" Zenitsu was a friend of a boy with certain peculiar characteristics, Y/n, They both maintained a pleasant friendship that in the eyes of anyone would be defined as normal "
" ...Almost "
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This fanfic doesn't belong to me at al...
creator of the story in Spanish all the credits of the story, drawings, gifs etc... of her or him
this is a google translation so some words may be misspelled
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—Y/N... —Senjuro spoke, in a hesitant tone. —. Do you think that by "get out of here" he meant to leave the house... or from in front of his room? O-or did he want to kick us out forever?
—... The important thing is that this counts as permission.
—Account?
—Yes. Account.
On the way to my house, we slowly walked away from the Rengoku family's small town and towards my own. We entered the crowded main street, where the markets stood. I saw some familiar faces pass by us, and greeted them animatedly. But my gestures were not very well received. For no one.
—¿Y/N? ¿Why... why do they look at you that way ?
I did not answer.
—The people around us... haven't stopped whispering.
—Really? —asked. Although the truth was that he had been carrying those disdainful looks and whispers for a while now. It was almost impossible not to notice. The people of my town were like that. Whenever they had the chance to bark, they did. I can pretend I don't hear them. But they will still be there. Impossible to deny.
They were fucking annoying.
—¿Why ?
—¿Why do you ask ? —I turned around and started walking backwards, while I thought of an answer. And when I had it, I smiled at my friend, assuming the end of the conversation —. I am famous.
...
After a few minutes we had arrived. In front of me, the dirty and neglected house that I had left long ago remained intact. It was the most secluded house in town, so it looked a little... dingy.
—¿Mmmh? ¿Your family grew rice ?
Puzzled, I turned my gaze to Senjuro for the question. His attention was focused on one side of the house, where there used to be a paddy field. Now it was just a deserted piece of land waiting to be filled with something.
—¿Ah? Oh... yeah, we used to. My father was the one who cultivated it, and Atsuka helped him. But he died and there was no one left to take over his work.
—¿No? But your sister or you... or even your mother might have tried.
—... ¿We could? We could... maybe we could do it. But we didn't.
My strange reply had sounded so terse that Senjuro seemed to feel the need to apologize. I just gave him a smile.
