The Sun Scratched in the Stars

A Yu-Gi-Oh! VRAINS fanfic

Summary: A boy on the run from a dangerous home situation falls asleep at a dojo in the countryside. Discovered and taken in by the owners, 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 19

Ryoken's heart raced as he closed the door, his breathing shallow. Something in his gut told him he shouldn't have heard all that, that he shouldn't have listened in. Ryoken was surrounded by adults all his life, so he was used to all kinds of conversations.

Except for the one Crow was having on the phone and with Aki.

He heard Hisahito-san's name, so no doubt he was the subject of Crow's blazing wrath. But . . . why was Crow so angry with him?

"Ryoken? Where is Jii-jii and Baa-baa?"

Kiku's voice pulled Ryoken out of his cloud, his heart sinking. Oh no, that's right! He was supposed to tell them Takeru's breathing was high-pitched and squealy again. But, instead . . .

"I . . . I forgot to tell them," Ryoken said, each word a weight slammed on his shoulders. "I'm sorry, I'll go back—"

"No need," Kiku said, standing straight up, a few locks bouncing out of place by her ears. She stared into his eyes, peering into his turmoiled soul. "I can talk with Jii-jii and Baa-baa. Just keep an eye on Takeru."

Ryoken only nodded. But, when she opened the door, Crow and Aki were standing in the entryway. A fresh wave of worry flooded over Ryoken. But Crow and Aki only kept their focus on Takeru as Aki placed her hand on Takeru's forehead, Takeru recoiling at the touch.

"He felt that. Good," Aki said. "Breathing's still erratic, but the medicine's working. He still needs to stay put though, not overexert himself."

Ryoken walked towards Aki as she pulled out a stethoscope, a thermometer, and all sorts of sized bandages. Ryoken was drawn in by how careful, how gently Aki used the tools, double-checking her movements against Takeru's hard-breathing body.

Aki wasn't even looking at him, yet somehow knew he'd been right next to her, watching carefully. "I haven't had anyone look over my shoulder since I used to train med school students," Aki laughed. Ryoken's cheeks warmed.

"Need me to get this rascal out of your hair, Aki?" Crow asked, Ryoken feeling a tug on his collar. Aki shook her head.

"He can stay," she said, a smile on her face. "You and Kiku can eat breakfast. I'll get Ryoken to let you know if I need anything."

Crow wrapped his arms around Aki, planting a kiss on top of her head, Ryoken's stomach dropping. She hummed, slowly tracing a finger along one of his arms before Crow stepped back and out the door.

Takeru's whistle-like breathing and the clinking of medical tools were the only sounds in the guest bedroom as Ryoken looked intently at Aki at work. He'd only known about Aki as, first, a member of the Arcadia Movement, then a member of Team 5D's. Father's books mentioned little else about her. So, her having medical know-how, much like Dr. Taki's, came as a shock. But, Aki's movements were methodical, considerate, caring. That'd been the difference.

After putting another cool compress on Takeru's forehead, Aki sighed, leaning back, shoulders relaxed.

"Is everything alright, Aki?" Ryoken turned, facing her. Aki opened her eyes and smiled, her delicate fingers combing through Ryoken's hair. Ryoken let a smile slip on his face. It felt nice.

"You're so sweet," Aki said, cupping a hand around Ryoken's cheek and chin. Ryoken's throat felt dry. "I'm fine, Ryoken. Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I am," was what Ryoken wanted to say. A choking sound took its place instead, Ryoken's eyes smarting, the image of Crow's sharpened eyes, his intense, angry face still fresh in his mind. Immediately, Ryoken was pulled into Aki's arms and his heart felt heavy. So heavy.

"Ryoken, I don't know how much you heard out there," she said, "but everything is under control now."

Ryoken looked up at her, her expression grim. Unexpected. "How did you know? That it was me?" Ryoken managed.

But Aki only pulled Ryoken farther into her arms. Ryoken couldn't help it then—his body shivered. He bit his lower lip hard, his eyes tearing at the corners again.

"I don't get it," Ryoken said, his voice wobbly. "Kiku said the Homuras were nice. Then why was Crow yelling like that at Hisahito-san?"

Aki sighed as she stroked Ryoken's hair. "It'd be hard for you to understand, Ryoken," she said after a long pause. "Kiku's not really wrong. But you can't label people so easily either."

"What do you mean?"

Ryoken felt Aki swallow hard. But when he looked up, he saw a smile on her face—a smile that was forced. "Never mind that, Ryoken." Another question unanswered.

"But while you're here—" Ryoken perked up, "—I did have something I wanted to ask."

"What?"

"How would you like to stay with us? With Crow and me."

Ryoken stared, not even sure he heard the question right. " . . . What?"

Aki laughed, however, as she rubbed the top of Ryoken's head. "It's a ridiculous question, isn't it? But," the soft smile returned to her face as she focused her attention on Takeru, whose color was slowly returning to its usual, "Takeru has to go to school in a few months. Kiku too. But Hisahito said nothing about you, Ryoken."

Ryoken bit his bottom lip. That's right. Because the Homuras had been trying to get rid of me. Ryoken had been so caught up in the thrill of meeting and being with two of his idols, Takeru's other grandparents, that he forgot about one painful truth.

He still didn't fully belong. He didn't know if he ever would.

"I can't see you in that house by yourself with nothing to do until everyone else gets back. Even with Asahi and Harue across the way," Aki continued. "You're too bright, Ryoken. There's a lot more to do by us than where the Homuras are."

Ryoken considered it. He really did. Just like when Asahi and Harue asked him the same thing. And living under the same roof as Crow and Aki would be a dream come true. But, like then, something in Ryoken's heart told him he couldn't do it. Back then, Ryoken didn't know what it was tying him to the same house as Takeru, as much as Takeru had gotten on his nerves. But, at that moment, Ryoken was sure of it.

Ryoken didn't want to—no, he couldn't leave Takeru. Even if he didn't belong, he couldn't leave Takeru's side.

"Aki, I. Thank you, but," Ryoken turned his attention to Takeru, "I'll stay with the Homuras."

Aki closed her eyes, a "heh," flew out of her mouth. "Guessed as much," she said. "But know that our door is always open, okay, Ryoken? No matter what happens."

Ryoken choked up again, not knowing why.

"Okay."

It hurt, it hurt, it hurt, it hurt!

Takeru's chest panged, his head like it would explode. He knew he should breathe through his nose. Mommy always said that was the best way to breathe. But how was he supposed to breathe through his nose when his nose was stopped up?

Takeru heard mumbling. Who was there? Where was he? He had so much trouble opening his eyes—the pain was too much. What was going on?

Suddenly, he was lifted and something metal and liquidy touched his lips and his tongue. The liquid tasted gross, like paint. He wanted to spit it back out, but he was too tired. So tired. So he swallowed it instead, the aftertaste burning a hole in his throat. His nose opened up a tiny bit. What was this stuff?

More mumbling, then Takeru was gently pushed down, his back meeting a soft bed and pillow, like clouds. Okay, so he wasn't back in that scary place with people with scary clean white coats and clear helmets and needles and metal things poking into his arms every five seconds. That scary place had a bed that hurt Takeru's butt. But this bed wasn't that bed.

Where am I . . . ?

Takeru's eyes fluttered, Takeru trying to get a feel for where he was. He didn't know. Didn't remember. He had to have been home, right? But it was too quiet for it to be home. But Takeru's ears were stuffed up too. He could hear nothing well. He could be home, for all he knew. But Mommy had work. Daddy had work too. It was too quiet. This bed was too soft.

Ojii-chan and Obaa-chan's house? No . . . no. It was quiet like their house, but the beds were hard too. Not as hard as that white-walled place, but not comfy either. Kiku's house had no comfy beds like this either.

A small whine escaped from Takeru's throat. Where was he?! What was happening?! He hated this. He hated this feeling. He hated the stupid pain, his stupid body for putting him in so much pain. He hated it, he hated it, he hated it!

Takeru . . .

A soft voice soothed him. It was calling for him. Who was it? Fingers interlocked with his, a thumb massaging the palm. The pain in his chest stayed, but . . . but this felt good.

"Takeru," the voice called again. Takeru's ears popped. It did sound like Mommy's voice . . . but Mommy should be at work . . . Who was this? Takeru tried opening his throat, opening his mouth to call for Mommy. His throat was still glued. All that came out was a gasp. Something gooey and sticky built up in Takeru's throat . . . and came right out.

A yell. Someone calling for someone. Takeru's head felt like someone popped the air out of it as he fell backward, his head crashing onto the soft pillow. Ow.

A high-pitched ringing in his ears, followed by a shiver running through Takeru's spine, and his body moved on its own to bundle the covers he guessed around him. But he still shivered. Takeru felt something dragging him further away from being awake, further into the dark and the scary. But his brain knew if he fell asleep, that would be the end.

. . . no. No! Takeru wanted to live! He wasn't going to go through this again. Mommy would get worried. So very worried. And sad. Kiku too. Baa-baa and Jii-jii. Mama Kamishirakawa and Obaa-chan and Ojii-chan. Daddy? Daddy . . . Would Daddy be upset too? Would Daddy care?

And Ryoken.

Ryoken!

Takeru fought to open his eyes, to stay awake. Ryoken!

Ryoken . . .

But his breath was choked out of him. What was happening? What was going on? Takeru was scared. So very scared. Someone help him. Please. Please. Please!

Takeru was too tired then. He let go and fell deeper into that darkness.

It was a very, very long time before Takeru woke up again. His eyes heavy blankets, his body as though someone was sitting on his chest. All Takeru could see was fuzz and clouds, but Takeru took it—at least he could see.

Takeru blinked, but the fuzziness remained. Stupid eyes. They used to not be like this. What changed? No, never mind that. Takeru looked around at the dark blue (purple?) walls, light—sunlight—peering through a nearby window, the blinds closed. Where was he? This was different from Mommy and Daddy's house, from Ojii-chan and Obaa-chan's.

Wait. Takeru widened his eyes. He noticed someone sitting by the bed, hand stretched out, his hand in theirs. Who was it? A ghost?! No, there were no ghosts here. Takeru squinted, trying to focus. Someone with long hair—Takeru had trouble figuring out the color—was sitting there, holding his hand tight. Obaa-chan had short hair. So that only left . . .

Takeru opened his mouth, the pressure from his throat finally lifted. "Mommy?"

But the figure shook their head, bringing Takeru's hand closer to their chest. "No, Take-kun, it's me!" they said, voice high pitched.

Take-kun?

Mommy never called him that. Kiku never called him that.

. . . Wait!

Takeru sat up. Or at least tried to, but he could only lift himself halfway before being dragged back down into the bed. A "Takeru!" pierced his eardrums.

"Takeru, don't move!"

Takeru deeply breathed twice, as much as his chest could allow. He could only see the figure holding onto his hand so tight, it stung. It had to be . . . If Mommy was somewhere else, then this was . . .

"Ryoken."

The hand holding his loosened its grip and rubbed circles into the top. A fire welled up in Takeru's throat, his eyes smarting. "Ryoken . . ." Takeru said again, his voice cracking, his eyes blurred by the tears welling in his eyes. "Ryoken, stay with me . . ."

"I'm here, Takeru," Ryoken said. Takeru heard a chair creak. Two soft hands wrapped around one of Takeru's. Takeru lightly touched them. "I won't leave you."

A low hum hushed over the room, Takeru's erratic breathing and sobbing the only other sounds.

Ryoken, Ryoken, Ryoken!

If only Takeru had more strength, more energy. He wanted nothing more than to wrap Ryoken in his arms, to hear Ryoken speak in his ears as the cold, uncaring world went away, so Takeru could forget about his weak body if only for a moment.

A soft tissue gently wiped his eyes, his cheeks, his chin. It felt so nice. Takeru was scared to fall back asleep again, but he sunk farther into the pillow and the bed, his eyes closing. However, the creaking of the chair broke up the fog in his brain, his head pounding.

"Ryoken?"

"Yeah?"

Takeru bit his bottom lip. " . . . Nothing."

"This isn't like you," Ryoken said. "You usually yap on about something stupid. You . . ." Ryoken threaded a hand through Takeru's hair. Oh no, that felt really nice. "You really must not feel that great." Ryoken's face was so close, so, so close to his. "You're burning too, still . . ."

He was so close . . .

Without thinking, Takeru pushed himself off the bed, and their foreheads touched. Ryoken gulped but stayed still, his breath fanning just under Takeru's nose.

"What're you doing?" Ryoken whispered.

"I . . ." Takeru's mind drew a blank. He had so much he wanted to say. Yet, it went away. Just like that. He was better at talking than this. Why was he saying nothing? Why did it hurt to try and talk? Takeru pulled back and shook his head, lying back down. "Sorry, Ryoken."

"For what?" Ryoken grabbed Takeru's hand tighter. "You didn't do anything wrong!"

Why was Ryoken acting so weird? "But, because of me, you and Kiku . . ." A sob got caught in Takeru's throat.

"Takeru, stop," Ryoken interrupted. "I . . . I should be the one saying that, not you."

"Ryoken . . ."

What did that mean? Before Takeru could say another word, the door opened. Baa-baa appeared, holding a whole bunch of folded white towels. Kiku followed with a bowl in her arms. Ryoken yanked his hand away, turning his body so that he was facing the wall. Takeru tried to grab it. Baa-baa and Kiku made it to his bedside before he could.

"Took you long enough to wake up, Takeru!" Kiku huffed, a pout on her face. Her face looked puffy.

Baa-baa patted her back, and Kiku's face relaxed, the faint glimmer in the corner of her eyes becoming brighter.

"Now, now, Kiku," Baa-baa said, "He's not feeling good, so we need to be patient, okay? Let him rest and recover as he needs."

"Okay, Baa-baa."

The way Kiku said that made Takeru's heart hurt. Kiku was acting weird too. And Takeru just knew it was his fault. Why did Takeru have to get a body that worked so badly and worry everyone when he got even the tiniest bit sick? What did Takeru do to deserve it?

Takeru kept quiet while Baa-baa put cool, damp towels on his forehead for a few seconds. After every towel, Baa-baa would pull out the heart check thingy and poke Takeru's chest, listening intently to whatever was in the black earpieces. It might not be that scary place with the white walls that were way too clean and the too stiff people in white coats and masks with poking machines and needles. This was Baa-baa and Jii-jii's house.

It . . . wasn't that scary place.

But the way Baa-baa kept grabbing his arms and putting her fingers against his wrists over and over, the way she kept hovering over him—it felt like it. That place where he was alone for hours on end into the choking darkness of the night, his only company the beeping machines and the occasional lady with bottles and needles. No Mommy. No Kiku. No one.

When a hand grabbed his wrist, Takeru used all the force he had to knock it away. A sharp inhale, then a yelp followed, then mumbling—loud mumbling. Footsteps too. Everything was jibberish. The heart in Takeru's chest pounded, pounded, pounded so much his head hurt. Then silence. Everything went back to being fuzzy, then the blackness came in splotches. No, no, not this again! A cry escaped Takeru's throat. Not that darkness again . . . please . . .

Before the darkness could take Takeru again, a strong force pulled him forward, his head resting on something—or someone, rather. Takeru looked up and saw Kiku, her eyes shut, as she held on to him. The world still had its color.

"Kiku . . ." Takeru breathed.

Kiku tightened her hold. "It's okay, Takeru. Let Jii-jii and Baa-baa help you. They won't hurt you. This is home, not that scary place."

Home . . . Takeru relaxed as he was pushed down against the bed again. Kiku was right. This was home. It was more of home than with Daddy and Ojii-chan who kept yelling at him, yelling at Mommy, yelling at Jii-jii, yelling, yelling, yelling.

But, Takeru knew once he got better, Jii-jii and Baa-baa would send him back, back "home." He hated feeling like this. He hated being apart from Mommy. But . . . would going back be worth it? Daddy would force him to study until his eyes blurred, his head pounding. No breaks. And Mommy. Mommy would just let him. Ojii-chan and Obaa-chan would let Daddy have his way. His house, his rules.

Takeru . . . wanted none of that.

Takeru slowly blinked, eyelids heavier and heavier. More nasty liquid touched his lips, but he let it pass through, the steady humming of Baa-baa filling his ears. Takeru hated the silence, calmness, but . . . if being sick meant he had to stay here, that he had to stay away from Daddy, then. It was fine.

He hoped he never got better.