Kojiken one-shots

"Whatever souls are made of, his and mine are the same"

Just read Wuthering Heighs... well, whatever, really recomendable.

Chilhood bfs, dojo/karate village, ancient Japan AU    

Kinda inspired by Wuthering Heighs, kinda inspired by The God of highschool's Ilpyo, kinda inspired by Sk8's Adam's and Tadashi's early friendship.

Wordcount: 5505

Hyuga's POV

My first memory is of my father's funeral.

My second memory is of my mother's back, walking away.

When she left, I found myself in an unknown place, among unknown people... The very same day I was introduced to the rules of those whereabouts, and from then on I was trained at the dojo like everyone there. I couldn't focus on karate though, I was weak, always tired and hungry and in low spirits, I couldn't do anything right, and for it I had to endure perpetual beat-ups and reprimands. The rest of the time, when no one paid attention, for no one really cared about me, I recoiled in a corner outside the room I shared with a hundred and cried to myself as long as I pleased.

One night, as I followed my routine, a little voice startled me. "W-Who is it?" it sounded frightened, but when he came forward, we both were able to distinguish each other upon the light of the moon. I did not know the boy personally, but I knew him by name and by sight. He was the younger son of the sōke, the owner and master of the dojo.

"Are you okay?"

I wiped my tears with my sleeve, nodding.

"Why are you crying?" he asked with no hesitation, crouching beside me.

I found that question quite challenging, for I didn't know the reason for my grief myself. Whether it was age, loneliness, or hunger, I did not know.

"Dad says boys shan't cry," he replied. I thought him right, and I attempted to sniff the tears in further. My weeping wouldn't solve a thing; it became meaningless from the moment I stopped believing that if I wept hard enough maybe God would hear me and take pity on me.

I guess because of my thoughtful expression, he regretted having said what he said, and tried changing the topic of our midnight talk. "What is your name?" he inquired coyly.

"Kojiro Hyuga," I said, letting him proceed by saying his name though I already knew it.

"I'm Ken Wakashimazu," he said, sitting beside me, "How old are you?"

"Five," I answered, saying the first word besides my name, "aye," or "sorry," that I had said in many weeks.

"No way, me too!" he seemed excited at such a casual and unsurprising fact, "well, I'll be next month." As I did not reply, not really knowing what to say nor knowing that he wanted me to keep up the conversation, we fell into a tense silence. I looked down at my lap, and he fidgeted with his fingers.

There shouldn't be awkward silences between children, that's what he seemed to tell me with his next sentence. "Do you want to be my friend, Kojiro?"

I looked at him confused, I didn't find a reason for us to be friends, nor did I understand why he wanted it to be so, but, since he was the son of the sōke, I thought I had no right to refuse, so I uttered a bashful "okay."

–It doesn't matter that back then I thought I'd be just one more of his many friends, or that I didn't put more than compliance and indifference in my answer. It doesn't matter that back then I didn't know the real meaning of "friend" because I agreed anyways, and that was the best thing I have probably done–.