Halves of A Whole
Author's Notes: See, I love the twins. And I love writing about them. And Chibi twins just sounds too cute. So I wrote about how they got separated as a family and how it's like to be told that your brother doesn't exist. Because I'm... morbid like that?
Disclaimer: This story is in no way affiliated with Digimon Frontier. Under no circumstances am I going to sell, reproduce, do anything else that's illegal of this original piece of work.
"Kouji-chan! Stop teasing your brother!" Minamoto Tomoko looked at her younger son with an almost look of longing on her face. Just a few days longer and she would have to say good bye.
"I'm not, okaa-san! It's just a game we're playing!" replied the younger twin indignantly.
"Just be careful," Tomoko whispered, to herself more than anything. In a few short days that would pass like minutes, Tomoko would have to whisper those same words over the sleeping bedside of one of her sons.
In just a few short weeks, the divorce would be finalized. Minamoto Tomoko would be Kimura again. The courts had decided that each parent would take one son - a choice that Tomoko did not want and did not deserve. Worry infiltrated her midnight eyes, the eyes and characteristic both of the twins inherited.
They both had those same midnight eyes, and both pairs of eyes sparked innocence and young age. It was a shame that both pairs would be saddened and matured with the prospect of an ever-darkening future. She couldn't choose between her boys, the ones she'd loved and nurtured since they'd opened their eyes. Kousei was holding the younger twin at the time, and together, as two hearts as one, he and Tomoko, watched with unconditional love at each boy and witnessed the miracle of those midnight eyes.
And yet, love was soon to be lost. It was so easy to be lost in the waves of happiness bestowed on the family of four; so simple to be swallowed by the evening tide of love. Tomoko felt tears tug at the corners of her eyes as she looked at the former person that kept her soul at ease and her heart occupied, at the man with a face hardened through time and a spirit honed by another. Timidly, she reached a shaking hand to her bandana and readjusted it slowly, unable to break her concentration in any other way.
"You can't have them both," said Kousei coldly, noticing the broken look on his soon-to-be-former wife's face. "I think I'll take Kouji."
Tomoko rounded on him, tears freely falling down her cheeks. "How can you talk about separating our sons for life so light-hearted? You're cruel, to do that to two children." Tomoko shook with anger and unbearable sadness.
Her weakness made Kousei angry. "If they're any sons of mine, they'll bear."
"They're just children! If one son was to stay with me, he'd need a father. If the other was to stay with you, he'd need a mother. Please don't leave me, for our sons' sake!" Tomoko pleaded.
"No matter how much you beg, I've made up my mind," Kousei said, though softer and more troubled.
Yes, they were just children. It was true that one would need a father, the other one a mother, though the latter was a bit more easy to fix, although some wounds, especially in a family tie, grew too deep and could only scar. Kousei realized too, that he would be condemning his sons to a life apart.
They were not to know about each other; not to know that the other existed.
Kousei looked away to the boys, scampering over each other, no clue as to what was going on and what would happen. Perhaps they could share one of these last moments together as older and younger twin, expecting life to turn out well and full and happy, when the contrary was that it wasn't.
"Kouichi-oniichan! Come here!" Kouji cried, his longish hair whipping after him as he skipped towards one of the seesaws.
Kouichi scampered over towards his brother on short, unsteady legs. "Can I go first?"
"No fair!" Kouji replied angrily. He wanted to go high first.
"Then we'll go at the same time," Kouichi settled.
Kouji laughed and smiled. "Don't be silly, we can't do that!"
Kouichi smiled back. "Let's see!"
And Kouichi laughed and bounded toward the other side of the seesaw, and they both played, and the creaking of the child's toy seemed to send everyone in that family on their own seesaw. There were other children in the playground, but the Minamoto family seemed to be the only ones there. They were isolated from everyone else; no one was playing or watching except for them. This would be the last time.
Kouji went up. Kouichi went up. Both of them went up and down in a course that had no aim, no balance. That's exactly how the tearing family was: The lonely seesaw just waiting for a balance. It was not waiting for a 'someone' exactly. It was waiting for a 'something' to make it so it could be even, and the family was waiting for the same 'something' for the same kind of reason.
"Kimura Kouichi." Tomoko tasted the name on her lips. It was almost unbearable to say, as it was more unbearable to think of the boy like that. In her eyes he was a Minamoto, and in her hopes they would all be the Minamoto family once more. She could walk up to the house, with the stainless steel plaque and the black, neatly written calligraphy-style Kanji with "Minamoto" imbedded in it, with a feeling of confidence and belonging.
Tomoko knew of the inevitable. She knew for a fact that Kousei would get his way, and the hard years for her and her oldest son that were transcribed for the future were inevitable, unthinkable, and unbearable. And yet why did she hesitate to face the raw truth? Was it because she knew she couldn't beat it? Tomoko fidgeted with her bandana once more, but this time, refused to look into that cold, indifferent look on Kousei's face.
Kousei could just sleep with Satome and everything would be better for him, wouldn't it? Everything about life with Tomoko and his older brother could be erased from Kouji's mind, so the boy didn't have to grow up more troubled and troubling than life would already be foreseen for him. Yes, this was how things would have to be. Nothing about the other should be known. It would be wrong for it. It would be desperately wrong to hurt the boys furthut.
"Kousei," Tomoko said, confidence building in her voice. "I... I mean, I think the best thing for the boys would be to not tell them about each other. Make sure they forget. I... don't want to be a bother on you and Satome-kun and I don't want the boys to be troubled about the identity of the other."
Kousei's hard expression softened several grades. "I'm sorry it has to be this way, Tomoko."
She was stunned. She shook, out of disbelief. She didn't think Kousei would agree to not having anything to do with his older son from now on.
It's for the best, she thought desperately. Even some relief would have been more of a comfort. All I want is best for my sons.
"Yes," Tomoko replied, trying to hide the fierceness she was feeling. "I'm sorry it must be this way." I'm sorry I must leave my younger son behind.
It had started to rain at that point, as if the sky was crying down at the exchange of words and the separation and isolation that would befall the former family for another six years, just to give a tiny taste of the desperation Tomoko and even indifferent Kousei felt. The midnight in three pairs of eyes would darken into a deeper color, for an eternity it would seem.
"Yes," Tomoko repeated. "It is for the best," she said, clutching Kouji's hand as if she never wanted to let go on their walk home. "To the elder you won't exist," she whispered, almost silent to the younger twin, whose face played happiness and expression would change later.
The house with the silver plaque and the single Kanji that read "Minamoto" would serve its last purpose of holding this family of four. Tomoko decided desperately and despairingly that she would indeed, leave tonight as to not bestow any more grief and second thoughts on herself.
Tomoko hugged herself, in spite of the warm house. She wandered to Kouji and bent and wrapped him in a warm hug, risking burying her face in the hair the boy never cut.
The boy grew rigid; even at his age he could almost tell when something was up. "Okaa-san, why are you hugging me this way?"
Tomoko released herself and cursed herself silently for being stupid and making the kid suspicious, but tucked some stray locks of his hair behind his ear and kissed him on his forehead. She stood up at long last and turned away from the shrugging Kouji, with tears forming dangerously in her eyes. She would not show weakness now.
Dinner was a tense affair. Everyone proceeded normally, the twins even pulled a cheerful, carefree, "Itadakimasu!" as their curry was laid out in front of them. When they finished, or rather, finished as much as they could, the twins made ready to scamper off to the bathroom where they would bathe on a normal occasion.
"Wait!" Tomoko cried. "I wanted to have... a special dessert today." She couldn't help but whisper to herself. "The last dessert."
Kousei shot Tomoko a warning look, but it completely diminished as Kouichi came wandering back into the kitchen with his brother on his heels.
"Dessert?" Kouichi inquired.
"Dessert?" Kouji echoed.
She laid out a dish of ice cream in front of each boy.
"Ice cream!" Kouichi cheered. On his dish was a heaping helping of strawberry, his favorite.
Vanilla lay on the dish of Kouji. His favorite flavor of ice cream. Tomoko felt she wouldn't ever forget that Kouji's favorite flavor was vanilla. Never.
The rest of the evening progressed almost normally, but by the time the boys were asleep, Tomoko was a nervous wreck.
She looked defiantly at Kousei, and no words could describe her feelings of sadness or anger or betrayal at him at this moment. He knew this; after all, this was a women he had married, and even thought he loved. No. There was no use denying that he did in fact love her before, but how this simple woman could think of an idea that was so rash as to erase the other twin's existence was definitely a shock to him. But there was no doubt that it was the only option.
Kousei ruffled his elder son's hair and with a painful expression, he turned to Tomoko, "I'll get your bags."
Tomoko lay her cheek against her younger son's. It was soft and warm, and Tomoko wished that she could feel it forever, but knew she couldn't. She kissed that same cheek and the boy stirred, but did not awaken. She ripped off her bandana and lay it by his pillow.
"Good bye," she whispered, tears running down her face. She picked up her older son from the other bed and cuddled him, and the older boy stirred, like his brother, but did not wake from the night's slumber. She buried her face in his blanket, hoping the boy wouldn't be alarmed by the wetness.
Kouichi was all she had now.
In the car, rain pattered against the windows softly. The sky was still mourning for the loss of Tomoko's younger son. She drove off, but she wouldn't forget the grave look on Kousei's face and felt as if she'd won over him at last: she had his oldest son. But the won also brought a loss and Tomoko cried to her mother when she got to that area of town as the two boys were quietly resting as the tables turned on their lives during the troubled night.
The next morning had mixed reactions.
Kouji woke up frightened. Clutched in his hands was his mother's bandana, but how could that have gotten there? Where was she? Where was onii-san? Usually, by now, okaa-san would be taking Kouichi-oniisan and himself out of bed to change and yet breakfast.
From the height of the shadow and light in the room, it must have been much later than normal. Where were they?
"Otou-san!" Kouji's small voice was filled with fear and confusion. He clutched the bandana for some kind of hope, some kind of guidance.
Last night's dream was very troubling.
Okaa-san walked into the room, filling the dark room with the hall light. She seemed to be wrapped in it, so it gave the optical illusion that she was the source for the light. But there was no light in her eyes; only sadness and pain. She came toward the smaller figure, sleeping in the night and dropped him her bandana and a kiss and a farewell.
She left the room and the light was gone.
Kousei found his way into his sons' room. No. Not anymore. Hisonly son's room.
"Otou-san! Okaa-san disappeared. Where is Kouichi-oniichan?" Kouji wanted to find solace within his father, but the look in his eyes was the same.
The same look of pain, confusion, and Kouji could almost see, which was impossible because he was so young - regret. " 'Okaa-san' is... dead."
"Okaa-san is dead?" Kouji quoted. "But doesn't that mean she will never come back? Doesn't dead mean that okaa-san is gone? But why? Does she not love us anymore?"
Kousei grimaced. It was the opposite, really. "Your mother... got hurt." It was true, too. Tomoko had received direct damage to the heart. "And she's dead and will never come back. It's not that she doesn't love us."
A flicker of understanding and crushing sorrow sufficed in Kouji. But still, the boy persisted. "But where is Kouichi-oniichan? Kouichi-niichan! Where is he!"
Alarm grew in Kousei's face. "There is no one named Kouichi. You do not have a brother named Kouichi. You're lying."
Tears grew in Kouji's eyes. "I know I have a brother. Is he dead too, like okaa-san!"
"There is no one. There is no one named Kouichi. Stop lying, ungrateful child," Kousei spat.
"There is no Kouichi-niichan?" Kouji asked fearfully.
"No. Kouichi doesn't exist."
Tears rolled off Kouji's face onto his pillow, forever dampening his spirits and weighing down his heart. "I know he's real," he sniffed.
"Kouichi doesn't exist," Kousei repeated, swinging his arm around his only son.
Kouji looked up at his father, who wasn't looking at him. Kouji saw coldness, indifference, the hardness, so much unlike his gentle, kind, sweet mother. He wriggled out of his father's grasp and clutched the mysterious bandana that had somehow wandered onto his bed. He wanted to scream, to yell, to run, to have someone understand that he wasn't lying, that he wasn't a liar, that Kouichi-niichan was real. He turned away from his father, holding the bandana and looking into it like it was some kind of gem. It was the only thing he had. He shivered at the thought, because the morning's news had caused a little boy of five years to age in a way he shouldn't have. Kouji carefully slid the bandana over his head, trembling as he did so, as if it had some magical power that would somehow make the world alright again.
But as the days dragged on, Kouji had no memory of his dear older twin brother, and with a heavy heart, had to accept that his mother was dead.
Something dawned on Kouichi as Tomoko lifted him up out of the carrier. This was not his home. This was not where he lived.
"Kouichi, Kouichi-chan," someoned cooed into his ear. That was not Mother. That was not Father.
Kouichi jumped, but didn't go far as he was in his mother's arms. "Okaa-san?" He turned and looked to the left.
There was a lady with wrinkled skin peering into his face. "Hello, Kouichi-chan."
This was definitely not someone Kouichi knew. He tried to find solace by looking up into his mother's eyes, but there was also something definitely wrong about Tomoko's eyes. Usually they were vibrant and full of life, and Kouichi and his brother would always become happy again by looking or playing at or with their mother. Speaking of which...
"Kouji? Where's otouto-chan?" Kouichi questioned. "And my room?"
Tomoko looked at her son sadly. Her eyes were dark and there were bags under them. "Don't be silly, there's no one named Kouji in our family. But the reason we're at grandmother's house is because otou-san doesn't not love us anymore."
Kouichi's eyes welled up with tears. "But why? Otou-san said he loved us. Me, and you, and otouto-chan!" he exclaimed.
"I've said so before," said Tomoko icily. "There's no one named Kouji. You do not have a brother named Kouji."
"I do!" Kouichi cried. "I do! I do! I do! Kouji is my brother, otou-san loves us, we are a family!"
Even a child as young as Kouichi had to endure the maturing over the span of a few minutes. But he had to let everyone know he was right. Kouji was real, didn't they just play together yesterday?
Tomoko heard Kouichi's words and sobbed. She did not stop crying for a long time, and so Kouichi began to cry also. They were a faucet, running out the last of their tears and the last of their memories.
"Kouji is real!" Kouichi sobbed, but even he wasn't so sure. His voice was quieter, more troubled, and it would remain that way.
"No," sniffed Tomoko. "No, stop making up things that aren't true." Saying those words was like a knife to her chest, and she was writing out her own son to the one that loved him most.
"That lady took us away, didn't she?" Kouichi asked. "We were supposed to be a family."
Kouichi jumped out of his mother's arms, and raised his own, walking steadily to the bed he slept on for the night and pounded it, beat it, wanted it to feel some kind of the confusion and sadness in his own heart.
"Kouichi-chan!" Tomoko exclaimed.
"He's real!" Punch. "We're a family!" Punch.
Kouichi soon grew more worn out with each bed-beating.
Grandmother Kimura scooped him up in her own arms and was carrying him away. Kouichi felt a strange love in her though. Even she had a mask of sadness, of worry, and Kouichi could almost bet, regret.
"Let me go," Kouichi squirmed.
"Kouichi!" said Tomoko disapprovingly. "That's not the way you treat your elders, especially your grandmother.
"My... grandmother?" his voice was quiet, but knowing.
"This was always how it was," Tomoko said.
"Always?" again, Kouichi was quiet.
"No," Tomoko whispered to herself, out of Kouichi's range of hearing. She looked sadly at her son, who by this time would have been bouncing around and laughing and playing games. But Kouichi was silent, looked forlorn and exhausted from pounding all of his anger and sadness into the bed. "But it will never be the same."
The End.