Hello, everyone! I'm sorry for not updating last Saturday-I had to take the ACT, and it was kind of exhausting. But I'll be updating weekly from now on, if all goes well. :)

Chapter Three: Promise

Summer came only a few weeks after Tino's arrival, and Eduard enjoyed this summer more than any before. The summer before that one, he had still lived in a different city, a different neighborhood. He had moved just before the beginning of the school year when he was ten, and now, finally, after nearly a year of loneliness, he had a friend.

There was a deserted field behind Eduard's house, at the edge of the hill where the others had gone sledding last winter, and Eduard and Tino claimed the field for themselves. Sometimes they went to the neighborhood playground, which was a few blocks away, within walking distance, but most of the time they played in the field, away from prying eyes.

One day in the middle of summer, Eduard found himself waiting in the field long after the sun had risen, waiting for a Tino whom he was starting to fear might not come at all.

"Where is he?" he murmured, pacing up and down, his eleven year old body tense with anxiety. "I-is he not coming?"

At ten o'clock, Eduard sat down in the grass and started to cry.

"He left. Where did he go? Doesn't he like me anymore? What happened? Tino said he would be here, so why isn't he here? What did I do wrong?"

"Ed…uard?"

Tino was standing in front of him, his head cocked to the side. The blond boy looked more than a bit confused, perhaps even worried.

"Are you okay?"

"Tino?" Eduard blinked. "Where did you come from?"

"My house," Tino chuckled. "It's right there, so… Oh dear."

Tino's expression changed from confusion to a mixture of guilt and worry.

"Did you think I wasn't coming?" he murmured. "Is that why you were crying?"

Eduard started to cry again, nodding through his tears.

"Y-you didn't tell me you weren't coming," he said. "I t-thought you got tired of me, that you weren't going to come back…"

"Who's gotten tired of you before?" Tino blurted. "Why would you even think that somebody would get tired of you and leave?"

"People do that," Eduard said. "I haven't talked to anyone I knew from where I used to live since I moved here. And in case you haven't noticed, you're the only person who… Who doesn't act like I'm invisible."

Tino sat down next to him, brown eyes serious. Eduard had never seen Tino like that, serious and solemn and worried. It felt wrong, and it felt like that wrong was his fault.

"Stop worrying," he muttered. "Stop looking at me like I'm pitiful."

"You're not pitiful," Tino said. "And if people act like you're invisible then that's not your fault. It's theirs. But I'm not like that. I slept late today. It happens sometimes, you know. You just…sleep late. But I'll try not to do it again. And if you're worried about me, you can always come to my house and ask, okay?"

Tino reached over, grabbed both of Eduard's hands, leaning forward and fixing the bespectacled boy in his soft, brown-eyed gaze.

"I won't leave, Ed. I'm right here. You're not invisible. You won't be invisible to me, ever. Okay?"

"Okay," Eduard whispered.

Tino smiled, and Eduard thought that that smile was the most reassuring thing he had ever seen.

"Good! You're okay now, right? So let's play! Do you want to be settlers again?"

"Settlers?" scoffed a voice from above them. "Are you two girls?"

Gilbert Beilschmidt came marching down the hill, arms folded in a most condescending manner.

"You two need to find a better game," he said, his voice authoritative. "Thus, I, the awesome Gilbert, shall instruct you in the methods of playing an awesome game!"

Eduard said nothing, looking down at the grass underneath him. When he glanced up, he found Gilbert staring at him.

"Is he crying?" Gilbert asked.

"Not anymore," Tino said, putting his hand on Eduard's shoulder. "And if you're not going to be nice then maybe you should go away."

Gilbert did not go away. Instead, he flopped down in the grass, his pale hair falling into his eyes.

"There's nowhere to go," he grumbled. "Antonio's gone off someplace with Lovino Vargas, and Francis went to France for a while. There's nobody left except Ludwig, and I'm sure not playing with my baby brother all summer."

"We're the same age as your brother," Tino pointed out.

"But you're not my brother," Gilbert retorted.

Eduard stared at the ground, remembering the first weeks of his life in the neighborhood, those weeks when Gilbert had acted as if he did not exist, as if he was somehow unworthy. All of them had acted in that way, and he hated it even now.

He did not know if he hated Gilbert or if he simply hated Gilbert's habit of ignoring people, but he did know that he wanted nothing to do with the older boy.

"You didn't want me when I was alone and needed someone," he said harshly, looking up, his eyes meeting Gilbert's. "You had no need of me then. I have no need of you now. Go away."

Gilbert looked momentarily shocked. Then, the older boy stood up, shrugging.

"Fine, be that way. Tino, a word of advice-I think Eduard's a bit unstable. What kind of an eleven year old says something like that?"

Gilbert marched back up the hill, and Eduard stared after him, blinking back tears.

"I'm not crazy," he said, his voice choked. "I'm not. Why do I have to be kind to him when he hurt me the moment I came here?"

"I don't think he really gets what it's like to be you," Tino said. "He has a lot of friends, you know? He's not… He's not the kind of person who understands what being alone is like. He's lived here his whole life, right? He's always had friends. He takes friendship for granted. You don't. You can't, really, can you?"

Eduard shook his head.

"It hurts," he mumbled. "It really hurts and I want him to know how it feels, looking at someone and remembering that that person abandoned you when you didn't have anyone. I w-want him to hurt, or at least to know what it feels like to be alone and hurt, but… B-but I'm not crazy!"

"I know," Tino said. "I know you're not, and actually I think Gilbert's a little crazy. It's okay. You-we-don't have to be friends with Gilbert. He'll forget us again when Antonio and Francis come back anyways. It's okay. We don't need him, right?"

"R-right," Eduard said.

Tino grinned.

"Good! Now, let's play! We don't need the 'awesome' Gilbert to have fun, do we? We have each other, and I'm not going to leave you, so it will all be okay!"

Eduard smiled weakly.

"Okay."

Eduard sat on the front steps, his nose buried in a book. It was late afternoon, but the sun was still high in the sky. It was early October, and, as school had started, and Eduard was now in middle school, he had far less time to play. Tino had still less time, as he took more time to finish his homework than Eduard did.

Eduard sighed, and, pushing his glasses up, read on. He was entranced by the story, so caught up in a fantasy world that he did not notice Tino until the other boy was in front of him, leaning over to attempt to read the front cover of the book.

"You're going to fall," Eduard said, just before Tino landed on the ground with a thump and a cry of dismay.

"You jinxed me!" Tino protested. Now almost thirteen years old, the Finnish boy was still smaller and a little chubbier than Eduard, although the distinction went unnoticed by both boys.

"You should know better than to do things like that," Eduard said, setting his book down. He stood up and held his hand out to Tino, who took it gratefully.

"I just wanted to see what you were reading!" Tino grumbled. "You never let me read over your shoulder!"

"It makes me nervous," Eduard said. "I've been laughed at for my tastes enough times that I never want to have it happen again.

"You know I wouldn't laugh at you!" Tino protested. "When have I ever done such a thing?"

Eduard eyed his cheerful friend, sighing.

"Considering that you're constantly cheerful, it's rather hard to tell when you're not laughing."

"But I'm not laughing at you," Tino said. "I'm just…happy. That's allowed, isn't it?"

Eduard rolled his eyes skyward.

"I'd like to see you unhappy," he said. "I'm not sure it's possible."

"Someone has to make up for your dreariness!" Tino giggled. "But, seriously, I'd never laugh at you. Okay?"

Eduard smiled.

"I'm always saying okay to you. You should go into business as a therapist."

"Really?" Tino asked. "Can I?"

"We're twelve," Eduard grumbled. "Stop making that hopeful face; they don't give college degrees to twelve year olds."

"Oh," Tino said. "Well, I can practice, right? I'll always be able to practice on you."

"Always?" Eduard asked.

"Of course," Tino said. "Because I'm not ever going to leave you. I promised. So I won't ever leave. I'll make sure you're never alone again. Just like I promised you."

Raivis wondered why the color red was so warm. He did not think that warmth was supposed to hurt, but red was a warm color, and red hurt when it was on him.

His mother scolded him when he got red on him, told him that he shouldn't 'bleed'. He did not mean to bleed, if 'bleed' was what it was called when the color red was on his body. He did not put the color there. Sometimes his mother did; sometimes he was clumsy. Most of the time he was clumsy. His mother left purple and black and blue on him, but rarely red. Red was preserved for special occasions, when he had been particularly imperfect and deserved to have the hurting warm color on him as punishment.

He deserved to bleed, apparently, on his birthday. Every year on his birthday, there was red all over. He wondered why this was, wondered why it was a crime that he had a birthday. He had not asked for his birthday to exist; he was not even sure what the significance of the day was. He knew only that he always ended up hurting that day, and that on that day he got a new age number.

He was ten years old today, November eighteenth. That much he knew, for he had glimpsed the calendar in the front room a few days previous, and had seen how close it was to his birthday. He had known what was coming, counted the days, and he knew that today, he was ten.

His mother did not like it when he became a different age; she was shouting at him now, threatening him with what might happen if he did not come out of his maze of boxes. He dared not disobey her; she wanted him, and so he must go.

He crawled out from between the boxes, to see his mother standing in the hallway. He could not remember the last time he had seen her so angry, but she was always angry on birthdays, always wanting to hurt him and make him bleed.

"H-hello, Mommy," he whispered, and she slapped him.

"Don't 'hello' me, Raivis," she snapped. "You know what day it is, don't you?"

"Yes, Mommy." Raivis' eyes filled with tears, tears that he tried desperately to hold back so that his mother would not see his weakness.

He could not bite back the tears, and so he reached down and pulled his shirt over his head, wiping away a few tears with the fabric as he pulled it off.

His mother smiled.

"Good boy, Raivis," she murmured. "You know what to do, don't you?"

Raivis started to cry, sinking to his knees and hugging his mother's leg, whimpering.

"M-Mommy, please…"

"Get off!" the woman kicked him away, and he landed against the wall, the bruises on his tiny body throbbing with pain.

"I don't want to," he said. "I don't want to get h-hurt… Please, Mommy…"

She knelt in front of him, and, reaching out her hand, pinned him to the wall in a seemingly effortless gesture. He was too small to fight her, too small to even pass as his own true age. Desperately, he grabbed at his mother's hand, tiny fingers reaching for cruel hands that had only ever brought him pain.

His mother pulled out a knife, and Raivis no longer saw any point in begging. Every year he tried to beg; every year she hurt him anyways. There was nothing but pain for him, nothing but suffering that he did not want.

Raivis turned his head away, closed his eyes to try to stop the tears, which still fell despite his efforts.

"I'm sorry, Mommy," he whispered. "I'm sorry I'm not good enough. I t-tried but I don't know how…"

"Try harder," she whispered, her voice like ice. She shifted her hand to his shoulder; he shut his eyes more tightly, anticipating the sharp agony of the knife slicing into his stomach. Raivis' sobs cut through the air, and still he kept his eyes shut. He had watched this process before, when he was younger, and he never wanted to see it again.

"I hate the color red. The color red hurts me so much…"

A particularly deep, rough slice caused Raivis to shriek in pain, and his eyes snapped open for a few seconds, long enough for him to see the coldness in his mother's eyes and know that she was enjoying this, that she did not care for him at all, but only cared to see him in pain.

This was the only day of the year that he could admit to this. When the scars started to heal, he would convince himself again that his mother only meant to help him.

When the pain finally disappeared, Raivis remained still against the wall, half-expecting the cutting to start again. He only half-noticed when his mother lifted him from the ground, but for a moment, he leaned into her, smiling softly.

"The only time she'll ever hold me is on the day when she most hates me."

When his mother's warmth disappeared, Raivis did not open his eyes, trying to focus on the memory of being held by his mother, trying to remember what it felt like. He would have liked to have translated the memory into his imaginary-world, but his chest hurt a great deal, and he could not overcome that pain.

He assumed that he was in his room, on the pile of blankets stained by red from past years. Foggily, Raivis wondered what word his mother had written on him this time. He could not read the words, but he was sure that they were all ugly.