11:27
The clock on the stove blinked red numbers at her, briefly illuminating the heating coils and pale surface. She sighed, standing up from her seat at the table and heading toward her bedroom.
She paused at the stairs, brushing a strand of dark hair from her face as she saw the warm light spilling under her son's door.
Soft steps took her up the stairs, hand gently grasping the cool handle. She briefly debated simply telling her son to shut the lights off, but chances were that he was asleep at this time of night.
Instead, the mother sighed gently, twisting the handle and soundlessly pushing the door open.
She waited for her eyes to adjust to the light in her son's room, before looking over at the bed.
A fond smile played about her lips as she stepped forward, lifting the blankets bunched around his ankles and slipping them up to cover his body. She tugged a lock of his blonde bangs out of the corner of his mouth, and moved back to turn off the light.
Something stayed her hand, though, as she turned to look back at him.
His face, normally so expressive and happy just a few months ago, was laden down by an expression of sadness, and longing. Even in sleep, the anguish did not leave her son's face.
She blinked, looking down at his hands.
Wondering how she did not notice it before, Hikaru's mother slipped forward, gently slipping a cheap drawing pad from her son's loosely curled fingers. She plucked the dull pencil from atop his chest, shaking her head in exasperation at the eraser shavings scattered about.
As she moved to place both on the table by his bed, a sharp gasp escaped her lips.
The pad had slipped from her grasp, loose papers scattering about his floor. She stood stock-still, moonlight casting a silvery glow about the scattered leaves, her dark eyes watching as her son groaned softly, moving one hand about where the book once lay.
She was reminded vividly of how her own arm reached out as a child, searching for her teddy.
His arm snuck over the edge of the bed, where it met one of the dropped papers.
'musta dropped it' he murmered, turning toward the wall and curling up under his blankets.
'...up tomorrow...' Hikaru drifted back to sleep, and his mother let out a quivering breath, a corner of her mind wondering why she was so hyped up about her son finding her. She beat that part back, and kneeled down to pick up the papers. Most of them were bits of homework dated back months, completed and now neatly organized in the back.
She browsed over a few landscapes, a smile flitting over her face at a sketch of herself in the morning, hands on her hips, glaring at the toaster as if that would help make it go faster. A picture she recognized as one of her son's Go friends, the the tall one with the blue-black hair...and another of the spikey brown-red haired one.
However, what really caught her gaze were the half-done portraits...
She saw bits of billowing cloth about a looming figure, long hair shaded, flowing about even darker eyes.
She couldn't help staring at one of the same half-drawn figure with a look on concentration, a paper fan covering the lowed half of its face. (she wasnt sure if it was male or female. It looked female, but the attire was traditional male clothing.)
Most of that particular figure was drawn from the perspective of someone looking over their shoulder.
All but one of the drawings had been put back into his drawing pad, the last next to his bed.
She crept forward, slipping her fingers around the paper, sliding it toward herself.
Almost unconsiously, she read the small phrase on the back, before flipping it over with greater curiosity.
What she saw made her breath catch in her chest, one hand moving to trace over the signature of her son in the corner.
The same figure from before, sitting on the other side of a go board. Old-fasioned clothes draped around his slender form, long purple hair falling from below a tall hat. One hand was resting on his lap, while the other held a fan, currently pointing at one of the intersections on the board.
Those dark eyes were playful, mischevious. A small smile played about purple-tinged lips, somehow showing joy and sadness at the same time.
In the corner, in her son's messy scrawl, was a three-letter word that made her all the more curious.
'Sai'