Warnings: graphic depiction of bullying

Word Count: 3,453

Chapter 8: SHSL Sentimentalist

"Ryou–chan?" Ryouta's mother called out as gently tapped Ryouta on his shoulder. "Wake up. We're home."

Ryouta hummed, rubbing sleep away from his eyes. "Nee, Kaa–san," he said, voice still thick with lethargy. "This isn't a dream, is it?"

That made his mother laugh. "No, dumpling. You're really home."

Ryouta's lips broke into a wide smile. It's been more than a year since he last went home, after all. His mother returned the smile, but there was still tension in her eyes when she inched away from him to give him space.

When Ryouta started to step out of the rental car, his mother started shaking her head. "No, Ryou–chan."

"What?" Ryouta asked.

"You're not supposed to be walking around, Ryouta. Use the wheelchair."

"But, Tou–san—"

"—is not here, don't worry about it. Just use the chair, Ryouta."

Ryouta sighed, knowing he won't win this argument. "Is he going home tonight?" he asked quietly as his mother wheeled him to the house.

"He didn't tell me."

They were both silent up until Ryouta's mother opened the door. As soon as she did, a gigantic lump of white fur jumped onto Ryouta's lap, startling both him and his mother.

"Hi, Muta–chan," Ryouta cooed, scratching the back of his cat's ears as it started purring and kneading against him. "I know, I know," he continued, now brushing his hand through the soft white fur. "I missed you, too. Where are Baron and Goro, anyway?"

"Baron's probably in your room, scratching up the tatami mats again," his mother said. "He's been doing that ever since…. Anyway, Goro's sleeping in the cat tree when I left this morning."

Sure enough, when Ryouta wheeled to his room, with Muta sleeping snuggly on his lap, Baron was inside the room, pausing from scratching the mats to sniff the air when the door hinge creaked open. At the same time, Muta opened his eyes, jumping out of Ryouta's lap and running off again. Ryouta shook his head, smiling exasperatedly at Muta's antics, then slowly wheeled himself until he was near enough to be able to lean down and let Baron sniff his hand. Baron sniffed Ryouta's hand warily, making Ryouta worry that his cat had already forgotten about him, but Baron started rubbing himself on Ryouta's leg, demanding to be petted. Ryouta cooed, whispering an apology as he shifted his position to get down from the wheelchair to sit down on the floor and reach Baron better.

"You missed me, right? Did you miss me?" Ryouta spoke in a sing–song voice, scratching Baron's chin who was purring like a motor.

"I'm sorry you had to see that, you know. It won't happen again. And off he goes," Ryouta continued, pouting as he watched Baron run off.

Ryouta remained sitting down though, still taking in the sight of his room. It's been dusted, but as far as he can remember, everything's in the same place it was when he was last here. Well, almost everything. The tatami mats have been scratched up, he should probably replace them. There's his old school bag on his chair, still muddy from the ditch. Ryouta wondered why his mother never washed that stain out. She was probably also the one who placed his pencils back in the pen holder. How many times has she gone in here while he was away? Oh, his old gakuran's still hanging on the door of his cabinet. It still feels like it's only been yesterday that he was wearing that for graduation.

"Nya~"

Ryouta cracked open an eyelid, tentatively, as he tried to figure out which one of his cats was trying to wake him up this time.

It was Goro, and he was currently rubbing his head on his owner's elbow.

"Morning, Goro," Ryouta said with a yawn, reaching out to pet his cat with the arm not being used as a scratching post. "Why are you in my face this early?"

Goro only purred, pressing his tiny head deeper into Ryouta's palm.

Ryouta smiled in return.

When Goro began fussing against being petted, Ryouta sat up straighter and stretched his arms. He should probably stop working so late at night so he can stop falling asleep on his desk.

Ryouta then looked down to see Muta sleeping on his lap. Again. He sighed. So that's why he can't feel his legs.

"Muta," Ryouta said as he gently combed his hand through the mass of fur on his lap. "You know you're too heavy to still sleep on my lap."

Muta swatted Ryouta's hand away with his front paw then jumped off Ryouta's lap, staring at him from the floor as if he was judging Ryouta for waking him up.

Ryouta raised an eyebrow in reply before turning his attention to his desktop. For once, he didn't manage to ruin a sketch by planting his face on it when he fell asleep last night. Some of his pencils weren't so lucky, though, smudging into the sides of the paper he was using. He'd clean them up later.

Now, he should probably hurry up and get dressed before he ends up being late for graduation.

When Ryouta went down to the kitchen, Muta carried in his arms, his mother was already there before him, humming a tune as she made breakfast.

"Morning, Ryouta. Put Muta down, you'll get fur all over you," she said without even looking away from the stove.

"Morning, Kaa–san," Ryouta greeted back as he gently placed Muta down on the floor and watched the cat take off again. "How did you know I was holding him?"

"Because you do it every single day even though you're not supposed to?" she said, turning off the stove.

Ryouta smiled sheepishly as he sat down on the dining table. "Where's Tou–san?"

Suddenly the plate his mother was setting on the table slipped from her hands, crashing to the ground and breaking into pieces.

Ryouta was about to stand up to help clean up the shards when his mother waved a hand to stop him.

"No, I'll get it," she said as she crouched down to pick up the larger pieces of the broken plate. "Your dad left for work earlier, but he did say he'll catch up to the ceremony later. He left a gift for you in the living room. You should get it now, I'll be done here by the time you get back."

Ryouta nodded slowly, hesitating for a moment before leaving the kitchen.

There really was a gift waiting for Ryouta on the living room sofa, and for a moment Ryouta forgot to breathe, simply staring at the gift. He doesn't really know why he doubted that it was real. Maybe it's because his father never seemed to pay any attention to him.

The gift was wrapped in a simple wrapping paper, all tied up with a black ribbon that contrasted well with the white wrapper. Ryouta figured his father must have had it wrapped at the store.

Ryouta carefully unwrapped the gift, afraid that his shaking hands might rip up the paper. As soon as Ryouta saw what was inside, he began grinning despite himself. It was a box of the oil pastels he'd been saving up all last year. How did Tou–san know? Maybe his father does care about him after all, Ryouta hoped as he held the gift to his chest and tried not to cry. Tried being the keyword.

When Ryouta finally returned to the kitchen, dry–eyed but still sniffling, the table was already set.

Today's breakfast was not the usual toast, surprisingly. Instead, everything on the table looked like his mother prepared everything especially for this day. There was a big bowl of rice at the center, still steaming. There was natto, too, sticky and stringy in its own little bowl right next to the rice. On a plate that looked like the one that broke a few minutes ago were a few pieces of shishamo, neatly laid out in a row. Last but not the least was the bowl of miso soup, swirling steam rising from it.

"Well?" his mother asked, raising an eyebrow with the hint of a smile tugging at her lips. "Are you going to sit down and eat or are you just going to stare at the food? We'll be late if you don't hurry."

Ryouta's face reddened as he smiled and nodded, taking the seat right next to his mother.

"Ryou–chan?" Ryouta's mother called from within the master bedroom. "Can you come in here for a second?"

Ryouta, who was currently fidgeting in the living room, grudgingly obeyed, wondering what was up.

"What is it, Kaa–san?" Ryouta asked as he opened the door.

His mother turned to face him, beaming. It was the most beautiful Ryouta's ever seen her look. In her hands was a package, wrapped in a paper similar to the one his father's gift was in.

His mother tilted her head as she looked at him, sighing. "How did you grow up so fast, Ryou–chan?" she said when she got closer to him, tucking away a stray strand of hair behind Ryouta's ear as she did.

"Here," she said, clearing her throat, and handed Ryouta the package she had. "I was supposed to give this to you at the same time as your dad's gift but he left early so…"

Ryouta shook his head, not wanting his mother to keep on making excuses for his father. He can't stop his hands from shaking as he takes the gift and opens it, the gift almost slipping away from his grasp more than once. He can't stop gasping, either. It felt like there wasn't enough air in the room.

When Ryouta finally managed to unwrap it, he stopped. Looked back and forth between the gift and his mother. Stared at the gift again. It was a sketchpad, the sketchpad he'd always wanted to buy but never having enough time or money to do so.

There's a lump in his throat as he threw himself into his mother's arms and hugged her. Vaguely, he could hear her gasp before she returned the hug, as if he knocked the wind out of her.

"Thank you, Kaa–san," Ryouta whispered, burying his face in his mother's dress and taking in the sweet scent of his mother's wisteria perfume, his heart pounding too fast in his chest that it made him out of breath. "I love you."

"I love you, too, dumpling," his mother breathed out, combing her hand through Ryouta's hair.

The weather definitely hates him.

Sure, the spring breeze was blowing almost constantly, surrounding everyone with the scent of the sakura blossoms planted around the school, but it was just too humid to be outside.

Ryouta continued to fidget at his place in the line, trying his best not to pull at his gakuran's collar again. The gakuran was starched just yesterday, making the dumb collar stiff and itchy and tight. Combined with the hot, humid air and it just made Ryouta miserably out of breath. Or maybe it was just his nerves.

The head teacher gave the signal, and slowly but surely the graduating class of Nozogahara West Middle School marched into the gymnasium, filling up their designated seats at the front rows. Cameras flashed from all directions, their over–eager parents wanting to capture every little detail of the day.

Ryouta craned his neck, even though he wasn't supposed to, towards the direction of where his parents were supposed to sit. His mother, who saw what he was doing, smiled and waved at him. The chair beside her was still empty.

Ryouta tried to muster up a smile for her, but found that he couldn't.

Ryouta kept glancing back at the gymnasium doors, unable to pay any attention to the ceremony, still hoping that his father would show up no matter how late. He was barely able to catch his own name being called by the headmaster onstage as a result. Ryouta stood, almost toppling down his chair in hurrying, his face quickly turning a deep crimson as he felt everyone's eyes on him. At least he managed to make in on the stage and get his diploma in one piece, although he did nearly trip on the stairs in the process.

And that was that. He was finally finished with middle school.

His father never did show up.

"He didn't come," Ryouta said sullenly to his mother, who was waiting for him outside the gymnasium underneath a sakura tree.

"Oh, baby," his mother breathed out, reaching out for him. "I'm sure he'll make up for it during dinner."

Ryouta allowed his mother to pull him close. "Why didn't he come?" he whispered.

"I don't know."

"He doesn't care," Ryouta said, choking back a sob.

"Shh, don't cry," his mother said, squeezing his shoulders. "Of course he does."

"Then where is he?"

She doesn't answer him.

"You should go home, Kaa–san," Ryouta said abruptly, freeing himself from his mother's grasp. "We still have to clean up."

"But —"

Ryouta was already running towards the school building, refusing to look back as he waves a goodbye to her. "I'll be fine. I'll see you later."

Cleaning up their classroom for the last time was exhausting, and firmly cemented in the fact that yes, they were graduates now. Ryouta left the room while everyone else was still saying their goodbyes to each other. It's not as if he has anyone to say goodbye to. And besides, it's almost sunset and there's already a light drizzle starting outside. He really doesn't want to wait until it turns into a full–fledged thunderstorm.

There's a large carton box in his arms, overflowing with everything he's accumulated under his desk for the past three years. His entire middle school career summed up in a single box. His arms were aching under the weight of it. It almost made him regret hoarding this much stuff. Almost. The six flights of stairs and the however many meters that lay between their third floor classroom and the school gates didn't help. Walking that much made him feel positively sick.

He got to the front of the school gates before he remembered he made his mother go home before him. Ryouta sighed, leaning on the stone marker bearing the school name as he adjusted the weight in his arms. He felt tired for some reason.

He'll just have to walk the few blocks back to the house, then. Easier said than done. The drizzle was getting stronger.

He managed to walk two blocks before he saw them.

Walk faster. Don't catch their eyes. Pretend they're not even there. Hope they don't notice his presence.

In the end, it's a sudden coughing fit that undid him.

In a second, their heads snapped up to look at him, eyes glinting, lips turned up into identical devilish smirks.

Ryouta gulped, even as his throat felt dry. He can't stop his hands from shaking, subconsciously gripping the box tighter to his chest.

He tried to walk away slowly, but one of them was already blocking his way. The biggest one. He made Ryouta feel like an ant about to be crushed by a giant.

Why can't they just leave him alone?

"Look, it's the school toilet," the one in front of him said in that rumbling voice of his, yanking the box away from Ryouta's arms.

Trying to pull it back only earned him a shove that sent him landing with his butt on the ground and knocked the air out of him.

Thunder rolled overhead.

"What's this, nerd?" he mocked again. The others started circling Ryouta. "One of your trash anime again?"

Ryouta was frozen in place, breath coming out in short gasps. There's a pressure on his chest that won't go away.

"What, no tongue, toilet?" he sneered, as he rifled haphazardly through the contents of Ryouta's box, some of them already fallen to the muddy concrete. The others were laughing like hyenas.

Ryouta shut his eyes and waited for the inevitable beating.

The sound of crumpling and shuffling of papers came instead, and Ryouta forced himself to open his eyes again.

They're throwing everything in the box down the roadside ditch.

"Trash belongs in the trash."

A moment later and he's kicked, once, twice, thrice, he doesn't want to count anymore, towards the ditch himself. He doesn't bother turning around to see who's kicking him. He'd probably be kicked in the face if he did, anyway.

He landed face–first in the cold, sticky mud, and slipped back down again the first time he tried turning on his back. They're howling at him. The mud in his ears mercifully muffled out some of the names they're calling him.

They leave, eventually, when the rain started pouring heavily. Their laughter still rang aloud in Ryouta's ears, however.

He doesn't want to get up. Trash belonged in the trash.

Maybe he should just pass out here and let someone else find him.

But Kaa–san's waiting at home.

He doesn't want to break her heart either.

Somehow, he managed to get on his knees, breathing hard. The pressure in his chest felt a lot tighter. His gakuran's ruined. It's a good thing he doesn't have to wear it ever again. Slowly he picked up his things that aren't already ruined beyond repair. He can still dry them off later. The box was still whole, though Ryouta wasn't sure how much longer it can hold his things after being soaked.

By the time he gathered everything that was salvageable, the rain was strong enough to blur out the road.

Left. Right. One foot after the other. He had to get home. Kaa–san must be worried. His head felt like it was stuffed with cotton.

It took Ryouta almost an hour to walk the rest of the way, having to pause longer and longer for breaths he can't seem to catch, soaked to the bone in the rain. He should've brought an umbrella.

Baron was waiting for him when he opened the door, the cat nuzzling his muddied pant leg. He smiles weakly, reaching out to pet the cat with a shaking hand.

"I'm fine, Baron," Ryouta said, his voice sounding hoarse even to himself.

He was so sleepy. Maybe he should nap a bit first. And Kaa–san shouldn't see him like this.

The next thing Ryouta knew, Baron was meowing frantically at his face, kneading at his chest. There's a dull ache in his head. When did he get on the floor?

"—ta, is that you? Why are you home this late?" he could hear his mother ask, probably from the kitchen. Ryouta wanted to answer, but nothing was coming out from his mouth.

And then she's screaming.

Baron's meowing must have tipped his mother off. He rarely meowed.

She was next to him now, panicking, shouting at his father to call an ambulance. Or he thought she was. Ryouta's eyes were refusing to open.

Tou–san was home?

Ryouta coughed again.

"Ryou?" his mother called out, squeezing his hand. "Stay with me, dumpling. You'll be fine. What happened?"

Ryouta could only squeeze her hand back.

He felt his mother smooth out his hair. "You'll be fine, the ambulance will be here soon. Just please stay awake, okay?"

There were sirens in the distance that kept on getting louder, until they stopped, and unfamiliar pairs of hands started prodding him, carrying him, strapping something to his face. He can't hear what they were saying, just that he could still feel his mother holding his hand. He doesn't know how long he's been lying there. The sirens started again.

Eventually, he exhaled, a long, sighing one, feeling strangely calm and sorry for falling asleep when his mother told him not to.