent to shreds. I feel sick at the thought. I can't look at blood. Can't stand the sight of it, the horrible smell of it…the smell of death itself.

At first it was just my blood, seeing my life slipping away…but then I discovered I couldn't stand the sight in general. I'll never make a good doctor. That is, if I live long enough.

Everything around me is my enemy, clawing at my skin, trying to draw my blood.

***

"You can't play with him!"

"That's right! He's got this weird disease. You should just leave him alone. You might even CATCH it!"

"Don't touch him!"

"Yeah." Laughter. Harsh, childish. "You might BREAK him."

***

I should take it easy. Mom would want me to, but I can't. They're my friends.

I shake when I realize that I would die for them. Each and every one. They're my friends.

I think it one more time, savoring the words. My friends.

Sometimes they might pick on me, and laugh at me. Who knows, maybe they even think I'm worthless. But when all seven of us are huddled around a campfire, and we're laughing…I know that coming here was the best thing that ever happened to me.

I can't stand by when they're in trouble.

I can forget when I'm with them. Forget that I'm different.

Forget that my blood won't stop flowing when I get a cut or a bruise.

Forget that I have hemophilia.

~owari~