The Sun Scratched in the Stars

A Yu-Gi-Oh VRAINS fanfic

Summary: A young boy on the run from a dangerous home situation falls asleep outside a dojo in the countryside. Discovered and taken in by the owners of the dojo, he grows to understand what love – and loss of that love – truly means, with the help of a rambunctious, fiery-spirited boy close to his age.

Chapter 3

When it came to being trouble, Takeru was very good at it. It didn't take much for Ojii-chan or Daddy to yell at him. All he had to do was breathe wrong at the dinner table or complain about the food looking icky (whenever Daddy cooked – Mommy and his grandparents' cooking was delicious!) and he'd really get it. "Born to be a troublemaker, just like that other grandfather of his," Ojii-chan had said once. And he had said it so often that Takeru believed it and was even proud of it, even though Mommy and Obaa-chan would go against that. His other grandfather was awesome!

But, when it came to getting other people in trouble? That was hard.

Kiku's plan was simple and easy for Takeru to understand, even with his memory sticking issues: get Pretty Boy in trouble, and he'd talk about his parents to Takeru and Kiku. It made sense. When Takeru got in trouble with Ojii-chan or Daddy, it was always "Obaa-chan and Mommy would never treat me like that," which would, of course, get him in more trouble if he was with Ojii-chan or Daddy. But, if he was with Kiku, he'd be met with understanding. Pretty Boy might be middle weird and older than him, but he's still a kid. All kids whined about their parents at some point.

At least, that's what Takeru and Kiku had thought.

Trouble, however, flew past Pretty Boy, as if he had an invisible shield. It didn't matter how many traps filled with building blocks and string Takeru and Kiku had set or how many times Takeru tried to annoy him to a boiling point, flicking pieces of food that Takeru would sneakily toss on the floor toward him during meals. Pretty Boy not only avoided the trouble, but he also had the same blank expression every time, as if his mind was somewhere else far, far away. At best, Pretty Boy winced or studied the random pieces of food that would stick to his clothes. But, he, however, said nothing.

To make things worse, Takeru would get in twice the amount of trouble. Mommy or Obaa-chan would say something, then Daddy or Ojii-chan would really let Takeru have it. It stunk! Why did the pretty stranger from out of nowhere get better treated than he did? So Pretty Boy did what he was told. Big deal. Takeru's the one living here! It wasn't fair! Takeru knew he had to stick to the plan if he wanted to crack the invisible shield surrounding Pretty Boy, but he didn't know how much longer he could keep at it before he cracked.

After lunch one day, Takeru said, "I'm gonna see Kiku," as he put on his red shoes. Jii-chan and Baa-chan were the only ones in the house – Mommy and Daddy were on a super special trip that they couldn't say anymore about to Takeru – so they weren't paying much attention. A mumbled "have a safe trip" was all the permission he needed. On his way out, he saw Pretty Boy studying a book. Sensing someone staring at him, Pretty Boy looked up, and he and Takeru made eye contact. Pretty Boy broke the stare first, going back to his book, and Takeru stuck his tongue out before walking out the door.

Kamishirakawa Residence

Upon arriving at the Kamishirakawa house, Takeru put his shoes next to Kiku's, and walked past the living room, where the curtains had been drawn and Mama Kamishirakawa was leaning back in a rocking chair and a baby's head, smoothed over with black hair, peeking out from a cloth, wrapped around her chest. Not wanting to ignore her, he stepped carefully.

"Good afternoon, Mama Kamishirakawa," whispered Takeru, not wanting to disturb the baby from . . . whatever he was doing. The short dark blue-haired woman laughed, noticing Takeru's befuddled expression, while Takeru looked up.

"Good afternoon, Takeru," she said. "Benji would say hello too, but he has his mouth full at the moment."

Takeru scratched his head. "Of what?"

"Takeru!" came a shrill but whispery voice that shocked Takeru's body. "Don't disturb Mama when she's doing that!"

"But I wanted to say hello," returned Takeru, pouting, not understanding why the one he came to see was pumping steam out her ears. Mama Kamishirakawa laughed at the sight as she smoothed the wayward strands on top of Takeru's head.

"It's alright, Kiku. Takeru wasn't causing any trouble," she said. Takeru grinned as Kiku sighed.

"Whatever you say, Mama." Walking over and poking the head by Mama Kamishirakawa's chest, she asked "Is Benji okay?"

"He's a little hungrier today but fine. You don't have to fuss over him," Mama Kamishirakawa replied.

Takeru mischievously grinned. "Look at you, Kiku. Being such a good big sister."

Kiku's face reddened as she turned away and huffed. Maybe she hadn't wanted to be a big sister to a small, squirming, wrinkly human who only cries and whimpers and pees and poops everywhere, and maybe she had wanted a puppy or literally any other animal instead. But, Takeru didn't need to tease her about it every. Single. Time.

Mama Kamishirakawa gently tugged away from her chest the baby who had fallen asleep so that his entire head was seen. Takeru stared intensely at him. He'd heard about the baby from Kiku and how small he was, but actually seeing the smaller than life human wrapped up like a loaf of bread was an experience Takeru felt super unprepared for. He was so tiny! Yet, Takeru couldn't help but to want to hold the bundle closer.

"Can I hold him?" asked Takeru.

"Only if you wash your hands first," said Kiku, hands on her hips, before Mama Kamishirakawa had a chance to speak.

The mother laughed. "Kiku's right, Takeru. We don't want Benji getting sick, do we?" Takeru nodded his head and did as he was told. When he returned, Mama Kamishirakawa gently placed the sleeping babe in Takeru's arms. Kiku had constantly whined to him how heavy Benji was, so Takeru was shocked with his lightness. He was no heavier than one of Takeru's pillows—the softest, squishiest pillow. The baby's big dark blue eyes stared at Takeru's grayish-blue ones and reached out towards his face, and Takeru brought his forehead gently towards the baby's hand. Takeru understood then why everyone, including Mommy and Obaa-chan, made such a fuss over the baby: he was way too cute!

"Come on, Takeru. You're gonna make him like you more than me!" whined Kiku. Mama Kamishirakawa put a gentle hand on Kiku's head, and Kiku relaxed. Takeru paid no attention, however, and continued to look at the baby who was smiling widely at him.

"You'd be a great big brother," Mama Kamishirakawa said to Takeru. "My nephews can't even hold the baby correctly." At that, Kiku harrumphed.

"Takeru? A big brother? Impossible," she said. "With all the trouble he causes Mama and Papa Homura and Grandma and Grandpa Homura, another one joining him in that would be a disaster."

Takeru pretended that physically hurt him, even if he had to admit some of it was true. He needed someone to help him with pranks when Kiku's busy. "Kiku!"

But Mama Kamishirakwa only shook her head. "We'll see about that, Kiku," she said, although in a faint voice. Takeru's ears caught those words, however, and he looked wide-eyed at Mama Kamishirakawa, pulling the baby close to him.

"Whaddaya mean?" he asked, but Mama Kamishirakawa coughed and said nothing more. Another mystery Takeru wanted to solve. Getting Pretty Boy in trouble was first, though. Just thinking about that white and purple-haired goody two shoes irked him. Kiku sighed, breaking Takeru out of his daydream.

"Takeru and that boy Mama and Papa Homura took in always butt heads," Kiku said. "A tinier person would make things worse."

Mama Kamishirakawa sighed, taking the baby back from Takeru. "So that's how it is, is it?" she asked. "Your mommy told me about him. He doesn't sound like a bad child."

Scoffing, Takeru crossed his arms. It was a reaction he expected, as the only news she gets about the Homura family is from Mommy. "Yeah, he's real nice to Mommy, Daddy, Obaa-chan, and Ojii-chan. An angel who can do no wrong. But Pretty Boy is super mean to me. Always a tattletale when I try to play with him," muttered Takeru. "He ain't no fun. He ain't no angel. He's a phony. A meaniehead phony."

Kiku giggled as Mama Kamishirakawa rubbed her forehead.

"Takeru, I know having someone else in the house getting a lot of attention might be hard," she said, "but if you just gave him a chance—"

"I dun wanna. He doesn't deserve it.," Takeru said, crossing his arms. And the more Takeru kept thinking about that boy, the more annoyed he got and the more he decided Pretty Boy didn't deserve chances. Forget trying to get him to talk. Takeru wanted him gone. Before Takeru's mind became inflamed with such irritated thoughts, Kiku snatched him by the wrist and dragged him away from Mama Kamishirakawa.

"K-Kiku, what are you doing?!" whined Takeru. Kiku only huffed, however, as she pulled him to her room and closed the door, leaving a very confused Takeru to think through what had just happened. Kiku usually wasn't so . . . so . . . what was the word? Forceful? Yeah, forceful. Takeru massaged his wrist, still throbbing from how hard Kiku had squeezed it.

"What's the big idea, Kiku?" asked Takeru, pouting.

"Right back at you," Kiku said. "You never talk back to Mama."

Takeru took a deep breath. That was true. Whenever Takeru got in bigger trouble than usual, he'd escape to the Kamishirakawa house to let all his frustrations out to Mama Kamishirakawa, and she would nod, smooth the top of his head to comfort him, and offer advice, advice Takeru heard, but following through was a different story. But he'd never dream of openly talking back or even talking back in his head. She was too nice. Yet, her putting Pretty Boy in such a good light made his stomach upset. And he took it out on her. And the more he thought about it, the queasier he became.

"I. I'm sorry." He meant it too.

"Not to me, Takeru," said Kiku. "Save it for Mama. Is there something wrong though? Why did you come over?"

Takeru fiddled with his fingers. "Your plan to get Pretty Boy to talk. It's getting me in more trouble. I don't think I can do it anymore."

Kiku looked at Takeru intently before sitting on her stuffed animal paradise of a bed. Not only did Takeru usually not talk back to Mama, he never talked against her top-notch, state of the art plans. It was always "That's a great idea, Kiku!" or Takeru went along without question. Maybe something was going on in the Homura household that Kiku had failed to think of before coming up with it. Or quite possibly there was something Takeru was keeping from her. Either way, something was wrong, and Kiku would eat seaweed before she let one of her great plans turn to dust.

"Okay," said Kiku after some thought, "we gotta try something else."

Takeru's expression didn't change, and Kiku felt as if someone dropped her. "Something else?"

Shaking off the sinking feeling and crossing her arms and legs, Kiku nodded. "Yeah, something else! Unless," she smirked, "you want to chicken out?" But the challenge had no effect on Takeru who only stared at the window, eyes lacking the usual mischievous glint that Kiku had always liked. Something was definitely bothering him.

"Takeru?" she changed her tone, catching his attention. For a moment, Takeru stared at her before shaking his head.

"Sorry, Kiku. I have to go now," he said. "Tell Papa Kamishirakawa I said hi."

"Uh-Um, okay. Be careful," she said. Takeru was in one of his weird moods, and Kiku knew better than to try to talk to him then. It was so silent that when Takeru closed the door and the force knocked Kiku's pink stuffed bear to the ground, the thump sounded especially loudly. She wondered then if she should say something to Mama? Or Mama Homura? Takeru being moody was one thing, but something was really off this time around. It was as if the strange vibes Ryoken had took over Takeru. Sure, Takeru would get in moods, but he was more talkative. But this time around . . . he was too quiet.

"Or I just need a nap!" Kiku declared to her stuffed animal companions. Thinking no more of the strangeness, Kiku ruffled her pillow and laid down.

Homura Residence

When Takeru walked through the door, it was though he never left. Mommy and Daddy were still out, Obaa-chan and Ojii-chan were still in the kitchen, and he was still there, reading some book. Unlike earlier, Takeru chose not to engage him. Takeru was peeved enough as it was, and any talking with him or any sort of sign that he noticed him would make it so much worse.

But, unfortunately, Takeru wasn't allowed to walk by without interacting with him. He was about to go to the hallway where Takeru's and his rooms were when his snooty, unconcerned, know-it-all voice called out his name: "Takeru." Takeru took several large swallows, clenching and unclenching his fists, before he forced his head to look at him.

Pretty Boy's annoyingly icy blue eyes and his were locked for what was forever before Pretty Boy returned to his book. "Homura obaa-chan told me to tell you dinner will be soon," he said, not even looking at him. "Don't be late."

Oh, he really shouldn't have added that last part. Takeru was never late for mealtime. He was even earlier than Pretty Boy most times anyway! But, instead of correcting him, Takeru bit his tongue – harder than anticipated – and zoomed past him. As much as he wanted to let him really have it, he'd get in big trouble with his grandparents, who would then tell Mommy and Daddy. Then, he'd really get in trouble. Because Pretty Boy, so prim, proper, and orderly, could never be wrong, even when he was. It wasn't fair. Why couldn't Mommy and Daddy find his parents already? What was taking so long?

Just give him a chance, Takeru. Mama Kamishirakawa's sweet, understanding voice echoed in his mind. But, Takeru shook his head, blood boiling. He gave him that chance, and Pretty Boy crumpled it up in a ball and threw it back at him, square in the face. Ryoken didn't owe him anything, and he owed him nothing. Ryoken wanted nothing to do with him, so he'll have nothing to do with him or anyone else who wanted to take his side.

Takeru slammed the door to his room shut, noise reverberating through the walls.

Ten minutes had passed. Twenty. Thirty. An hour. And by the hour, Ryoko-san and Hirohito-san had returned from their trip, and the food was getting ice cold. Ryoken clicked his tongue. He had done what he was asked by Homura obaa-chan: he had told Takeru dinner was soon. So, why wasn't the little firecracker at the table yet? Ryoken clutched his stomach, hurting from hunger. He wanted to eat so bad. But, thanks to the Homura "no one eats until everyone's at the table" rule, a rule that would be foreign back at Father's, he couldn't.

Ryoko-san looked at the table, frowning. "I told you guys you could have dinner without us. Why's the food still here?"

A low, drawn-out sigh from Homura ojii-chan was the answer, and Ryoken simply stared at his green vegetable and fish-filled plate, wanting nothing more than to gobble it with his bare hands. Ryoko looked at the seats in turn, staring especially at the empty bamboo chair directly across Ryoken, her expression turning more sour.

"Where's Takeru?"

The ill-fated question. Ryoken's stomach dropped to the floor. He opened his mouth to speak, but it was so dry, nothing came out. To his great fortune, however, Homura obaa-chan replied for him: "I had asked Ryoken to tell Takeru dinner was ready. Ryoken told me he did tell him. But, Takeru still hasn't shown."

Hirohito-san sat at the table, unconcerned by the whole affair. "Another one of his tantrums," he said, grabbing an empty plate from the side table. "Give him until his bedtime. Then, he'll come clamoring for food. Nothing to be stressed about, and no use starving the rest of us."

Ryoken readily agreed with Hirohito-san, as he was more than ready to eat, but Ryoko wasn't about the let it go, if her widened eyes and loud "Huh?!" were any indication. Ryoken looked longingly at his food, hoping he'd at least get to eat it sometime before he had to go to sleep himself. He didn't care if it was cold at that point.

"How could you say that?" asked Ryoko, her voice high-pitched, and Ryoken's ears rang. "We always eat together, Hito. That's the family rule –"

"—which was broken when Ryoken got here, remember?" Hirohito-san replied, not a care given. "Surely your short-term memory isn't that bad, Ryoko. It's fine to break the rule every once in a while." Ryoken nodded fervently, even though he had no idea what the two of them were talking about. He really wanted to eat.

But, Ryoko slammed her palms on the table, and Ryoken jumped nearly out of his skin from the clanking glasses and china plates. The noise temporarily brought him back to the day he ran away from home. His muscles tensed, breathing halted. "Takeru is our son. And no child of ours is going hungry or will ever go hungry in this house."

Hirohito-san glanced over at Homura obaa-chan and ojii-chan, lips pursed. Even Ryoken could tell from their worried expressions that the outburst was unusual side. It'd been only two weeks, but while Ryoko did have her energetic moments, she was calm, supportive. Ryoken could go to her for anything, and she'd listen without judgment, without dismissing his concerns. But, as Ryoko was then, Ryoken knew it was best to keep his mouth shut. He didn't want to get caught in the crossfire.

"I was only kidding," Hirohito-san said, clearly trying to save himself.

"If we going to talk about my memory, then I don't recall you having a poor taste in jokes," Ryoko said, her voice chilled as she stared her husband down. Homura obaa-chan and Homura ojii-chan glanced over at a frozen in fear Ryoken, Homura obaa-chan mouthing an apology. Then, Homura ojii-chan cleared his throat several times.

"Ryoko," he said, "we understand how you feel. We'll make sure Takeru gets fed before he sleeps. But we can't ignore Ryoken-kun here either. This poor boy has been waiting and waiting." Homura ojii-chan fixed his attention on Ryoken. "You must be starving, right?"

Ryoken hadn't wanted to seem too eager, but his nodding speed betrayed him. His body wasn't listening to his mind anymore. Homura jii-chan and Homura obaa-chan, however, only laughed in a way that melted the tension built up in Ryoken's shoulders. If it weren't for their insistence on finding his supposed parents, Ryoken dared to say being with the Homuras was the most at home he's ever felt, even more so than when he was in the flowers back at Father's. These people were warm, inviting, safe.

Homura jii-chan crossed his arms. "And there you have it. Let the poor boy eat."

Ryoko sighed as she took a seat, clutching her stomach, which caught Ryoken's attention, but he thought nothing more of it when she put food on her plate. "Someone better be sure to bring Takeru food then or heads are rolling," she said, cutting up the fish with one of the sharper knives.

Ryoken, at first, wasn't sure if he should volunteer. His previous interactions with the other boy who wanted nothing to do with him, besides getting on all of Ryoken's nerves, hadn't been the most pleasant. The last interaction, with Ryoken talking with the boy as normally as possible, had been nothing short of a failure. But, there was something about Takeru's hotheadedness and eager disobedience which fascinated while also purely disgusted Ryoken. How could one person, a person who had no interest in following the rules, make him, a rule follower, feel two extremes at the same time? It was a question that bothered him the last few days.

And to find out, he'd try as many times as it took.

"I. I'll do it," Ryoken spoke up, but the adults were chattering so loudly, they hadn't heard his quiet voice. If only God, Buddha, or whatever supernatural being had put him on the planet had given Ryoken a louder voice so Ryoken didn't have to repeat himself. He hated doing that. But, he wasn't backing down. "I'll do it!" he said again, loud enough for the adults to stop and stare at him. Ryoken's cheeks turned hot, like he'd been out in the sun for a long time. That had been one of the rules, hadn't it? No shouting at the table? Oh no. Ryoken had messed up big time.

Neither Hirohito-san nor Ryoko, however, commented on his volume. Instead, the two simply looked at each other and smiled. Ryoko grabbed one of the bread plates and put smaller pieces of fish as well as some of the mountain yams and bamboo shoots, handing the finished product to Ryoken. He was so hungry, he could've eaten the plate then and there. That would show Takeru! But that wasn't worth risking Ryoko's wrath over, though, so he didn't.

"For Takeru," said Ryoko. She threw an apologetic, tired smile. "Thanks for doing this."

Thanks? For doing what he'd said he'd do? That'd never happened before. Not even when he was occasionally allowed to help Father or Dr. Genome with research. The pit of Ryoken's stomach felt fuzzy, his cheeks still a light pink.

"Y-You're welcome," he got out, somehow, miraculously. He leaned back in his chair. "I just hope he takes it. He better." Shoot, did he say that out loud? Ryoken sat up. He hadn't meant to, but the adults chuckled and carried on as if he had said the funniest thing ever. Adults' sense of humor was strange indeed.

The sun had set on the horizon, and the stars and the barely visible moon were in view on the fading light blue and incoming dark blue sky. After eating his fill and thanking Homura obaa-chan for the food, Ryoken took the plate for Takeru and went to his room. He stopped in front of the door with the blue flowers with the red and silver swirls, the door larger than life than before. What was Ryoken nervous for? It was just a door. But, he quickly realized it wasn't the door itself he was uneasy about. It was what – who – was on the other side of the door.

Had it not been so late, he would go back to the dining room and ask either Ryoko or Hirohito-san to be with him. Heck, even Kiku would be an even better companion. At least Kiku and Takeru had been friends for a while, so Kiku would know how to deal with him. But she had her own family, and Ryoken chose to run away from the people closest to family he had. Ryoken's complex feelings about Takeru, or what confused him about him anyway, were his responsibility and his alone. He wasn't about to drag anyone into his heart's messy affairs.

You ran from home because you were scared. Yet, here you are, scared to open a door in a stranger's house. Ryoken's hand stopped short of the handle, legs trembling in his dark blue pants. Why? Why was he afraid? What was he afraid of? He ran away so he wouldn't feel so bogged down, so trapped, so terrified. Why? Why? Why? The food in his hands was as heavy as a brick, a brick he wanted no more than to drop and run away from. That would be breaking his word to Ryoko though, wouldn't it? He couldn't do that. She had done so much good for him when he hadn't deserved it.

And, as much as he was tempted to be, he wasn't—he couldn't be—the disobedient child of the two.

Maybe. Maybe that was it. While Takeru was a handful in many ways, he had always shown up for mealtime. For him to skip a meal like this, something was off, way off, and Ryoken wasn't sure if he wanted to be the one to discover what that something was. But he had to keep his word to Ryoko.

Determined, Ryoken willed his hand to reach out and swing the door open. What he saw was . . .