There were many things about your son that has changed. Of course, she couldn't forget the physical differences, the snow-white hair and the abnormal scars. But then there were the other things, the little things that made her do double takes at the boy who she once knew like the back of her hand.
At first, it was the subtle things. The fact that he ate very little and he ate in a hurry, as though his food would disappear if he didn't eat it fast enough. He almost rationed his own meals, portioning small amounts and scarfing them down unbelievably fast, and making sure every little bit that he didn't consume was stored properly various parts of the fridge and cabinets. She understood that he was probably used to not eating much, back when the West District was separated from No. 6 by walls, and hatred, and ignorance, but she never quite came to terms with why he felt the need to eat it all so quickly. It was very unlike the Shion she knew, but she accepted it, because he was finally home.
There were the less subtle things as well, nothing that truly terrified her but they were unsettling to say the least. She could never nap in the living room, in an area that he might be walking by. She did it once, maybe twice accidentally, and each time he caught sight of her sprawled on the couch, or the carpeted floor, he'd shake her till she woke up, yelling for her, tears pricking at his clouded reddish eyes. And each time she woke up, and soothed him, he would apologize profusely, never explaining why he did it, never hinting at the subtext behind his actions, never stating that he feared she was dead. He refuses to tell her what he saw in the West District, the Correctional Facility, but she understood, simply by his actions, that death was no stranger to her son.
Finally, there was the crying, the 4 AM trips to the kitchen where coffee brewed and thoughts were repressed. She always asked how his night was, if he slept well, and each time he looked at her, a nervous smile etched on his face as he nodded and stated that it was wonderful. She knew for a fact that he never slept in his own bed, preferring the couch, and she knew that he could only rest for a little over two hours before he awoke, sometimes wheezing, clinging onto whatever he could in a death like grip, sometimes with a wet, sobbing sound as he curled into a ball, and occasionally, calling out for Nezumi. It was those types of mornings, the mornings after his Nezumi dreams that he would act the most off, staring out the window, gazing somewhere much farther than she could comprehend.
Nezumi. She knew their bond ran much deeper than friendship, than a guardian and the one he protects. She knew all too well the look in Shion's eyes as he brushed a thumb over his lips and stared out into the streets, his eyes darting to the skies and floors as he searched for even the slightest trace of Nezumi's existence.
It was only recently, during the rain season, that she noticed another trait of his. During only the most severe typhoons, while most families would huddle together and wait for the rain's pounding to cease, Shion would separate himself from his mother as much as possible, hiding in his room and locking the door, darkening his room as much as he could. And at first she thought the howling winds were only due to his habit of opening the window, but upon further investigation, she detected his screams against the wind as well.
Every heavy rain, he would open the windows, and scream, and yell, and call out one name over and over until she could almost hear the tears clotting his voice in desperation. Every heavy rain this would go on for hours, sometimes even until the rain had ceased, and he would slump against the wall, and if she listened close enough, she could hear his hoarse sobs, and if she truly put enough effort in, she could hear him call out for Nezumi, quietly, to himself, as if willing himself to believe that Nezumi will return.
Her son has changed, physically, mentally, emotionally. He is still quite brilliant, still of the utmost importance to those who plan to change this society for the better, but his time spent confronting horror, and love, and tragedy has changed him in such obvious ways, and God she wants to help, to hold him and cry with him and scream against the storms, but she knows she can't. She knows she is helpless against her son's suffering.
So she prays. She prays for her son to sleep just one more hour before waking in night terrors, she prays that she could one day convince him that his cherry cake will still be there if he took a few more minutes to eat it, she prays that one day he won't have to fear that any sleeping body could be someone who died because he just couldn't help them in time.
Most of all, though, she prays for Nezumi's return.
Karan spreads flour against the surface and begins to roll the risen dough into small oval shapes for her cream pan, and she represses a sympathetic sigh as she once again catches her son nervously grinding his teeth as he organized the pastries into their rightful spots. The doctors all claimed these tics were due to the stressful environment he was forced into, and that it will most likely go away in due time, but these claims were dust in the wind as she squeezed her eyes shut and tried to pretend all was well.