A/N: Halfway there!

Umbrella Blood

11. Morals

He woke up stiff and cold and with his nose burning, as though it hungered for the incense and smelling herbs he'd left behind. His eyes stung with tears that had gone unshed overnight, and a hungriness in his heart gnawed away at the inner body.

Train whistles were exploding close; the other suburban trains had begun to run, and the one he waited for would be soon. Still, he didn't move; he'd come this far, but after the adrenaline had passes, the futility of such a move had struck him down. All he had done was set himself up for more pain; his father had another life, testament of their sparse contact with him. But what else was there to do? He could have just stayed put, but ultimately there was nothing waiting for him. An orphanage, cold and without familiarity and care, didn't sound much better. There was no belonging there – unless someone adopted him, but he was too old to be adopted. He didn't want a stranger anyway.

He felt young and scared, as though a thunderstorm was going on outside and there was no warm embrace to huddle in. Except there was no thunderstorm, just the roar of train engines passing by on nearby platforms, and the smell of steaming coffee from a neighbouring man that chased away the lingering incense smell.

He sat up and blinked at the screen. There was still a half hour before his train came, and he still felt stuffed to the brim with things he didn't need in his head, including incense smoke.

The man looked at him. 'You look sick,' he remarked. 'And too young to be traveling alone.'

It was the concerned look aimed at him that clued Kouichi in. 'I'm okay,' he said quietly, wincing at how his voice croaked.

'Trying to start over?' There was no condescension in his tone, only sympathy.

'…no.' But he said it too quietly, and the man had left. Possibly to freshen up. Kouichi considered doing so as well, but when he tried to stand he found his head swimming, and he flopped back down instead of fight it.

There was a mutter from a woman that was probably aimed at him, and then the man returned with a second cup of coffee he thrust into the boy's lap.

Kouichi automatically grabbed the cup before it toppled. 'I can't,' he protested, cheeks flaming. What he'd had left of his allowance had barely covered the train fare – and somehow his brain hadn't registered the circumstances he'd left himself to.

'Nonsense,' the man said gruffly. 'Everyone needs a warm drink to wake themselves out, and what sort of adult would I be to let a child buy one themselves.' He paused, regarded the coffee cup, then added: 'unfortunately coffee's the only thing they sell warm.'

The cup warmed up his stiff hands.

12. Engage

The man tried to engage him in conversation, but Kouichi really didn't know what to say. 'Looking for my father and my home,' just died upon his lips, and nothing else was remotely close to the truth.

Eventually, the man picked up on the smell of incense that clung heavily to him. The smell that the coffee and train exhaust had managed to chase away, but had come back dull blast when the train doors had shut them into the carriage.

'Did someone close to you die?' he asked quietly.

Kouichi shivered at the image and clutched his bag closer. He nodded.

The man only made small talk after that until his stop came. Maybe he thought what the other needed was a sense of normalcy in the world. And maybe Kouichi was just being selfish and difficult, because it wasn't until much later he appreciated the sentiment.

13. Voice

He listened carefully for his stop, fighting the urge to close his eyes and fall asleep, keeping his gaze glued to the screen instead. Even so, he almost missed his stop and tripped on the platform in his haste. Nobody notice – or, if they did notice, they did not turn around to him. He was grateful; he didn't want any sympathetic looks for his almost-sickly appearance, or any dirty ones for his scruffy attire – for he had slept in those clothes three times now, and the shirt at least wasn't made for sleeping in.

Once he got outside, he pulled his jacket on and took the envelope with address in hand. The cold autumn air still stung through the light green, but after a few minutes of walking it had warmed up a bit. Instead of being comfortable though, it made him feel sticky and sweaty, and it was only because he hated the cold more than anything that he didn't tear his jacket off again.

He didn't know the way, but he'd looked at the map at the train station and worked out. Maybe it was a long way, or maybe he was just walking slow, but it took him longer than he'd thought to come.

The sun was low and burning when he found the address.

14. Awkward

It was a large house. Well kept, but with a lonely feel to it. It was only half of what he'd imagined, and it took him a moment to tear himself away from the too neat lawn and noticeably absent garden, and notice the "sold" sign near the door.

Some people passed. A few gave him odd looks; others asked if he was lost.

He was lost. He was looking for his father – for a home. He might have even said as much, though nothing came of it.

When standing became unbearable, he let his blind feet carry him.

15. Lower

The envelope was useless now, though had clutched it until it wrinkled before putting it away. He stared at the photo instead: not the one of his mother and grandmother, but the one he'd blindly grabbed.

It was the one with the woman he didn't recognise in it. She looked happy, though the image Koichi knew to be his father looked old and worn under his own happy mask. Kouichi stared at them both, noting how close they stood, the way his father's eyes didn't quite meet the camera, how their fingers had rings- wedding rings.

His mother had mentioned it and he'd forgotten. His father had a new family: a new wife, and perhaps new children too.

The thought hit him suddenly. Why had he thought he could find comfort here. His father had a new home – and there probably wouldn't be any space in it for him.

He still clung to the photo, displayed it when asked, but his footsteps had no drive and he just wondered. Somehow, it didn't seem to matter that he'd had only one cup of coffee since yesterday noon, and he had only a few sen left. It didn't seem to matter the world wasn't clear, or he wasn't walking straight in it. It didn't even occur to him that his mother's friends would be worried – and when he looked back, he couldn't believe none of that had occurred to him.