Growing Out of Me

by HadenXCharm

I remember when Zaraki's san-seki was not yet taller than me, because I watched him grow. I remember when that man was a boy. I only see the back of his head and shoulders now in battle, but I remember when I used to lead him by the hand. He doesn't need me now, and is forever walking away. Even with all the pain inside me at your departure, you've brought me so much joy... Ikkaku.

1. Chapter 1

When we first met, you were younger than me, much younger. You had to have been about eleven, and from one look, I knew that you had been born here. You'd lived in this filth all your life and had never been to the living world. You were playing around in the mud with some other kids, having a good time; one minute everything was fine, and the next, things got violent. One of them put a dirty handprint on your shiny naked head and laughed at you, and you punched him dead in the eye.

I don't know why, but after the other kids scattered, you just stayed there and stared at the ground for a long time. I was waiting there to meet with a man, and when he showed up, you were still there, looking at a dirty puddle with your back to us.

You were an annoying little shit. We were right in the middle of it and I guess we were making too much noise because you spoke right up in a voice that hadn't yet dropped from puberty. It wasn't exactly a high voice, but it was definitely that of a boy, even though you were tall for your age and gangly too. It wasn't any wonder that the kids made fun of you.

"Hey! Shut up over there! Die quietly!" To be honest, that made me laugh a little, since my partner was pretty noisy. It did sound rather like a dying man.

"Want me ta' break your ribs, kid?" my partner growled, standing up and cracking his knuckles, closing his yukata and storming over there. I had half a mind to call to him and tell him to let it go, that you were just a kid and that you had no idea what you were interrupting, but something kept me silent. Your skinny little body and your tight fists told me to stay quiet.

You fought okay for a kid, but your strength was lacking. You were just a young boy up against a grown man, after all, but still I didn't step in or speak up, even when you were sent sprawling in the dirt, spitting out your own teeth.

"You're interrupting me and my mouth-date, Gaki. I was busy with him. He's tellin' me about some noisy kid when he should be putting his lips to better use, so you'd better shut up."

You sniffed a little, but frowned fiercely, wiping your cheek hard and standing up. "How come yer' talkin' about yer' sweetheart that way? You tryna' make'm cry?" you asked in such utter confusion and offense that I had to tilt my head in wonder. Were you a run-away noble? How on earth could a young boy who'd grown up here think something like that? Me and him, sweethearts? Did love like that even exist out here in district seventy-five?

My partner grew angry, a vein pinching in his forehead and I could see immediately that he was out for your blood. He was going to kill you. My jaw slackened and I turned towards you two fully, clothes still a mess. I'd seen death before; I'd even killed before – it was inevitable out here – but you were so young still, and he was going to kill you. He was really going to kill you and do lord knows what to your body while you were still warm.

"Sorry, Ayesegawa, I think I'm gonna' cum in this one instead," he snapped, grabbing you by the throat and squeezing so hard that I could hear your breath cut off. Your feet were dangling, and my eyes were wide. Still, I said nothing to stop him.

'C'mon kid,' I thought, and I wasn't disappointed.

You kicked him dead between the legs with every ounce of your strength. I think he actually blacked out. In any case, it was good that he'd paid me up front.

I had to hurry and get my clothes back on then, because after you finished coughing, you came right up to me and just looked, expression curious and open as you watched on. When I finally looked back at you, you were bloody and beaten, but as our eyes met, your face lit up in a brilliant smile, one so wide and toothy that you looked like a kitten that couldn't quite pull off a threatening look just yet.

"Hey, that was fun!" you said with a lilt in your voice, laughing a little bit and looking back at my moaning partner, who was balled up and holding himself. You snickered a little more and sat down right next to me and scootched in, pulling a leaf out of my hair. I leaned back, lips pursed, but you just scootched in again, getting way too close into my face. Goddammnit, you had booger-breath and you wouldn't stop chattering.

"Were you guys kissing over here? Or were you killing him? He was moaning like he was dying, so, were you killing him? Uh… Oh…" you said, as if by saying it out loud, it occurred to you that it might be true, and you were a little embarrassed for cutting in before I could finish the job.

"Sorry for doing that, then. I didn't know you were gonna' do it first," you mumbled apologetically, scratching the back of your neck with a sheepish expression, coming to the conclusion that I was torturing a guy out in the woods. I suppose I was, in the sweetest possible way.

"You should get home," I suggested, standing up, knowing very well that you may have no home. It was more likely than not that you were an orphan, even if you'd been born here. "The sun's going down. There are bad men out at night."

"Yeah!" you said with a huge grin, standing up with me and bouncing away next to my arm. I noticed you had snatched up a shinai that had been lying around. I wonder why you hadn't gone for it immediately when you'd seen you'd had to fight. Naive child. "Maybe we can find some to beat up! You an' me together can take 'em!" you chirped excitedly like you'd single-handedly decided that we were now the best of friends.

"That would be incredibly foolish," I said, and I could tell that you didn't know whether I was berating my own skills or yours. I wasn't quite sure either, but it didn't kill your enthusiasm.

"I am Ikkaku!" you said, and didn't ask for my name, even though I provided it after a few moments. "Yoroshiku!" you said, grabbing my sleeves and pulling my hands apart so you could grab one with your grubby mitt, not to shake, but to hold. I grimaced, but let you. It crossed my mind that you may be a cutthroat pocket thief, but what value did my life have to you, anyways?

I bought you dinner. You were a skinny thing. Maybe not as skinny as me, but enough for concern. When I told you where I was going, you followed behind and agreed that you were starving and would do just about anything for some good pork ribs. You had spirit energy too, and good god, could you put food away. The money was almost all gone already, but I thought that was okay just this once.

I guess you just never left after that.

You were a huggy affectionate boy at that age. You'd grab me around the middle and just squeeze at seemingly insignificant times, pressing your cheek tight into my body with a big smile and eyes clenched shut, and I would just stand there calmly and let you. Sometimes you'd take my hand and let me lead you when we walked, and sometimes you'd drape yourself over my shoulders or lean on my side when I sat down next to our many campfires. You'd roll in the night and get yourself wrapped around me fiercely as you slept, and when you were exhausted and trying to stay up while I was sitting awake thinking, you'd practically lay on me and stroke my leg or arm, eyelids drooping. You'd sometimes even give me a sloppy kiss on my face with those bird lips that kids naively think are meant for kissing. You'd kiss my cheek in an act of pure affection and I would endure it, but I never once even patted your back or stroked your head in return, fearing it would encourage you.

It was unbearable at times, since you had no idea what I did for a living and how close those gestures you were making were mocking that, but I didn't want you to know about that, so I just let you continue. I wonder how on earth you could be so infuriating, so bull-headed, but still so sweet. At any rate, it told me that you had not been born an orphan. You had been raised by somebody, and whoever it had been had done a good job on you.

Your mother obviously had hugged you and kissed you and made you think it was okay to show when you liked someone by touching. Your mother, your sister, whoever had taken care of you, because someone had – they made you sweet, but tough. Still, I knew, something like that can only last for such a short time in a place like this. You wouldn't be sweet or kind for long. One day you would grow into the cruel world you'd been born unto.

Compared to you, I feel old and grey, but also wise, and much calmer than I ever thought that I was. You are bouncy and excitable, not giggly, but manic and prone to rash decisions. However, it seemed like now that I was here, you constantly looked to me for permission or approval, or simply a lack of a negative reaction that let you know that whatever you were about to do wasn't too stupid.

That shinai was way too big for you, but you carried it everywhere now, and even though you had long legs for your age, you had to take twice as many steps as I did, constantly looking up to chatter to me, and then down to avoid logs and twigs. You were always covered in cuts and bruises, and you were easily distractable, which meant you walked into a ton of things, but you never complained no matter how bad you hurt yourself.

No, you never did complain about pain, but you were still quite the crybaby. You were alarmingly sensitive, even being an eleven-year-old boy who had grown up on the streets with bad adults and mean kids. It was never in a tantrum and never to exploit or manipulate me, but all the same it made me really uncomfortable.

Yes, you cried a lot, and I didn't know how to handle it at first, because something would happen out of seemingly nowhere, maybe you'd be thinking things about people, maybe something would have happened earlier in the day with some other kids and you'd be thinking back to an upsetting thing that they'd said, and you'd fall apart. Maybe once or twice, I hurt your feelings without knowing. There were no warning signs most of the time - you'd just start sniffling and your mouth would turn down in the corners and then you'd just bawl. Sometimes, you'd only sniffle and cry quietly for just a few minutes, but others you'd start wailing, inconsolably so, and part of me would just shut down. I would pat your shoulder then, but offer no words of comfort unless you wanted to talk to me about it. You often did. Almost always, in fact. You had no mental-censure at your age.

You'd tell me about how so-and-so made fun of your head and that you'd gotten so mad that you hadn't been able to say anything and that they'd laughed at you, and then you'd just start blubbering and your shoulders would shake. Humiliation really cut you far too deep, didn't it. Your heart was too big and soft for your own good, and you often had hurt feelings. I didn't let you cry into my chest or hug me for comfort at those times. I didn't hug you to make you stop crying. You'd try sometimes, but I wouldn't let you. You were seeking love and reassurance, someone to hold you and pet your head and tell you how good you were, but I wouldn't do that.

I simply would pat your shoulder and let my hand rest there as I looked at your wet, disgusting, snot-covered face and tell you that you needed to become stronger. Yes, you needed to become stronger and then you could really show those mean kids. That always seemed to help, because you'd start sniffling and breathing those shuddery post-crying-fit breaths and nod a bunch of times, wiping your eyes. Then you'd smile and look up to me like I'd made you feel a thousand times better, like I was the smartest person in the world. I'd certainly never felt that way about myself.

If only I could take my own advice when I was called a dumb whore. If I could just be a little bit stronger, I'd make those men sorry.

Yes, you cried when you were embarrassed, when you got angry and couldn't keep it in, and a lot when you were scared - emotions that you couldn't handle went straight to your tear ducts, and I suspect it was because you couldn't stand your own helplessness. You got scared a lot at your age, even though you were still a tough little shit. Although you were brave enough to kick men in the shins and swear like a sailor, there were still times that fear overtook you. You'd wake from nightmares, scream bloody murder during thunderstorms, or see certain men, big foreboding men that must remind you of someone, and you'd just hide behind me like my skinny body would protect you.

It would occur to me then that I was an adult to you, that I seemed stronger, that I seemed clever and able enough to keep you safe if you felt that you couldn't do it yourself, but that just wasn't true. I'd walk away at those times and let you cry by yourself if you didn't have the sense of mind to run after me. I had no tolerance for fear-tears, and they'd stop quickly when I told you so. You were a brave little guy, and you were dying to make me proud.

One thing I noticed was that you never wept for sadness, and never for pain. You broke your ankle once and didn't even get teary-eyed, but good god, you yelled and cursed up a storm. I wished I could be like that, but I was the exact opposite. I didn't think I'd ever get used to the pain of being entered, or that of being left afterwards without a goodbye. I never let you see me in tears though. I wasn't your parent, and I certainly wasn't your older brother, but I was the adult, I was older, and I wanted to make you feel that security, I wanted you to feel that things would be okay. I wanted to let you keep that fragile illusion intact for as long as possible.

You were seeking love and acceptance, seeking comfort, but I knew that being too soft out here is a weakness, and I had to help you by providing tough love. I never said things like 'it's okay', or 'don't worry'. The world was a real place, and I wanted you to feel safe with me but not to rely on me, because one day I might not be here with you for you to depend on. I didn't trust my own strength, I didn't trust myself to be strong enough to always protect you, so I never did from day one.

It had to have been working, because over time, you'd cry less and less when you got upset, gaining more emotional control, and you'd start working out your own solutions with less of my advice. When you were afraid, you were determined to pound through it. You became stronger, independent, but not arrogant. You still needed company and nurturing and wouldn't have been okay on your own – your soft heart wasn't gone, but you were strong. You were tough and sure of yourself. Hurt feelings didn't stop you like they'd used to.

We traveled together for a long time, going from district to district, aimlessly so. I didn't want to stay in one place for too long. The same men can get stale, and a lot of times they ended up fighting over me. It's a mess that I don't want you involved in. It's not that I thought I could protect you from adult ideas like that or keep you from knowing how children are made, and it's not that I felt responsible for you or for maintaining your innocence – because I didn't. I just didn't want you in the middle of that. I wanted to keep us out of it, so we left.

I lead like I knew where I was going, and of course I didn't, because we were going just about anywhere other than where we had just been. You didn't seem to know that, or didn't care, because you just followed without even asking 'are we there yet' once. It's like we were on a never-ending trip, but you seemed to get that somehow and just strode along behind me on my left side, sometimes catching up enough to jolt my elbow and look into my face. We talked together a lot, and my throat constantly hurt.

You were still so excited and happy that the teeth on the sides of your mouth were falling out. You were growing in your adult-teeth and were elated that you were a step closer to becoming a man. You'd often tell me that you couldn't wait to grow up and be as tall as me so that we could have kids and go live somewhere nice. I never dignified that with a response, because you didn't know what you were saying and there was no need to explain. It was a sweet gesture, and I let you daydream of a life where that was possible.

I grew tired of talking, used to being alone, and sometimes I'd just walk in silence and swallowed a lot to soothe my dry throat, but you didn't let it bother you. You'd tell me that I didn't have to answer, but you were going to tell me about your day anyways or what you'd been thinking about, and just chattered on like you knew I wasn't made for prolonged conversation but still craved something other than silence. You'd dull out those cruel thoughts that I'd have when I was alone. The buzz that came from your mouth kept me from thinking too much, from dropping into depression between clients.

Sometimes I'd have a lover, a real lover that would travel with us briefly, and you didn't speak up on it, although I doubted you accepted them into our little 'us' that we had going. Maybe you realized that it wouldn't last forever but saw that I was happy for that short moment and let me do as I wished. Even if they weren't nice to you, you didn't say anything much about it. When you were jealous, you were never angry about it; you just vied for my attention harder until I was distracted from whichever man I was with. It never lasted between them and me anyway, and I was left heartbroken a lot. That seemed to happen if I attached feelings to sex, and I paid for it. I always ended up paying for it. I was glad you were there to keep me from breaking into tears. I will never cry in front of you.

You never asked to lead us. It made little sense to me, seeing as you were a head-strong child who knew what he wanted. You were the one beating the weeds and breaking twigs with your shinai as we walked by, driving me crazy with your noise, but you didn't ask to lead, and you didn't argue if I chose a path that was less adventuresome looking than the one you had liked. Sometimes I would let you pick the path or the district, but I always ended up in front leading the way. You walked behind me, always behind me.

You still smiled a lot, and you didn't look dirty or strange to me anymore. I felt at home, and your charming cute face was like the sun to me. I was so pleased to be alone no longer, but my heart was cold. We had been together for long enough now that I had settled into our routine of walking all day, stopping for food every other day, and roaming at night while you slept. I wondered if you knew where the money came from. Sometimes you'd screech 'rakki' in my ear and run off, having found a coin in the dirt or having gotten a little paycheck for a small job that you hadn't told me about as a surprise.

I looked back a lot to make sure you were there, to let you catch up. I felt so silly, and I was starting to think I wasn't a very good leader. I couldn't shake off the feeling that you would question my decisions someday, like I already did.

"You don't smile very much," you noted one day, frowning a little as you scrutinized my face, pulling my yukata to make me lean down to you just a little bit. Your head came to the top of my shoulder, but you still didn't like it when I would purposefully ignore you and look away.

"Ikkaku, I told you not to do that," I protested, holding my clothes closed and retying my sash now that you'd yanked my collar down too far to one side. There were bruises that were pleasantly sore that you didn't need to see.

"Hey!" you shouted to get my attention and to keep me from steering you off topic. You were on to my games by now. "Why don't you smile? Aren't you happy?" you asked, so wonderfully innocent even in your gruff street-urchin manner that I wanted to pick you up and shield you from the world. My perfect little man, so wonderfully simple. I hoped that you'd never grow out of that, that you'd never grow up and see a Yumichika other than the one you saw right now, the one who was classy and beautiful and who had dignity, the one who knew the answer to everything.

You were twelve, and you had a bokken now. You gave me your shinai and sparred with me with it, and I could still beat you at that time. You were never upset about it and only grew more excited for the next time, seeming to be admiring me and thinking of me as your goal. You were getting good at timing your strikes and you were growing like a weed. You knew not to eat too much now because our money was limited, and even though you didn't know what I had to do to get it exactly, you had some comprehension. You'd see how I was after a lover left me, you'd see how I'd get sometimes in the quiet, and you had to realize that I was dealing with monsters, that there were shadows in my brain.

"Yes, I'm happy, Ikkaku," I said, putting a hand on your forehead that you swatted away with a pout. I smiled. You'd let my hand rest there a moment too long to have truly hated it. "My little sunshine," I teased and laughed when you hit me in the back over and over without any real malice or force. Your cheeks glowed with embarrassment. Yes, you were starting to grow up. You didn't like being called little or being teased. You blushed sometimes at things that hadn't bothered you before, like seeing me get dressed or having to bathe together. You didn't kiss my cheek anymore, and you didn't hug me as often, but you still rubbed against me a lot when you were sleepy.

You were my sunshine, truly. I did have a lot of emotional problems, but since I had been with you, I was a lot happier. I had never once thought of you as my child, and I'm sure you felt the same. We had some sort of unspoken agreement where we never straight-out told the other to do something. We never made demands and didn't act like we had control over the other, but we depended on each other. I started to wonder what I'd do if you got sick and died. It'd be okay to go back to being alone, because I was so used to it, but I didn't want to go back to that. I hoped we'd have many years together. I wanted to see you become a man. I wanted to see how strong you'd become and see if you'd still hug me then, if you'd still look to me for approval. Someday, someday I will save enough money to get you a quality sword.

Months went by and we were still together. We had made it through winter together now and were better for it. There was more money for us than usual, since we were in a district where there was a murder-spree and many prostitutes were killed. It was a dangerous time for me to be out, but there was less competition, so I risked it. We ate well, but things weren't all good.

You saw a man pull my hair, and you got really angry. I'd never seen you get so angry before, but I understood why you were, because although you pulled on my sleeve and hand a lot, you'd never pulled my hair, and I was always careful to make sure that you never saw a man treating me that way. I wanted you to keep thinking of me as that wise person who knew the answers, who had pride and was smart enough to find a way to avoid something like this. You saw me above everyone else, above you, and that's why it upset you so much to see someone do that. You really believed I was too good for everyone.

We'd been in fights together before, but this one was different. You were furious, uncoordinated in your rage, and still no use in a fight. I was fast and could dodge blows, and we even took out two of them together, but it was over when they grabbed you. One of them had a knife, and I panicked. I couldn't take them in a fight on my own, and neither of us had real weapons.

You struggled, eyes leaking as they jeered at you and laughed, poking fun at how worked up you were and how easy it was to hold you still. Of course it was. They were men and you were a boy. I could see the shame on your face when I told them to let you go, when I offered myself instead. That's what they'd wanted all along.

"You think you can take all five of us?" one jeered, and I didn't bat an eye. Five? Was that all? I could handle them all at once, and then when they were done and asleep, I'd strangle them one by one.

You screamed and writhed, biting, wooden sword on the ground as one twisted your arm back and the other slugged you in the gut. You were silent for three seconds from the force, and then you coughed, to my relief. I thought he'd broken something, but you'd remembered to clench up your gut first, and had only been stunned. "Lemme' go!" You kicked and thrashed around as one of them came up to me and tilted my chin up. "No, No! Don't!" you screamed, watching him manhandle me. I coldly met the man's eyes and held my breath as the stench hit my nose.

"Only five?" I said coldly, and the guy turned back to his buddies and they all busted out laughing. "Let him go and I'll give you the sweetest night." They dropped him immediately.

You scrambled over to me clumsily, grabbing your sword off the ground. I pushed you behind me and tried to tell you to go back to our room, but you elbowed back in front.

"Ikkaku, go home," I said urgently but flatly, not wanting these men to get impatient and decide to kill you anyways.

"No! I can fight!" you cried, eyebrows scrunched up, eyes still wet and red, so filled with shame at your loss and that I had stepped in that I could hardly bear it. I grabbed your ear roughly and yanked you away, telling you to go home and stop making a fool out of me, which just about broke your little heart. I told you then that I'd be back soon, and you looked unsure, because you actually thought they wanted to fight me, that they would kill me, and that wasn't what they wanted at all. Really, I would be okay, but you had to obey me and go away from here. I would not let you see. You couldn't see what I would have to do in exchange for your freedom.

I gave you my coldest gaze and told you to just go, and you did, cheeks burning, head down. I don't think I've seen the back of your head since we've met.

When I found you the next day in our room, you were balled up at the foot of the bed, sitting awake with dark rings under your eyes. The bed was still made, you had your arms around your knees, and one look at me had your lip quivering. You grabbed me hard and bawled like a baby, but wouldn't look in my eyes even one time. You couldn't even talk straight as you tried to apologize and tell me that you should've protected me, that you should've been strong enough that I would've been able to rely on you. You were sorry, you were so so sorry, you told me. You asked if I was okay five times and checked my arms and face, but of course, there were no wounds there. I sat on the bed and you put your head in my lap, knees on the floor, hands fisting in my clothes. It hit me then that you'd really been afraid for me, you were shaking.

I told you that I was okay and alive, and even though I didn't say it, you knew that if you hadn't picked a fight, nothing would've happened. "I couldn't even beat one of 'em!" you wailed, tears streaming down your face as you finally looked at me, seeming to be wondering how I'd done it, how I'd beaten all of them without so much as a single cut. Little did you know that my heart was bleeding, that I was filthy, absolutely filthy and cowardly to have made it back alive. I didn't deserve your admiration.

I put my hand to your forehead and you sobbed, teeth gritted in shame, and I told you not to lose again. I could tell I had deeply wounded your pride by interfering, that I had insulted you, but they had been planning to kill you and make me do what I had done with them anyways. It had been too soon for you to die. I wanted you to die on your feet as a man, not simply because you'd been trying to protect my honor.

One day you'll see I don't have any honor left to protect.

We left the district and ate in the next one, and by then you were quiet and serious, eating without talking and staying close to me. You seemed to realize that I felt weak and sick, that I had been injured even though you couldn't figure out where. You helped me sit down and let me lean on you when I stumbled. You still let me lead, staying quiet and almost meek. I could tell losing like that had had an effect on you. Where was my passionate confident boy? What had I done to his pride?

You stayed with me all the time now and it made it much harder for me to find work. When I talked to men, you'd often cut in and tell them quite plainly to 'fuck off' if they got too aggressive. They always got pissed off about a pipsqueak like you stepping in on their game, but you didn't back down. You caused trouble, but you carried out your threats and left a man bleeding when he grabbed me - you actually bit him. It was immensely frustrating to have you scaring away my clients, but I knew you were trying to build yourself back up again, so I endured.

Eventually you got over it, and I could see that you had matured. You laughed less often, your smiles weren't as harsh and blinding if you weren't in a fight and you walked a little closer behind me now. You were more careful and more attentive to me, but not nosy. You went off on your own a lot to play with other boys, but you always found me throughout the day just to make sure we were both fine and haven't gotten lost. You brought money too, but not enough.

We were in a nicer district now, one that you chose, and the men were less violent here. It was a welcome change, but I still killed them afterwards, except if they were sweet to me during.

I came back late with a bad taste in my mouth and a hitch in my step. My legs felt sticky and there was blood under my nails as I smiled at the innkeeper's wife and headed upstairs, cracking our door open and seeing a candle still burning for me. You were sprawled in the bed on your tummy, face towards the door, mouth open and eyes closed, dead asleep. I smiled wearily and let my hair loose, sliding under the one fleece sheet and resting my head on the straw mattress. Letting out a sleepy moan, you snorted and jerked once, eyes fluttering open for an instant as you fell back into sleep. The light flickered over your face for a moment before I blew out the candle, and I could feel you squirming over to me. You were thirteen then, and you all but never cuddled me when you were awake, but I could tell that seeing me sacrifice myself for you really messed you up and you still weren't over it completely.

When I woke up, you weren't there. I checked out of our room and said goodbye to the innkeeper and headed out, finding you not far away, training hard, pouring sweat. It really hit me then that you were still a boy, but not a little boy. Your muscles were starting to define, your jaw was filling out, and you were starting to get mild acne.

You went at it for hours, until you couldn't hold your training-sword. You really wanted to become stronger, and I could see that you were going to. You were growing up right before my eyes, and I knew that soon you wouldn't need me. I hoped that you would stay anyways.

When you saw me, you collapsed in the grass next to me and lay there staring at the clouds. I just sat there in a seiza and watched your body heave, sweat glistening all over you. You were more lean than skinny now that I thought about it, and the top of your head was probably just below my ear when we stood next to each other. Your voice cracked all the time, and you would probably grow a lot more that summer. Soon you would be standing tall and leaving me in the dust.

You smiled proudly when I complimented your swing technique. You told me you wanted to be the best so that you would never lose a fight again. We'll fight together and protect each other, you say. You're going to be the best fighter, you say. You'll never lose, you promise.

I know you're right, and I smile. My cheeks ache. I've been smiling more lately.