fanfic; cultivation; part 14

[acperience]

▶ Part 13

—

He’s no older than nine years old, and still, he’s tired of moving around.

It’s been three years, and the orphanage hasn’t changed a bit. The same familiar white painted walls and surrounding greenery—the only place he would ever think of as home.

Two years, during which Minato has been passed from family to family, connections being made and then lost as soon as they began. Tiir told him that being separated isn’t the end of a connection, but it doesn’t seem to Minato as if he can hold onto any of his friendships. As always, it starts off well enough—for those who aren’t put off by his personality—and then it simply fades away once he leaves.

It’s almost amazing, how fragile something so significant can be. He’s even lost touch with Tiir, after the first letter sent and received. Minato can only assume that Tiir has been busy, and the fact that Minato’s moved around certainly hasn’t helped matters.

Still, for once—for once, Minato doesn’t feel like it’s the end. He’s here again, after all.

He’ll get to see Walter.

He’ll get to see Tiir, and together, they can see Guriko again.

Minato has never been so glad to be at an orphanage, if it means seeing them all again.

“This way,” the worker says—not Miss Kirijo this time. Minato asked where she was, and was told that she was busy. He’ll have to say hi to her at a later time. “You’ve been here before, right?”

Minato nods.

“Then I’m sure you already know your way around,” the worker says, patting him on the head before leading him in.

—

Really, it hasn’t changed a bit.

Minato’s guided through the hall, artwork still lining the walls—from here, he can see his own drawing. As he walks, he can hear the voices of everyone around him.

“Hey, check out this toy. I got it for my birthday.”

“No way!”

“Give me that!”

“Hey, it’s mine!”

There’s a pang of sadness, for reasons Minato can’t identify, but he’s glad to see that everyone’s happy.

“Did you get that last question?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah. Need help?”

They pass by a room with the door almost closed, and for a few moments, Minato pauses to peek inside. He can see Miss Kirijo—just as he remembers her—talking on the phone.

“… should be here soon, but be patient… No, don’t. You have work, don’t you? … And it’ll take some time. You of all people should know how complicated the process is—”

“Minato,” the worker says. Pulling himself away, Minato continues to follow the man, as does the noise.

“She never has time to play with me anymore! She’s always talking about how busy she is…”

“Well, she’s becoming a grown up. What did you expect?”

“But I want to spend time with her before she leaves…”

It’s the music of this place. Minato allows himself a slight smile, kept to himself, as he moves.

—

Three years is a long time, Minato realizes. Though plenty of things haven’t changed, there are still things that have. While Minato wouldn’t have claimed to know many people to begin with, unlike Tiir, there are more unfamiliar faces than familiar. It’s starting to feel like his first day here again, where he was a stranger to everything.

He’s always been a stranger, it feels like.

—But he shouldn’t feel that way, should he? Not here.

For a while, he lies on his bed, having received a new room as well, with roommates he doesn’t recognize. It feels the same as before, down to the same pillow and blanket designs and room arrangement, and yet it’s foreign to him. He’s yet to see Walter or Tiir—that familiar blond hair and scowl, or blue eyes that would turn red. He wonders if they’re working right now.

If Tiir’s working, then they can’t go to see Guriko.

—Ah.

He’s lonely, isn’t he?

The thought strikes Minato all of a sudden as he stares up at ceiling, counting the tiles. Once upon a time, he might not have considered such a thing, as there was no reason to be lonely when he was used to this all—being alone. Now, though, he’s changed. They’ve all changed him.

Maybe it was for the worse. Maybe it was for the better. Right now, though, it hurts, like a hole growing within his body and threatening to swallow him up. A still lake, tempting him to drown.

But he won’t, he decides. As painful as it is, he remembers.

The feeling of Tiir ruffling his hair. Playing checkers (and he never did manage to win, did he?). Walter silently reading in the same room. Going out for ice cream. The rare moments where Guriko smiled. Holding Kuma-san (Kuma-san, where is Kuma-san?).

He remembers warmth.

He remembers not being a stranger for once.

He remembers his connections—bonds that maybe, just maybe, can’t be broken after all.

“… I want to see them,” he mumbles to himself, lifting himself out of bed. It takes some effort, with the allure of sleep trying to take a hold of him, but he resists. No matter how long a day it’s been, no matter how much he wants to sleep and drift into oblivion—there are things more important than that right now.

(“If you ever come back, I’ll be there for you.”)

There’s someone he has to find.

—

Perhaps it’s an odd sight, to see the usually lethargic boy speed-walking through the halls, peering through every door and window. Minato is oblivious to any glances he might be receiving, however, with his mind set on nothing but finding something that he recognizes. His heart racing, his surroundings almost a blur—he can’t remember the last time he was this energetic over something.

(“He doesn’t really seem to be passionate about much…”)

Loneliness, Minato decides, is when you want to see someone so badly that it hurts.

“Minato?”

At the voice, Minato turns around, his hopes rising—before he realizes that the voice doesn’t match.

Not Walter. Not Tiir.

It’s still someone he knows, however: an old roommate. Even though he’s not whom Minato was hoping for, he’s still glad to see him. Or, well, perhaps that’s not the right sentiment to have in an orphanage, but it’s nice to see a familiar face.

“Ah…” he begins, not sure of what to say. The other boy—right, Arua is his name, isn’t it?—smiles.

“It’s been a long time! Three years, right? How have you been?” asks Arua. Minato nods.

“… Good.”

Arua tilts his head. “Are you looking for someone?”

Minato thinks for a moment, trying to recall if Arua knows Tiir. Fortunately, he remembers—Arua always stuck close to one of Tiir’s roommates. Surely, they’ve met.

“Do you know Tiir…?” It’s worth a shot.

“Tiir? Yeah.” Arua nods.

“Then… I’m looking for him,” Minato says, his heart still beating loudly in his chest.

He wants to see him.

Immediately, though, his hopes fall again as Arua’s expression dims.

—But he can’t, it seems.

“Well, that’s…” Arua looks away, evidently not wanting to continue. “… He’s gone, Minato. He turned eighteen years ago and had to leave the orphanage.”

And for a moment, the world stands still. At least, to Minato, that’s what it feels like, as his breath stops and he’s almost convinced that his heart has as well.

Tiir is gone.

Tiir is gone.

But he said—

His letter—

He said he’d be there—but then where is he?

And then Minato understands. It was a lie. Pretty words to comfort him and put him at ease.

(“You’ll always be welcome here.”)

(“Don’t worry.”)

(“Everything will work out.”)

He’s heard so many of those, from adults pitying him and trying to cheer him up. Though he appreciates their efforts, it never makes a difference. He didn’t expect it from Tiir, but perhaps he should have.

Of course, Tiir would realize that though Minato was ‘okay’, he wasn’t necessarily happy. Of course, Tiir would do anything to make him feel better.

Tiir is kind, but Minato feels as though that kindness might be a means of cruelty as well.

He didn’t want false words. He wanted the truth.

He didn’t want to come back and find that Tiir wasn’t waiting for him after all.

“Minato?” Arua says. Minato barely hears him, but he manages to find his voice again and ask, even though he already knows the answer—

“… And Walter…?”

“He left too.”

So everyone’s gone. They’ve all left to live better lives—Guriko, with her new family, and Tiir and Walter as adults with their newfound freedom. Minato’s happy for them all; truly, he is. They’re his family. He’ll be happy for them no matter what.

And yet it’s still painful.

—Did he honestly expect things to be different now?

In the end, they were the same as everyone else. People, living their own lives. Minato simply couldn’t remain a part of them.

It’s always been the same outcome. It just took a bit longer this time.

“But they’re happy, aren’t they?” Minato says, as the one thing he needs to know. If Walter and Tiir are doing well, at least—

“I’m not sure,” Arua replies. “I don’t think anyone’s heard from them since they left.”

Oh.

“… I see. Thank you.”

Then it seems that all Minato can do is hope for them. They both deserve that much, at least.

Minato will just have to find his own happiness on a different path than theirs.

—

At the end of the day, he finally gets to speak with Miss Kirijo. It all goes as expected, though she seems a bit distracted. After a pause, she smiles softly and says—

“It’ll be all right, Minato.”

As usual, he merely nods, even though he can’t say he particularly believes or disbelieves that. She looks a bit crestfallen at his reaction—unenthusiastic, even for him—before she smiles again.

“… I mean it,” she says, before walking away.

—

That night, after everyone falls asleep, Minato slips off to Tiir’s hiding place. Though, he supposes, it’s not exactly Tiir’s anymore, now that he’s gone.

Gone.

He shouldn’t be this sad—not when Tiir might be perfectly content now.

It takes him a while to remember the layout of the orphanage and where exactly the secret spot was, but as the clock strikes midnight (and the blood on the walls is more vivid than ever in the past three years), he manages to find it. Quietly sliding a chair under the tile, he climbs aboard. He’s grown since the last time, as while he might not have been able to reach the tile before, he can now.

It’s just as well, seeing as how Tiir is no longer here to pull him up.

Balancing his flashlight in his teeth, he holds onto the edge and craws into the space above. Shining the light around and trying not to look at the wall, he locates the rug, candles and matches still resting on top of it. It seems that even after Tiir’s departure, no one else ever found this room. For whatever reason, the thought almost makes Minato want to smile.

To his surprise, even Tiir’s sketchbook remains, lying open with a thin blanket of dust covering it. Buried with the pages is a note, containing nothing but two words, written in a scrawl he knows:



Minato freezes.

—Tiir.

Slowly, Minato removes the note, placing it on the ground beside him. After wiping the dust off with his sleeve while hoping that the drawing doesn’t smudge, he begins to read.





Minato doesn’t know how much time passes after he finishes, as he holds the sketchbook in his lap and stares. The passage of time is marked solely by the dimming of the candles, as they begin to die, but in the silence of the room, Minato is hardly aware. A choking feels takes a hold of him, and he faintly wonders if he’s going to cry—something he hasn’t done since his parents were alive. No tears fall, though. However, the lump in his throat remains.

“Tiir.”

Minato gets it. Really, he does. He knows what Tiir’s trying to tell him, with this. This—his last gift to Minato.

And he did try—he tried and he tried and he tried. He tried in a way that he never let himself before, to plant that seed and let it grow. In the end, though, the field just couldn’t sustain itself.

And now, he doesn’t know what there is left to him.

He’d thought that he could meet everyone again, if he returned here.

Lafra and Pueka are dead, with the location of Lafra’s gift to him still a mystery. He doesn’t know where Guriko or Walter or Tiir are. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever see them again.

He knows he has to go on without them—to plant new flowers, in a different field—but he wanted to be with them. In the end, it seems that was an impossible wish.

—Tiir wasn’t waiting for him.

Minato was wrong. For the first time in years, he begins to cry.

—

▶ Part 15