21st Rose (Backdated to Sunday)
This memory opens up with a door opening and a young boy, clearly Kurama’s human side at age six by the mop of red hair, is seen entering it.
“I’m home!” he calls as he kicks off his shoes in the foyer.
A soft female voice answers, seeming to come from the kitchen the young boy is heading towards. “How was school, Shuichi-kun?”
He comes into the room, throwing a brief glimpse in the woman’s direction. She’s standing by the sink washing dishes. “Okay. I need a large can for arts and crafts.” He begins pulling out a stepstool.
“I’ll get you one off the top cabinet,” she tells him, glancing down at him fondly.
“Nah, I can get it myself,” he tells her as he steps onto the stool, it wobbling dangerously under his feet. He can barely see over the shelf, one hand holding on to it and the other half blindly pawing at plates and cans, searching for the right one. Suddenly two plates fall out, flying over his shoulder. All the warning his mother has as she turns are the breaking plates and the shocked, fox-like yip coming from her son, as the stool finally slips out from under him and he’s falling, falling…
…and he’s caught, but just barely, by her arms. He looks around, regaining his balance and catches sight of blood on the floor, some of it on the edges of the shattered plates. He blinks and looks up at his mother, shock and confusion clear in his green eyes. “Kaasan!”
She pulls herself up with her elbows, both arms crossed over her chest, blood running from the multitude of gashes the plates carved into the backs of her arms. She smiles up at him, glad to see her little boy unharmed. “A…are you alright, Shuichi…?”
He stares at her, unable to answer. You can almost hear him asking ‘Why? Why would you do that? Why would you worry about me? Why would you smile? Why me?’
--And the memory changes, now to an older Kurama, the Kurama we all know and love. He’s sitting next to his mother, who is also older. Peeking out from a sleeve on the back of one of her hands is a scar, the reminder of the previous memory. There’s a doctor standing in front of them, a grave expression on his face. There’s no audio, barely any color save for Kurama’s hair. The doctor speaks, his lips moving slowly. Before he finishes Kurama’s mother collapses forward in her chair, hands over her face. From the movement of her shoulders, she’s crying, sobbing heavily at whatever news the doctor has given them.
Kurama’s eyes, always sad and green, become even sadder at this, rubbing his hand on his mother’s back slowly, comfortingly. He speaks as well, first to his mother and then to the doctor, taking a moment to hold out a handkerchief to his mother, waiting patiently until she takes it and dabs at her eyes. The doctor speaks again, and the memory slowly fades out.
((And purple is Kurama's human mother, normal as always being Kurama himself.))
“I’m home!” he calls as he kicks off his shoes in the foyer.
A soft female voice answers, seeming to come from the kitchen the young boy is heading towards. “How was school, Shuichi-kun?”
He comes into the room, throwing a brief glimpse in the woman’s direction. She’s standing by the sink washing dishes. “Okay. I need a large can for arts and crafts.” He begins pulling out a stepstool.
“I’ll get you one off the top cabinet,” she tells him, glancing down at him fondly.
“Nah, I can get it myself,” he tells her as he steps onto the stool, it wobbling dangerously under his feet. He can barely see over the shelf, one hand holding on to it and the other half blindly pawing at plates and cans, searching for the right one. Suddenly two plates fall out, flying over his shoulder. All the warning his mother has as she turns are the breaking plates and the shocked, fox-like yip coming from her son, as the stool finally slips out from under him and he’s falling, falling…
…and he’s caught, but just barely, by her arms. He looks around, regaining his balance and catches sight of blood on the floor, some of it on the edges of the shattered plates. He blinks and looks up at his mother, shock and confusion clear in his green eyes. “Kaasan!”
She pulls herself up with her elbows, both arms crossed over her chest, blood running from the multitude of gashes the plates carved into the backs of her arms. She smiles up at him, glad to see her little boy unharmed. “A…are you alright, Shuichi…?”
He stares at her, unable to answer. You can almost hear him asking ‘Why? Why would you do that? Why would you worry about me? Why would you smile? Why me?’
--And the memory changes, now to an older Kurama, the Kurama we all know and love. He’s sitting next to his mother, who is also older. Peeking out from a sleeve on the back of one of her hands is a scar, the reminder of the previous memory. There’s a doctor standing in front of them, a grave expression on his face. There’s no audio, barely any color save for Kurama’s hair. The doctor speaks, his lips moving slowly. Before he finishes Kurama’s mother collapses forward in her chair, hands over her face. From the movement of her shoulders, she’s crying, sobbing heavily at whatever news the doctor has given them.
Kurama’s eyes, always sad and green, become even sadder at this, rubbing his hand on his mother’s back slowly, comfortingly. He speaks as well, first to his mother and then to the doctor, taking a moment to hold out a handkerchief to his mother, waiting patiently until she takes it and dabs at her eyes. The doctor speaks again, and the memory slowly fades out.
((And purple is Kurama's human mother, normal as always being Kurama himself.))