rewritten in 2021

this one is slice of life. and to that 1 reviewer who kindly did the math of my update patterns: i've got a life. its terribly distracting, as life tends to be.

Orphanage — III

Walking down the main street at the side of someone famous during what appeared to be the bustling hours of the morning was quite a different experience from walking down the same street in a pre-dawn drizzle, and I'd expected it, but I was wrong about the degree of difference.

People stopped to talk. To me.

Or they attempted to. I tucked myself into the folds of Sakumo's coat and hid my face behind the fabric and refused to talk, sixty-percent out of genuine shyness, forty-percent out of irritation. I had no interest in performing for these people. But I listened as hard as I could.

"Good morning, Hatake-san!" "Finally back, huh?" "Who's kid is this?" "Oh, she's so cute!" "Is she yours?" And Sakumo's response, mild and reassuring and repeated over and over again: "I'm just looking after her for a while."

When the novelty of me finally faded, I peeked out from the folds of fabric. Sakumo chuckled and patted my head.

We were on a new street. There were less people, and they minded their own business. The shopfronts were quieter: muted colors, narrow doorways, shaded entrances. The road was looser here, grit and sand getting between the toes of my sandals. Alleys were everywhere. I glanced into some as we passed: staircases and grated doors. Shop-houses.

Sakumo stopped in front of with a blue-curtained doorway and said, "Just a short detour, then we'll head home." He lifted the flower-printed curtain with the back of his hand, slid the door open, and went inside.

The inside was well-lit. Display cabinets wrapped around the shop, filled with colorful toy-like things. The menu was tacked to the back wall, behind an empty counter. This is some sort of cafe? Those toy-things were candy. Who was Sakumo getting candy for? Kakashi, to bribe his good behavior?

Sakumo walked up to the counter and rang the bell. To me he said, "Go look around. Pick something you like." He added an encouraging nudge.

I took a step away from his side obediently, but didn't move further than that. Call it caution, call it cowardice, but it was dawning on me — finally sinking in — that a huge, life-altering change has occurred. No more in-between spaces like the hospital or the orphanage, no more only able to react to things. I'm actually heading to a home—

The thought drew me up short. I stared at my reflection in the display cabinet for a few seconds, trying to parse my emotions.

Curious, how 'home' to me alternates between a three-room apartment in some urban high-rise and a little cottage in a bamboo grove with a vegetable patch out back and no one in sight. Whatever place Sakumo lived, I would not think it 'home' for a long while. I looked at him chatting quietly with the cashier, a girl in a pink and black uniform. Would he be disappointed?

I'm probably overthinking things.

The cashier noticed me first.

"Hello," she said, smiling. "Welcome! Have you found anything you like?"

I glanced into the cabinets and pointed at the first thing that caught my attention: candy-cats fishing for candy-goldfish in a candy-festival stall. It's ridiculous, the level of detail. It looked too pretty to eat.

The cashier beamed. "Oh, good eye! I love those, myself." She turned to Sakumo. "I'll go get the case for that, then ring it up with the usual, okay?"

"Sounds good," Sakumo said.

The cashier ducked into the back, emerging after a short while with several boxes. As she did the work I've seen countless cashiers do, I noticed Sakumo was staring at me. He gave me a smile when I caught his eye, then knelt down to my height.

"How are we feeling?"

I nodded, a little cautiously, then made the conscious choice to stop any trains of thought before they could take off. He's just checking up on me, like any normal person would. No ulterior motives there.

"You can look around a bit more before we leave, if you want," Sakumo said, smiling encouragingly.

He was ... giving me space? As if to confirm my suspicion, he started to flip through the store's catalogue. Then I realized I hadn't moved an inch since that first step away from Sakumo right after we entered the shop. No wonder he was worried.

God, I have to be more normal.

The Hatake house was a minka. Standing on one side of the same type of unpaved road, it loomed impressively. A series of posts and one large tree marked the borders of the front yard.

"What do you think?" Sakumo asked, leading the way up to the door.

"Big," I said, craning my neck to peer at the sloped roof. Was there an attic? Can't see from here.

Sakumo chuckled. "Won't be so big after you grow up."

I adjusted my grip on the candy-cat box (I'd spent the majority of the walk home marvelling at the details) and looked around the yard. The house had one of those wrap-around porches— what was the name— engawa. It was currently closed shuttered, but it faced a little garden that I hadn't noticed from the road. There was a stone lamp, a small pond, some bushes, and even a tiny bridge. It looked well-taken care of. Who does the trimmings? It suddenly occurred to me that perhaps Kakashi's mother hadn't died yet — oh, no, was I going to have to witness two deaths?

The door slid open. Sakumo made a pleased noise. "You didn't have to wait for us, Kakashi."

I turned.

A little boy with silver hair was sitting on the genkan, weight resting on his arms, staring at me. His legs, too short to reach the ground, kicked the air. The image brought to mind a dog, waiting for its master to come home.

"Puppy? We don't have a puppy," the kid said, his face scrunching up. "Wait. Did you just call me a puppy?"

I covered my mouth. Didn't mean to say that out loud, oops. Then I almost lost my grip on the candy box and fumbled for it.

Kakashi said, more insistently, "Dad, she's making fun of me!"

Sakumo sighed, but it held a note of amusement. "Puppies are cute, Kakashi. I'm sure she didn't mean it in a insulting way. Kakashi, this is Haiko. Haiko, Kakashi."

"Hi," I said, "Erm, I didn't mean to—" but he interrupted.

"I'm not talking to you. You're rude." Kakashi jumped to his feet. "What did you get, Dad?" He started to investigate Sakumo's plastic bag of cakes.

Damn, boy, I hadn't even crossed the threshold yet. "I'm sorry," I said, only half-meaning it. Sakumo was right, puppies are cute. Let the record show I apologized.

"Your favorites." Sakumo sounded like he was holding back laughter. "Kakashi, it's only polite to say hello." The corner of Sakumo's lips kept twitching, and he was looking at Kakashi with so much affection that I felt like an intruder.

Kakashi made an overdramatic groan then turned to me, arms crossed. "Hello," he said, grudgingly. "Why are your shoes still on? You take your shoes off in a genkan."

My sandals were still on, yes, but that was because this whole introduction had been so messy. Not to mention the candy box took two hands to hold.

"Be nicer, Kakashi. Haiko is going to be living with us from now on," Sakumo said, chiding. Then, turning to me, gentler: "Haiko, don't be shy. Come on in."

I toed off my sandals—

Kakashi — tiny, maskless, only half a head taller than me; this was really him? it's so jarring — leapt down into the genkan, snatched the box from my hands, and ran into the house with it held above his head. I overbalanced and sat down hard, the wind knocked out of me.

Sakumo, bless his heart, was fighting back laughter even as he helped me up.

"Your son," I began, flatly, and didn't manage anything more, because he burst into laughter. It was infectious; I saw the hilarity of my situation, too.

To his credit, he quickly regained control. "I'm really sorry that happened. Are you upset?"

"No," I replied, dusting off the second-hand clothes from the orphanage. "But if he eats them I'm getting his favorite sweets." I was ready to surrender ownership of the cats, but if push comes to shove I will exact my revenge.

Yes, let's.

The cats were safe.

My reputation? Not so much.

It didn't occur to me until Sakumo had disappeared into the kitchen to cook that perhaps I should've been more assertive, because Kakashi was completely ignoring me. Written me off, probably. If it we were still in the orphanage I would've been perfectly content with mutual ignorance, but this was going to be where I lived until — ah, God, until Sakumo takes his own life, what the fuck was I supposed to do about that? — and if beyond that, if the boy sitting across the table from me didn't kick me out. I needed him to take me seriously, so that he might listen if I start saying the father has, I don't know, suicidal ideations.

"Um," I ventured. No response. What could I say that won't land me another dirty look? Oh, how about: "So, um, where's your mother?"

He stayed silent for so long that I thought he was ignoring me, but just as I gave it up as a bad job he said, without pausing from spinning his wooden shuriken, "She's not here. Dad says she's gone to the Pure Lands, and can't visit."

I sat back. Dead, then. That orphanage had been so full, too, and Nonō said they've seen worse. These kids and their depressing experiences… The idea that this sort of thing was the norm here turned my stomach.

"My mother is dead too," I said, as evenly as I could while cursing out everyone who'd handled my adoption papers for not telling me, and watched him closely.

He glanced at me, then went back to his toy.

"Do you remember what she was like?" I asked, grasping for the first topic of conversation that came to mind. Oh, I could've said 'I'm sorry'. Too late now.

The boy shook his head. He did a little trick that made the shuriken spin off his finger and land flat on the table. Finally he looked up. "You?"

"I remember a little bit of her." I tried for a smile. "I was at her funeral a few days ago."

"Did she know my dad?"

"I'm…not sure."

"What are you doing here, then?"

I stared, taken aback by the straightforwardness. Brain-mouth filters really were learned. And he called me rude.

I glanced towards the kitchen where the sounds of something being fried were emanating. What was I doing here? A little altruism, a little bleeding heart, a bit of humanitarian do-gooding; but I knew none of the words, and anyway I shouldn't diminish Sakumo's actions like that. He was a single dad struggling to make it work. Taking me on had to be a difficult task, and he'd still done it. Potential motives aside, the act itself was laudable.

So I shrugged. "Your dad is really nice to take me in," I said.

"I know," Kakashi said, instantly.

…Great.

The conversation lulled for a moment. But I had his full attention now, and saw that his eyes were straying towards my left side. Like Tsunade had.

I looked left. The wall behind me had the same beige wallpaper as the rest of the room. Spotless. I turned back. "What are you looking at?"

Kakashi pointed to me, then to himself. His left eye. "What's that?"

Suddenly worried I hadn't cleaned properly — the mirrors in the orphanage had all been dusty and spotty with age — I rubbed at the corner of my left eye, but my fingers came away clean. "Did I get it?"

Kakashi shook his head. "I'll get you a mirror." He pushed away from the table and ran off before I could get a word in.

Sakumo poked his head back into the room. He was wearing a bright pink apron. "Everything alright?"

"Kakashi is going to get me a mirror," I said. A look of contemplation crossed Sakumo's face. I smelled food, and my stomach growled.

"Yeah, it's safe," he said, contemplatively, and went back into the kitchen.

Safe? Was something unsafe? I stared after him, baffled and alarmed. A patter of feet: Kakashi came pelting back into the room, mirror in hand. He propped the circular make-up mirror before me and said, "See? It's a seal of some sort, right?"

It was a few seconds before I recognized what I was looking at. It was me: straight-haired, pale-faced, wide-eyed, in astonishing brightness and clarity.

I flinched away.

The image didn't look like me. Or rather— not how I imagined. At some level I had still been thinking of myself — since all my mental and motor functions remained unimpeded — as something of an adult, only with some height and perception differences. The reflection came as a cold shock. I really looked just as juvenile as the boy sitting across me with his large eyes and round cheeks. Small, vulnerable, in need of care.

I didn't usually think of myself as in need. Hadn't, in a long time. It dragged up something old and foul-feeling, thinking of myself that way.

…This'll take some getting used to.

Oh and there was a big, flower-like pattern scrawled in thick black lines around my left eye. A tattoo-like print, like my mother. That was what everyone was looking at; that, and my pale, pupil-less, milk-white eyes.

Kakashi stared unblinkingly at me. I felt like an item under inspection.

Self-consciousness turned into the urge to run and hide. I tried to remember that the house wasn't as big for Sakumo as it seemed to me — running and hiding would just make everything awkward when he inevitably has to track me down.

The silence was dragging on too long. Think, what's a normal reaction?

"Seal?" I finally managed.

Instantly I knew it was the wrong thing to ask. The attentive spark in Kakashi's eyes dimmed. "So you don't know either."

The word he'd used implied something being kept away, locked up. Fū-in. I peered cautiously at the mirror, seeing nothing but myself and the wall behind me. What was being sealed?

Quite abruptly I recalled the image of my mother's moonstone eyes and how they'd changed, at the end, into something else. Now that I'm thinking of it, I don't know how I could've forgotten. Maybe because it had been an experience so wholly alien, I'd shoved it away? Her eyes had seemed to … glow. One color, from end-to-end. Like a bad photo edit. Did I— did she— would my eyes—

"Was your mother or father a Hyūga?" Kakashi asked.

"A what?" I said. It sounded familiar, but I couldn't place it.

The boy regarded at me in silence for a few a seconds then shook his head. "Just like everyone else," he said, dismissively, and picked up his toy.

I scowled, pretty sure I've just been slapped with some arbitrary label, but didn't press the issue. No one liked to be pestered. I'll try again when he's feeling friendlier. Besides, I needed to conserve my energy towards wringing answers from adults. No one's told me about this household being a two-man show; of course no one would've thought it necessary to inform me of a giant flower on my face, either. Or of my weird-looking irises.

It wasn't so much a mystery as an annoyance. Mysteries weren't fun when they were about you.

Sakumo came in, carrying platters of fried rice. As he moved to set them down on the table, he glanced from his kid to me to the mirror. He took in the silence, then said, "Is something wrong?"

"Nothing," Kakashi said, and neatly stacked away his toys. "Let's eat!"

Sakumo, unexpectedly, did not put the plates down. He turned to me and repeated the question in the same patient tone.

For a split second I considered pushing for answers, but dropped the idea just as quickly. I was in a precarious position, and even though I'm pretty sure Sakumo won't kick me out even if I turned out to be the most annoying kid in the world, antagonizing his son wouldn't do me any favors down the road, and preserving Sakumo's goodwill would be infinitely more beneficial to me in all circumstances. This was a world where one needed extraordinary skills to survive, and despite not having put much thought into it before I was gaining the sense that this household was my best bet to living long enough to — oh, I don't know. Not die in mysterious and possibly painful circumstances like my mother, at least. And I could have been left in the orphanage to sink or swim. I wasn't. So far, I'd been unfathomably lucky.

Don't push it.

I shook my head and offered Sakumo a smile. "Nothing."

After lunch, Sakumo laid out the sweets and I had my first taste of this world's wonderful confectionery. Sakumo did his best to get me and Kakashi talking, but after several false starts where Kakashi responded to everything I said with conversation-ending, one-word answers, I bit back a grin and retreated from the conversation. By that point Sakumo was looking a little exasperated, so I put on an attentive expression and turned most of my focus onto appreciating the cool and refreshing jelly cake.

Having successfully monopolized Sakumo's attention, Kakashi became much more verbose. I kept half an ear on them, and caught myself feeling envious and morbidly amused. Envy wasn't a riddle — good parents were hard to come by, and I'll never find out if Senko was one. The amusement, however, was a twisty black thing to the tune of enjoy this while you can, and I acknowledged it, packed it up, and squashed it. I knew depression; however the future turns out, I was going to try and help Sakumo. I was going to do my damnedest to make sure Kakashi's tragicomedy of a life begin as late as possible.

(If I remembered the tally right, the train of deaths went: father, teammate, teammate, teacher. Famous for loosing everyone, Kakashi was. Famous enough that I still remembered.)

Bright laughter pulled me out of grim thoughts. Sakumo was making what looked like shadow puppets with his hands — and Kakashi said, "That's not dog, Dad, you can't fool me!"

Sakumo grinned then put his fingers into another pattern. "This one?"

"Horse!"

"That's right! You really studied, didn't you?"

"That one's easy. Don't patronize me."

It looked nothing like a horse, but Kakashi was enjoying the game. I guess children are children everywhere, even prodigies who grow up to be killer badasses. I wanted to reassure him I was perfectly able to myself occupy and had no intentions of disrupting his relationship with his father so he can stop being such a porcupine about it. Maybe when I next get the chance I'll actually do that. He might like me faster if I don't infringe, anyway.

I ate the last piece of jelly cake and began formulating the sentences with my limited vocabulary.

"—show Haiko around the house? You know which room is hers, right? The one we just cleaned out."

"What?"

I looked up, as startled as the boy.

"Why can't you do it?" Kakashi was this close to a pout.

"I'm busy. I have to write my report for the Hokage and send my letters," Sakumo said, in a tone much more matter-of-fact than I'd expect someone to use when dealing with a whining kid.

"But—!" said the kid, then ducked his head and looked to the side, biting his lower lip. Oh, that's unfair. Not fair. He's not allowed to play cute. It's way too effective.

Evidently Sakumo had the same weakness, but where I'd have walked out to stand my ground, he caved. "How about this: you take care of Haiko for the afternoon, and after dinner we'll play a game in the study?"

Kakashi beamed. "Okay!"

Does Sakumo remember I can understand him? Oh, he does, he's turning to me. He was a little sheepish when he said, "Sorry to leave you alone so soon, but I'm quite busy. Any questions you have, I'm sure Kakashi can answer them as well as me. Don't be shy, okay? We both want you to feel at home here." He paused, looked at his son. "Don't we?"

"Of course," said Kakashi, not meaning it at all, reaching over to steal Sakumo's last bit of jelly cake.

I humored them both with a smile, privately making my own plans for the afternoon. I was under no illusions Kakashi would spend the entire afternoon with me willingly.

Sakumo waved us both out of the kitchen with one hand, stacking plates with the other.

"It's like you haven't seen a house before. Where did you live before this?" Kakashi put his hands on his hips and glared at me impatiently. It was the third time he'd been forced to come back around a bend for me.

"You're walking too fast," I said, mildly. "I just wanna look at the pretty pictures, that's all." Some of the sliding doors had designs on their screens. Sure, I'd previously decided to go along with whatever Kakashi wanted, but annoying the kid was entertaining. He made the funniest faces. Like right now.

"It's just some trees," he said. Then, as though in doubt, he came over to inspect the painted door. It was indeed a plain landscape painting. "What's so interesting?"

"Nothing, really." I leaned back, placing as much clueless nonchalance as I could into my voice.

Kakashi twitched in annoyance.

"My mother used to paint," I offered, biting back a grin. He looked marginally mollified. "Who painted these, do you know?"

"Came like that," he said, then added waveringly, "How would I know? They've been like that forever."

Yeah, of your four measly years, I didn't say. "How old are you?" I started down the bend he'd doubled back on.

"I'm four." He overtook me with a huff. "You?"

"Same, I think."

"You don't know?" He glanced at me incredulously.

Didn't seem important, I thought. "I'm sure your dad knows."

He was satisfied by that, and we walked the corridor in silence until he stopped at a set of unpainted doors at the end and slid them open. "Your room," he said, pointing inside. He sounded ready to wash his hands of this. I had the distinct impression that if I turned my back to him now he wouldn't be there when I looked back. I stifled a grin.

The room was airy and clean, and the tatami still held a faint grassy scent. Bright afternoon sunshine poured through a decent-sized window. The desk and its chair, one of those models that was suited for tatami use, stood to the side and received plenty of natural illumination. Underneath the desk was the shape of the now-familiar bag.

On the desk, to my surprise, stood a set of brushes hanging from a holder. Fitted for a child's hands. There was a brush rest, too, next to it. On a hunch, I pulled open the lowest, largest drawer: sure enough, it held a heavy-looking roll of washi paper.

So they knew my mother wrote and drew. My carefree mood dissipated. What had made them draw the connection to me? Did writing and drawing with brushes mean something different here? How likely was this a gift in good faith?

Faint shuffling; Kakashi spoke, right beside me, "You can write?"

I took a step back, regaining distance. His interest was suddenly off-putting. The drawer stayed open incriminatingly. Kakashi picked up a brush and poked at the hairs, pressing them out of shape in his curiosity. I said, quickly and overly conscious about my changed demeanor, "Don't do that. You'll damage the brush."

Whose decision was this? Sakumo's? Jiraiya's? Or did it go even higher, to the Hokage? Sakumo had mentioned that title earlier. It jogged the memory — Kage are the leaders of their villages, no? I understood why a leader would be interested in orphans — its a social responsibility — but why, if this did go to the top, would anyone be interested in micro-managing me? I'd never felt anything from the skin around my eyes before, but now it tingled. There was a reason to be interested in me. I felt seen, and not in the good way. Conspiracies weren't fun when they were about you.

"I'm also learning kanji," Kakashi said, clumsily placing the brush back on its hook. "But I use pens."

"Uh huh," I said, going for the second drawer. Inside were bottles of ink and an ink stone. They must've thought ink sticks were too advanced. They'd be right.

"How advanced are you?"

I turned the bottle around to examine the label. There was only the brand — another meaningless family name. Kakashi said, "Hey," and took the bottle away from me. "I'm talking to you."

I blinked at him, trying to determine if this was another weird pissing contest or if he was genuinely looking for connection. "I'm okay at it," I said. "And since you're holding that, you can put it back." I reached for the bag.

He made a sputtering noise, but I was busy confirming that Jiraiya and Orochimaru had been serious about not giving me the summoning scroll until I'm old enough. The contents were the same as last time: first aid pack, extra clothes. In the better light and with the luxury of time I realized the fabric was poor, the weave coarse, and the color a dull beige. It was a nasty contrast to my grey-washed memories, and looked even worse against the clean, crisp, modern clothes the hospital gave me.

"Why are you like this?" Kakashi sounded sincerely baffled.

At least he returned put the ink bottle.

I put everything back in and stuffed the bag under the table then thought hard about my choices. I was certainly being overly paranoid — whatever the adults' plan was for me, keeping me healthy and alive was a priority. The question was everything else. Unfortunately for them, I've already lived once and I'm not going to become their pawn without a knock-down drag-out fight.

Kakashi made a frustrated noise and stomped out. I barely noticed him leave.

Going along with them and acquiring the skills they want me to learn couldn't hurt, so long as I kept a clear head. Refusing to participate, pretending to not comprehend, or pig-headedly demanding answers … all of it might cause them to reconsider my value and put me back in an orphanage to rot. No. Better to go with the flow and the handouts and proceed cautiously.

Feeling a little more settled, I guiltily checked the corridor. In hindsight I was quite rude to Kakashi, but he was nowhere to be seen. Note to self: fix self-absorption tendency.

I thought about tracking down the study he and Sakumo mentioned, one hundred percent sure it was where he went, and dismissed the idea. Let them have their time. I set off in the other direction.

The house had a tranquility to its silence. You'd almost think, between the dancing dust motes and the muted birdsong, that this was a museum. The corridor was paneled with wood and well-maintained, lit by natural light via a row of windows under the roof, paneled with frosted glass, their frames free of spiderwebs. The fusuma stood closed and their rooms uninhabited — after three rooms in a row turned out to be empty, musty, and draped in dust covers, I stopped opening them.

The Hatake clan must've been decently populated, and in the very recent past.

I emerged from the corridor to find myself on the engawa. Sunlight streamed through the paper screen doors to my left and right — a large tree provided the area where the inner corridor connected to the engawa with shade. Its leaves cast a mottled shadow on the shōji.

I opened a door, struggling a little due to my height (the uneven application of force temporarily confused the door's rails).

The porch overlooked to a messy, unkempt garden. Patches of packed dirt showed through here and there, and some distance away rose a white wall that marked the end of the garden. Bushes grew at its feet. A symbol that must be the Hatake clan crest — a gridded diamond — decorated the wall at set intervals. A stone path, mossy, began at a shed and a big bald patch of dirt, disappearing in the direction of the front entrance and its garden.

I didn't want to dirty my feet so I stayed on the engawa, sliding alternating doors open to take a peek into the garden. One direction led me back to the kitchen. (It was empty, the dishes washed and stacked up to dry.) The other, after some backtracking, led me all the way around to the front, as expected.

I'd walked in a loop without coming across the study. Hadn't I see more greenery behind that shed? I backtracked.

The floorplan of the house, all told, wasn't so much big as it was twisty. Dark corridors were inside-corridors, between rooms. Corridors with clerestory windows were outside-walls, obviously, but the yard was only accessible from a few points. I found two washrooms, one with a bathtub. I found Kakashi's bedroom, a twin of mine and more heavily furnished with personal items. I found a room that was clearly a reception room — it had low table and several legless tatami chairs, and on one side of the wall was an empty alcove, for placing a wall-scroll and flower arrangement.

I found a set of stairs leading down and a set of stairs leading up next to each other, both hidden behind screen doors that looked like walls, and just beside them, a curious fusuma print with two big characters I didn't recognize written on it. It was a sliding door like the rest and wasn't locked, at least not in any manner I could determine. I dithered, then went upstairs without opening it. I'll ask Sakumo about that, later.

The attic was a small space, but just right for my size. Exposed beams arched overhead, and the air smelled of old wood.

I opened the attic window to let in the air. It opened cleanly and silently. Fresh air came spilling in, along with bird song, and though I wasn't all that far up, I could still see a fair ways over the wall around the yard — the rest of the village spread out in an easy sprawl, dotted here and there with large trees. If I leaned out a little, I could see the First Hokage's giant face, on the mountain to the north.

The orange sunset surprised me. Time flew.

Movement drew my attention downwards. (I made sure I had a solid, bracing grip against the window frame before leaning further.) Was that—

A second later, Sakumo's voice drifted up to me. He was calling my name. He looked around the empty yard, then turned to head inside.

He was…looking for me? Bewilderment aside, I better go down before Sakumo gets worried. He won't think I've run away —right? This house is big, after all, and I— but, ah, did the matron tell him about that one time the staff had to go looking for me?

Similar thoughts chased their own tails in my head as I hurried towards the stairs, but the attic's floor hadn't been waxed in a while, and was rough. I had to go carefully, wary of splinters.

My slow pace was probably the reason I was only halfway down the stairs when I heard voices.

"I'm sorry," Kakashi was saying, and really sounded sorry. "If I'd known she was going to run off I wouldn't have lost my temper."

"That's okay," Sakumo replied, gentle and unhurried.

I froze. Coming upstairs, I hadn't paid attention to the creakiness. Should I go back up? Or down?

"But this just shows how she's unsuited to us!" Kakashi continued.

I made a face. Great. He went complaining to daddy, no doubt. Whatever about, I'm sure I don't have the slightest clue. This is why I never liked kids — too temperamental, and you can't even blame them because they're just kids.

"Now, don't say that. You two could become good friends, for all you know," Sakumo replied.

"That's never going to happen."

"Have you tried, at least?"

A huff. "Why can't she just go home, Dad?"

"She lives with us now, that's unnegotiable." Sakumo was stern about that. A rustle; movement? "Is there something wrong, Kakashi? You know I'm always willing to listen."

I found myself leaning forwards and stopped, frowning. This wasn't for me to overhear. I eyed the immediate step behind me. Had that one creaked?

"She's just like all the other kids you had me meet, and you know how much I dislike them." A pause. "I'm smarter. I just am. You know! I can't stand how clueless they are."

Another sigh from Sakumo. "I know. And you are! But Kakashi, I really think you're mistaken about Haiko. Haven't I told you? When I met her at the hospital, she'd read every single book they'd given her, and was able to hold a conversation with me! Maybe she's not on your level yet, but if she can hold a conversation with me, she can hold a conversation with you. Wouldn't you agree?"

A brief silence from Kakashi. "…Maybe she just tricked you with some fancy words."

Sakumo chuckled. "Sure, maybe. But she'd have to be smart enough to trick me, right?"

More like I ambushed him. It was nice to hear Sakumo's indirect praise, though. I hesitated at going up. Should I do it all in one go or— oh, wait, what if I stick to the sides where there's more support against the walls...?

" …. okay," Kakashi muttered, and even I could tell it was a very reluctant concession from all the way over here.

"Kakashi, look at me. Haiko has had a very turbulent few weeks. Don't you think you'd be shy and confused too, if one day I left you, and some strangers came to put you in a hospital, then not a month later, a new home?"

He left out the orphanage, but it was probably too much detail anyway. I really wanted to know what expression Kakashi was making, because when put that way, my last few months really have been terribly upsetting. Also, this silence was stretching a bit too long. I stepped horizontally towards the wall. Nothing creaked.

"Left like Mom?"

"Yeah."

More silence. "But you won't, right?"

Time to leave. With utmost caution, I backed up a step. No sound.

"Of course," Sakumo said, accompanied by more rustling. This time I was pretty sure he was pulling his son in for a hug. I went up another step. "I will never leave you if I can help it, but Haiko's mother wasn't as lucky to choose."

After a moment, Kakashi asked, "Am I allowed to know what happened?"

"I'm not allowed to tell you, but I can't be responsible for what Haiko tells you when you two are at home."

The silence this time was comfortable. I retreated two cautious steps.

"I'll try to make friends," Kakashi said, and I took the chance to leap a step. "I'll make you proud."

"That's my boy," Sakumo said. Two more steps. Silence. "Now check the attic." Another two steps. The technique was working.

When I reached the landing, Kakashi was complaining loudly about not wanting to come up here. I didn't hear anymore, scurrying towards the window with the intention to look like I've just discovered it.

I reached it and was just leaning out to pull them closed when I heard the door being slid open, and the creak — ah-ha, so they did creak! — of the steps. Sakumo appeared first, and two steps later Kakashi appeared, clinging to his leg.

I finished the action with a thump.

"See?" Sakumo said, gesturing. "She was up here after all. Hello Haiko, we've been looking for you."

I put my hands behind my back and put on my best innocent face. "Am I not supposed to come up here?"

"No, it's fine, but it's dusty up here. Let's go down?" Sakumo beckoned, and I went to him.

"Have you been exploring the house?" he asked.

I nodded.

"Found anything interesting?" Sakumo herded us towards the stairs. Kakashi kept glancing furtively over his shoulder and made me descend first. It suddenly struck me—was he was afraid of the attic? Oh, precious.

I ran ahead to the landing, and sure enough Kakashi darted down the stairs behind me and retreated to the other side of the corridor, away from the staircases. Hiding my grin, I pointed towards the painted door. "What's behind this?"

"Ah, the archives," Sakumo said, closing the door to the staircase. Kakashi relaxed. This was precious. "Do you want to go in?"

Kakashi must've recovered, because he added, loftily, "Nothing interesting's in there."

Maybe to him. I nodded at Sakumo. "Yes, please. But what's this on the door?"

"That, Haiko, is a seal. Like the one you have."

Kakashi crowed his victory. "I knew it! I told her and she didn't understand me."

I hadn't expected the information. 'Like the one I have' — as in by nature, they are both seals, or as in by function, they both limit access? Too many questions and no language with which to ask. All the more reason I needed more reading material.

"You're part of the family now, you should have access to the family records," Sakumo was saying. "Tomorrow I'll key you in."

I nodded and thanked him. I'll look on my own before I ask. Disparate sources, all that.

Later that night, as we were getting ready for bed, Sakumo opened some sliding doors, revealing that Kakashi's room — and all the amenities that was on his side of the house — was just several right angles away. And now I can get to them without going through a tiny maze.

"Someone will come take you shopping in the morning," Sakumo told me, as he laid down the bedroll. Kakashi hovered near the door.

"Who is it?" I asked. I wouldn't mind seeing Shizune again.

Sakumo smiled and brought a finger to his lips. "It's a surprise."

I wasn't sure if I liked surprises, but hey, if Sakumo went to the trouble of arranging it.

He straightened. "I matynot be home when you get back, and if that's the case someone will be here to take care of things. Kakashi, remember what we talked about earlier? Try to help Haiko adjust, okay?"

Kakashi nodded glumly.

"And, here, this is for you," Sakumo added, placing the mirror from that afternoon on my desk, face-down. "Go to bed soon, okay?"

I nodded. He left the room with Kakashi, sliding the door closed behind him.

After I made sure their footsteps have stopped, I picked up the mirror. It reminded me of a nagging question.

It puzzled me, that the girl in the mirror looked at once like me — the real me, the one who's twenty-six and dead — and my mother, the second one. How did that work, metaphysically? I wanted a picture of Senko, to compare her against what I remembered of myself. Where do the similarities begin and end? Was it because of superficial resemblance that my soul was fished out of afterlife-soup and stuffed into this one, memories intact? Which came first; who influenced who?

Answerless questions, unless I could pry open the backdrop of the world.

The mirror acted as a blurry window into my past: two childhoods collided. I remembered peering out of the cottage window on rainy days, grey in visuals but not in spirit. I remembered colorful public parks and rivers, a communal backyard, and I remembered cousins, but all these in the detached manner of facts instead of a full sense memory.

That was best.

Fatigue pulled at me. I yawned, then put the mirror away. I could wonder about Sakumo's too-busy-to-be-healthy work schedule tomorrow. I shut the light and went to bed.