#masteredkey

The wall is crowded, frames fighting for space, side by side and spilling around the corner. Vanitas has found his way into some, squished between her and his aunts and uncles, smiling and proud of her boy. There are more, older than him, and her fingers brush the edges, smoothing over wood her father once carved. Her parents smile down at her from above and she smiles back, tentative and shaky but whole in the home they had built for her.

I wish they could have met him, she thinks, and her smile trembles as the tears fall. I wish they could see me now.

{ He’s such an asshole, her son bursts out, and she looks up, watches as he kicks the chair and stalks around the table, face twisted into the frown she knows so well. Who, she asks, but she knows, of course she knows, she’s seen them snarl at each other, approved their punishment. He throws himself on the couch beside her, and doesn’t jerk away when she smoothes his hair. That damned pretty boy, he grumbles, and watching him glare under her hand, she thinks oh. }

She watches them then, in class and the corridors, pays attention to the whispers of her students. Hate is the word most commonly used, she realizes, fighting and angry and trouble wrapped in one. At school she is not Thirteen, she is Ms Lee, teacher and kind and beloved by her students; all but one.

Riku, she murmurs, catching him alone. He is not frightened, of course not, she is no more frightening than her son, but he looks defiant, in a way. I may be Vanitas mother, but I will listen to you just as I would listen to anyone else. Please do not treat me differently.

{ She meets his parents like she meets all the other, crammed in a room with parents and teachers and anxious teenagers. Riku is a hard worker, she tells them, but her eyes are caught in the shutters over Rikus eyes, in the way his hands are clenched on his knees. Will you be talking about relationships, his mother asks, and Rikus cheeks burn red in shame at her sneer. Oh, she thinks, and something sour rises in her throat. }

There are shouts and yells, fight, fight, fight, and a cold stone drops into her stomach. Her feet are carrying her before she knows, shoulders unfurling and the soldier in her breast coming to life. Move, she roars, and students scatter before her footfalls like leaves before a hurricane.

She lifts them away like they are nothing, and stands between Riku and those who mock him. What do you think you’re doing, she thunders, and her eyes flash as they reply. He’s a freak, they shout, and she scowls, six foot three of protective fury and terrible understanding. He is no more freak than you.

{ You are a child, she tells him, and watched his shoulders tense. Riku. You have your whole life ahead of you. Her hand curls over his shoulder, and she ducks to meet his gaze, blue on gold, a smile curling at her lips. Do not live it in shame or fear, she whispers, and watches the corners of his lips lift, more than she has seen in days. }

Nighttime falls and it finds her changing the sheets, smoothing the pillows and cleaning the wardrobe. Vanitas watches from the doorway, scowl on his face as he hides in the shadows. She cannot resist helping a child in need, not even one with such a strange relationship with her son.

If you want to stay the night, you can, she tells him quietly, standing in the not – quite - spare room. There is music coming from her son’s room, thunderous in protest, but she smiles gently at Riku. She will not turn him away, she will not let him suffer.

{ You are my son, she tells him, hands on his shoulders and eyes locked with his. You are number one in my heart, and I will never, ever leave you. I love you more than the stars in the sky, and I know you love me too. In this, you must trust me. }

It is different now, one child angry and another finding his place, and her, in between them pleading and coaxing them to some kind of truce – or maybe, only when only she is around. There are signs, voices not quite as loud, wary silences rather than hissed insults and she starts watching again.

They are both her sons, maybe, in a way, and she finds shirts that belongs to Riku in her laundry more and more. He has a photo now, her arms pulling them both in over their protests, and she smiles when she sees it because she knows them both, she knows that they are here willingly, she knows that the wall will overflow with more photos in the years to come.

❝ Sit back and watch the world go by. ❞

“I know for sure, without a doubt, if I run and jump ‘nto Riku’s arms he’ll catch me.”