「 𝐬𝐮𝐠𝐚𝐫 𝐨𝐧 𝐛𝐫𝐮𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐬 」
m. kaiser
── .✦ chapter vi ⤷ word count: 1.8k | chapter log | m.list ˎˊ˗
── .✦ SPACE SHE LEFT BEHIND
today was the day.
kaiser knew it the moment he opened his eyes.
the air felt wrong—too quiet, too heavy, like the world itself was holding its breath. the room smelled of stale alcohol and damp concrete, the same as always, but today it pressed down on him harder than usual. his father was passed out on the couch again, bottle tipped sideways in his hand, chest rising and falling in uneven, ugly breaths.
kaiser slipped out without a sound.
he didn't eat. he didn't steal first. he didn't do any of the things his body was trained to do before the sun climbed too high.
instead, he went straight to the park.
his shoes scuffed against the pavement as he walked faster than usual, then faster still, like if he slowed down even a little he might lose his nerve and turn around. the park gates came into view, the familiar rusted bars and peeling paint, and his chest tightened painfully.
he was early.
the bench was empty.
he stopped in front of it, staring at the worn wood where she always sat, legs swinging, dress too clean and too bright for a place like this. the spot where she usually dropped crumbs from whatever she brought that day—cake, pretzels, candy she forgot she already ate.
nothing.
he sat down anyway.
the bench creaked under his weight, loud in the quiet morning. he hunched forward slightly, elbows on his knees, hands clenched together. his wrist still felt strange without realizing why—empty, like something was supposed to be there already.
don't be late, she had told him.
this is important.
he swallowed.
minutes passed. then more.
every time he heard footsteps, his head snapped up. every time it wasn't her, his stomach twisted tighter. he didn't know what he was more afraid of—that she would come, or that she wouldn't.
then—
"michael!"
her voice cut through the air like sunlight.
he stood so fast the bench nearly tipped.
she was running toward him, black mary janes clicking against the pavement, pink dress bouncing with every step. her hair was styled neatly like always, ribbon threaded through it perfectly, like she hadn't cried herself to sleep the night before.
she looked happy.
the sight hurt.
"you're early!" she said, beaming when she reached him. "you're never early!"
"...yeah," he said quietly.
her smile widened, as if she'd found something precious. "that means you care."
he didn't deny it.
they sat together, close but not touching, knees nearly brushing. kaiser kept his hands in his lap, fingers curling into his sleeves, grounding himself. he watched her out of the corner of his eye, memorizing everything—the way her hair caught the light, the faint smell of something sweet and expensive, the way her feet didn't quite touch the ground when she swung them.
she talked, of course. about the car that would take her to the airport. about how her nanny cried but then stopped because crying gave her a headache. about how planes were "basically just big birds, right?"
he listened to every word.
he didn't interrupt. didn't correct her. didn't laugh.
because this was the last time.
eventually, her voice slowed. she reached up, fingers brushing her hair, and then she paused like she'd just remembered something very important.
"oh!" she said. "wait. wait wait wait."
before he could ask what she was doing, she untied one of the pink ribbons from her hair. it slid free easily, the fabric soft and faintly warm from her skin.
she took his wrist gently.
he froze.
her hands were clean. too clean to be touching him. instinct screamed at him to pull away, to hide the dirt under his sleeves, but she didn't hesitate at all. she wrapped the ribbon around his wrist carefully, tongue poking out slightly as she tied it into a neat little bow.
"there," she said proudly.
he stared at it.
pink.
bright and impossible against his bruised skin and frayed sleeves.
"...what's that for?" he asked, though he already knew.
so he'd remember.
she nodded eagerly. "it's so you don't forget me!"
as if that was even possible.
she leaned closer, lowering her voice like she was sharing a secret. "as long as you have my ribbon, you'll be able to find me by my scent!"
he blinked.
"...your scent?"
"yeah!" she nodded again. "like dogs do!"
he was pretty sure that wasn't how that worked.
he was also pretty sure she didn't know that.
but he didn't say anything.
if she wanted him to find her by scent, then he would. he didn't care if it was stupid or impossible or something meant for animals instead of people. if that was the rule, he'd follow it.
when he was older.
when he was strong.
when he could finally leave.
"...okay," he said.
her face lit up like he'd just promised her the world.
they sat there until a black car pulled up at the edge of the park.
her smile faltered.
"that's me," she said softly.
his chest ached.
she stood, then hesitated, then threw her arms around him without warning. he stiffened for half a second before carefully hugging her back, hands hovering awkwardly like he was afraid to break her.
"don't forget," she said into his shoulder. "you promised."
"...i won't," he murmured.
she pulled back, wiping her eyes with her sleeve, then waved brightly as she walked away. she didn't look back.
kaiser watched until the car disappeared.
only then did he look down at his wrist.
the ribbon fluttered slightly in the breeze.
he closed his hand around it.
wait for me, he thought fiercely.
and for the first time in his life, michael kaiser believed he had something worth chasing.
the next day felt wrong the moment kaiser woke up.
there was no voice waiting for him in the park. no pink ribbon fluttering in someone else's hair. no bag of food he hadn't earned or stolen or bled for. just the same cracked ceiling above him, the same smell of alcohol and old sweat and disappointment pressing into his lungs.
he lay still on the floor for a long time, staring upward, listening.
his father was awake.
that was how he knew the day would be bad.
the man's footsteps dragged across the apartment, uneven and heavy, followed by the scrape of a chair and the sharp clink of a bottle hitting the table. kaiser didn't move. he kept his breathing shallow, his body small. he had learned young how to make himself disappear.
eventually, the footsteps moved away.
only then did he sit up.
his wrist felt warm.
he looked down.
the pink ribbon was still there.
tied a little crooked now, the bow slightly loosened from sleep, but unmistakably bright against his skin. for a brief, stupid moment, his chest tightened with something like hope—like maybe if he went to the park anyway, she would be there, swinging her legs and smiling like nothing had changed.
he knew better.
still, he touched the ribbon carefully, like it might vanish if he didn't.
then he stood.
the city didn't care that she was gone.
people still hurried past him in the streets. cars still honked. shops still opened. the bakery on the corner still smelled sweet in a way that made his stomach ache. kaiser stole because he had to, fingers quick and practiced, eyes always scanning for danger.
today, it felt emptier.
every bite of stolen food tasted like dust.
every alley felt longer.
by the time the sun climbed higher, he found himself walking toward the park without thinking.
the bench was empty.
he stood there for a while, staring at it like it might explain something to him if he looked long enough. this was where she should have been. this was where she always sat. the bench felt wrong without her weight on it, without crumbs and chatter and the faint scent of expensive perfume that didn't belong in a place like this.
he sat anyway.
habit was a cruel thing.
he waited.
minutes passed. then more.
no voice called his name.
his chest started to hurt in a way that felt unfamiliar. sharp and dull all at once. he clenched his fists, nails biting into his palms, and told himself not to be stupid. she had told him she was leaving. she had cried. she had kissed his cheek and tied a ribbon around his wrist like it was a promise instead of a goodbye.
she was gone.
he swallowed.
"she's not coming," he muttered to himself.
saying it out loud didn't make it easier.
eventually, he stood and left the park.
the rest of the day blurred together. his father yelled. bottles broke. kaiser learned how to duck faster, how to curl in on himself tighter. at some point, his father grabbed his wrist and froze.
"...what the hell is that?" the man slurred.
kaiser's heart slammed into his ribs.
the ribbon.
his father's fingers tightened painfully around his arm. "where'd you get this?" he demanded. "stealing from girls now, huh? stealing from rich brats?"
kaiser shook his head, teeth clenched. "no."
the word earned him a slap.
he hit the floor hard, ears ringing, but he didn't cry. he never did. crying only made things worse.
his father sneered. "worthless. can't even steal right."
kaiser waited until the man stumbled away again before he pushed himself up.
the ribbon was still there.
a little dirty now. a little darker.
he hid it under his sleeve after that.
that night, he lay awake, staring at the wall, replaying her voice in his head like a broken record.
you're quiet.
that's okay.
quiet people are smart.
like cats.
he didn't understand why those words hurt more now.
the next morning, he didn't go to the park.
the morning after that, he almost did—and then stopped himself halfway there, turning around sharply like he'd touched something hot. going back felt dangerous. stupid. hopeful in a way he couldn't afford.
but even when he stopped going, the park followed him.
every pink thing caught his eye. ribbons in shop windows. candy wrappers. a girl's dress fluttering in the distance. every time, his chest tightened before he could stop it.
he started combing his hair with his fingers in the mornings, tugging it into place like he'd seen other kids do. he didn't know why he bothered. no one was looking. no one cared.
except maybe—
he cut that thought off immediately.
thinking about her made him weak.
thinking about her made him angry.
thinking about her made him want things.
still, at night, when the apartment was quiet and his father finally passed out, kaiser would pull his sleeve back and look at the ribbon.
he'd imagine her in japan, surrounded by clean rooms and people who spoke softly to her. he imagined her forgetting him—because she forgot things easily, didn't she?
the thought made his chest burn.
"don't forget me," he whispered once, so quietly it barely existed.
he didn't know then that this emptiness would shape him.
that the absence of a dumb rich girl with pink ribbons would carve something sharp and relentless into his heart.
he only knew that something precious had been taken from him.
and one day, he would take it back.
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