Angels Overheard

To Begin

01.

Kuroko stares out at the group of children through foggy glass panes. The blinds of his room are a soft blue hue, scattered with pale flowers, courtesy of his mother. Fingering the soft fabric, Kuroko listens, and drinks in the muffled laughter that filters in.

Kuroko remembers the first game he played with a group of children in his elementary school - hide and seek. He really didn't hide anywhere very difficult - it was under the long table in the meal room, and Kuroko can still remember staring at the little plastic alphabet hemmed into the tablecloth for well over an hour before the teachers stared calling for him. Kuroko thought he'd won, which sent his little heart into a small flutter of pride, but then he saw his group of frien- classmates, gathered in a small group, now playing a different game.

A soft shuffle.

A creak of door hinges.

Kuroko pretends he doesn't see, but he knows that his parents are just outside the playroom, watching him with a mixture of disappointment and frustration. Kuroko wants to say that it isn't his fault that he's just not as noticeable, but he can't bring himself to get angry. Kuroko can never bring himself to lash out at his over-expecting parents who spend more time overseas than with their own son. After all, it isn't their fault that they have a pathetic son.

"I don't know what to do do with him."

There is an undertone of accusation in his mother's hushed voice that stings slightly, but Kuroko has had worse.

"What is the point of signing him up for all throes extra tuition, calligraphy, and swimming lessons if the kid isn't even the slightest bit motivated? Does he even try? He's barely even noticeable it's getting ridiculous!"

Kuroko shuts his eyes and curls against the window, willing himself to sink into the seat or disappear into the glass. He tries to block the words out, and yet the pierce of each syllable tugs at his heart. His face is in its default blank look, that apathetic expression that make people think he's feelingless, emotionless, but it does hurt. It's okay, he says (fiercely) because he's used to hearing his parents talk about him like that, but sometimes, they seem to forget that Kuroko is just human.

"Dear, you must try talking to him."

"And say what? He never listens. Al he does is stares and says he understands, but does he? Really?"

"He's still young-"

"Young? He's 10! That isn't considered 'young' anymore. I haven't the time nor patience for this. He's your useless son, you do something. I need to be on the next plane to Madrid. You're his mother. You fix him."

An indignant yelp, and more sharp whispers.

"You are never home anymore! And its not like I am that free either! I was just offered a modelling gig in Paris! You know how difficult it is to-"

The whispers drop to harsh hushed sounds that he can barley make out, but the annoyance and irritation is apparent in the fading words

"...let the sitter deal with him or something, which one is it again today... I really don't know what to do with him..."

Footfalls and the slamming of doors.

The house finally falls into a palpable silence so thick it chokes him.

Kuroko uncurls himself from a ball, faded blue eyes staring out through the fogged window glass out into the gravel driveway leading to the high, wrought iron gates. They swing open with loud creaks that he is so familiar with, and he watches blankly as two sleek cars back out, one after the other, onto the road.