[𝕋𝔸𝕂𝔸 / 𝕁𝕀]

( TAKAHĪRO )

BOTH

[ SHINJIRO ]

There are rabbits in the village.

There have not always been rabbits in the village. This is a new, recent development, and not very common. Rabbits around the village, yes. In the forest and the mountains, yes. In the village, not so much — especially ones that look like this.

In the black of night before morning, their blue eyes are piercing pinpricks of light through shadow. Their fur, dark and soft to the touch, reminds one of what clouds feel like in dreams. And the way they come close when he hums in greeting and crouches down, bearing treats of minced carrots and shredded leaf vegetables is— Takahīro has never had pets. Father would never allow it. Would kill these rabbits, surely, and strip them for meat, were he to catch them. But Takahīro imagines that the swell of affection that has come to rise within them when these little ones approach must be something like what humans feel when they see their animal companions.

He cannot speak to greet them, and has little of a tongue to click in greeting. Instead, he hums. One does not need a tongue for that, and it works just the same.

They do not know where they came from, these rabbits. But when wandering these streets in the dead of night, the town absent of its inhabitants, all of which lay dead asleep in their homes — it is… nice. To have some company.

𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐛𝐨𝐲 .

[𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐛𝐨𝐲]

There are three rabbits in a village far off in the mountains. They stay in the company of Camila, an elderly woman who would kill me if I referred to her as anything other than ‘abuela’. And would kill me again if I referred to her as ‘elderly.’ It’s not that she’s ashamed of her age, but I’m not the one who should be saying it — she only wants the sweetest, most loving sentiments from her well-intentioned grandson.

Fortunately, her companions don’t have the same lip. While tactile in its own right, they’re more keen on compensating for their blind spot to find food, instead of bullying a lovely, if overdramatic grandparent. It’s the job of one to keep her company in the middle of the night. Its warmth lets her know she’s not alone and offers me solace in the fact that if something were to go wrong, I’d know.

The other two are put to work.

Little does she or any other villager know that they stalk the perimeter in the late hours of the night. They travel in opposite directions, meeting once as they cross paths, and one more when they return home. Normally, they’re good about their job. But one has grown fond of a man with long, white hair offering treats in exchange for affection. One night, it even fell asleep in its arms as he hummed it a lullaby.

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𝕋𝔸𝕂𝔸 / 𝕁𝕀

[𝕋𝔸𝕂𝔸 / 𝕁𝕀]

( TAKAHĪRO )

BOTH

[ SHINJIRO ]

The lullaby that Takahīro’s newfound friend seems so fond of is an old one. Like many other things in their family, it has been passed down from one generation to the next. From mother to daughter, and that daughter to her own son, and so on and so forth. Grandmother sang it to Father, who sang it to Mother when she was his wife, and then Mother sang it to them.

Once, at least.

The memory of it is a faint thing. Barely a memory at all, really. More akin to an impression of something that once was. But so it exists: a ‘memory’ of laying, their two bodies curled together, in a gently rocking swing, as the wind whispered through the windows and Mother’s voice rang softly through the air.

The lullaby is also, amusingly and coincidentally, about a rabbit in and of itself.

Hush, little rabbit on the hillside…
Your eyes are as pretty as can be…

Though Takahīro has only a stump of a tongue with which to make sound, and cannot speak — he can hum, and that, for this, is enough.

Why is it that they shine so red
Won’t you tell that tale to me?

Mother sang it only the once for both of them. Takahīro never heard it again, after she fled and took Shinjiro with her. They know the words, though, because she sang it for Shinjiro often. Every night, even after his hearing left him, they saw her sadness as her mouth shaped those words. Sometimes, they used to wonder: who was that sadness for? Was it for the child she left behind? The husband who turned out to be a monster wearing a mask she’d come to love? Or was it for herself? For the wasted years at his side, and the burden she now bore of a child from that mistaken affair?

When I was but a little rabbit,
My mother ate the fruit up on a tree...

He never asked, though. There are some things you’re better off not knowing.

That summer fruit was sweet and shining
And the color of it carried on to me.

Still. Something about it provides comfort, even now — even with the bass of club music pounding through Shinjiro’s skull as he wipes down glass after glass, and even as the cold mountain air rustles the haphazard braided tail Takahīro had tied his hair into to keep it from interfering with his nightly escape, and they know there’s not much time left before he’ll have to return home.

𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐛𝐨𝐲.

[𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐛𝐨𝐲]

The morning after a visit I prepare for my day. I live closer to the train station than I do to UAU, a provision I requested to keep accessibility to my Abuela. If there’s a rare weekend I’m unable to head into the mountains, then I duplicate my rabbit a dozen or so times to give her a bunny bonanza. She enjoys the liveliness of the surprise — and, of course, I make sure to call her over the weekend to check in on her and her affairs. But this wasn’t one of those weekends.

On Thursdays I prepare twice. One for the following day, from clothes to hygiene to food, everything I need for my trip is ready to go straight from UAU. I don’t need to make a pit stop and waste valuable time dilly-dallying or getting distracted. My second preparation is for the following Monday. When I return I must continue my hero studies, meaning that I don’t have the luxury of deep-cleaning my apartment on a daily basis.

With a fridge and cabinets worth of food, a planner filled to the brim with obligations and courseloads, I head to UAU. I can arrive later than other students. While this may threaten the average person’s quality of education, my preparation, yet again, plants seeds that blossom into voluptuous pears.

My rabbits are in class.

It’s not the same as being in the class and having one on one instruction, so I make sure to sign up for extracurricular assignments for additional time and insight with my educators. Another day gone according to plan, except…

A few friends want to get drinks in the evening. And by friends I mean the overbearing class president, Watanbe Sakura, dragging me and a few other third years along for a night out.

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𝕋𝔸𝕂𝔸 / 𝕁𝕀