Shiori Hatanaka has always known that her son was not normal. For a time she had tried to ignore it, a small justifying voice running its commentary in the back of her head. But Shiori was not a woman who would stand to live in denial, especially that of her own making. So she accepted that her son was different and adapted to accommodate him as best she could, while she tried not to cry during the night when her empty bed swallowed her up and all she could do was question whether her own son loved her or not.
And then.
Then there was that incident with the dishes, and something changed. Shuichi seemed to actually look at her then. Respect her. His precocious nature began to lean more towards interest in conversation and people rather than the apathetic, separate state he had lived in most of his life. Shiori felt it, watched it, saw her son's respect grow and morph the more he interacted with her, felt that respect turn into love.
But it was not the love of a child to a mother. Instead of rebellious teenage years marked by searches for identity and independence, instead of a boy that tried to challenge her authority or rules, she had a son that accommodated her. A son that did everything he could to be perfect and, the genius that he was, accomplishing it. Shuichi was trying to be perfect for her, to give her anything she wanted because he loved her, and Shiori knew that wasn't normal. Children didn't love their parents like they were gracious hosts that had gone far out of their way to make their guest comfortable, and they then owed the host an effort in return.
A normal son wouldn't be perfect just for her. He wouldn't hide what he did in his spare time, wouldn't try to keep her separate from his real life with the real friends he had, just to keep from shattering the image he presented as the perfect son. A normal son didn't act like his mother was some glass figurine that was clear and untainted and untouchable, and that would eventually shatter and leave him behind. He didn't have scars with no origin or smile at her with sad, wise eyes. A normal son didn't love from afar, as if he were the one that would taint her should he reach out and touch.
A normal son would love and touch and look at her like she was his mother. A normal son would act accordingly. A normal son was not so sure of his own identity from such a young age. A normal son wouldn't cater to her every wish, or look at her with eyes that were wise beyond her years, or smile at her with such terrible sadness. A normal son wasn't perfect. A normal son would have a mother to love.
But then, Shuichi had never been normal.
Disclaimer: I do not own Yu Yu Hakusho and am not making any profit by writing and posting this story. Thank you and please review. —TS