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Language:
English
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Published:
2019-04-01
Updated:
2019-10-11
Words:
11,334
Chapters:
12/?
Comments:
38
Kudos:
152
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8
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1,707

And His Eyes Are Amber

Summary:

Rantaro was always there. And then he wasn't.
She knew herself. And then she(?) didn't.
Life was simple. And then it wasn't.
Was it ever?

A story about Shuichi growing up, and the events that made him himself. Content warnings in the Author's Notes for each chapter.

Notes:

Chapter 1

Notes:

Content warnings:
Narration consistently refers to Shuichi as female before he realises his gender.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Mariko Saihara is five years old. Her hair is short, messy, and dark, and her eyes are amber.

Those eyes follow her best friend as he scurries up a tree, and she thinks he looks a bit like a squirrel as he climbs up, up, up, and settles on a branch. Even from the base of the tree, she takes note of scraped palms and knees, and the bright grin on her friend’s face, despite how much his hands and knees must hurt, what with the bark of the tree being as rough as it is. She apprehensively reaches out to touch the tree trunk, balking at the texture and immediately recoiling.

“C’mon, Mahara!” Mariko looks back up to see her friend beckoning to her. “It’s not that high, I promise!”

She rolls her eyes at that, pulling her cap down to hide the gesture, before she looks back up. “You’re insane, Rantaro,” she calls.

“Maybe!” Rantaro agrees, swinging his legs leisurely as he looks down at his friend. He’s also five (twenty six days younger than Mariko, to be exact); his hair is short, fluffy, and light, and his eyes are green.

“You seriously expect me to climb all the way up there?” Mariko asks, trying to sound merely exasperated instead of nervous.

“Mhmm!” Rantaro gives a short, decisive nod of his head. Then, his playful smile drops for a moment, suddenly becoming serious. “I mean… You don’t have to,” he clarifies, and Mariko hates how easily he picked up on her anxiety. She likes it too, though. Rantaro’s her best friend, and they know each other inside out.

Mariko feels her nervousness fade, replaced by a strong desire to prove herself, to prove she’s not scared, okay, and that desire sends her up, up, up, and settling on the branch next to Rantaro. Her hands are screaming, burning, and her scraped knees match Rantaro’s, but it doesn’t bother her as much as she thought it would.

Rantaro looks slightly confused, slightly impressed, and slightly something else that Mariko can’t quite catch. “You didn’t have to,” he says, frowning slightly.

“Shush.”

Rantaro just laughs, taking hold of Mariko’s hand. Palm against palm, scrapes against scrapes, sting against sting. Mariko never wants to let go.

Notes:

Notes:
1) Mahara — A way of forming nicknames in Japanese, more commonly with younger children, is to combine the given and family names. So Ma(riko Sai)hara = Mahara. I though it would fit well here.

I hope you enjoyed reading this! This first chapter is relatively short, but others are longer. Comments are welcome!