Long Forgotten Pasts (OHSHC Story) DISCONT'D

Chapter Six

Iris slowly woke, waking up to the warmth caused by the fact that she was swaddled in blankets. She enjoyed the warmth surrounding her, as she had never been tucked in in quite that way, even by the woman that claimed to be her mother (she had been adopted by the odd woman without her consent), and her apartment tended to be cold, especially in the quickly-approaching winter months. She snuggled into them gratefully, humming in delight of the new, human feeling.

Suddenly, the unbroken silence was overwhelmed by a whooshing sound, and she saw a dim beam of light through her one, uncovered eyelid, dyeing it red and orange. She peeked open her ice blue eye and looked up, and she blinked a few times before turning her head to look for where the light was coming from, only for the figure of a fifteen or sixteen-year-old boy to block it out. He was holding the curtain of the canopied bed she lie in back, and she watched him with a doe-eyed, innocent gaze and a questioning look. In turn, he smiled gently down at her, bending at the waist, which caused her to scrunch her frosty-white eyebrows together over her dulled eyes.

No one dared to smile at her...

No one except for him...

But he wasn't in that world.

She slowly began to wake up from the thought, if only slightly.

"What would your name be, little one?" he asked, and it took her a moment to realise he was speaking Japanese. After she had gotten her brain to start functioning properly, she answered him with a childish voice, which cracked in her tiredness.

"Iwis..." She paused to rub her eye. "Iwis-Emmiwine, awdough(although) you can caww(call) me Ayame..." She yawned and felt herself begin to drift off once again, snuggling into the pillow, which caused him to chuckle.

"Now, Ayame-chan, don't fall back asleep on me," he said with a voice that was directed to a child, but it wasn't so bad as for her to be annoyed. More like he just wanted to treat her that way. She finally began to study his features, beginning to wake up more.

He had messy, ash-grey hair that stuck out everywhere, as though he had just gotten out of bed, reminding her of her twin brothers' or best friend's, although a pair of steampunk goggles were holding some down, and the tan, leather straps that held them on were all but lost in the grey strands. He also had heterochromia of the rarest kind, too, leaving him with a bright, fiery red eye and a yellowy-orange one like butter or margarine, and he wore the boy's uniform, just without the blazer, with the first few buttons of his button-up undone, revealing a gameboy tee, the shirt untucked from his pants, and his tie loose. His skin was fair, as well, and his height was somewhere between five and six feet, closer to the latter but not quite there. She couldn't help but think him handsome, although she quickly scolded herself.

Gray would have such a fit if he knew you thought that! she thought. She subconsciously reached for the locket hidden under her collar, only to realise it wasn't there. This was all it took for her to fully wake up and to slip right into a panic attack.

She began to shake and kicked at the blankets, trying to get them off. Her visible eye flashed with fear, and tears threatened to fall as she thrashed about like a wild animal waking to a small cage, her teeth bared to little, white canines that resembled a cat's and her white eyepatch becoming loose.

Suddenly, she felt the blankets ripped off of her and arms carefully but hurriedly pulling her up to sit. She looked up with crazed, blindly-clouded eyes, the eyepatch drooping to show her left, only to see the teen's white button-up and grey tee as she was brought to his chest. He held her with warm, calloused hands pressing into her back and head, and he sat down next to her, pulling her into his lap and pushing her head against his shoulder (or chest, really).

"It's alright, okay? Here..." he comforted while reaching over to the nightstand, keeping her held tightly to his chest so that she wouldn't fall. He sat completely back on the bed before finishing his sentence, "Is this what you were looking for?" She looked up, seeing her good-sized, gold and emerald clover locket hanging from its beaded chain in his clenched hand. She quickly snatched it, pulling it to herself with small hands as he replaced his back on her head, although he didn't pull her against him once again.

She pried it open, holding it close so that he wouldn't see as she studied the pictures, calming herself with the remembrance of when they were taken. Night, Evening, and Noon. Fall, Spring, Autumn, and Summer. The arguing in voices that were slowly fading, about who should stand where and what pose they should do. How it was wasting their time and how they just wanted to get it over with, and the undertone that told that they were actually surprised and happy she wanted them to be in it. She sighed as she looked down at the picture of her and her beloved.

"Is that you?" a sudden voice asked, and she jolted as the man's finger pointed to one of the joined leaves of the locket. In it was indeed her, eyes shining brilliantly but still just as blind, as though they were opal or moonstone, and she was peeking around a tall man's back, on which she was riding piggyback. He was a middle-aged man who wore a button-up-the first five or so buttons unbuttoned-a black coat, black, legging-like pants, and a purple plaid scarf, which hung casually around his neck. Half of the scarf was wrapped around her neck, though, and a small smile graced her beautiful features. She wore a punk grey umbrella skirt with over-knee combat boots, black stockings, a light pink, frilly blouse with what appeared to be sheaths at the wrists, matching the man's, and an equally frilly apron. She waved to the camera with a fair hand, which seemed to have dark marks around the joints, as though they were cast in shadow, but her other, closer hand was covered in a white, fingerless glove. Finally, a panda stuffed animal poked out from behind his back, and a dark, ashy purple dot under her eye stood out against her almost white skin.

She jolted, causing her eye patch to finally fall, allowing him to see the fleur-de-lis under her left eye, the same colour as the dot in the picture. He hadn't noticed it yet, though, still focused on the picture. "You're very pretty, although you seem a bit older than you do now. Just the look of you, I guess. Is that your father?" he wondered aloud. "And what's in the background?"

She thought of how to react. Only one person in that world showed her such affection, but he was in his club, and he never truly trusted her. And the others either weren't alive or weren't in that world.

"Yesss..." she hissed quietly. "But he is not my father. I haven't seen Papa in a couple years," she admitted, looking to the side.

This caused him to move his gaze from the picture to her eyes, finally seeing the fleur-de-lis under hers. "I'm sorry. Did I bring up a sensitive subject?" he asked. She shook her head no, although tears filled her eyes. He gave her a quick squeeze before looking back into her eyes.

"You know, crying doesn't do much. You should try smiling," he whispered to her, wiping a tear with his thumb. He noticed how the fleur-de-lis had no texture under his finger pad, as though it was part of her skin. This confused him, but he knew better than to ask then. He pulled her into another hug, and she didn't protest. "I know how you feel, too. I haven't seen my mom since I was eight. Went on a business trip and never came back. Dad looked so heartbroken, and when I'd ask, he'd just shake his head and say he'd tell me when I was older..." He sighed into her hair.

She continued the debate in her mind. It would be nice to have another friend, one who didn't know and judge her for her every secret. On the other hand, she would be leaving as soon as the year was done. Still, she thought,

Should she hug him, or should she pull away?

And without thinking, she hugged him back, grasping his shirt in clenched hands as she buried her face in his chest.

And just as she did so, the door creaked open to talking, and the person gasped in shock.