Chapter Text
The smell of pain rice and a thin, watery stew drifts through the small Shinazugawa home, mixing with the faint scent of pine wood smoke. The kitchen is quiet, minus the hum of their mother moving from the stove to the table and back, her hands hardened from years of repetitive movements. There’s not much here- just simple bowls and worn utensils set out for the children- but she moves quickly, determined to make the little they have enough.
You sit at the table, watching her. Though your own home is just a short walk away, it feels distant, colder. Here, warmth fills the small house despite the chill, and you cling to that warmth the best you can.
Sanemi’s mother glances over her shoulder at you, her voice soft but careful as she asks, “Y/N, are your parents home?”
A dull embarrassment grows in your stomach. You look down, tracing a small scratch on the tabletop. “No… they still haven’t come back from yesterday,” you answer, your voice barely above a whisper.
Her face softens, but there’s a flicker of sadness in her eyes, a look you see her wear often. She nods, accepting your answer without question, and stirs the pot a few more times, lost in thought. You know the Shinazugawa’s don’t have much to spare, yet she always finds a way to make room for you at their table.
After a while, she serves the stew, careful to give you and Sanemi just enough. He plops down beside you, with a soft sigh. He watches as you eat happily, savoring every small bite, and a warmth grows in his chest.
Once the two of you finish cleaning the table, he catches your eye, his expression a bit softer than usual. “Come on,” he says, his voice lower. “I’ll walk you home. We’ll see if your parents came back.”
You follow him outside, the sky growing dark and a bit cooler while you walk together down the familiar path. He stays close by, hands tucked into his pockets as he keeps an eye out.
When you reach the riverbank, you take a wrong step and stumble, your foot sinking deep into the mud. It seeps between your toes, and without thinking, you glance down at your clothes- mud now streaking across the thin fabric.
Frustration and embarrassment hits you all at once. The tears start before you can stop them, a few slipping down your cheeks as you try to brush the mud off in vain.
Sanemi is beside you in an instant. Without a word, he steps into the river, crouching down to help wash the mud from your feet, his movements careful as he lifts the edge of your skirt from the cold water. He’s only a year older, but sometimes, he feels like an entire lifetime wiser.
“Hey, don’t cry,” he says softly, his tone slightly rough but reassuring. “It’s just mud. I’ll clean it off. See? It’s okay?”
“M-M-My grandpa gave me these clothes. I don’t want them to be ruined,” you shake your head.
“God, Y/N, do you ever listen?” he hums as he splashes a bit of water onto the bit of your skirt that got muddy. “It’ll be alright, I promise.”
Sniffling, you look down at him. “Sanemi… do you think you’ll like your new sibling?”
He pauses, glancing away as he stands back up. “I dunno,” he shrugs. “I’m used to being the only one,” he admits, rubbing at the back of his neck. “But I’m sure I’ll like them alright.”
“Do you think it’ll be a boy or a girl?”
“Why the sudden questions?” Sanemi chuckles, the sound warm in your ears. “I hope it’s not a sister. I’ve got enough trouble with you.”
A tiny laugh escapes you, and he smiles, reaching up to wipe a stray tear from your cheek, his hand gentle. He casts a look back toward your home, frowning slightly when he sees no sign of light or movement from inside.
“Doesn’t look like they’re home,” he murmurs, sighing as he turns to you again. “Wanna come back to mine?”
You nod, relief flooding through you as he offers his hand, leading you back up the path to his house.
A few years later, at the age of seven, you still find your way to the Shinazugawas’ house almost every day. Genya is almost four now, and he tags along beside you wherever you go with a shy smile that seems to be just for you.
Today, you sit cross-legged on the floor, playing a hand-clapping game with Sanemi while Genya and his younger sister, Sumi, watch with wide eyes, as if entranced by the rhythm of the clapping.
Just as you’re about to start a new round, the door bursts open. Instinctively, you all freeze and glance toward the entrance where a tall figure looms. Sanemi shifts quickly, placing himself between you and the doorway, his arm held out protectively.
Luckily for this time, it isn’t your father here to collect you again.
It’s his.
The scent of alcohol wafts through the air as Sanemi’s father stumbles in, his expression dark and eyes glazed. He sways, muttering something under his breath, his voice rough and harsh, and his presence seems to fill the small room with an oppressive weight.
Just as the Shinazugawas’ mother steps in and the tension in the room thickens, you look over at Genya and feel him start to tremble beside you. Gently, you take his smaller hand in yours, giving him a reassuring smile. “Hey, Gen,” you whisper softly, “do you want me to paint your nails again? Looks like it’s all chipped off.”
He glances at you, wide-eyed, then nods, sniffling a little as he extends his other hand toward you as well. You pull out the small bottle of black polish you keep with you and begin painting, each careful stroke helping to calm him down. As you work, he relaxes, watching the brush move back and forth, the soft, repetitive motion soothing him.
By the time his nails are done, their father has stormed back out, leaving an uneasy silence behind. Their mother exhales deeply, her gaze softening as she looks at you and Sanemi, holding Sumi in her arms.
“Thank you, Y/N,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper. “And Sanemi… both of you are so good to the younger ones.”
You nod, smiling softly. “Thank you… for everything you do, too. It’s the least I can do.”
Genya, now calm, gives you a quick hug, his small arms wrapping around you tightly. You laugh softly, patting his head as Sanemi gives you a grateful smile.
Two years later, you sit cross-legged on the floor, carefully painting Genya’s nails, each stroke precise and practiced. He’s only six now, but he takes this ritual seriously, holding still as he watches you with admiration. Just as you finish the last nail, he remembers something and starts to squirm.
“Wait- Y/N!” he says, scrambling to reach into his pocket. “I got you something!”
“Genya, don’t move yet!” you scold gently. “You’ll mess up the paint.”
But it’s too late and he’s already pulled out a small, smooth stone, holding it out to you with a proud grin. “I found this… thought it was pretty, so I wanted you to have it.”
Your smile widens as you take the stone and thank him. Before you can say anything else, Sanemi walks over and ruffles his younger brother’s hair, teasing, “Genya, stop flirting. Y/N’s too old for you.”
Genya’s cheeks turn bright red, and you can’t help but laugh as Sanemi shakes his head, throwing you a playful smirk. “She’s closer to my age anyway. Only a year younger.”
The way he looks at you, his eyes glinting with mischief, makes your heart skip a beat. But just as your lips part to reply, the door slams open, jolting all of you as both your parents storm into the home. Their faces are twisted in anger, voices loud as they confront Sanemi and Genya’s mother, who steps back in shock.
“What do you think you’re doing, taking our daughter from us yet again?” your mother snaps, glaring at her. “She doesn’t belong to you!”
Their mother stands firm, her voice trembling but defiant. “It isn’t right to leave her home alone all the time! She deserves to be safe!”
Sanemi moves without hesitation, stepping between you and your parents. “Leave her alone, what do you care, anyway?” he says, his voice strong, his hands clenched at his sides.
“Little brat,” your father scoffs. “Is that what you plan on turning our daughter into, Shizu?”
While they continue to argue, you cling onto the back of Sanemi’s shirt, your heart pounding as the argument escalates, tears slipping down your cheeks. It’s never gone this far before… Genya grabs onto your arm, clinging just as tightly, his eyes wide with confusion and fear.
Sanemi turns to you, his expression pained but steady. He places his hands on your shoulders. “No matter what happens, you can’t stay with them,” he says, voice shaking with a mix of desperation and determination. “Get out of there, Y/N. I’ll find you… but you should go.”
You shake your head, sobbing as you bury your face against his chest. “I don’t want to go.”
He hugs you tightly, his voice breaking. “I don’t want you to go either, Y/N. But you deserve so much more.” He pulls back slightly, looking at you, his eyes filled with a quiet promise. “You have to. Run away, Y/N, run away. I’ll find you.”
Before another word can pass between either of you, your mother grabs your arm and yanks you out of their grip, scolding you for being near “those dirty boys”. Your father sneers at Sanemi, voice dripping with venom as he snaps, “You’ll never see her again, filth.”
Genya clutches his brother’s hand, eyes filled with disbelief, as they watch from the doorway. Your cries fill the evening air as you’re dragged from their home, leaving behind the only family that ever made you feel truly safe.
After that day, Sanemi and Genya didn’t see you again.
At first, both boys held onto hope that you’d somehow find a way back. Their mother often watched the road to see if you’d appear, clutching her hands together in worry as days slipped into weeks.
Sanemi spent many restless nights wondering if you were safe, wondering if your parents had taken you far away or if you had managed to escape. Sometimes he’d imagine you’d run off of your own, hiding in the forests beyond the mountain, waiting for the right time to return.
Genya, too, would ask about you constantly, glancing down the road with his heart in his throat, hoping for a glimpse of you.
But soon enough, that hope begins to fade. When your parents return a week later, angrily asking around the village if anyone had seen you, a chill crept into the hearts of the Shinazugawa family. They all heard the rumors, the whispers of Y/N running off, a “problem child” who simply didn’t want to be found. It seemed as though you had disappeared without a trace, leaving the family you’d once called home to worry in silence.