A/N:Sorry it's been awhile. Been flooded with school and some other crap that's not important! But I'm back!
Thanks for sticking with this story for this long - I really appreciate it!
Without further ado... please R&R, but most importantly:
Enjoy!
Chapter Four The Higher Fence
The following week, Hatori was pouring over a copy of Hard Times on the bench by the sunflower patch. Yakeshi had offered pleasant weather in terms of summer—back home around this time, he would either be cooped up in the house with the A/C blasting or at the beach with the rest of the family. But here, the sun beamed warm rays of gold that kissed his skin to a shade just passed its usual tone.
This morning had brought with it another oddity; just as he presented himself to the table for breakfast, his elders, save for Yisu, insisted quite tirelessly that he dress more appropriately from then on. Having been well-dressed since birth, Hatori was utterly confused—what harm was a pair of black pants and a jean shirt? Kana gifted him a new collection of shirts, from dress to casual, but all the same shade of purple, a hint lighter than the hue of his eyes. Exactly his size. Of course, he thanked her for such generosity and complied with their wishes out of respect. He had never been one to wear purple or lavender, or any shade of the color. But they were kind enough to allow him a roof and food. Upon first meeting, who could say that much about their distant blood?
Yet again, he did miss his family.
Flipping the page, he looked up for no other reason than to spare his eyes from the print for a moment. Naran, who was hanging laundry on the clothesline, was already watching him as she shook out a bedsheet. He smiled politely at her. But she did not return the mannerism. Rather, she stared intently at him. Hatori's smile faltered slowly and his brows drew up in concern or nervousness, either would suffice for the off-ness that dragged his stomach. He dared not move or speak or break eye contact. He simply froze under her dauntless gaze. But before long, she whipped the sheet high; and when it came back down, she was smiling like usual at him.
With traces of his previous, put-off expression, Hatori smiled again and forced his eyes back down. Maybe she wasn't even looking at me, he thought, with full knowledge of his own habit of staring and spacing out at the worst times. After a while longer, remembering the aftermath of too much UV on his sensitive skin, he went inside the cooler house and went into his mother's room after removing his shoes.
The sound of an antique doorbell caught his attention, and he went immediately to his phone to find the missed-call notification icon on the lock screen. "Crap," he said, unlocking it to find the call was from Kureno. He pressed the phone icon and held the device to his ear.
"Hello?"
"Hey, li'l cousin."
There was a short, petulant sigh. "I wish you wouldn't call me that anymore."
Hatori chuckled, sitting on the bed. "Sorry I missed you before."
"It's not an issue. I was just studying."
"Good to hear you're finally taking school seriously."
"Are you mocking me?"
"A little," Hatori said, simply. "But I am relieved."
"You never truly believed in me."
"Hey, now. Who's paying for your tuition? Money's important, too." Hatori took the lingering quiet on the other end as a cue to draw back the lecture building in his throat. "I didn't call you to discuss that, though. How are you?"
"Good. Everyone here is well-taken care of," Kureno said, sounding quite proud of himself (even though Hatori knew it was Kyo, Tohru, and maybe Shigure here and there making sure everyone was in line and safe). "And yourself?"
"Good, good." A little anxious, Hatori moved to the desk, leaning his chin on his arms atop the surface. "It feels nice to have nothing to do. Family's nice."
Kureno hummed. "You sound on edge."
"Do I?"
"Yes."
Waiting for a moment, debating if he should even talk about it, if it was proper, Hatori hesitantly said, "I…I don't know. Sometimes, things get a little…weird. Like, last night. The sheriff's daughter—he's my grandfather's best friend—she told me to leave. She's around Hiro's age, or younger by a bit."
"She told you to leave? Why?"
"I don't know. Maybe she was trying to tell me to leave the room…?" Hatori said, scowling. "She doesn't talk much, it seems like. So, it could just be something harmless and I'm overthinking again."
"You have that tendency."
"Do you think that's the case?"
"It could be," Kureno said. "After your high school incident, you tend to let your anxiety get the better of you." Hatori raked his bangs from his face, listening to his cousin's voice that always seemed to hold a hint of bitterness when they spoke. "There's no reason why anyone would hurt you out there."
Hatori considered this, but he was experienced enough and observant enough to know the world's batch of crazies hid amongst normal common folk, even good country people. But he also knew his cousin was right about his anxieties and sensitivities. "Yeah. Okay—"
"I have to go now, Hatori. I'm very busy."
"Sure. Yeah. Talk to you later, Reno." Just as he finished his goodbye, the other line fell limp. Sighing, Hatori locked his phone and set it by the edge of the desk, gazing out the bay window. His everlasting sense of foreboding remained strong—Kureno's words offered no solace, only a mere poke at the unsettling emotions he already felt.
Not that the two had truly been able to support each other following middle school. From Hatori's earliest memories, his parents, Kureno's parents, and their shared aunts and uncles always tasked the Dragon with caring for his younger, blood cousins. Whether Ritsu was being picked on or Kureno's loose tongue got him into some stir, he had to be there to save and protect them. Even so much as fetching the two of them plates at the family gatherings, he always cared for them as if they were his own brothers. Or children.
But in middle school, Hatori's growing confidence with his involvement in sports and academics, and Kureno's jealousy of it, forged a spear between the two. Come high school, with Hatori's gang-rape and the release of the locker room video—where the classmates who admired him now flung lotion-filled condoms at him while chanting derogatory insults—their relationship seemed futile. For a short time, Hatori swore he hated Kureno, since the latter obviously despised him, for spreading the video across the school, unbeknownst to the Cock.
But in the end, as routine would permit, Hatori eventually saw it immature and unbecoming of himself to carry such cruel feelings towards his younger cousin, by motivation of his parents' words. Kureno could burn him alive with gasoline under his arm, claiming that someone else did it, and Hatori would run in the opposite direction to keep the flame far from him. Once upon a time, the Dragon asked himself how it all came to be this way and could find no other closure than to blame himself.
Shigure was the only person Kureno admired and even gave the benefit-of-the-doubt; and in all truth, Hatori was envious of the Dog in that way. Why couldn't he do that? What had Shigure done that made Kureno favor him over his own blood, who had always considered and defended him? Perhaps Shigure had done or said something that made up for some sin Hatori committed against Kureno in their childhood, something that the Cock had struggled silently to recover from. Was Kureno releasing the video some form of karmic distribution or declaration of wergild? Did Hatori truly deserve this treatment, and he was just pitying himself?
Suddenly, the Dragon desired a drink. A strong one that would merit a tomorrow of drunkenness. But he knew better. Resorting to a nap, something beneficial rather than self-destructive, he went to the bed and flopped on his face on the fluffy comforter, taking in the aroma of magnolia petals and sun-kissed wood, and the same Downey detergent he used back home. He let his eyes shut.
##
He must have slept for two hours. Now midday, he ventured through the house to the kitchen in search of something to drink when he stumbled upon a note on the foyer's long table, where mail racked up.
Hatori,
Your great-aunt, aunt, and I are away at work for today and into the evening. Your grandmother is out seeing to a friend for a day in the town. So, until dinner, it's just you. Yul should be there around 1 or so – let him know his check is on the island in the kitchen. If you get hungry, there are leftovers in the fridge. Help yourself. Make sure to keep yourself out of the sun. Be a good boy, as usual
-Övöö
Hatori put the note aside and went on about his way, retrieving a soda from the fridge. Without anyone in it, the house seemed, oddly, the more welcoming. He could hear the birds and foxes outside, the running water down the stream into the small pond in the backyard, and all other occupant sounds of nature. For the ease in the air he owed to the fresh countryside ambiance about the patterned curtains above bay windows and silk table skirt that hung low on the legs. It almost felt homey—until his cut seemed to scream bloody murder under the bandages of his hand. Wincing, he put the can down and began to unravel the wrappings to see how his body was fairing with such a wound. The higher the stack of woven cotton, the less the throb quaked his palm. The cut was wide, stretching from his wrist toward the space between his ring and pinky knuckles, and angry enough to restrict any movement of the smallest finger. He reached in the cabinet where aspirin and topical treatments were stacked, and found Neosporin to apply over the pink-red divide. Though the pressure was alleviated by cool air, he knew it was unwise to leave the laceration bare too soon, and he wrapped it back up after a few minutes.
He went back to his mother's room to check his phone…only a message from Kyo and another from Shigure. He responded to ease their (unadmitted) worries, apologizing for being two hours late, then he went to the center of the house again with his laptop and files to busy himself. But when he opened his laptop, rather than working, he pulled up the Google page and typed charcoal uses in Mongolian culture. The first search result was a Wikipedia link, but compared to the other results that vowed upon smoother skin or whiter teeth, it was his best bet. Skimming over the traditional culture and religion sections, his attention was grasped by 'customs and superstitions'—it was a ruse to fend off malicious spirits from children. Before bed, parents would paint their children's foreheads with charcoal to give off the image of some black-haired animal. With his suspicions now at half-rest, he closed the tab.
Deciding that a visit outside would ease his worries, he went towards the back of the house near the twin's room and tried the dingy handle to the glass door. When it did not give, he gave the wing another wiggle to no avail. "Huh," he said, unsure what to make of it. Between Naran's apparent alcoholism, Batuhan's inconsistent behavior, Kana's disapproving remarks, and Yisu's incestuous lust, 'odd' deemed a suitable term for the summer trip within days. Hatori knew his own habit of assuming every person, in their own way, had some ulterior motive against him—Kureno's 'thoughtful' words of 'concern'. So, trusting the insight of his younger cousin, he shoved any off-putting thoughts from his mind and returned to the foyer/living room in the center of the house. He then came to the front door and grasped the knob, finding it too to be stuck. "What the hell?"
"Shall I attend to the upstairs first?"
Hatori nearly leapt through the ceiling. Turning to see Yul standing behind him, bucket full of cleaning items in hand, he sighed heavily to calm his speeding heart. "Jesus," he said, breathlessly. "Sorry. I didn't hear you come in."
"I'm sorry to have startled you, Hatori."
"No, it's fine." Hatori rubbed his eyes. "How…did you get in? The doors are locked."
"Locked?"
"Yeah. Like from the inside. Weird, huh—"
"Shall I attend to the upstairs first?"
"Uh, sure. Yeah." Hatori rubbed his neck. "Oh, and your check's in the kitchen. On the island."
"Thank you," Yul replied with a short bow, and went on his way up the stairs.
Hatori went back to his laptop, answering emails from patients and their consultants, scanning over their files and such, making house calls to post-surgery recoveries. About an hour or so passed before he could comprehend anything he had just read, or researched. He concluded it must have been stress and overthinking. In his peripheral, he saw Yul go into the kitchen to retrieve said check, and only then did he notice the citrus spring breeze that danced about the house. The natural light spilling in bounced off polished side tables and casted rainbows off the stained glass on the door.
"All done," Yul announced, more like deadpanned. Hatori stood to see him off, but the housekeeper waved his hand. "Be sure to close the bay window in your mother's room before the bugs start coming out. I doubt you'd want to sleep with mosquitos in your hair."
Hatori chuckled. "All right. I'll do that. Thanks."
Yul's dull eyes squinted, hearing this, and he dipped his chin to the Dragon, who cocked an eyebrow in question. Rarely did Hatori, even in his situational awkwardness and fidgeting, genuinely feel threatened by another's gaze. After rebuilding himself from high school's crash-and-burn, a calm confidence surrounded him like a haze of incense upon a memorial, a specific quiet about him that commanded respect. But watching this man, holding his eyes, Hatori was unsure how to react. Was this how others viewed him, a dignified mass of withheld power? After such silence, Yul nodded. "I'll see you later, then, Hatori."
"Uh, yeah," Hatori replied, despite the unease in his gut. "See you later." He waited until the car engine echoed down the road to move from where he stood. Gathering his stuff, he made his way back to the room in which he slept, and set his files and laptop down on the desk. As told, he folded in the window's arms and locked them into place. Out of subconscious habit, he plucked up his phone to check for lingering messages or missed calls from his family at the hotel, or any of the family he had left back in Japan. Four messages—two from Shigure, one from Kyo, another from Tohru—and five calls from Tohru again, his aunt Emiko, his cousin Kenan, Kisa, and Nori, his nurse at Kuromiya Hospital. He answered them all in text, apologizing for missing them and saying he would catch up with them shortly, praying their reaching-out to him was not of urgent matters.
"Enkhtuya?" It was Naran.
Hatori set his phone down on the bed and— A dented corner of something caught his attention from under one of the decorative pillows. Squinting, he plucked up the pillow slowly to see a photograph, face down. When he righted it, he nearly dropped it. His family stared back; with Daisuke nearly burnt to the bone, Kara's seasonally tanned skin sparkling with water, and his pouting toddler face hidden by a sunhat, slightly sun-kissed like his mother. He sat on a pony with his parents on either side of him, his father grasping the bridle with one hand and stabilizing him with the other. Kara's subtle smile carved her cheeks to an angular shape, but her eyes remained stone, inflexible.
"Enkhtuya?"
"Coming," he called back, never taking his eyes off his parents. Everyone's parents forbade their children certain details in life, for better or worse. He learned that since he started nesting his younger cousins in his home, starting with Momiji. It was classic sheep-and-shepherd etiquette: protect and provide. But what was it that his parents—more specifically, his mother—wished to shield him from? Walking among the halls, he peered down at his wrapped hand, remembering the harsh sting that waited under the cotton wads. 'Erden, unfortunately, wasn't as lucky as his sister' replayed over and over in his head, complemented by Naran's oddly violent behavior in the kitchen the night of the dinner party. His grandfather, supposedly an esteemed practitioner of medicine, offered excuse after excuse for her outbursts; but realistically, what doctor would condone such unpredictability in a patient? What husband and father would justify it in his home?
"Hatori?"
Hatori startled from his mind as if his grandmother had yelled. "Sorry. Yes?"
"I was just asking," Naran said with a short chuckle, "if you wanted some cookies."
Hatori looked down at the tray in her hands, a single platter filled with stacked, promissory cookies. Peanut butter. Suspiciously, he lifted his eyes to her, unsure if it was simply coincidence that she had somehow baked his favorite flavor of the dessert. "I didn't know you baked today," he challenged, respectfully.
Naran hummed, simply shrugging. "I'm a spontaneous person."
"I could have sworn you just got home minutes ago."
"Don't fret, darling." She offered the platter again, smiling. "Perhaps I made them yesterday after you all went to bed. Again, spontaneous." Hatori stared at her, holding his wounded hand to his stomach out of instinct. With the full knowledge that baking merited a sugary aroma about the space, he knew therein existed some half-truth, if at all. "Go on. Don't be shy."
Hatori's eyes flicked between her honeyed expression and the unnaturally warm cookies. The throb in his hand thudded against the bandage. The festering silence between him and her roared viciously in his head, prompting unrest and uncertainty. His grandmother nodded in encouragement and plucked up the cookie on the peak of the stack to influence his decision. Hatori slowly reached for it, though every fiber of him screamed otherwise. Right as his finger approached it, he purposefully jerked himself forward in a trip. Thus, his clumsy hand smacked against Naran's, sending the cookie flying to the panel floor. It broke in half, in half of halves. "Oh, my God! I'm so sorry!" Hatori rambled, taking note of the consternation on his grandmother's face. She only gave a wordless, weakened grin without meeting his eyes. "I don't feel so good," he excused. "I'm gonna lie down. In bed." Without waiting for a response, he turned on his heel and stalked from the room, turning the hall and shutting the door behind him.
Finally, he breathed.
He remained by the door, urging it closed with his back, for a long amount of time. Catching his breath, trying to process if what just happened actually did just happen. He knew his tendency of overthinking had not disturbed his judgment this time. He knew Naran had only walked into the house. And he knew whatever she had baked for him was not made here. They were still warm. Fresh. But with what?
Had he not just seen her, he would have suspected he was still alone in the house. Since he retreated, there had not been a single sound on the other side of the door. He listened, listened for her. He figured she sat down at the table. Maybe her mind was still a bit too jumbled from the wine last night. He knew Batuhan disallowed her from driving much, but still… With no intent on leaving his own space, least not until the others returned, Hatori sat down on the bed and stared into blank space to collect himself. After such time, he opened his laptop to Google and searched for the nearest library. It would be closing in a matter of minutes. As to not rise any suspicion, he decided that tomorrow would be the wisest time to venture out.
