The Golden Pear [YA - Featured]

♫~Notes 80~♫

"You covered yourself, and I thought that meant something." He showed her the pictures. "So I went and checked how girl's breasts can look like."

'Well, he saw a porn magazine and didn't have any reaction,' Freya reminded himself.

He cupped her hands, gently pressing them.

"I'm sure I'm missing the tiny but important details, but I can assure you"—his voice gained an uncharacteristically serious tone—"your breasts are fine. There is nothing wrong with them. You don't need to hide or be embarrassed for them."

Freya's left corner of her mouth twitched, and the jerking movement spread father with each second until she hung down her head, surpassing laughter.

"I'm not kidding, I'm really serious."

She shook her head, tossing her hair behind her. Gesturing she would be back in a minute, she returned with a pen and notebook.

"Thank you," she wrote. "But there is something we need to talk about."

He nodded, perking his ears.

"On the outside, you are still a boy, and so other people may see you as a pervert if you look browse naked women."

"But we learned about this in school." He shrugged.

"On a real person?"

He crossed his arms. "We had pictures and a model, but that one was just a guy, and the teacher talked about inner organs, now that I think about it."

"You see, for a girl, her body is very precious. We can be very sensitive, and I appreciate your support. Though it's embarrassing at times."

He scratched on his cheek. "I guess I don't know how to be a proper guy, neither a girl. I'm half-baked."

"No." Freya shook her head. "You just didn't have a guide from a young age. Somebody who would help you to tell the difference between your boy's and girl's side. If you want, I can help you with the 'girly' stuff."

"You would? Won't I be a bother?"

She sighed, tilting her head with a smile. "No."

"Thank you. I think I got that guy part. That's beating jerks, right?"

She gave him thumbs up.

"Okay, lovebirds," Aiyoku in the bathrobe teased them, standing in the door. "Dinner's calling."

"Yahoo!" Kagetsu jumped into the air, dashing into the living room, where plates of cut vegetables, fruit, and sandwiches waited.

'Isn't it a blessing to be an eternal child?'

\\_(''>_<'')_//

Ueno arrived at home but calling it that way was blasphemy. It stopped being a home years ago the moment her father had died. No sun could warm her that time, and nothing could melt her mother's, cold heart.

In front of the media and people, she grieved, cried, and wore black clothes. She even stopped visiting clubs to appear as a proper widow. Everything for the right publicity. All for the fame and strengthening value of her family name.

"Welcome back," the maid with bandaged forehead said as she bowed.

Ueno staggered a bit, stepping over the threshold. "T-Thank you," she whispered, only the maid could hear it.

The young lady hurried into her dimly lit room, red in the face. What strange last days she had lived through. Taking care of a stray cat, somehow bonding with Freya, giving her driver a sandwich, and now she thanked her servant.

Looking out of the window into the lush garden, she saw employees tend bushes, trimming them into various shapes. Another group painted the benches outside, giving them a new skin and shine.

"Young lady," the maid's voice came from behind the door after she knocked. "Would you like to have dinner in your room?"

Ueno perked her ears. She had to have dinner in the dining room only when the mother was home, which wasn't thankfully that often.

"Yes!"

"I understand."

Ueno returned to gazing out of the window for a few glances here and there. Then her mind traveled into the past, where she knew how to smile and not to pretend. She was around eight years old when her father had fallen ill.

She stayed by his bed every free minute she could, but her mother made sure to send her child into Ueno's room to study. Always claiming she was worsening her husband's conditions by constantly talking at him. Reflecting upon it now, Ueno was sure she tried to hide something from her.

Not just once she heard her mother's angry voice once she had left father's room.

'What she was yelling? And why?'