cinderblock garden | kyouhaba

[ 1 ] i think we're onto something

yahaba didn't enjoy the "spoon-fed" life. everything he wanted was handed to him. he didn't have to work for anything, ever. most people would kill for a life like his, he knew, but to him, it was suffocating. he wanted a challenge; he didn't want to get what he wanted all the time. he craved competition. he wanted to push something and have it shove back, not cower away and let him win.

what came with his golden life was loneliness. his parents, being famous authors, were practically never home. they were always traveling, whether it be for a book signing, a writing escape or just a vacation, on which they never took yahaba. most of the time, yahaba was alone in his house. it was quite depressing, seen as how his house was so large. the vastness of it only made it feel more empty, so he spent most of his time outside in the gardens. some days he would read. others, he would bring out his record player and sit, soaking in the melodies and lyrics of each song. no matter what he did, he usually always found his way out to the flowers.

the garden was quite large and was beginning to grow unruly. overgrown vines twisted around the gates that lined the perimeter of the grounds. yahaba had found hundreds of weeds mixed in with the flowers but he didn't have the heart to pull them up. he figured the weeds were just as deserving of life as the flowers were. they were just as green and were trying just as hard to live. who's to say they didn't deserve that chance?

yahaba was concerned for the garden, though. he figured they needed a professional to come and help with it. he wanted to fix up his safe haven and his parents had never said no to him before. when he asked them to hire someone, they more than happily obliged. although his parents gave him anything he wanted, yahaba barely asked them for things. he felt guilty, already knowing the answer each time. this time, though, he wasn't doing it for himself. he was doing it for the lives of the plants around him, for they deserved a better one.

when his parents called from maui saying they had found a perfect gardener, yahaba was truly happy. he couldn't wait to see the garden go back to its previous glory. it was nearing the beginning of summer, so the buds had already bloomed. the cherry blossom tree's petals already littered the ground.

another plus side to the garden situation was that he could possibly befriend the gardener. yahaba was always in the garden, and his parents had said the gardener was quite young, around yahaba's age. hopefully, the person would be kind. yahaba went to sleep that night with a smile on his face, dreaming of what would become of the garden.

₪

the next morning yahaba woke up near noon. this was a normal occurrence for him, as he stayed up late on summer nights to watch the sunset and look at the stars. he yawned heavily, stretching out his back. he walked down the stairwell, almost slipping down the carpeted steps due to his socked feet. he hummed happily, dancing around his kitchen like he normally did. he had already poured himself a cup of coffee and put the bread in the toaster before he noticed the man sitting at his kitchen table looking at him oddly. yahaba stared back. "uhm.. who are you and why are you in my kitchen?" he asked timidly, cowering under the man's intense gaze.

the man snorted. "is that how you would greet someone who could possibly murder you or rob you?" yahaba didn't say anything, only sized the guy up. he had bleached hair, lines like racing stripes shaved in the sides of his head. he was wearing a gray t-shirt, sweat stains evident around his collar and on his lower back. his arms strained to be contained by his sleeves and yahaba stopped to take a second look.

"i think you could probably crush my skull with one arm so i won't make a smart-ass comment, in case you pull out a gun or something," yahaba said. "but seriously, who are you? i don't feel like calling the police on you."

"are you fucking serious?" the guy exclaimed, looking at yahaba incredulously. "what if i was actually a murderer?"

yahaba narrowed his eyes at the man. "i'm pretty good at reading people. plus, if you were a murderer, wouldn't you have already killed me? if you had a gun on you, you would've already shot me. if you planned to kill me but had no weapon on you, we're in a kitchen. there're knives in here," he pointed out.

the man raised an eyebrow. "so you aren't some dumb ass rich kid," he said, sounding mildly surprised. "you actually have a brain in that pretty head of yours."

yahaba laughed. "you make it sound like you're so superior. you can't be older than twenty-five."

"i'm nineteen," the guy corrected.

"whatever, i was close. that still doesn't answer my question : who are you? and why are you in my kitchen?" yahaba repeated.

"i'm kyoutani kentarou, gardener extraordinaire, at your service," the man deadpanned, standing up from the chair he was sitting in. he spread his arms and bowed ironically. he sat back in the chair, dragging the chair against the tile to create only the most annoying of noises. "i'm currently eating lunch," he explained
shortly, gesturing to his bento box. "i wish i were eating it in peace." he pointedly glared at yahaba, who suddenly felt very underdressed in teenage mutant ninja turtle boxers and a t-shirt.

yahaba crossed his arms over his chest, not negatively, but in a more amused manner. "so my parents were right," he muttered.

"right about what?" kyoutani asked accusingly.

yahaba shrugged. "they said you were young."

"that has nothing to do with my ability," kyoutani spat, shoving rice into his mouth.

"i never said it did," yahaba said simply, walking over to the toaster to catch the popped up toast out of the air. he then walked upstairs with the pieces of toast in his hand, leaving an angry and annoyed kyoutani downstairs to eat his lunch in peace.