running perspectives
Hello,
An idea that came to me one night. What if Aang never ran away?
So here I attempt to stitch together the lives of Kuzon and Aang.
I might attempt to make this into a full chaptered story.
1.
Aang never ran away.
(it's an interesting thought. Somewhere along the way, he just stopped running away.)
He had though, in a way. Left when he was younger. Left the restricting mountains and sought for something more.
He was running away, the monks claimed. The Officials that looked for the supposed Avatar claimed he was reckless and irresponsible. Old women clucked their tongues when word reached the far areas of the world. The boy scribbled out in a few hasty characters, justifying his actions.
The entire world that he had been locked away from had become suddenly open. He wanted to experience it all.
Kuzon hadn't really cared. The Avatar to him was just a figure of rigid expectation and destinies carved in rock. The Avatar wasn't really his.
Things began to change perspective rapidly he supposed. Things began shifting after a small boy barreled through the streets, colliding violently with him. The boy cringed, scrambling away violently. A loaf of stale bread fell from his pockets, tumbling to the ground. Kuzon had reacted, snatching at the thin wrist and pulling him closer.
A mop of unkept hair and wide eyes greeted him openly.
"I didn't mean to do that!"
His eyes narrowed. "Whatever." Yanking him roughly, he pulled him into a nearby alleyway and onwards. The city spiraled over a great expanse, buildings resting on jutting rock and smooth plains of clay.
Kuzon thinks maybe he's a year older than the starving boy. He drags him onward, through the streets and roads until he reaches his own home. He doesn't know why he's doing this. What makes him want to take the kid with him.
The boy is explaining defensively, trying to pull away.
Eyes wide and panicked, he looks like a startled mount his father once rode on when he was younger. "I was just hungry; I didn't think anyone would mind!"
It doesn't really click until he pushes the kid down onto a stool that he's pleading for mercy. He starts setting a fresh loaf of bread down before him, and fishes out cold rice and other foods from the storage. He wonders how long it's been since he's had a good meal, but from the size of him he figures it's been a while.
"Where you from?" He demands, leaning against a wall slightly. His mother is away in her sewing shop, and his father away for the next few days in the fields. The city sounds empty beyond the walls of his home, cut away by firm rock and plaster.
He stares up at Kuzon, face drawn like a mask. "South."
Kuzon can see the dark circles beneath his eyes. Sleepless nights and hunger weighing down. "Why you come here?"
"Wanted to see stuff." He mumbled around a mouthful of rice. "Who are you?"
"Kuzon. What's yours?"
He swallows, looking away. His brows furrow, and he clears his throat before answering. "Ong."
"You passing through?" Kuzon coughs. He feels awkward in front of this stranger who like he carries the weight of the world on his back.
"Not anymore," Ong shrugs.
So when his mother returns home with a basket of silks, he mumbles something about his new friend sound asleep in his bed, and his mother is not as pleased like he had hoped. Kuzon doesn't quite care, because he really doesn't care about a lot of things anymore.
Somehow though, something feels shifted.
(he expects Ong to be gone the next morning. Ong stays.)
2.
His family all but adopts the boy.
His mother clucks her tongue and pulls the boy into the bathing room. It takes almost an hour of scrubbing the kid raw until she's satisfied before he can emerge in one of his to big shirts. Somehow she falls in love for the boy, wrapping her arms around him before he can say a word.
His Father is indifferent. The boy is treated warmer than a stranger, but lesser than a companion. For a reason Kuzon doesn't understand, it makes his veins throb the way Ong is shut out almost immediately.
So he escapes with Ong through the city. They walk upon roof top edges, and dart alongside busy streets. Ong sometimes snatches at his wrist, trying to get closer to something strangely fascinating to the boy. Sometimes Kuzon has to grab at Ong's wrist to make him step away from lose roof tiles.
He never says where he came from. One night, he hears his mother to his numb father about the odd marks on his back.
How they looked forced. Painful.
Sometimes Ong lets it slip. Brief words that are tossed into an incomplete puzzle. Confinement. Abandoned. Forced.
His mother asks, brows knitting together in concern. Her fingers would skim his hairline, brushing away stray pieces of hair.
Ong would never say.
(he wonders how long it will take to uncover the pieces of the boy. After a few months, he realizes there is nothing left to him.)
3.
He discovered the identity of the boy three months into his stay.
He admits it when they sit together on a rooftop looking over the city. The sky is lit bright with stars above and lanterns below. Candles flicker from windows, and he thinks about the old saying.
(the city of lights only awakens when the sky slumbers.)
He fidgets, twisting his fingers in the edge of his shirt.
Kuzon sits still. Looking at him for a long time. He can hear some girl shrieking nearby, laughing loudly. It takes him a long time to find the words. Piece them together in the warm air between the two boys. "You left for a good reason, right?"
Ong snorts. "Yeah."
"Whatever." He shrugs. He messes up Ong's hair before settling back.
Ong's eyes look wet. "You aren't mad?"
Kuzon sighs. "Who cares? It's your life. Just because you're supposed to have a billion people's lives inside you, doesn't make it yours."
From that point, things shift.
Kuzon catches glimpses of his spine. Messy scaring from resentful force. Hidden marks beneath his hairline from where they dug the needle in to deeply.
He gets the remaining pieces of the puzzle quicker after. The skinny body damaged from forced isolation and fasting. Parents abandoning him to take his role in the world. His people placing a burden unfit on his shoulders and expecting him to stand.
"I don't want to run away anymore." Ong tells him when they should be sleeping, but they're just lying together in Kuzon's bed awake. Kuzon's mother would be livid if she caught them in a position like this-Ong's head on his stomach; Kuzon's fingers buried in his hair.
Kuzon's lips quirk. "Then don't."
4.
(growing up hurts.)
Kuzon grows rapidly over the years. Long legs and arms reaching out in every direction.
Ong, for the most part, doesn't grow much at all.
The damage done to him was intensive. Left his body stunted. Kuzon resents the wise monks for doing this. They continue on, pushing through the crowds of strangers, officials and girls.
Kuzon's father wonders when he will bring home a girl. His mother picks the subject up faster and faster each time.
"Mei is such a nice girl, don't you think?" She ponders, tilting her pale chin up. "She has a wonderful sister as well, Ong." Her offerings are meant kindly. Ong takes them the way they are given. Smiling politely and nodding patiently.
Sometimes they grate on Kuzon's nerves.
He just wants to stop everything.
Stop the gentle pushing that separates him from Ong. Force the two closer to the point nothing could divide them. So he could just join hands and be. So Ong wouldn't have to try and run away every time he felt trapped. So Ong wouldn't have to try and force himself to stay when all he wanted was to run away into the wind and leave all the hurting behind.
5.
Kuzon learns a valuable lesson one night.
(there are a few pieces remaining to Ong that he has left. pieces that were uncovered through slow healing.)
He doesn't understand how it happened. How Ong pulled himself closer, giving him every chance to back away and run away.
Kuzon stayed, pulse racing violently. Ong's eyes are wide, and his hands latching tightly on the smooth fabric of Kuzon's shirt. They quiver, anxiety rimming Ong's eyes. He brushes lips softly against his, before pulling back. His hands remained clenched, Kuzon's covering them quickly.
"I'm sorry! I didn't mean to do-"
"Whatever."
It's awkward, bending low to keep the boy there. Kuzon waits for him to push himself away. To run away.
Ong never did.
So Kuzon locks his one arm around Ong's thin waist, and presses his lips deeper.
His other hand cups his face, forcing the boy to stay.
They break a lot of rules that night.
6.
They leave carrying bags and earned money in their pockets. Kuzon's cheek is painted red, a violent handprint bruising his skin. His one hand is tight around Ong's wrist, keeping him back from the crazed roads.
His eyes are hard, but softening around the edges. His whispers something unheard into Ong's ear that makes him smile hard.
They continue into the cold with nothing more but a weeping mother in an empty house, and expectation thrown away.
They say nothing, because they have nothing to say.
(there's an infinity of the unsaid between the two. it's enough for words and more.)
They takes off to the place where universes collides with possibilities.
Ong.
I had to.
Get it?
I think I am going to return to this idea for a full length story. Hope you enjoyed.