Discaimer: These characters, plot, setting, etc. do not belong to me whatsoever. They belong to Natsuki Takaya, Hana to Yume, and any other person involved in the creative process. I'm just having a lot of fun writing.

Warning: Spoilers for anime Episode 8, manga volume 4 (I believe...).

Note: This story takes place sometime after Momiji's mother's memory was erased and before Hatori met Kana.

Momiji walked quietly along the hollow wooden floorboards of the Souma compound, ignoring the hot stinging of his skinned left knee. Turning the corner, he blinked several times as the bright light reflected off the white rock garden.

He pressed his ear close to the paper-thin door, holding his breath. The birds chirped softly across the hot, afternoon sun from the distant branches of trees. He blinked, his brown eyes drifting towards the bright green of newly summer leaves. A breeze passed by, ruffling them into a kaleidoscope of shades.

Slowly, he could hear the rhythmic ticking of a clock. His eyes darted towards the paper sliding door. From what he could tell, the room sounded still and empty. He shifted his weight, gingerly taking a step back. His fingertips felt the fine grain of the doorframe as they softly touched it.

He exhaled slowly, evenly.

Quiet and quick, he slid the door open with one fluid motion. The ticking of the clock magnified, reverberating through a room lined with shelves and books and paintings. Momiji looked down at the floor, completely and utterly pristine. Glancing down at his left knee, he watched the bright red blood drip slowly down his leg.

He reached his hand into the pocket of his shorts, pulling out a cream yellow handkerchief. Kneeling down, he winced slightly at the raw stretching pain of his knee bending so suddenly. Shaking the handkerchief twice, he watched as it fell open in the gentle summer breeze.

Carefully, he wiped the small trail of blood from his leg. His tongue stuck out slightly from the corner of his mouth, and he softly, hesitantly tried to pat his skinned knee dry.

As he stood, he winced again as his knee protested in stiffness and pain. He took a steadying breath and looked back into the empty room. Still clutching the handkerchief, he walked through the threshold with quiet steps.

When he reached the door on the other side, he lifted his palm to touch the cold, metal knob. He turned it slowly, opening the door with a quiet click. The alabaster sink stood proud, slightly taller than Momiji. Casting a quick glance around, he found a bucket sitting quietly in the corner of the small room. Momiji smiled bright and clumsy, grabbing the bucket and flipping it awkwardly, almost dropping it on the tiled floor. He placed it in front of the sink.

He stepped up onto the bucket, the hard edges pressing into his sock feet. A rumpled blonde haired figure with big brown eyes blinked back at him when he stared face to face with the mirror of the medicine cabinet. He bit his lip, concentrating. Standing on his toes, he stretched his arm out as far as he could, fingers ghosting over the cold, metal door of the cabinet.

When he had almost caught a grasp on the edge, his elbow bumped the cup sitting on the side of the sink. It fell. And the hollow, scattered sound of the cup bouncing across the tiles clattered around the cramped walls of the room. He hopped down from the bucket and picked up the cup, his heart racing.

"Momiji?"

"Ah!" Momiji started, feeling the jolt sent straight up his shoulders and neck, almost dropping the cup again. He turned slowly to look up straight into Hatori's golden eyes.

He stood tall in the doorway, his hand resting idly on the frame. "What are you doing here?" his voice was tempered, even.

"I–" Momiji's fingers were still trembling. He swallowed, nervous. "I skinned my knee."

Hatori blinked twice. He then bent down, slow, and picked up the bucket, moving it a few feet away from the sink. "Sit," he said, monotone, stern. Hatori stood, taking a step toward the sink.

Momiji obeyed, sitting on the hard edges of the bucket.

There was a metallic click when the medicine cabinet was opened. The faucet squeaked as it was turned on, the water rushing quietly from the tap. Momiji stared up at Hatori's broad shoulders as they worked swiftly.

Hatori turned around, holding a box of bandaids and antibiotic ointment in one hand and a wet washrag in the other. He knelt down, depositing the bandaids and ointment nearby. Grabbing the washrag with both hands, he worked the corner with soap into a white, bubbly lather.

"Now, this may hurt," he said, softly.

Momiji closed his eyes tight and whimpered quietly as the rough cloth rubbed soap into the rawness of his knee. And then it was gone. Momiji cracked an eye open to see Hatori turn the cloth around nimbly in his hands.

Strong hands pressed the rag against his knee, wiping the soap away. The cool rag trailed down his leg, cleaning up the small trail of dried blood.

Reaching back with his long arm, Hatori discarded the washrag in the sink. Then, he lifted Momiji's knee slightly with both hands, golden eyes intently examining it. Hatori sighed softly, shallowly. Putting Momiji's leg back, he reached for the ointment, fluidly unscrewing the cap. He squeezed some onto his finger, rubbing a generous amount over the cleaned knee in a counter-clockwise motion.

Keeping the finger still covered with ointment in the air, Hatori grabbed the box of bandaids and opened it. The cardboard sound echoed through the otherwise silent room. He peeled the paper away and placed the large bandage carefully on Momiji's left knee, smoothing the adhesive edges gently with his thumbs.

"There we are," he said simply.

Momiji blinked hot tears from the corners of his eyes, feeling them slide quickly down his cheeks.

Hatori looked up at Momiji, and his golden eyes widened slightly in surprise. He glanced away for a moment, almost embarrassed, before looking into Momiji's brown eyes again. He placed a large hand on the boy's shoulder – firm, yet hesitant.

"It's okay. To need help when you're hurt."

Momiji sniffed, scrubbing his face dry with the back of his hand and nodding.

"It'll heal," Hatori's voice fell apart in the silence, doubt hidden in his tone.

Sniffing again, Momiji smiled. It was small and forced at first, but it grew wider and warmer. "Yeah," he said, his voice ringing soft against the hard surfaces of the room. "I think so too."

As he stood, he looked down at his newly bandaged knee. Looking up, he smiled hugely. "Thanks, Ha'ri."

Hatori smiled – small and fleeting. Then he stood, putting the bandaids and ointment back inside the medicine cabinet.

Momiji ran across the room, bolting for the door.

"Hey, be careful!" Hatori called out after him, still closing the cabinet door, the sternness in his voice resurfacing.

"Okay!" Momiji called back, sing-song, before slipping his shoes back on. His small fingers made quick work of his laces. And he ran, past the rock garden and into the opening where the sun streamed through the summer leaves of the cedar tree making pins and needles of light.