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birthday.
title. Birthday
series. Insect, Eyeball, and Teddy Bear; The Legend of the Legendary Heroes; Persona 3; Tales of Legendia
warning. Rated G
summary. [Crossover/AU] Every birthday is different.
notes. A fill to Cal's prompt.
- 19
On Tiir's birthday, he was always younger than he felt.
10, 13, 18.
He was still ignorant and young when he was ten. But he was surprised to realize he was still thirteen when his birthday came around, and jaded when he turned eighteen. Thirteen was the ascent toward manhood; eighteen was the emergence into adulthood. Yet in his mind and spirit, he'd long passed his youth.
Arguments with his brother further cemented this. Whenever Walter snapped at him, it was like talking to a rebellious and stubborn child. And while he never held it against Walter, Tiir was more tired after their arguments than he was prior. They made him old, so defeated at the sheer amount of disagreements they always seemed to have no matter the circumstance.
He often came home withered and weary, yet accustomed to the hardships of life. He only worked the one job that taxed his body, a waste of his years in secondary education, but he soon regressed when he went off to fetch Guriko.
"How was school, Guriko?"
She'd launch into a detailed recollection of her day, of how Sakaki made a fool out of himself, and of how Rinne was still so sweet. She told tales of young and innocence.
Around her, smiling wasn't a strenuous task, and he never had to play with his words to please her. She was young, and she made him young. It took a single glance at his sister for him to feel his age.
When she congratulated him eagerly and excitedly on his nineteenth, he truly felt that he was nineteen.
- 17
On Walter's birthday, nobody knew about it -- not even himself.
The woman who took him into the household didn't know his name, much less the day of his birth. All she knew was that the wretched man living with her had fooled around and brought an abomination home. No amount of fits she pitched would convince him to throw the monster out, so she put the bastard out of sight, out of mind.
Her son was not so predisposed to snap judgments. On days his mother was out or occupied, Tiir sneaked down the stairway and played with the younger boy in the basement. He brought with him not toys, but stories of outside, which he quickly found suited the boy's taste better. He also found that the boy was not a good playmate, always sitting on his legs with an impassive look as if nothing moved him. Tiir thought it endearing and sad.
Some years later, Tiir asked how old he was and received an "I don't know" back. It occurred to him then that the boy didn't care.
He recalled the day he first saw Walter. It had been when he was two years old and surprisingly conscious of the world around him. He was older now, his mind already developed beyond his years and reeling at the injustice.
Tiir subtracted two from his age.
"That's how old you are," he said, holding up the corresponding number of fingers.
Walter sat there, his plump face still devoid of interest. But he tipped his head to the side, and Tiir smiled.
- 14
On Guriko's birthday, they held a modest feast, bigger than any other they'd have in all the days of the year.
Tiir rejoiced the steady growth of his beloved sister. Walter was content enough to be able to put the extra food on the table. Guriko laughed out of joy, not at her own birthday, not even at the petite cake Tiir procured from scratch, but at the growing happiness in their home. They cheered for her; she cheered for them. And more importantly, as if they recognized the sacredness of the day, they almost never argued, unless it was Tiir telling Walter to put on the frosting and the middle brother complaining he didn't know how to do such a thing.
Despite the size of the cake, she never had the whole thing on her own, even if Tiir insisted. She always cut them into three pieces: the smallest went to Walter, who wasn't partial to sweets, the biggest went to Tiir, who on the other hand loved them, and the middle went to herself. In the end, they were all happy.
On her next birthday, she was in the orphanage, and nobody knew she'd turned fifteen. There was no cake to be split into three tiny pieces.
- 18
On Minato's birthday, they vanished.
That lunch, he sat on a school bench and ate the eighth bento he'd prepared. Even in his solitude, the food tasted the same as any other time.
series. Insect, Eyeball, and Teddy Bear; The Legend of the Legendary Heroes; Persona 3; Tales of Legendia
warning. Rated G
summary. [Crossover/AU] Every birthday is different.
notes. A fill to Cal's prompt.
- 19
On Tiir's birthday, he was always younger than he felt.
10, 13, 18.
He was still ignorant and young when he was ten. But he was surprised to realize he was still thirteen when his birthday came around, and jaded when he turned eighteen. Thirteen was the ascent toward manhood; eighteen was the emergence into adulthood. Yet in his mind and spirit, he'd long passed his youth.
Arguments with his brother further cemented this. Whenever Walter snapped at him, it was like talking to a rebellious and stubborn child. And while he never held it against Walter, Tiir was more tired after their arguments than he was prior. They made him old, so defeated at the sheer amount of disagreements they always seemed to have no matter the circumstance.
He often came home withered and weary, yet accustomed to the hardships of life. He only worked the one job that taxed his body, a waste of his years in secondary education, but he soon regressed when he went off to fetch Guriko.
"How was school, Guriko?"
She'd launch into a detailed recollection of her day, of how Sakaki made a fool out of himself, and of how Rinne was still so sweet. She told tales of young and innocence.
Around her, smiling wasn't a strenuous task, and he never had to play with his words to please her. She was young, and she made him young. It took a single glance at his sister for him to feel his age.
When she congratulated him eagerly and excitedly on his nineteenth, he truly felt that he was nineteen.
- 17
On Walter's birthday, nobody knew about it -- not even himself.
The woman who took him into the household didn't know his name, much less the day of his birth. All she knew was that the wretched man living with her had fooled around and brought an abomination home. No amount of fits she pitched would convince him to throw the monster out, so she put the bastard out of sight, out of mind.
Her son was not so predisposed to snap judgments. On days his mother was out or occupied, Tiir sneaked down the stairway and played with the younger boy in the basement. He brought with him not toys, but stories of outside, which he quickly found suited the boy's taste better. He also found that the boy was not a good playmate, always sitting on his legs with an impassive look as if nothing moved him. Tiir thought it endearing and sad.
Some years later, Tiir asked how old he was and received an "I don't know" back. It occurred to him then that the boy didn't care.
He recalled the day he first saw Walter. It had been when he was two years old and surprisingly conscious of the world around him. He was older now, his mind already developed beyond his years and reeling at the injustice.
Tiir subtracted two from his age.
"That's how old you are," he said, holding up the corresponding number of fingers.
Walter sat there, his plump face still devoid of interest. But he tipped his head to the side, and Tiir smiled.
- 14
On Guriko's birthday, they held a modest feast, bigger than any other they'd have in all the days of the year.
Tiir rejoiced the steady growth of his beloved sister. Walter was content enough to be able to put the extra food on the table. Guriko laughed out of joy, not at her own birthday, not even at the petite cake Tiir procured from scratch, but at the growing happiness in their home. They cheered for her; she cheered for them. And more importantly, as if they recognized the sacredness of the day, they almost never argued, unless it was Tiir telling Walter to put on the frosting and the middle brother complaining he didn't know how to do such a thing.
Despite the size of the cake, she never had the whole thing on her own, even if Tiir insisted. She always cut them into three pieces: the smallest went to Walter, who wasn't partial to sweets, the biggest went to Tiir, who on the other hand loved them, and the middle went to herself. In the end, they were all happy.
On her next birthday, she was in the orphanage, and nobody knew she'd turned fifteen. There was no cake to be split into three tiny pieces.
- 18
On Minato's birthday, they vanished.
That lunch, he sat on a school bench and ate the eighth bento he'd prepared. Even in his solitude, the food tasted the same as any other time.