MILKVETCH | Your Presence Softens My Pain

“Hey, don’t you think that cloud over there looks like a bunny?”

Shiro looked up through his bangs to see Momo’s arm outstretched, finger pointing up to the white ribbons floating above. He adjusts his bangs to get a better view of the sky, and there’s a moment of pause as he wonders if it has always been so blue.

Momo takes a glance beside him, taking in the expression of the boy who’s always hidden in gloom—hoping he could catch another glimpse of the smile he saw last time.

“It … looks like a potato…” And Shiro’s caught off guard when Momo rolls over into laughter.

“You’re funny, Shiro!” he says through tears, clenching his stomach. 

Shiro’s eyes widened as he watched him laugh; the look of pure joy on his face, as a smile so wide bears on it. He thought the boy was strange, from his overbearing optimism to finding interest in the littlest of mundane things like the shape of clouds. Even the color of his hair was odd, although he wasn’t one to talk, but every now and then, he caught himself staring at the vibrant strands as it reminded him of plums under the sun. 

“Do you think it’s strange? My hair…”

When Shiro blinks, he realizes he’s already caught in Momo’s stare and quickly turns away. “Who am I to say…? My hair is…” he mumbles.

“I don’t think so. I don’t think your hair is strange at all.”

Shiro glanced over, and there it was, a smile bright and warm like the sun. 

“You know, actually.” Momo tugs through his curls and continues to say, “My hair is naturally dark, but I wanted my hair to be like my older sister’s. She has this really pretty red hair.” He lets out a giggle as he reminisces. “So, I used a red drink mix on my hair! But then it turned out like this! Why did it have to turn out purple?”

It was silent, and Momo began to feel embarrassed. “Yeah, I know, it was a pretty dumb idea … it’ll wash out eventually,” he says awkwardly, shuffling his feet.

The awkward silence breaks when there’s a sputter, and when Momo looks over, Shiro covers his mouth just as another sputter of laughter comes out. When Shiro raised his head, Momo saw the joyful gummy smile on his face, and all Momo could think was what a shame it was to hide it.

“How did you even come up with that?” Shiro laughed, with Momo following suit.

“Well, if you thought that was funny, then,” Momo began. 

He hadn’t realized how long he had gone on with his random storytelling as he’d gotten lost chattering to the clouds at some point. He drew back his words, afraid he was dragging on and being a bother, but when he checked Shiro’s expression, his head was lying over propped up knees with his ocean eyes looking back intently.

“… Then what happened?” he asked softly, and Momo let out a small giggle as their conversation continued until the bell rang.

While heading back to class after lunch, Momo noticed that Shiro kept one earphone out on the same side he walked on. Smiling to himself, he called out, “Hey, Shiro. Let’s go to the library after school to work on that assignment together.”

“Oh.” Shiro scratched the back of his head. “I already finished it.”

“Huh?! All by yourself?!” Momo stares with despair, and Shiro nods his head. Momo tries to come up with a new plan and beams with a grin. “Alright then. Let’s go to an internet cafe!”

At first, Shiro’s silence made him anxious until he heard, “…Okay,” spoken softly. Momo tried his best to fight the urge to jump with joy as he walked back to class.

✻ ✻ ✻

Once they got to a cross-section to part ways, officially ending their first hangout outside of school, it was much later than they anticipated, with the moon brimming fully above. But Momo also didn’t anticipate how bad Shiro was going to be at playing games.

As Momo walks by himself under the dim lights of the sidewalk, he sends out a text. ‘I had a lot of fun tonight!’

His phone lit back up with a quick response that read: ‘Me too.’

Momo smiles at the screen before entering his home, and as the front door comes to a close behind him, he’s welcomed by the sound of bottles in the dark room. 

His mother sits motionlessly at the table.

“And where have you been all night?” she asks, the voice running low but clear in Momo’s ears.

He stays silent, and his mother runs a hand through her hair, letting out a loud sigh, frustration laced in the tone.

“Fine,” she hissed. “Don’t tell me.”

Momo takes the cue to begin walking to his room, and as he passes his mother, her words pierce silently. 

“Disgusting child. I never wanted a son.” 

She picks up the bottle of alcohol and drinks from it while Momo shuts the door to his room behind him. His body slides down the wooden surface, his weight hitting the floor beneath with his knees to his chest and his arms wrapping around them. In the dark of the room, there’s the sound of muffled sobs that seep through the walls.

In the new morning that arrives, a sleepless Momo lazily walks up the road as he heads his way to school. When the front entrance of the school building comes into view, he can see the tall, familiar mop of white hair waiting outside the gate. And when said white-haired boy notices Momo approaching, his face bears a gentle smile as his arm raises slightly to wave.

The gesture made Momo want to cry, his gaze softly flickering, but he thinks he ran out of tears the night before. Instead, he shakes his head, faces forward with the brightest expression he could pull off, and runs the rest of the way toward his friend, singing, “Good morning!”