Koshino stared up at his otosan with wide, scared eyes. It was one of those times where he wished nothing more than to be beneath his bed, away from his father. Koshino Masaki was growling deeply into the mouthpiece of the phone, his eyes fixed on Hiroaki in a glare that froze him in place.

He should have known the phone call wasn't going to be a good one. It was the family line, not his father's private business line. So that meant it was either his mother or someone calling about Hiroaki. And since his mother hadn't called in three days, hadn't come home, he should have known to get up and leave the moment the shrill ring had sliced the silent air.

"I see..." Masaki nodded, his teeth clenched, hand gripping the phone until his knuckles turned white. "He really did that? Well, no, he doesn't show any signs of violence at home. He's quiet..." He turned an angry red at something the other person said. "Do not tell me how to raise my son! Perhaps your educational system isn't as good as you told me it would be! I'm pulling him out of that school." With that he slammed the phone onto its cradle and turned his harsh, cold gaze to his son.

Hiroaki gulped and clutched his spoon, staring down at his bowl of soup.

"That was your principal. He says you got in a fight today. That you broke some kid's nose."

Hiroaki didn't dare answer, remained quiet and still, not looking up.

"Is that true?"

The seven-year-old boy bit his lower lip. "Hai, sir."

Masaki growled and stomped forward, grabbing him by his upper arm and pulling him out of his seat roughly. Grabbing his other arm, he shook the boy, his son's head flopping back and forth on his neck.

"How many times have I told you that violence will never solve anything?!" He shook him again, then grabbed his chin roughly, forcing him to look into his crystalline eyes. "You disgrace your father by resorting to violent measures to solve your problems!" He picked the boy up and shook him again, fingers digging into the boy soft flesh. "You disgrace me! Is that want you want?" He dropped him, glaring down at the crumpled figure.

Hiroaki felt silent tears sting his eyes and he blinked, trying to keep them from falling. He looked at the floor, not daring to rub his sore arms.

"Gomen, otosan...I didn't mean to..."

"Gomen?! Didn't mean to?!" Koshino-san made his son stand up and slapped him across the face. Hiroaki felt the tears fall involuntarily. "You're senseless! You have no pride in your family! I despise you." He slapped him again, then kicked him to the floor, marching away. "Just like your mother..." Koshino heard him mutter, slamming the door to the front of the house. A second later he heard the car start, then screech out of the driveway.

After a second Hiroaki got up, rubbing his sore stomach, looking at his arms and touching his chin. Everything hurt. It seemed his father always left a bruise whenever he touched Koshino.

Silently he sat back down and tried to finish his soup.

~~~x~~~

Koshino sat up quickly, not really breathing hard or sweating, but startled. He quickly looked at his arms, touched his chin, rubbed his stomach. No bruises. Just a dream. He sighed and looked at his clock.

"Kuso!" He had ten minutes to get dressed and get to school. He vaulted away from his desk (where he'd fallen asleep doing his math homework) and ran to the bathroom, washing his face and brushing his teeth, ignoring his hair for the moment. It always looked messy anyway, right?

He changed quickly, wishing he had time for a shower but knowing he didn't. Grabbing his books he launched himself down the stairs and out the door, not surprised to see that his mom was sprawled on the living room couch where his father had been last night, still dressed in the not-so-modest uniform she wore to her "second job."

He barely made it to school in time and sighed heavily as he sat down in his desk, the bell ringing a second later.

The teacher called roll then began lecturing on their latest history section. Koshino, normally a good note taker, couldn't seem to concentrate on the issue at hand. His pen seemed heavier than usual, and his eyes kept closing. He blinked several times and propped his chin on his palm, staring at the board where the teacher wrote down important facts. The words blurred together, then focused, blurred again.

Focus, dammit! There's no reason why you shouldn't be able to take notes, he's writing them all down for you! Just copy them! His brain was yelling simple instructions, but they never seemed to reach his hand. All they served to do was confuse him and give him a headache. He shook his head and ran a hand through his tangled, tousled hair. He blinked and looked back at the board, the words seeming sharper now. Sighing, he raced to copy them all down before the teacher erased them.

"Clear your desks, please. It is time for your quiz on your history section."

The words struck him like a dagger. The history quiz! Kuso! He couldn't remember a single thing about the section...none of the people, the dates. Hell, he couldn't even tell you the relative time period they were studying. His brain was turning sluggish, barely processing the information that he was trying to feed it. He numbly accepted the paper and blinked to clear his foggy vision. There was something wrong. No matter how many times he read each sentence, he couldn't seem to make any sense of them. The phrasing seemed odd and the answers unlikely. He shook his head and carefully read over the first one, and finally, through process of elimination, chose one.

"Five minutes."

Koshino looked up, startled. Five minutes left? But he'd only finished one! He looked around and saw that most of the kids had their papers face down and were fiddling with their pencils. He groaned silently, suddenly realizing how much he'd screwed up by not studying.

He tried to finish as many as he could before the teacher took his paper away, but even then there were several left blank. He laid his head down on his desk and prayed that nothing worse could happen.

Thankfully someone up there was listening to him, for once. The teacher gave them a few minutes of free time while he graded the papers. Koshino quickly took out his math homework and finished it, proud that at least he could remember how to work them. He finished before the teacher, and put his head down on the desk, shutting his eyes for a few blissful moments of silence. His head was pounding, and he couldn't seem to keep his eyes open.

For a moment he floated in blissful oblivion, not asleep but not awake, in a state were he rested but was still dimly aware of the outside world.

"Koshino-san!"

Hiroaki sat up quickly, blinking his eyes to clear his vision. The teacher stood beside his desk, hand on his hip, looking stern. Koshino gulped.

"Hai, Rubiwa-sensei?" He asked quietly, not used to having the teacher look at him like that.

Rubiwa silently slid his quiz onto his desk, face down. Many of the kids were leaning forward or turned around to look at him.

"Please refrain from falling asleep in class, Koshino-san." The teacher said quietly, moving on down the aisle, passing back papers.

Koshino was afraid to look. There was no way he passed with his usual A or B. He picked up the corner of his paper and peered at it, feeling his stomach lurch. A big, red 56 marred his paper, along with the slanted characters that was distinctly his teacher's handwriting. What happened, Koshino-san?

That's exactly what Hiroaki was asking himself. The only difference was that he was getting an answer.

You shouldn't have stayed out so late with Sendoh! If you had come home after the movie, like you said you would, you might have aced this test and not fallen asleep! See what staying out till all hours of the night does for you?

Koshino could have kicked himself, but at that moment doubted he had the energy. The rest of the day passed in a blur, Koshino barely able to stay awake but managing to, somehow. In the locker room after school he pulled on his workout clothes slowly, feeling as if his limbs weren't his to control. He felt clumsy, disoriented, and most of all, tired. He had no energy and wondered briefly how he would be able to get through practice.

Miraculously he did. They started out with warm-ups, then ran a few laps around the gym. They skipped the competitive sprints they usually did and went right to the actual ball handling. First they worked on lay-ups, which Koshino wasn't too bad at, but today he was uncoordinated and often missed. He stumbled once in mid-jump and fell to his knees, groaning from the impact. Hikochi helped him over to the bench and looked at them, then shrugged, tapping the bench.

"Can you move?" He asked uncertainly, watching the boy's skin around his joints turn from harsh red to a light, sickening blue-purple.

Koshino stared, unable to comprehend really what had happened. "I'm not sure." He sat back, leaning against the seat behind him, sighing. "I think I'll sit for a minute..."

Hikochi looked at him oddly and only nodded, walking to the other end of the gym, where the coach was splitting them into three groups, two sets of five to scrimmage and the others to sit and wait for their turns. Sendoh was on one team but jogged over to Koshino, surprising him by kneeling down in front of him and examining his knees. He brushed his fingers against the twin bruises, then looked up at Hiroaki.

"You ok?" He asked quietly, for the moment serious.

Koshino glared slightly. "I'm fine."

Sendoh didn't back away, just lightly applied a little pressure around one of the bruises. He made Koshino straighten out his leg, point and flex his toes.

"You're knees are very important, Koshino. The patella not only allows for free movement in your legs and connects your femur with your tibia and fibula, but it also has important tendons and muscles in it. If you rip any of them, you may not be able to play basketball anymore." He said this idly, while examining the bruises.

Koshino cocked an eyebrow. "How do you know so much?"

Sendoh allowed the ghost of a smile to play on his lips, lightly applying pressure to his kneecap, as if checking for something, then said, "Mom's a nurse. She's always complaining when I cross my legs in the car. If she gets in a crash, it could really mess up my knees, ectera. Some stuff actually sank in, I guess." He brushed his fingers over Koshino's knees again. "Sit out practice today." Koshino opened his mouth to object and Sendoh just shook his head. "As captain of the team, I won't allow anything else." With that, he turned and joined the guys on the court, and thus the scrimmage began.

Koshino huffed from his seat and tried to stretch out his legs, ignoring the minor pain in his knees. He knew they weren't broken, but they were bruised badly, for sure. In fact, looking at the now darkened swells on his knees reminded him of one he'd gotten before, about the same size, on his stomach.

He shuddered at the memory and pressed his palms to the bench, trying to keep his mind from pulling back into the thought, trying to retain his grip on the present. But it was too late; the vacuum of his memory had already sucked him in.

~~~x~~~

He heard the voices rising as he peered around the corner, too young and stupid to know that he should be running and hiding. He pulled his thumb out of his mouth (his father always threatened to cut it off if he every saw him sucking it) and watched as his mother threw a bag on the floor and glared harshly at his father.

Koshino Wafiri had obviously passed on most of herself into her son. They had the same set, determined features, with piercing, smokey brown eyes. She was lean and muscular, for a woman, and her sharp visage often betrayed the kindness she always showed to her son. Her sooty hair was even darker than her husband's, about the same shade as Hiroaki's, and wildly tousled, giving her an almost careless air. She was young, strong-willed and defiant, never backing down from Masaki, no matter what. But the thing that Hiroaki and his mother had most in common was their level glare. Wafiri was the only one brave enough to target it at Koshino-san, though.

He heard their voices but didn't pick at their words. At four and a half, words weren't really all that important to him. He was still interested in action, and as a result rarely spoke himself. Masaki always said it was because his thumb was constantly jammed into his mouth. Wafiri said it was because he didn't have anything that he felt the need to say.

Hiroaki just didn't feel like talking. Instead he watched as his father turned bright red (a signal that he was angry, little Koshino would gather when he was slightly older) and he spun away from his wife. He saw his son peeking curiously around the kitchen doorframe, watching with solemn eyes. Masaki was there in two steps, grabbing Hiroaki roughly by the nape of his neck. He yelped and made the mistake of trying to pull away. Masaki lowered himself to his knees and stared at him, ignoring Wafiri's shouts to leave the boy alone.

These next words Koshino could remember quite clearly.

"What were you doing there, boy? It's improper for people to eavesdrop."

At four and a half Hiroaki had no idea was eavesdropping was, but had a feeling that whatever it was, his father was going to beat him for it. The beating had started just recently, since about his fourth birthday. At least, that was as far back as he could remember. He had always just assumed they had started then.

Masaki drew back a hand to hit Hiroaki, and the small boy stopped struggling, going limp and squeezing his eyes shut. There was no fighting his father. Embarrassed by the noise, but unable to help it, he felt himself whimper.

"Stop, Masaki." His mother's voice was cool and clear, and when the young boy didn't feel the impact of hand to face, he dared to open one eye ever so slightly.

His mother was behind Koshino-san and holding his wrist with her hand.

"You will not hit my son."

Masaki bared his teeth and spun, his other hand clenching and meeting with her stomach. The air burst from her in a loud whoosh that had frightened Hiroaki. His father had never, ever struck at his mother.

With an instinct he didn't know he had he was in front of his mother, who was lying on the floor, too stunned to get up. She was holding her stomach and sounded as if she was having trouble dragging air into her lungs. This was the first time Hiroaki had ever dared glare at his father.

And it was a mistake. Masaki's eyes widened at the sight of his small son standing in front of his mother, little fists clenched, glaring, looking like a small male version of the gasping woman.

He swung again, bending down so his fist connected with Hiroaki's stomach, a blow identical to the one his mother had sustained. He fell back and his head hit hard linoleum, the air leaving him breathless and wide-eyed.

Oh, it hurt much more than it usually did. He thought for sure his father would come over to him and continue to beat him, but Wafiri was standing up and muttering to him rapidly, too quickly for the stunned boy to pick up the words. Masaki looked at her, sneered, and left, the front door slamming a moment later.

Wafiri turned to Hiroaki and smiled sadly, one hand still rubbing her belly. She lifted up her shirt, and Hiroaki looked away, but not before he saw the red welt that would soon become a bruise.

Again, these words burned into his memory. His mother had sat him on her lap and rocked him, saying in a voice full of sadness, "Your father doesn't realize what he does, dear one. He has so much hate in his heart, and pressure from work builds up around him. He takes out his temper on us, which is wrong. My little Hiro-kun, remember this. You have your father's temper; I've seen the beginning's of it. Try to not let it run away with you, and never take out your frustrations on those you care about deeply." She had kissed his head and examined his stomach, then sent him to his room to bed.

~~~x~~~

Koshino jolted back to practice, which looked as if it was winding down. Sighing, he stood somewhat shakily and was able to walk to the locker room without falling down. The pain in his knees wasn't so bad, once he started using them, and they would heal soon, he knew.

Sendoh was looking at him oddly, and moved closer, pulling his sweaty shirt over his head.

"Hey, Koshino-kun..."

"Don't call me that." Koshino muttered, yanking his sneakers off.

"...is everything all right? You look kind of tired. You've actually got circles under your eyes." Sendoh's eyebrows were knitted together as he examined Koshino closely. "And I heard from a kid in your class that you kept dropping off to sleep in school."

"I didn't sleep well last night. Bad dreams." He heard himself say without realizing the words were out.

Sendoh looked worried. "Gomen nasai. I shouldn't have kept you out so late last night. That's part of the reason, isn't it?"

Koshino couldn't lie, not to him. "Hai. A very small part, though."

Sendoh sat down on the bench and stared at Koshino. "Gomen. I was only trying to make you feel better. You looked so...sad...yesterday. Not to mention stressed."

"You did help, Akira." He was surprised at the truth of the words. Sendoh's pleased look made something inside him stir, though he barely noticed it. It usually happened whenever Sendoh offered that genuine smile of his, and by now Koshino found that it was fairly normal, for him.

He continued to smile and stood, nodding. "Well, go home and rest. Then ice your knees for ten minutes, then put a heating pad on it. You have one, right?"

They did. His mother started using it when he entered middle school. "Hai."

"Good. Use it for ten minutes, and keep alternating. That should keep the swelling down." He smiled and lightly touched Koshino's shoulder before grabbing his bag and bounding out of the locker room.

Koshino watched him leave, feeling an odd tingle in his gut and a painful clench just to the left of his breastbone. He ignored it, shoving it aside and trying to get dressed quickly.

~~~x~~~

TBC...