Hey, my new story . Hope you enjoy! XxXxXxXx

Growing Up Too Soon

The typewriter was clicking away, the sound of metal to paper rang in his ears, and the smear of ink left on the white sheet was stinging his eyes, straining them to their best ability. Too long had he been seated at the typewriter, doing homework and writing letters to his pen pals. You name it, he was doing it. His fingers that hit the keys on the keyboard were starting to hurt, cracking when he bent them. He ran his stiff fingers through his golden silk-like hair, falling straight back into his eyes, as he wished for a break, but knew by far he wasn't getting one soon. The seat made him very uncomfortable, giving him back ache and his legs were dead. His pyjamas hung off him, like they were way too heavy for him. His ears were painful, only hearing the tapping of keys and dinging of the finished line from the typewriter. He felt very alone, with no-one to talk to. He wasn't allowed the radio on to help him relax or the T.V on for the evening news, his hands itching to reach out to the button on the T.V to switch it on. He wanted any kind of communication, not just the familiar noises he heard every night. He had hardly any friends, well, not in this part of Spira anyway.

"Mmmm" His stomach mumbled, scratching for food to enter his body for energy. "Gggggggggrrrrrrrrrr"

Tidus had had a very strict childhood, even now he didn't need to be told what to do, and he'd just lower his head, covering his big blue eyes and get on with it. It was like a habit his mind couldn't rid him of. His father had been away a lot, leaving just him and his mother, alone in the house, to do nothing but chores or lounging around, doing nothing, which didn't amuse the young man, resulting in him leaving his mother on the couch, while he typed on his typewriter. His father was a famous Blitzballer, making him scarce throughout the boy's childhood, and his mother was a bit of a flirt as one would say, others would say slut or whore, but he didn't care, he hated his mother anyway, and couldn't really remember his father. He'd called himself an orphan with slacking guardians. He'd always called his mother by her name, only rarely called her "mother", only when he needed help or was in company. As for is friends, he was known as a "boffin", or "teachers pet" because he was so smart, also able to answer extremely difficult maths questions and read stupendously well. He didn't really care for popularity; just a good education for a great job is all he ever wanted; so he could move as far away from his mother as possible.

"Tidus!" a voice bellowed from the downstairs "Come give me a hand with this chocobo!"

"Gah…" he mumbled, darting his strained, bloodshot eyes away from the gleaming white paper, staring at the door, hot tears streaming down his flushed cheeks, taking in something other than the paper, which stung his eyes, for they had been staring for way over time. As he stood to stretch he felt his legs give way and his bones felt very weak under his weight. The floor was cold and hard against his warm skin, his sock had slid off as he slipped, nail marks were left in the desk where his typewriter sat, leaving shreds of wood rolled up like a spiral on the wooden floor. Slowly his body started to rise, griping the desk for help and support as he slowly rose to his feet, bending over to retrieve his sock, placing it delicately on his left foot, ready for his mother's burning smell to enter his nostrils, the smoke burning his eyes. He prepared himself before he expanded the space between the door frame and the door. He bounded his eyes shut and covered his nose and mouth, taking in an enormous breath to conceal the almost fresh air roaming his bedroom.

The door merged open, ever so slowly at first, but then faster, until the body could fit through. Still holding his eyes shut and a hand over his nose and mouth, he mounted the stairs, one by one, obviously done this before. His cold feet took steady steps submerging one after the other, slowly not to slip for the second time in 10 minutes. The banister felt wobbly and entrusted under his shaky hand, the stairs making a muffled slap sound as his sock covered feet touched the wooden floor. He slowly removed his hand, cautiously sniffing the air, making sure its safe to smell, not end up falling down the stairs and choking like he had done many a time. To his surprise, the air smelt glamorous, no burning sensation to his smelling sense. No burning in his eyes, no fire alarm ringing constantly throughout the whole house, no, this night was different, it was calm, welcoming, and…somewhat different. He opened his eyes, searching, scanning for anything. He'd spotted his mother, stood in front of a hot stove, cooking vegetables and baking roast chocobo.

"Dreaming…" his eyes desperately searched out for anything unusual, not that seeing his mother cooking wasn't…unusual, but something that didn't usually happen. "I must be dreaming…"

"Vidia? Why aren't you burning anything?" he'd implied, not really liking the change. He just wasn't used to it. Maybe if it had happened a long time ago, then he wouldn't be so surprised, but seeing as they had just moved from the great city of Zanarkand to the small village of Besaid, this started to worry him.

Vidia was known as the slut of Zanarkand, flirting with every man while her husband was away training hard for the money he earned. Story told that Jecht, Tidus' dad, wasn't his biological father, it was one of his team mates, or so the rumour was spread, like a small snowball at first, then getting larger and larger until it was out of control, causing the family to move from the large city to a tiny village. It was close to the sea, and not a big population, the air was more humid, being as the isle was near the gleaming ocean, the sun was always shining and the air was fresher, not polluted by machina fumes.

"Oh, hey honey. I thought I'd change, start a new life, turn over a new leaf, become a diff—"

"Ok ok I get the idea, geez!"

"Ok, well seeing as your father is away again, and it will be just you and me again, I thought I'd become a better mother, you know, be there for you, answer your problems, you know?" by the end of that sentence the woman had grabbed the sleeve of his pyjama's and pulled on them until he strode to the stove with her, the aroma of cooked chocobo was making his mouth water, the scent rising into his nose was making him want to eat it right there. The blue orbs scanning the whole cooker to receive the first glimpse of trouble, but failed miserably. The site was unbelievably different, never before had he seen a decent meal being cooked by his mother, or her in a cooking apron for that matter. The surprise shocked him so much that he stumbled back, grabbing the counter for support. The dark rings the circled his eyes had gotten darker and made him look in agonising pain as he regained his composure.

"Erm…do you mind if I go sit down? I'm feeling kind of tired…" his voice trailed off in the distance, his mother giving him a concerned look through her pale blue eyes. Suddenly feeling very upset looking at the sight before her, the young boy she'd failed to bring up well, was standing before her, running his hands through his golden locks, waiting for any sort of reply from her.

"Hey, you know what? I don't really need help; I think I can manage by myself. Go lay on the couch and I'll wake you when dinners ready, ok?"

Slowly, Tidus nodded his head, getting a slight head rush. He turned his blurred gaze towards the couch, which had suddenly looked so inviting to lie across.

Come and lie down Tidus. You deserve a break… a ladies voice called out to him. Confusion wiped itself right across his face, tilting his head slightly to the left, inspecting the now talking couch.

You know you want to… it spoke again, as the voice echoed around in Tidus' head. slowly and every so carefully, he slid his body onto the couch, resting his heavy head on the soft pillowed arm, wrapping a blanket around his legs and torso, his eyes fluttered shut, sending him into a deep sleep, with slight snores breaking free from his nostrils.

His mother was watching his every movement, the way he walked stunned her. She had never imagined her offspring would end up like this, shattered to the world, and only 15. Boys his age usually were out and having fun with their friends, swooning over girls in the year above or below. But not him; not her son. She feared for his health and was worried that his education would fall below his average prediction. She stood straight, leaning away from the doorframe she was leaning on not long ago, determination spread along her glorious face. Never again will she be a bad mother, she will be there when he needed her, and would comfort him when he needed it.

"I've missed out on most of your life, but no more will I sit there and watch you grow up on your own. I promise…" hesitation grew as her voice quivered in her own throat, "I promise to be a better mother."

Shuffling across the living room floor, she bent her legs and arched her back, to give her son a kiss on the forehead.

"I promise"