Bamboo Grove [Atsushi x Reader] ✓

12. ᴀʟᴏɴᴇ

A dark blue hue shattered over the horizon as the sun began to set, rain hammering over the orphanage's garden as Atsushi's shoes absorbed the dampness of the soil he sunk in, flesh stinging from the bitter coldness of an unusually windy storm. His vision had been fogged by the heavy rain bathing his lashes as well as the rinsed bangs of fully damp hair, prompting his hands to constantly drag to his face as he sought to wipe the water from his eyes, futile for his wrists were drenched, bitten by the thorns of dried roses and sharp leaves. Despite his uniform lacking the warmth required to combat a storm like this, he had the endurance to tolerate it for just a while longer, just until the purpose of his escape from the orphanage staff's grip was met.

Upon stepping away from below the frame of the building's door, he'd wondered what the world outside the orphanage looked like as he stared at the iron gates and fence caging the garden, and for a moment wondered whether he, merely five years of age, had the strength to push through them. Atsushi was convinced the Sankeien Garden was within a walking distance... but leaving the orphanage was not his goal—at least for the time being simply because you were there...

And yet, he couldn't help but feel... alone.

Despite knowing that consequences lay ahead of leaving the building without permission or supervision, no one had seemed to notice him gone. Not even you.

As was usual, he had awaited your arrival in the library throughout the entire morning, perusing words he could just vaguely decipher while his stomach rumbled and his back ached from leaning against a bookshelf for hours. After every page—and later after every chapter—Atsushi reasoned with his patience and compelled himself to wait a little while longer. Having met the back cover by early afternoon and still with no signs from you, he began to worry that you may have fallen sick or maybe were sentenced to some sort of last-minute tuition, that perhaps you were too busy to be able to tell him you'd not show up at all...

Or perhaps you had forgotten him...

You had not seemed like the type of person to leave others behind, but for a moment the recollections of stories you'd told him resurfaced Atsushi's mind and made what he thought not possible likely enough. Unlike him, you remembered what home looked like and could draw the faces of your parents with words, making their image as clear in his mind as it was in yours. For as long as you'd known him, you still held onto the hope that your parents would be back one day and that your stay in the orphanage was temporary. Atsushi feared your faith more than he could say, given that once you returned home, he'd be alone again...

As alone as he was before you. As alone as he was now.

It had taken every last reserve of energy to make him stand up, alone, in the library, with heavy showers pounding on the window opposite his seat, ponding on a headache caused by hunger. The threat of being pushed around by staff or being mocked by the older children made him hesitant to depart from what he considered the safest spot in the orphanage, but he'd scarcely had any compass of reason left in him to seek avoidance from it all... he was hungry, tired... and he was alone.

Had he been honest, part of him did not know why he had so desperately turned to the garden for solace—if solace was what he sought. With rain this heavy, it was no shock to find vivid flowers dulling under an equally dull sky, withering not by the excess of rain but by the touch of his fingertips. Petals unplucked regardless of how delicate Atsushi had tried to be when handling them, stems pricked his skin as though nature itself urged him away, and in the end, nothing except the broken parts of what had once been beautiful washed away from his hands.

You taint everything that surrounds you... Children like you do not deserve to live.

As his clothes absorbed the rain, his limbs became heavier to lift; amidst the shivers rashing his bare skin, Atsushi could barely raise his hands to dry his eyes, be these blinded by the rain or his tears, and his legs would not respond to movement. For just a moment, the little boy wondered whether he, merely five years of age, would die like this—pitiful, entirely responsible for finding himself in his current condition, and alone.