Summary: Destiny is a strange fickle matter, often bringing together the unlikeliest of friendships and the oddest of romantic pairings; it even tends to drive those same relations apart, in due time. Another thing about fate is: you never see it coming.
In the earliest week of November, year of two-thousand and six, within the Kanto region of Japan, the lives of three people begin to crossway: an innocent young woman with a secret lifestyle, recently returned from England; a normal (by most person's standards) young male living alone, with a strong desire to just live a full, perhaps rich, life, like anyone would wish for themselves; and a strange, intemperate young female with a past that's catching up to her.
Yes, destiny is a strange fickle matter, indeed.
Only Warning: English Dub
Another Only Warning: Dates may not add up correctly.
Co-Written Story. Found on Quotev, AO3, and Wattpad; check there for tags and additional information.
April 15th, 1982
Late into the early morning, a newborn baby hollers, igniting the air with frustration. Kaede Murasaki, the exhausted mother, cries happily at the sound emitting from her first child. Such beauty it is, hearing her infant; her daughter must've wanted to stay in the womb longer, where it was warm.
Seven pounds, eight ounces, a head full of brown hair, and complaining through screams, little Anju is already a force to be reckoned with.
In due time, the newfound mother finds her infant within her arms, wrapped snugly in a stereotypical pink blanket. Little Anju's screams calm to a whimper. "My beautiful blessing," Kaede whispers, voice gentle. "My Anju, I shall always cherish you."
Gently, she rocks her little angel, who in turn just stares up at her with brown eyes, confused but curious. It'd been a long process, her labor, then the birth itself, and lastly, what came after, but the stress, the pain, and the worry had been worth it in the very end.
Someday, she'll be a big sister, Kaede ponders, grinning down at her baby.
One of the nurses tending to the mother and child briefly steps out, returning shortly with Kaoru, her husband; her lifemate. Upon entering the hospital room, the man in question lets out a sigh of relief when he sees for himself that his wife and newborn are alright. Their miracle child, the one they'd been trying to have for nearly three years, she's safely arrived.
Kaoru steps forward, soon standing directly beside the bed his wife lays on. He gazes down lovingly, at her and then their daughter. "Our little Anju," he says, tears in his eyes.
Little Anju keeps staring at her mother for another moment before her innocent gaze shifts to her father.
Kaede looks at Kaoru with a tired smile. "It's been a rough ride, but she's here at last…" She glances back down at their daughter. "…I hope we can give her a sibling someday," she voices her concern. "But I'll be content with having only you two if this small family is all we're meant to have," she continues, looking back at Kaoru, expression tender.
Kaoru leans over and kisses his wife's forehead. "I feel the same way," he quietly states, as to not disturb their daughter's peacefulness. He, then, kisses Anju's forehead; she remains unbothered, just staring at them.
Content, husband and wife silently stare back at their newborn.
August 2nd, 1985
Night has arisen from its temporary rest, bringing about a somber air; the gentle rain adds to the gloominess of the darkness. Only the brightness of the crescent moon shines through the night, but it does nothing to lessen the solemn atmosphere.
Kaede stares dejectedly into the bathroom mirror, lazily removing her cherry lipstick. Her husband's favorite; he loves… He loved that particular shade on her lips. She involuntarily cringes; her body jolts her out of the thought. And such a bittersweet moment it is, getting hit like that mentally, with happiness and sadness rolled into one.
With a whimper, she tosses away the make-up wipe and hastily exits the bathroom, keeping her head down as she goes. If she doesn't see it, it's not real; it's just a dream, a nightmare that'll pass. Denial, constant withdrawal from reality, is her only escape from the tragic truth.
She listens for a cry, for her daughter, three-year-old Anju, to need her. The cry never comes, of course; she's in the care of the Yagami's, her extended family of an uncle and an aunt-in-law. It was through their suggestion that her daughter resides with them currently; it's not permanent, it's just to give her some time.
Kaede looks up. She told herself many times that she wouldn't, that she'd ignore it. However, Soichiro and Sachiko gave her this time for a reason; she needs to mourn.
The door stands before her; how she managed to get there already, she doesn't question. She just knows that, in her sorrow, she ended up here. Yuka's nursery, the bedroom that once belonged to Kaede and Kaoru. Her hand shakes as she slowly reaches for the doorknob. Her heart pounds harder. Sweat drips down her brow. The seconds pass quickly.
She grips the knob and twists, pushing forward so that the door finally opens, revealing the furniture inside.
There's not much to look at in the former bedroom. The master bed remains untouched; no one has slept there for quite some time. There's various toys spread about on the floor; teddy bears mostly, but also a few plastic baby dolls. The crib is untouched, too; inside are blankets of every color, each with the name Yuka stitched into them, and on top of them lies a onesie, suited for a newborn…
Kaede heads for the closet instead; she needs to mourn him first.
She takes a deep breath, then opens the door. The sight of his clothing instantly brings tears to her eyes, but she refuses to let them flow; not yet. She needs to stay strong, just a little longer. She steps into the small closet and touches the denim jacket that her husband so often wore. She can't help herself; she leans in and sniffs it. It still smells like him. She lets the tears fall then; they shed endlessly.
On May 12th, a drunk driver stole her light away, leaving her a widow with two children. They'd just gotten another miracle; their second daughter. He only got to hold her twice. It wasn't fair. It wasn't right. His absence was torture but she couldn't mourn; she had her daughters to worry about. So, she held it in, allowing her soul to shatter a little each day.
He should be here… He should be here…
Forcefully, she releases the jacket and steps back. She exits the closet and closes the door back. Tears steadily trail down her cheeks; she makes no effort to wipe them because more will simply take their place.
With a shaky breath, she faces the crib. A few minutes pass. Then a few more. And a few more.
Eventually, she forces herself to move towards it; she needs to mourn her, too. She needs to let it out tonight, before Anju is returned in the morning. So, when she reaches the crib, she picks up the onesie and, within seconds, begins sobbing loudly as she cradles it against her broken heart.
It happened on July 20th. Yuka was barely two months old. Kaede remembers exactly how she felt, after finding her infant motionless in the crib. She went into denial because why would there be any problems? Unfortunately, the denial quickly shifted into despair; she called for help, as any mother would, but no one could help her, as it was already too late. S.I.D.S. is what they called it; Sudden Infant Death Syndrome. It could happen to any child, but it had to happen to hers…
Clutching onto the onesie, she collapses onto her knees, body bent forward in agony as the cries turn into screams…
August 25th, 1987
The sun hangs low on the horizon, creating an array of colors, which mostly has vanished behind the clouds. What was once a gentle rain is now a downpour, soaking the wandering people below. The streets of the city remain busy, despite the sudden switch in the weather; the townsfolk stay immersed in their travels, continuing on their ways, though perhaps with more urgency.
Then, suddenly, out from an alleyway, a man rushes. With a coat over his head to protect him from the heavy rainfall, he hurries along the sidewalk, cradling someone in his arms; his newborn son.
About two hours earlier, before the sun began setting and when the rain was still gentle, the woman of his dreams gave birth to their boy, the result of their undying love. Oh, how they loved him. He'd been so calm, an unlikely feature to be seen in a newborn baby. His blue eyes were so big, so curious. His hair was so white, so different. Oh, how they loved him.
Unfortunately, neither of them were in any position to care for him. Truth be told, they were on the streets; they had been for months. Such a life would be too cruel for a newborn, too cruel for any growing child. Their discussion didn't last long; as painful of a conclusion it was, they had to take their baby to a safe haven, where he'd get the proper love and care he needed to survive. He deserved a blessed life.
The man sprints for a while, eyes searching frantically; it can't be any place. His son sleeps soundlessly in his arms, shifting every now and then.
In the end, he spots a church. Surely, no one there will turn away a helpless, homeless, parentless newborn; surely nothing bad can happen to him now.
He hurries towards the house of faith as the downpour suddenly subsides. He weighs his options, getting closer and closer to the door. Should he knock and wait to hand off his son? Or should he leave the boy upon the doorstep and knock before scurrying along?
Just steps away from the door, he makes his decision.
He sees a basket. He quickly approaches it and lays his sleeping son inside; miraculously, he fits snugly. Carefully picking it up, mindful of the child, he goes for the door, sitting it back down, only now it's directly before the door. He doesn't knock yet, however; instead, he spies something else nearby. With a thought in mind, he grabs the objects, does as he wishes with them, and then places them inside the basket, just beside the boy. The boy; that's all he can be to me now. Just 'the boy'.
Then, he slams his fist against the door, pounding with all of his might, so that someone, anyone inside, will be alerted. When he hears movement from within, he takes off running, back to where he came, never looking back.
Not long after the man is gone, an elderly nun cracks the door open, peeking out to see what caused such a commotion. A whimper from below makes her gasp in surprise. She gazes down and covers her now agape mouth; someone has left behind a baby. The infant in question whimpers again, slowly becoming more distressed. The woman uncovers her mouth and appears as though she's wailing, though nothing is escaping her lips. "...Oh," she tearfully comments, "...You poor boy…"
She picks up the basket, with some difficulty, and hurries back inside, away from the cold air and what lingered of the rain.
Once safely in the church, and after temporarily leaving the child's side to shut the door again, she gently examines the boy without removing him from the basket, soon finding no injuries. She sighs in relief, sniffling. She whispers a prayer of gratitude, for God protected the innocent babe.
She, then, eyes the damp notecard lying beside him; attached to it is a pen. She reaches for them. Beside the objects, the boy squirms, though he no longer seems dismayed. He watches with innocent eyes as the woman picks up the notecard. Her tears continue flowing.
On the notecard is: Hajime, the beginning.
October 30th, 1988
"Isn't she supposed to be bigger?" a tall man, with a deep voice, loudly asks, sounding bored.
A woman scoffs, sitting beside him in a wheelchair (a temporary necessity), her arms crossed. "Hinata," she warns with a delicate tone, "I had her before the due date; of course she's gonna be smaller than average right now."
Lying inside a protective case within NICU, being observed by her parents while a few doctors briefly attend to her needs again, is Hotaru Hirawa, the prematurely born daughter of the fussing couple, if one could even call them that. She squirms beneath the gloved palms of the attendants, crying out in frustration; it appears she doesn't quite like that they're touching her.
The infant's mother smiles softly to herself, temporarily ignoring the man beside her. "She's already such a grumpy child." Her look turns dark as she glances up towards the man, Hinata. "That must come from your side of the family." The man complains about everything; the only ones with an actual right to being so ill-tempered are his unfortunate, mostly unaware victims.
Hinata grumbles next to her, expectedly. He doesn't bother lowering his tone. "I don't need your attitude today, whore." One of the doctors takes a glimpse at them, clearly overhearing; they quickly look away upon spotting the man's glare.
The woman's eye twitches; oh, how she wishes she could damage his face. She keeps her tone quiet, though, and her own attitude in check; she has some self-respect, at least, as little of an amount it is. "That's not my name, nor profession."
Hinata snorts. "It might as well be, what with you always removing your clothes." He gives her a downward side-eye, smirking. He knows the doctors are listening; one had just recently looked at them, after all. "At least my work is more modest."
It was the woman's turn to snort. "Now, that's just a fat load of horseshit," she utters. By absolutely no means is Hinata's choice of work modest; conceited and scummy, maybe, but never modest. She returns his side-eye, giving a little smirk of her own. She decides to raise her voice, too; fuck it, right? "And in case you've forgotten, what with your habit of removing your clothes and tangling with other women, my name is Kohaku."
Like hers had, his eye twitches. "What did you just say to me…?"
Kohaku shrugs, uncaring. "Oh, nothing. Simply just reminding you who's the real whore in our household."
He clenches his fist. "You little-" He reaches for her arm.
Easily, she dodges his palm and rolls herself closer to their daughter; the doctors have finally finished attending to her, for now. "Hello, precious one," she cooes to her infant, ignoring the grunt of anger coming from her aggressive, irritable lover. She waits, listens; as she expects, the man storms off. He's probably gonna find another tail to entertain, she ponders in sadness. Oh, where did the love go? Was it ever really there?
Nearly a year ago, they'd met at her place of profession: a strip club. It was love at first sight, for her anyway; she, in current time, can no longer say the same for him, as her eyes have been opened to the truth about the man she'd fallen in love with. She, at that time, thought they were destined to be; despite how things currently are, she still kind of feels that way. She gave him everything; she thought he did the same for her, too.
She had fallen pregnant very quickly into their 'relationship'. He seemed ecstatic at the time; now, he doesn't seem to care at all. It was like the aspect of having a child pleased him, but the concept of having to care for one irritated him. She'd be raising Hotaru alone; maybe her father would be within the same vicinity but Kohaku doubts he'd even spare a single glance at the growing girl.
Blinking back into reality, she continues staring at her child. She's a red-head like her unfaithful father; that's unfortunate in itself but Kohaku thinks it also suits her. She reaches through one of the holes that lies along the protective case, softly taking her daughter's little hand. Hotaru, her mini firefly, glances at her with amethyst eyes; so beautiful.
"It's just us now," Kohaku whispers. "But don't worry; I'll always try to protect you from his lifestyle. I promise." Hotaru just stares.
Re-Edited on March 1st, 2024 and November 2nd, 2024
Caitlin Glass as Anju
Christina Vee as Hotaru
Greg Ayres as Hajime