Disclaimer: Shaman King belongs to Hiroyuki Takei, not me.
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"Hana Asakura!" Tamao scolded. "You haven't seen your parents since you were a year old, they're finally here, and you aren't going to talk to them?"
"Nah-uh."
Tamao rolled her eyes. The parents in question sat in front of the shrine in the corner, praying quietly. Their recalcitrant son sat on the opposite side of the room, arms crossed, scowling fiercely. "You have been waiting years and years to see your parents," she said. "Now go over and talk to them right now."
"Nah-uh."
"Hana!"
He responded by dropping face down on the floor and clamping his hands over his ears. Tamao huffed in aggravation and stormed away.
Hana buried his face in the floor, breathing in the mustiness of the tatami mats, until finally he could bear it no longer. He scooted up and folded his arms beneath his chin, peering at the mysterious strangers under the curtain of his blond hair.
He liked the look of his father. He was young, much younger than the fathers of his classmates at school, and nice looking. Hana rubbed his round cheeks, wondering if his face would someday thin out like his father's, and not look so childish.
His father leaned over to light incense in front of Grandad's picture. Hana tilted his head. He doesn't get to ever see his dad again, he thought. I guess I'm lucky that mine came back.
His father sighed, his merry eyes softening as the incense rose. He scratched the back of his neck thoughtfully, until a gentle nudge from the woman beside him broke him out of his reverie. Obediently he knelt and folded his hands in prayer.
Hana shifted onto his knees and peeked at his mother. It felt dishonest to think of her that way- after all, he had spent five years referring Tamao as such. But no…this was his real mother.
He hadn't gotten a good look at her face yet. She knelt on a flat pillow, her slender hands folded, her head bowed. Long blonde hair flowed in waves down to the small of her back.
Hana started. That's where I get it, he thought. That's where I get my blond hair.
His earliest memories involved getting teased for his golden hair. In a school full of brunets, he stuck out like a sore thumb. His nickname for the first week of kindergarten was "dandelion," until he could take it no longer and slapped one of his tormentors across the face. He was suspended, but no one called him names anymore.
And this girl, this strange mother of his…she was the one who given him his blond hair.
Hana stood up quietly and sidled closer to his parents. With their eyes closed in prayer, they didn't seem to notice him. He crept as close as he dared and peered into his mother's face.
He was relieved to see that she was pretty- prettier than Tamao, even. Her skin was very fair, unlike his tanned father, but she had tiny freckles around her eyes. He wondered what color they were.
She continued to pray silently, seemingly unaware of his presence. A lock of blonde hair fell softly over her shoulder. Hana reached out slowly and slid his finger down the golden strands. His mother's hair was soft and silky under his touch. She still didn't seem to realize he was there, so he bravely stroked his small hand through her hair.
He sensed someone staring at him and whirled around. His father beamed down at him, every inch a proud daddy. "What are you looking at?" Hana demanded.
His father only smiled, and nodded towards his mother. Hana turned back around. Her eyes were still closed and her hands were still folded, but she had gone very white, save for two pink circles in her cheeks. "What's wrong?" Hana asked without thinking.
He placed a hand on her bare shoulder. She unfolded her hands and pressed her slender fingers over his small, chubby ones. His mother continued to pray, but she stroked his small hand as she did.
Hana fidgeted. It was too quiet, and he hated standing still. "Are you done yet?" he whispered loudly.
His father shook his head and touched his index finger to his lips. Hana rolled his eyes. His father settled back, crossing his legs turk-style and leaning back on his hands. He seemed to be focused on his wife.
Hana looked at one, then the other. His pretty mother sat still and upright, her slender fingers warm against his hand. His father lounged beside her, watching her. There was something very gentle in his gaze.
Is he still that in love with her? Hana thought. Huh. Impressive.
His mother let go of his hand. Hana stood beside her and looked at her eagerly.
She opened her eyes. He gawked. Large, luminous, and shifting between chocolate brown and deep amber, she was definitely much prettier than any of the other mothers he saw taking their children to school. Younger, too, much younger. Yes, he would be proud to show off his mother.
"Are you just going to stare at me?" she asked softly.
She looks like she might cry.
His father leaned up behind him. "You'd best hug your mother," he whispered in his ear.
"I don't do hugs," Hana whispered back.
His father gave him a gentle nudge. "Neither does she."
Hana lost his balance and flung his arms around his mother's neck. She stiffened in surprise, but she folded her slender arms around him and hugged him tightly. Hana buried his face in the crook of her neck. She smelled nice, like apples and honey. He sighed.
His father reached over and stroked the shaggy blond hair out of his eyes. "You look like us," he commented. He smiled- a big, bright, almost goofy smile. "You're definitely our son."
"Who else could he belong to, Yoh?" his mother snapped.
Yoh blinked. "Anna, I just meant that-"
"Never mind," Anna sighed. She nudged Hana back and looked him up and down. She smiled, and it lit up her eyes. "You're right. He's definitely ours."
Hana looked from his father to his mother and, for the first time in six years, felt like he belonged.
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Author's Note:
Hey, everybody! I'm back!!
I've been married for a month now (and man, is it awesome!) and so now I have time to finish all those old stories and post up the ones that have been milling in my head. This is one of the latter; it's inspired by a particular panel in chapter 300 of SK.
So yeah.
Stay tuned.
I promise.
For reals, y'all.
Have you missed me?