wipingallout

"No, not really. She made sure I was ready for the dorms, but I'd only been there for a couple of months and that was before I really learned to come out of my shell, so... I was hard to remember out of about a dozen kids she was looking after. She and I didn't really know each other very well, so it would've been strange, I think... especially since I was about to age out of the foster system. The kids around ten definitely needed more attention."

It's a double edged sword... she would've liked a care package like Akihiko got, but on the other hand... she feels a lot better that she wouldn't burden the woman very much from dying.

"I wasn't quite able to shake off the feeling of... not wanting to be a burden. It's expensive to raise a child, after all, even with subsidies... a lot of my other foster parents had to work a lot harder with me when I was younger. Caretaker burnout really is... a lot."

She's sympathetic, but... it clearly hurt her, being passed around like a baton over and over. Having to retread the same ground, reintroduce herself, try to justify or explain her sobbing or sleepwalking or nightmares. Getting in trouble for drawing or saying things that were unsettling or disturbing in class.

"Especially for a child someone doesn't really... know. A lot of them would end up stressed out and traumatized from me."

Caretaker burnout really is... a lot.

The phrase echoed in his head like a cruel understatement, sharp and grating like microphone feedback in an empty auditorium. Maruki’s expression faltered—just for a moment. The usual warmth in his face dulled, replaced by something more raw, almost visibly trembling beneath the surface.

He leaned forward slightly—not out of disrespect, but instinct. The kind of instinct that came from watching someone walk barefoot through glass and realizing they believed they were meant to.

"Hamuko-san," he said softly, voice thick with disbelief, "you were just a child."

There was a weight to those words—not scolding, but defensive, protective, like someone trying to argue with the universe itself.

"How could it have ever been you who was the problem? You were grieving, displaced, put into unfamiliar places again and again—and yet you're the one explaining yourself? You're the one carrying the guilt?" His hands clenched for a second in his lap, unclenching slowly as he let out a breath.

"No child should ever feel like they need to justify their pain. That they have to perform stability to be worthy of care. It's not your fault they didn’t know how to hold space for your grief. That doesn't make you a burden—it makes the world you were placed in unfair. Inhuman, even."

There was a long pause. The tension in his shoulders hadn't quite gone down, but his voice gentled again, that familiar soft tone of a man trained to speak with hurting people—but whose heart still gets ahead of him.

"...You didn’t make anyone suffer, Hamuko. People failed you. That’s not on you."

He smiled then, quietly with the slightest bit of sorrow.

"That's the thing, though... I think both are true. I didn't do anything on purpose... I needed help that almost no one knew how to give. And it's not really their fault... a lot of them tried very hard to adjust, but just weren't equipped, and ended up feeling worse about themselves."

She shook her head, smiling sadly.

"No one's really at fault, no one was abusive... after all, who would ever understand a child trying to describe the Dark Hour, when that should just be... a nightmare. A trauma-induced nightmare. Right? And they did their very best with what they did know."

Maruki looks at her, the anger subliming to a tension drawn on light piano notes.

"Is that what you would have told your younger self?" He asks, honestly. "If she had asked for answers- would you be happy with providing her this one?"

"Hah! If I could've met my younger self... I would've taken care of her. I would've helped her, because I actually can," Hamuko laughed, shaking her head. "I'd be there for her... I'd tell her what's going on with the scary part of the night, and the coffins, and those shadowy things that growl in the corners."

That's not what Maruki asked, though. Not really.

"But if it were someone else... yes, I think it would be important for them. It's not their fault, and it's not that anyone hates them. Things are difficult and unfair, but people don't resent you. Things will change... you'll make friends... you'll find the thing in life worth fighting for."

"A world filled with kind, welcoming people...yes," he nods slowly. "Now that would be a miracle in its own right. Maybe that was our true purpose, you know? To give each other hope..."

And yet, she would grow up realizing that she would pass away before she could really even begin to enjoy life for what its worth.

"But what if you lose it when you never had the chance to savor it?" The smile insists, even if his jaw is tight with barely unbridled emotions. "What happens when the world wishes for ruin again? So many things in your life will always be out of your control- why wait to set it all right when you have the means to escape it?"

Edited 2025-07-03 10:19 (UTC)

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