June 17
Kurosaki was absent today, a dark-haired Quincy noted. His seat was empty today, as it had been for the past seven years. By now the teachers knew better than to call Kurosaki's name on June 17. They had been aware of Kurosaki's sensitivities to the mention of his mother, and knew from the elementary school that Kurosaki and his family would be visiting his mother's grave. Uryū had known about this. He had seen Kurosaki on the day of his mother's funeral. For some reason, his father went and ordered him to get dressed. His grandfather had kindly helped the dazed child he had been. When they had arrived, Uryū had been the first one to note Kurosaki's tears. The boy's eyes were swollen red, but the tears still trailed down his cheeks.
The dark-haired boy had seen the younger Kurosaki children – he hadn't known their names then – standing beside their subdued father's side. After they arrived home, Uryū noted of how his father wouldn't speak and disappeared for a long time. For a moment, that night, he thought he heard his father crying. At first the seven year old Uryū thought that he was crying because of what happened to his mother, but when he told his grandfather, the old man a saddened look on his face. Uryū, although very young at that time, didn't say a word. There were some things not to be said.
Okaasan… It had been a long time since he had thought of his mother. Most people had thought – which included his teachers – that Uryū's mother had died giving birth to him, or had died in his infancy. She had not. Uryū's mother, Katagiri Ishida, had died three months after Kurosaki's mother. It was an unexplained cause. The physicians who examined her as she lied in a coma had no answers for the husband or the small child who was her son. Uryū remembered of how his father worked from home those three months, leaving aside his workaholic personality. It had been childish, but Uryū had thought that perhaps he could play with his father, although he knew that his father had never played with him as a child. His grandfather had been the one who played with him as a very young child and infant. Although his mother had not died giving birth to him, Uryū's mother had been very weak after giving birth to him and never regained her full strength. As such, she would often tire playing with him after a couples of hours, and would often rest as his father's stared at him with a grave expression on his face. The small boy remembered of how his father painstakingly took care of his mother. Washing her. Feeding her. Making sure she didn't get ulcers. Uryū was forbidden to go into his mother's room unsupervised, and the small moments he had with her with his father were tense. Uryū never saw his father cry at his mother's funeral. There was so much emptiness in the house following her death Uryū understood it as grief.
Uryū had never faulted Kurosaki for never coming to school on the day his mother died. He knew too that his younger sisters also missed this day. However, there were times when Uryū wondered when Kurosaki would something besides his own suffering. If he would understand that he was not the only one who suffered on this day. Uryū had three dates in mind that he remembered very well.
June 17. The day his mother went into a coma.
September 17. The day his mother died.
April 17. The day his grandfather and master sacrificed himself to save him from a Hollow.
Uryū didn't dislike the number 17 because of the numbers associated with that date. He wasn't that kind of person. What kind…of person am I? Uryū had considered himself cold and distant to the world around him before a girl with burnt orange hair came to him and asked him if he could sew a teddy bear for her after the first day of high school. Suzume, he thought as he recalled what she called the teddy bear. Uryū didn't know of what he was feeling that day, only noting of how he seemed curios about this girl who strangely didn't annoy him for talking too much. Uryū had found her to be…interesting. The girl had confessed to him that the teddy bear was given by her older brother. By the sadness in her eyes, Uryū came to the conclusion that her brother was dead. Instead of simply nodding without a goodbye, Uryū found himself saying there was no need for a thank you and said goodbye to her. It was only later that the dark-haired Quincy learned her name was Inoue Orihime. He could see Inoue-san stare worriedly at Kurosaki's seat, the unspoken words echoing in his mind. Uryū absentmindedly wondered if he was perhaps getting too attached to Inoue-san and her feelings…
Hopefully Kurosaki will find inner peace this time, Uryū thought to himself. And perhaps…I will visit my grandfather's and mother's grave. It has been much too long since I have seen them.
And perhaps I will have the peace I have been seeking for myself...as well.