Bamboo Grove [Atsushi x Reader] ✓

13. ʜᴀᴘᴘʏ ᴘɪʟʟꜱ

The remnants of freshly brewed green tea sat at the bottom of the teapot, ceramic still warm despite the hollow interior. The beverage had been poured atop leftover rice. The damp strips of salmon sitting below shredded seaweed were scarce for the meal had been arranged in a haste, and yet, served in the finest bowl available. The bowl's fine golden pattern appeared darker while the horizon beyond the window melted into a rich blend of yellow and blue—sunset—with clouds filtered through a translucent texture that was the lense of the vapour dispersing through the silence.

Afternoon's breeze lurked close and howled quietly against the window, seeking closure from the curtains and attention from Mrs Yasui as she placed the teapot in the sink and washed off any leftover tea. Atsushi, who sat at the table, had taken his eyes off the sunset already and had lowered his chin to watch the light's reflection on the clean pair of chopsticks sitting beside his limp hand. Opposite him was an empty seat, but instead of a dish similar to his was a hardback book—a familiar book yet one he had never read.

Intrigued by the golden illustration of a tiger roaring amidst a red sea akin to fire for a cover, he tipped the book towards himself, dipping his nails into the characters carved across the spine reading The Jungle Book. Mrs Yasui, he recalled, confessed she did not consider herself a reader—that is to say, she had never read much beyond academic requirements—so it made little sense to him why she would start with language so complex.

'I bought that for [Y/N]'s birthday...' Yasui admitted without Atsushi's need to ask, startling the boy as he jolted in his seat and retrieved his hand from the cover in fear of being scolded. 'She mentioned it a couple of times when she first joined the nursery, asked me why the children didn't like the illustrated version much but didn't hold any strong opinions for the book herself... I thought it would be a gift she'd enjoy nonetheless.'

'[Y/N] isn't fond of celebrating her birthday...'

'Yeah... I wish I'd known that at the time,' she sighed back, drying her hands with a towel before heading for the dining table and sitting opposite him. Taking the book in her hands, she turned to the first page and gazed into the inked drawing of a small boy no older than eleven, holding a wooden torch above his head, leading his path with a roaring fire—man's red flower. This boy, Mowgli, was bare from head to toe except for some old rags folded over his crotch to serve as underwear. He was, in Yasui's opinion, alarmingly thin, with a defined ribcage tightened over his chest, bones stretching in uncomfortable angles and seemingly sharp and capable of tearing his flesh open; should the latter occur, she feared the complexion of the boy's skin would turn red. Everything would turn red.

Yasui could recall the purchase with clarity, buying it only a few weeks after you had landed your job at the nursery—exactly when you'd been moulded to fit the frame your employer wanted. You were not perfect but you had learned to play the part just fine.

Lead by instructions until you'd learned to instruct yourself, you could assist parents and guardians with filling forms when and if needed, knew to smile to appear more friendly, and although it was not part of your training, you had pushed yourself to remember every child's favourite book or movie character to have them be less apprehensive of you. Obliged to observe your progress, Yasui came to the conclusion that rather than the perfect employee you appeared to be a lot more like an older sister to these children. Your tendency to reject creativity that strayed too far from reality did not favour you for playtime nor were you particularly able to read books aloud the way the kids like them read, but they liked you just the same.

"I'm an only child," had been the first piece of personal information you'd disclosed, granted Yasui had asked without ill intent. After some consideration, you opted not to add you had grown up around other children; speaking of the orphanage would surely have raised more questions, and honestly, you did not have the time or patience to trust strangers.