✿

❝Take my hand

Take my whole life too

For I can't help falling in love with you.❞

-Elvis Presley's 'Can't Help Falling in Love'

✿ 

You hand Shoyo the plastic container and watch as his faces lights up. Inside is a dozen of the strawberry muffins you both made together, and, although they weren't the best tasting, they were fun to make. Really, that's all that matters.

"Thank you!" He says, giving you a bow.

"You helped make them, so you deserve some payment," you reply, blushing, "it's only fair."

Plus, you made way too many muffins, so someone should help you eat them. 

"See you later!" Shoyo says, waving, "I'm sure everyone will like them!"

You wave at him. 

Wait, everyone? He's going to share them.

You smile at the thought of little orange-haired Shoyo, sharing some too-sugary strawberry muffins with his classmates. 

You go back inside, glad that Shoyo helped you clean up the muffin mess; it would have taken forever had he not been there. 

A knock on the door makes you sigh, but then you find yourself hoping it's Shoyo, come back to chat some more. You eagerly open the door, but you're not met with a face you wanted to see today.

It's none other than Rat-Face, the social worker assigned to you. With her pointed nose and stern eyes, you feel like she can see right through you.

"Who was that boy?" She says, showing no emotion in her voice.

You shrink back into your home, and she pushes past you into the kitchen, sniffing the air. "And that smell?" She adds.

You sigh. "He was no one. We just made some muffins."

"You should be going to school and studying, not making pastries. You're going to be so behind when you go back, they're probably going to have to put you in some supplementary classes," Rat-Face snaps, probably not intending to sound so harsh, but failing.

You sit down on your couch, pouting. "Muffins aren't pastries."

The social worker sighs. "Please just listen. I know it's been hard, but you have to learn and grow if you're ever going to get a job. The money your grandmother left you won't last forever."

"I don't even know what to call you," you scoff, "and yet you're lecturing me about learning and growing and becoming an adult."

She sits down beside you, giving you a sincere smile. "You can call me Kyuen."

You sit up straighter. "Kyuen. That means relief."

Kyuen chuckles softly, her face softening at the sound of her given name. "Well, my parents had me during some very hard times, so that's what they really needed."

"Wait," you say, tilting your head, "what's your family name?"

"It's Mizaki."

"Mizaki? Like the Mizakis from that explosion twenty-five years ago?"

"Looks like you know some history after all," Kyuen says, looking at her feet. "Yes, the same Mizakis. I was born right after that very incident."

If Kyuen was born then, that means she's much younger than you thought. Suddenly you're very interested in her story. 

"My grandma was there when it happened," you say, leaning forward, "she used to always tell me the stories."

"Really? Although I didn't think it was much to talk about," the social worker says, "my parents were heroes to everyone but me."

Kyuen takes your hands in hers, looking you in the eyes. "Trust me, I know changing is hard. But sometimes it's better to move on. Don't you think your grandma would want you to grow? To go to school?"

You pull your hands from hers, feeling suppressed once again. "I know she would. I know it."

Kyuen frowns, standing up. "Your first day of school will be this Monday. We have supplies and everything already prepared for you, so all you need to do is be ready. You will be attending Karasuno High," she says gently.

It's Saturday. 

You're going to school in two days.

To Karasuno High School.

"Fine." You say.

Kyuen sighs. "Also, please don't get involved with anymore boys. If I see him here again--"

"You're not my mother," you snap, still having mixed feelings about the social worker. "I can't help it. I'm a teenager. Let me have friends."

You can't help feeling this way about someone. She can't take that away from you.

"Fine." She says, mocking you.

Then she leaves, tossing a uniform on the couch beside you.

✿

You spend that Sunday worrying, like normal, but this week it's more intense. Will people like you? Is everyone there like Shoyo? Will you really be considered stupid?

But what you're really worrying for is your garden. It's been well, but still, you feel like there's an animal lurking, waiting for you to leave so it can feast. 

You're watering some tomatoes when you hear a rustle in the bushes by your house. It's quiet, and you dismiss it at first, but then there's another. It's like the animal, whatever it is, keeps constantly moving. Circling you.

You almost don't hear it because of the running water.

A meow.

You set down your hose and walk over to where you think the sound came from. You push past the bushes, and curled up in a little ball in a pile of dirt . . .

. . . is a little orange kitten.

✿