Crawling (Bennoda One-Shot)

"I don't wanna go!"

Shouts the minuscule, tan five year old whom throws his color pencils down, making each pencil fly in random directions. His tiny feet pound the ground repeatedly, while his even more tinier hands clench in two fists. He squints his eyes, making them appear even more Japanese like his father whom is causing this tantrum to occur in the middle of the living room floor.

The little boy stomps down his tiny foot for the final time, making it land in the center of the drawing that he spent the afternoon working on. By the looks of it, he does cares, but he doesn't care enough to even look down to see if his art is okay. Instead, he continues staring up at his father with tears growing in eyes.

He starts to realize there's no way he's going to win this long battle, even with the amount of fits he thrown ever since the news got broke to him, and it's destroying him from the inside. Because of this, the small amount of tears grow into many more. He then starts to wail before dashing out of the living room, escaping to his room where he can continue to bawl into his small black pillow, all alone.

Unfortunately for him, being alone ends abruptly with a small knock on his door before the door fully opens. He doesn't lift his head though. He knows who the person is by the scent that lingers through the room. That scent knows how to comfort him in times like these.

He turns his head when he feels rubbing motions on his back. "Oh Michael," His mother sighs. "Kindergarten is not that bad as you're making it out to be." She begins to explain. "You can make friends,"

"I don't want friends, Mommy." He mumbles in his pillow, interrupting her.

"And you make make art." She finishes, she smiles as her son perks his head up. She knew that'll get him interested. She continues. "There's way more art supplies there than what you have at home."

He finally looks at her. "Really?" His brown eyes go wide in excitement. She nods quickly, wiping her son's wet cheeks with her sleeve. "Lets go then! What are we waiting for?!" He shouts, getting up from his small bed.

He grabs his mother's sleeve, trying to yank her off the bed with him. She gets up and begins to follow him out of the room. "Michael, wait!" She laughs, stopping him from going outside in just his pajamas and socks. He turns around with a confused expression. "It's nine at night, and school doesn't start until tomorrow in the morning." She tells him, shaking her head at her overexcited child.

"Oh." He says in a quiet voice. "Where's my drawing?" He asks, looking around.

"On the living room floor where you left it." His father tells him as he enters the room from the kitchen.

His father embraces his mother, and gives her a kiss on the lips after she turns her head to look at him. Mike cannot help but cover his eyes. "Ew!" He squeals as he runs away to go to his art.

"Don't get too hyper Michael!" Shouts his mother. "It's soon going to be bedtime!"

Mike hums along with the hip-hop album in his small cassette player that he holds tightly in his small hands as he draws. He nibbles on his bottom lip, wondering why every hip-hop album he has keeps pausing after what it seems like every line or word the rapper decides to say. Maybe the tape is broken? He shrugs at the question, and continues to focus primarily on his art. Well, until his mother scoops him up from the floor, leaving his drawing behind.

His father picks up the drawing, and gathers the different color pencils to follow the both of them up the stairs. Mike begins to suck on his small thumb before yawning in his mother's shoulder.

His mother lies him down in his bed, and begins to tuck him in. She bends over to give him a small kiss on the cheek. "Good night, and sweet dreams, my darling. I'll see you in the morning." She says, rubbing his small arm. Mike nods slowly before beginning to drift off into slumber.