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femgenficathonTitle: Hunger is a Wanderer
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
inksheddings
Fandom: Loveless (Character: Misaki)
Rating: PG
Warnings: Mentions of past child abuse.
Prompt: 126) Truth, like surgery, may hurt, but it cures. -- Han Suyin (born September 12, 1917), Chinese-born Eurasian physician and novelist, autobiographer, and author of works on Asian history, now living in France.
Summary: Misaki wanted something. She wanted to sit down, she wanted to have a drink of water, she wanted to understand this- this fear that permeated all of what was left of her life.
Author's Notes: Title stolen from the anonymous saying: "Plenty sits still, hunger is a wanderer." Thanks tomidnitemaraud_r for the beta. Any remaining errors are mine and mine alone.
Hunger is a Wanderer
The last meal Misaki had prepared was kare raisu. She'd asked the one calling himself Ritsuka if he liked it, but she'd done so instinctively. As she ate her own portion, she realized that she hadn't even heard his answer– she wasn't sure if he had answered –and that she honestly didn't care one way or the other. Suddenly, it didn't seem worth the effort to raise her hand towards him, and she wondered if it ever truly had been.
Misaki stopped cooking altogether after that. She found that she didn't much mind the bento sold at the local convenience store. She figured the boy could fend for himself.
*****
Not long after dust started gathering on Misaki's pots and pans, the boy began spending more and more nights elsewhere. He rarely came home anymore. Misaki wasn't sure how she felt about that. She'd lost Ritsuka so very long ago, but at least she'd still had Seimei, wonderful Seimei, whom she'd loved even more for his blind protection of the imposter child.
Then Seimei was gone, and no matter how much Misaki tried to believe that he'd come back to her– hadn't he told her that he would? –it seemed less and less likely as the years slipped by. The only one who ever came back to this house was the one claiming to be her lost Ritsuka. Her own husband hadn't come around for longer than she could remember, but this copy of Ritsuka–
"Mom?"
Misaki still bristled a little when he called her that. Not as much as she used to though. The feeling it brought to her heart was more irritation than rage.
"Yes, Ritsuka. You're home." She also only bristled a little when she called him that.
She turned to look at him, managing a smile, and saw that he wasn't alone. She smiled even more brightly, an attempt to mask her discomfort. This man– tall, pale, far too thin –never looked at her with kindness. How he looked at Ritsuka, though, reminded her of how she used to look at Seimei, which did nothing to ease her discomfort.
"I'm only picking up a few things I need," he said, glancing at his friend, whose name escaped Misaki's memory.
Most of Ritsuka's things were already gone from the house. When he finally ran out of things to pick up, would he even come back at all?
"–anything? Mom?"
Misaki shook the thoughts away. What did it matter? If he never returned she wouldn't be forced to treat him as her son. If she didn't have to pretend anymore, maybe her head would finally clear.
"I'm sorry, what did you say?" she asked.
Ritsuka took a stop closer, his eyebrows knit in what Misaki could only label as concern. The ears on the top of his head used to flicker to show the same emotion, when he still had them.
She glanced at his friend, who smiled as if he knew what she was thinking and was relishing her further discomfort.
Discomfort. Misaki was starting to get very tired of that particular feeling. It was draining, physically and emotionally. She breathed deeply and turned back to Ritsuka.
"I asked," Ritsuka said, "if there was anything you need or want from the store. I mean, I know you don't cook much anymore," he continued, blushing, "but I probably won't be... back for a while. I thought, maybe, Soubi and I could at least...."
Ah, yes. Soubi.
His voice faded into the background as Misaki turned toward Soubi and met his gaze straight on. He scared her– seemed to hate her even, but was always at Ritsuka's side. Ritsuka was never afraid of him.
Misaki returned her attention to Ritsuka, who was watching her carefully from under his fringe. She wondered what was going through his mind. Was he only waiting to hear if she desired fresh vegetables, meat, or even furniture polish? Why even ask, if he was as nervous around her as he appeared to be? Misaki's head ached and she felt the sudden need to sit down.
"Mom? Are you okay?"
Misaki wanted something. She wanted to sit down, she wanted to have a drink of water, she wanted to understand this fear that permeated all of what was left of her life. She wanted–
"Dinner," Misaki answered, gripping the back of the kitchen chair, holding herself up.
"What... you want take-out?" Ritsuka asked, confused.
Misaki shook her head and looked at Soubi once more. "I believe Ritsuka told me once that you can cook. Perhaps... you could cook for me– for us –before you leave tonight. Something that Ritsuka likes. Something he likes now."
Soubi's eyes lost a little of their violence, softened ever so slightly. Instead of hate within his gaze, Misaki now saw distrust, which wasn't quite as frightening. Not quite.
Ritsuka's expression, however, was only slightly less disconcerting. He seemed ready to break as easily as he had when Misaki had smashed a kitchen chair against his back. The chair hadn't broken, as sturdy as it was, and she wondered if it had been the same chair she gripped so tightly now.
But despite his obvious emotions and her remembrance of the past, the Ritsuka– Ritsuka –standing in her kitchen at this very moment was a whole, healthy boy. Curiosity crept through her mind, and Misaki wanted to understand how it was possible. How had he done it? Could she... could she?
"I don't understand," Ritsuka said, so softly she barely heard him.
"Neither do I," she said, shrugging. She didn't know what else to say.
Soubi's body was leaning closer toward Ritsuka, though not quite touching. "What's there to understand?" He said. "Your mother wants dinner, Ritsuka." His eyes met hers again, still mistrustful. Maybe a little bit curious too. "She's hungry."
At Soubi's words, Misaki finally sank down onto the kitchen chair, closed her eyes, and thought of kare raisu and chazuke and nikujaga– all the foods she had enjoyed for most of her life. She wondered if she could somehow enjoy them again.
A list was made, right there at the kitchen table, and then Misaki walked Ritsuka and Soubi to the front door. She watched them walk down the road, toward the store, then went back inside to wait for them. The light from outside had been so bright, in contrast to the darkness of her home, and spots flew in front of her eyes, as she walked slowly down the hallway. She blinked several times in succession to clear them.
Hunger was building, though she knew she'd have to hold it at bay for a while longer. Still, the light had felt good, warm and satisfying.
Misaki walked to the large front window, opened the curtains, and let the evening sun shine inside.
end
Author:
inksheddingsFandom: Loveless (Character: Misaki)
Rating: PG
Warnings: Mentions of past child abuse.
Prompt: 126) Truth, like surgery, may hurt, but it cures. -- Han Suyin (born September 12, 1917), Chinese-born Eurasian physician and novelist, autobiographer, and author of works on Asian history, now living in France.
Summary: Misaki wanted something. She wanted to sit down, she wanted to have a drink of water, she wanted to understand this- this fear that permeated all of what was left of her life.
Author's Notes: Title stolen from the anonymous saying: "Plenty sits still, hunger is a wanderer." Thanks to
midnitemaraud_r for the beta. Any remaining errors are mine and mine alone.Hunger is a Wanderer
The last meal Misaki had prepared was kare raisu. She'd asked the one calling himself Ritsuka if he liked it, but she'd done so instinctively. As she ate her own portion, she realized that she hadn't even heard his answer– she wasn't sure if he had answered –and that she honestly didn't care one way or the other. Suddenly, it didn't seem worth the effort to raise her hand towards him, and she wondered if it ever truly had been.
Misaki stopped cooking altogether after that. She found that she didn't much mind the bento sold at the local convenience store. She figured the boy could fend for himself.
*****
Not long after dust started gathering on Misaki's pots and pans, the boy began spending more and more nights elsewhere. He rarely came home anymore. Misaki wasn't sure how she felt about that. She'd lost Ritsuka so very long ago, but at least she'd still had Seimei, wonderful Seimei, whom she'd loved even more for his blind protection of the imposter child.
Then Seimei was gone, and no matter how much Misaki tried to believe that he'd come back to her– hadn't he told her that he would? –it seemed less and less likely as the years slipped by. The only one who ever came back to this house was the one claiming to be her lost Ritsuka. Her own husband hadn't come around for longer than she could remember, but this copy of Ritsuka–
"Mom?"
Misaki still bristled a little when he called her that. Not as much as she used to though. The feeling it brought to her heart was more irritation than rage.
"Yes, Ritsuka. You're home." She also only bristled a little when she called him that.
She turned to look at him, managing a smile, and saw that he wasn't alone. She smiled even more brightly, an attempt to mask her discomfort. This man– tall, pale, far too thin –never looked at her with kindness. How he looked at Ritsuka, though, reminded her of how she used to look at Seimei, which did nothing to ease her discomfort.
"I'm only picking up a few things I need," he said, glancing at his friend, whose name escaped Misaki's memory.
Most of Ritsuka's things were already gone from the house. When he finally ran out of things to pick up, would he even come back at all?
"–anything? Mom?"
Misaki shook the thoughts away. What did it matter? If he never returned she wouldn't be forced to treat him as her son. If she didn't have to pretend anymore, maybe her head would finally clear.
"I'm sorry, what did you say?" she asked.
Ritsuka took a stop closer, his eyebrows knit in what Misaki could only label as concern. The ears on the top of his head used to flicker to show the same emotion, when he still had them.
She glanced at his friend, who smiled as if he knew what she was thinking and was relishing her further discomfort.
Discomfort. Misaki was starting to get very tired of that particular feeling. It was draining, physically and emotionally. She breathed deeply and turned back to Ritsuka.
"I asked," Ritsuka said, "if there was anything you need or want from the store. I mean, I know you don't cook much anymore," he continued, blushing, "but I probably won't be... back for a while. I thought, maybe, Soubi and I could at least...."
Ah, yes. Soubi.
His voice faded into the background as Misaki turned toward Soubi and met his gaze straight on. He scared her– seemed to hate her even, but was always at Ritsuka's side. Ritsuka was never afraid of him.
Misaki returned her attention to Ritsuka, who was watching her carefully from under his fringe. She wondered what was going through his mind. Was he only waiting to hear if she desired fresh vegetables, meat, or even furniture polish? Why even ask, if he was as nervous around her as he appeared to be? Misaki's head ached and she felt the sudden need to sit down.
"Mom? Are you okay?"
Misaki wanted something. She wanted to sit down, she wanted to have a drink of water, she wanted to understand this fear that permeated all of what was left of her life. She wanted–
"Dinner," Misaki answered, gripping the back of the kitchen chair, holding herself up.
"What... you want take-out?" Ritsuka asked, confused.
Misaki shook her head and looked at Soubi once more. "I believe Ritsuka told me once that you can cook. Perhaps... you could cook for me– for us –before you leave tonight. Something that Ritsuka likes. Something he likes now."
Soubi's eyes lost a little of their violence, softened ever so slightly. Instead of hate within his gaze, Misaki now saw distrust, which wasn't quite as frightening. Not quite.
Ritsuka's expression, however, was only slightly less disconcerting. He seemed ready to break as easily as he had when Misaki had smashed a kitchen chair against his back. The chair hadn't broken, as sturdy as it was, and she wondered if it had been the same chair she gripped so tightly now.
But despite his obvious emotions and her remembrance of the past, the Ritsuka– Ritsuka –standing in her kitchen at this very moment was a whole, healthy boy. Curiosity crept through her mind, and Misaki wanted to understand how it was possible. How had he done it? Could she... could she?
"I don't understand," Ritsuka said, so softly she barely heard him.
"Neither do I," she said, shrugging. She didn't know what else to say.
Soubi's body was leaning closer toward Ritsuka, though not quite touching. "What's there to understand?" He said. "Your mother wants dinner, Ritsuka." His eyes met hers again, still mistrustful. Maybe a little bit curious too. "She's hungry."
At Soubi's words, Misaki finally sank down onto the kitchen chair, closed her eyes, and thought of kare raisu and chazuke and nikujaga– all the foods she had enjoyed for most of her life. She wondered if she could somehow enjoy them again.
A list was made, right there at the kitchen table, and then Misaki walked Ritsuka and Soubi to the front door. She watched them walk down the road, toward the store, then went back inside to wait for them. The light from outside had been so bright, in contrast to the darkness of her home, and spots flew in front of her eyes, as she walked slowly down the hallway. She blinked several times in succession to clear them.
Hunger was building, though she knew she'd have to hold it at bay for a while longer. Still, the light had felt good, warm and satisfying.
Misaki walked to the large front window, opened the curtains, and let the evening sun shine inside.
end
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