Reluctantly Maternal
-.-.-
Yukimi watched, didn't stare, or gawk, or glare, but watched. He was playing passive with an observer's gaze.
Except he wasn't on the side-lines this time. Not viewing the situation, not noting it and using his pen to scribble down adjectives that would remind him what happened later on.
He wasn't even a foot away or an inch away. He was so close. Forced to be a participant in this uncomfortable and unstable situation. He could smell the terror, the growing pain.
He could feel every bone through the loose clothes. Through his tight skin that stretched painfully over small muscles and growing tendons. Could hear joints that creaked so loud that he could only wait for the neighbors to complain.
He had a sister, a younger sister who, when they were little, would cry over a hangnail. He would always roll his eyes or maybe smash her hand with his foot because he wanted to. He never said sorry.
He never said, 'It'll be okay' or 'It won't hurt for too long.' He would just laugh it off and now, on the sidelines where he shouldn't have to regret, he didn't need to be active.
Another hacking, another crack of what he hoped wasn't a bone snapping, another sob that was trying to hide from everyone, and he couldn't take it.
He couldn't keep watching.
He grieved for the first time. Matted black hair soaked in so much sweat that it pooled in his small collarbone, dripping down his shirt. Was he always so tall? So thin?
"Yoite..." He gripped the growing boy in his arms.
He couldn't apologize for this pain.
-.-.-.
- In some ways this could be a Father's Day story... So Happy Father's Day.