Speaks Volume

I do not own TWEWY, Square Enix does!

Written for Twelve Shots of Summer - Week 2…

Izo walked over to the television, making sure his footsteps were light and quiet. He threw his head around to check his surroundings before settling down, reaching his left hand to the power button and his right to the volume button. After a moment of hesitating, he pressed the power button and began to turn down the volume, watching as the television quieted, luckily not on full blast like the first time.

The 8 year old had no idea how many times he had done this, waiting for his adoptive parents to fall asleep, to sneak downstairs to watch television without disruption or disapproval… But it was worth it, he told himself as he quickly grabbed the remote, pressing at the buttons for the channel he wanted. As much as he hated going against his adoptive mother's decision, he couldn't help it.

He liked poetry.

It had been a few days ago when he was introduced to poetry, although he had no clue for what it was exactly… He just happened to be watching the television with Rei when her show was finished, so he let her surf the channels since he knew he wasn't much of a television person… most times. But she happened to pass the channel where there was a Shakespeare classic being run, and he had barely heard much when he asked if they could watch the channel. Rei seemed to mind, but Izo guessed she didn't change the channel because there happened to be a sword fight going on. Izo noticed how she was trying to imitate them while using a broom she was supposed to use to sweep the living room floor with.

But then his adoptive mother happened to come over and noticed what they were watching, then turned off the television. Izo didn't protest, Rei did, but he didn't… as painful as it was to stare into the dark screen of the turned off television… Apparently Etsu felt as though he was too young to watch that sort of program, and the next thing he knew she was trying to get him to read one of his books. However, his mind couldn't focus on the pages, only the screen.

He wanted to watch more of the show; he wanted to know what happened… The speaking pattern was different, and it… captivated him… Through talking with Genji, his adoptive father, he learned it was poetry…

After letting the words consume his hearing, he blinked and tried to tuck his dark blue hair behind his ears. The story today was of Romeo and Juliet… He didn't really care much about that mushy stuff, his classmates did… But the word patterns… he could begin to hear their patterns… He instantly took out his tiny notebook from his pocket and tried to write down what he thought was the right pattern… After checking it over, he wanted to try it himself. So he wrote down what he could then studied it.

The blackness of the television, I stare into its blankness.

It's cold, it's shiny, yet it shares life.

I could hardly feel its warmth, its

Izo grimaced, he couldn't think of anymore. At once he put down his notebook, sighing softly as he turned back to the television.

He didn't know why, or how poetry captivated him this much, but the rhythm was pleasing on his tongue… the words were breathtaking… He couldn't help but love it.

Sadly, he felt odd again. Every time he snuck down to watch the channel, he would feel as though he was committing something that shouldn't be done, something that was forbidden… Izo wasn't one to sneak around or disobey his adoptive parents' orders, he disliked the feeling of knowing he had disappointed them… But he loved every bit of poetry… he knew it was wrong to disobey his adoptive mother, but he couldn't help it…

Poetry was something new, exciting… It was far different than his usual hobbies of reading books (especially the dictionary to refresh his memory on words), doing puzzles in the evening, or once in a while being convinced to watch a television show with his… sister. His mind whirled as he heard the rhythms and patterns, so much that his usual activities were starting to become bland to him.

When his teacher started to teach them how to create poems today, he couldn't help but feel exhilarated. But the other kids, on the other hand, didn't seem to like it. Izo could tell they were having trouble with it and instead of asking for help they would complain about it to their friends. It confused him for why they didn't like it.

He remembered also that the teacher wanted to select a few students to share the poems they came up with. He didn't think they did a great job, mostly were about roses being red and violets being blue for some reason… The ones on the channel were a lot better…

Despite his newfound love for poetry, he didn't want people finding out about how he liked it… He thought that if he shared his poem, the teacher could tell his adoptive parents and he didn't want that… So Izo tried his best to not be chosen but the teacher didn't seem to want to exclude him… She managed to get him to stand up and share despite how much he shook his head at her. How the kids reacted didn't help either, there was dead silence.

He couldn't take it, all those stares… He didn't like having attention on him; it always gave him an awkwardness that he would rather avoid. In the orphanage he lived for the first 5 years of his life, he was mostly ignored; no one wanted to be near him. It was somewhat frustrating and peaceful… but standing up and receiving the silence after sharing was too much for him. Everything that had transpired for the last few days had finally gotten to him at that moment, it felt like all his efforts for what he tried so hard to hide was going to crumble. He had to fight away the urge to cry in front of everyone when he sat down and pretended his poem hadn't been spoken.

The teacher was the only one who came up to him to praise him for his work. It was odd, but he felt proud and ashamed of himself, dreading what would happen when his exuberant teacher would most likely tell his adoptive parents what he had done. He wished the teacher hadn't picked him… Why didn't she understand he shouldn't be encouraged for it? He had to be discouraged for it; his adoptive mother didn't want him to learn it… he was too young to learn it…

Another part of him protested he had to do this! He loved this! Why should he stop if it was something he loved!? But his adoptive mother gave him a clear idea he wasn't meant to see it… That thought made his pencil falter, stopping his attempt to correct his poetry.

He stared down at the current page, narrowing his eyes then feeling heat behind them. At once he blinked, roughly rubbing them to try to keep his tears from leaking out.

Izo wanted to hear it, he wanted to create it… it spoke deeper to him than anything he had ever tried or experienced… Poetry's patterns were something he couldn't drive out from his thoughts. It was present in them, as though living and breathing, being a part of him… like someone imprinted them deep within his soul.

The limits placed on him should have guided him, not frustrated him… So why was this different than other times…?

He began to feel his eyelids droop. He rubbed at his eyes, trying to stay awake… If he fell asleep, his adoptive mother would know what he did if she found him asleep in front of the television…

Izo let out a tiny yawn into his pajama sleeve, turning his head to the stairs then back at the television. He didn't understand why his adoptive mother thought he was too young to watch the show, to hear the poetry, to hear its patterns… when it was so wonderful...

Once again he yawned, closing his eyes briefly then blinking quickly. He tried his best to stay awake, but more and more as the night dragged on did he feel himself let his eyes close for longer periods of time…

Izo blinked, he closed his eyes, as everything in the room was blurry. He let out a yawn before he pawed for his glasses then put them on, adjusting them slightly as he looked around. He didn't remember going back to his room, which was weird considering he was downstairs…

Alarm seized him and he widened his eyes. 'H-How?' Instantly he threw off his covers, inhaling deeply as he grabbed onto his hair. 'How did I get here!? Did they… did they find out!?' Nausea arose in him as he soon sat down, shaking his head, as he felt a bit lightheaded as emotions whirled inside of him. 'I-I can't believe this… th-they must know now… I'm going to get in a lot of trouble… I can't get in trouble! I-I can't…'

Eventually he placed his head into his hands, trembling in the silence and darkness of his room.

How could he let down his guard? He knew he should have been more careful. The other nights he was careful… but last night he was not on his guard… He knew he pretty much screwed his cover… His adoptive mother must have seen him. It was mostly his fault; Izo knew he shouldn't have snuck around like he did… He wanted to just get back in bed and pretend to sleep… His appetite vanished at the idea of sitting down for breakfast and being chastened by his adoptive parents.

Hopefully they paid no mind to his notebook. He let out a sigh then proceeded to get it out and check over it…

At once Izo stiffened. He patted his pajama's pocket, panicking when it was empty. 'No! Where is it!?' At once he turned around and jumped on his bed, tearing his pillows and blankets off it as his breathing accelerated and his droopy strands of hair was slapping his own face as he searched. He couldn't have lost it! He always had it on hand! Why wouldn't he have it?

Izo was exhausted within a few minutes as he harshly breathed in and out, finding that he had sat down to observe the only things on his bed were himself and his sheets. He clenched his eyes closed and bowed his head. 'N-No… this i-isn't happening… This isn't happening…' The only place he recalled using it last was downstairs in front of the television… he was using it as the show was on… he got tired… then… With a groan, he flopped down and lay there to absently stare at his dark, undecorated walls. '…It must be downstairs still… Fantastic…'

They had to have seen it… Izo could imagine they had it on hand, waiting for him to come down and ask them if they saw it… only for them to ask him why it was downstairs… Genji would most likely be the interrogator; without a doubt he would be, seeing that Izo knew nothing would get past him…

With a grimace, he shook his head to get rid of the thoughts revolving around the idea of being interrogated. Izo was on good terms with Genji, but that didn't mean he was safe from being subjected to Genji's pleasant and scary method of interrogation…

A little hope arose inside him that they could have left his notebook alone… it was comforting as he blinked his maroon eyes. They could have easily put it on the coffee table for him to get it when he came down, but if he was questioned… He knew he couldn't lie to anyone… As much as it was simple to create one, he couldn't do it. To say he went to the washroom during the night and it might have fallen out didn't please him; he wouldn't be able to keep up a front like Rei could… A part of him detested the idea of lying, enough that he would freeze up in front of Genji or Etsu and pour out what he knew. Lying was a form of mistrust, after all that his adoptive parents had done for him he couldn't bare letting a simple one spill from his mouth.

But then a thought came to him. What if he merely snuck down, collected his notebook, and went back to his room before being noticed and asked questions? That idea was appealing to him, he wouldn't have to lie or confess to what he had done… He gave a nod to himself, breathing in from the heaviness he felt inside about the situation then got up.

With one last glance around his room before he left, he noticed his notebook was on the side-table by his bed. He frowned at once. He didn't remember putting his notebook there either… but at least he was spared from the shame of going downstairs. So he sighed, smiling as he walked over to the side-table. But just as he was reaching down, his fingertips an inch from touching it, he froze.

Who put it there? If he was taken to bed… wouldn't that mean…

Izo frowned with a slight gape and widened his eyes. 'No…'

He quickly reached for it and flipped through it madly. His heart raced as he scanned the pages, feeling his mind yearning for a reason that they didn't see the evidence he left… something Genji told him that criminals were famous for… But then he found something was written on the bottom of the page he worked on last, in neat handwriting compared to his improving form, and he felt as though his heart stopped…

Izo often had the misfortune of finding that Rei would 'borrow' his notebooks and write in them, often throwing in nonsense that pretty much made a quarter filled one go to completion… He had to wonder whether or not Genji minded that he had to buy more notebooks for him in less than a year that another parent would to their own kids. It wasn't that Rei's was chicken scratch; he knew Rei wrote very neatly, her fancy writing bested any of her classmates according to her… But this wasn't her writing, his notebook wasn't full, it was instead a message written at the bottom of the page, below the poem he was working on:

Izo, you're doing a great job! I can't wait to see it finished! Next time, try not to write yourself into a corner, but I'm sure you can get pass that! 'blankness' doesn't have many words to rhyme it with, but I know you're trying and I like seeing that.

P.S. I won't tell your Mother about last night, don't worry about it. Let's chat about it later, but for now it'll be our little secret… If you want, I could show you some easier forms of poetry, but for now I want you to sleep at night… We can't have you tired every day, and I can tell something has been stressing you out and it's been worrying me. I don't know when you'll read this, but your mother is just looking out for you, so you still need to listen to her… She's not trying to hurt you; she's trying to protect you. Shakespeare's content is inappropriate for a child your age, but that doesn't mean you can't do poetry… Remember that, Izo… If you do read this, come see me and let's talk about this.

Izo inhaled slowly, shaking his head as he brought his trembling hand to brush his dark blue hair to the side, not caring that it instead wanted to cover his vision.

He had no clue why he got feedback… Shouldn't the person who had found him out left it alone and woken him up to face a punishment for disobeying his adoptive mother? His groggy mind took a while to process the information, but once it did he found himself sighing in relief. His shoulders that seemed to have gone rigid relaxed and he closed his eyes.

Genji seemed to understand. Genji wanted to teach him poetry…

He could write poetry...

Izo felt his heart relax and he let himself smile.

He didn't have to hide it anymore… he didn't have to feel ashamed of himself or the disappointment he would cause… Even if mother was against the idea of him watching the Shakespearean classics because of their apparent inappropriateness... right now that fact didn't matter to him. There was no reason for him worry in the first place... He wasn't merely disobeying... he was following his aspiration... his inspiration... Poetry had a voice, and he was willing to listen to its lecture. There was nothing wrong with that... nothing at all...

He breathed in and opened his maroon eyes, noticing how sunlight was now seeping into his room. Just seeing its beautiful rays captivated him at how it could make his dark room feel less suffocating and looming… And the birds chirping! He could hear them singing from outside, filling his room with sound and music…

A weight that he was quite aware of ebbed away, and he couldn't stop how a laugh bubbled from his chest as he got up to make his bed.

The 8 year old didn't mind it when Rei perkily noticed how cheery he was; at first accusing him of not being her real Fos-Bro, the astonishment from his adoptive mother; confused that such a quiet child was making so much noise, and the warm gleam in his adoptive father's eyes as he sipped his coffee; hidden behind the newspaper.

Poetry… all of his misgivings on it were trampled by the joy he felt inside, relieved he didn't have to sneak around anymore to admire it… when Izo could do it himself…

-End-

Hope you enjoyed the story! =3

…

EeveeGen9988: Hello, everyone! This time I took the prompt [Spreading Grand Wings]! When I first read this, I thought it seemed like 'spreading your wings' but on a grander level. I took [Spreading Grand Wings] mainly because I was initially confused about [Down to the Foundation] because I sort of misread 'foundation' as 'fountain', heh... so I thought the prompt said: Down to the fountain...*sweatdrops* So I was basically like: Why would anyone want to take down a fountain? That makes no sense... O_O ...Yeah... isn't that funny?

But even with my initial confusion, I was very stoked to do [Spreading Grand Wings] with the classic [Backstory] because to me it seemed like those two went hand in hand! =D I thought the classic [Backstory] would portray this well in this setting. It's more like a [Backstory] of why Izo likes poetry so much... I mean, when I first interpreted this prompt, I immediately thought: IZO, BACKSTORY, POETRY! XD

I think [Checkov's Gun] works here as well, because I think every detail I put in had relevance to the story.

I think this time around I struggled with the prompt... So I guess [Spreading Grand Wings] came in because of the fact that this is where Izo discovers he loves poetry, is willing to disobey his adoptive mother's decision (despite fearing what would happen if she found out) in order to watch the Shakespeare channel to hear poetry, and the message Genji gave him allowed him realize the only obstacles there was, was himself... once he discovered this, the pathway to poetry was opened... So Izo spread his wings and later on writes poetry...Does that work for the prompt?

...Fun fact, there's a FFV song called Spreading Grand Wings! I don't know if the prompt [Spreading Grand Wings] was named that intentially or not because of that, but I liked the music! =3

This story is dedicated to those who like Izo Shuuito! =D