WildFire

5

You sniffed the summer breeze, enjoying the fading light as you leaned against a tree. It was nice not having your parents around.

 You remembered a time where they didn't fight, you remembered the lullabies your mother would sing for you–your father by her side. You missed those days, nowadays, all you heard in your house was silence or shouting.

You frowned, trying to forget the sound of your parents arguing. Trying to keep the family together for me? You innerly scoffed. Is that the lie she's telling herself? 

Their family was going to break apart anyways, trying to patch up the holes in this dam wasn't going to do much good–it was already too big to fix. It was just going to get worse and worse. 

It would be better to abandon this dam before you all drowned in the upcoming overflow of water.

"Hey."

You shrieked, turning and opening your eyes to see a bored Kunimi, his hands clasped over his ears. 

You blinked at him in surprise, placing a hand on your chest to make sure it was still beating–but mostly for dramatic effects.

"No painting today?" Kunimi asked, completely ignoring the fact that he had scared the life of you.

"Seriously," you complained, ignoring his question and standing upright–you tended to do this around him to seem less short. 

You frowned at the boy, whose expression didn't change. "What do you do? Stand around in the park all day, just in case I show up? What are you, a stalker?"

Kunimi stuck his tongue out at you, and you glared daggers at him in return. 

"No," he answered, his tone bland."I just take a walk around here everyday when I don't have practice. It's a nice park. My parents also say it's good exercise– something I'm sure you lack."

"Ah," you said, grinning. "So you do wait for me, just in case I come!"

"No, I don't," Kunimi said, frowning at your upbeat tone as you asserted your very untrue claim. He crossed his arms grumpily and said, "You, Idiot, have very selective hearing."

"Selective hearing? Oh–hey! I'm not an idiot!" you yell, puffing out your cheeks in a disgruntled manner. 

You sat down, tucking your legs close to you. Hesitating, you asked,"Do you even know my name?"

"Of course I know your name–I'm not dumb. Your name is Nakamura [Name]. Do you even know mine?" Kunimi shot back. "All you ever call me is Otter Face. I don't look like an otter!"

"Kunimi Akira, you do look like an otter–anyone would agree with me," you answered, not backing down. 

You had gotten better at arguing with Kunimi, so now both of you started to pick fights, just to see who would win. 

"What? Would you prefer to call you something else? Would you rather me call you 'Kira-chan?" You paused, suddenly proud of your new nickname for the dark-haired boy.

"No-" Kunimi started, "Don't you dare." 

"Actually, I will call you 'Kira-chan. 'Kira-chan~" you sang, in a way too high pitched tone.

"No."

"Why?" you asked, feigning ignorance. "It's cute."

"I hate you," Kunimi grumbled, turning his head away, and you pumped your fists with victory. The phrase, 'I hate you', was usually the confession of all your defeats. "Don't call me that, it's weird."

"Hm?" you teased, seizing the opportunity. "Do you have something to say, 'Kira-chan?"

Perhaps this was why you thought kids were better. When they had an argument, it was over something silly, and they would rejoice after a reluctant apology. As stubborn as children were, adults were more stubborn. 

Your arguments with Kunimi never went very deep, and whenever you did argue, it was fun and exhilarating to compete with insults.

Arguments with kids like yourself–none of the others actually meant it. It was irrationality, impulse, and the automatic defense a person puts up to protect their pride–though the younger they were, the more breakable that shield was.

You never wanted to grow up, you didn't want a day where you would become like your parents. You never wanted to be like them. You would never be like them. You never could be like them. The constant fighting, the harsh coldness, the anger, the rage, the uncontrollable, everlasting hatred.

You glanced unconsciously at Kunimi, who was grumbling under his breath, and you could spot a light red on his cheeks despite his turned head. 

You were good friends–best friends. You wondered if your parents were best friends at one point, and how their relationship had turned so sour.

You shook your head. Stop, you ordered yourself. Don't think about these things.

You and Kunimi...you guys couldn't possibly turn into your parents, could you? Right? You guys were different, weren't you? You'd be friends forever, won't you? You guys were resilient enough not to shatter, resilient enough to overcome any challenges that came in your way, no? You could never hate each other, never fight day and night, right?