Peak

Peak is serious, sullen, and has purple hair. He speaks little, but he truly loves. Sometimes he has fits of aggression.

Today, his mother, the one who abandoned him as a child, called. She spoke with false affection. Pik listened silently, sat on the floor, and stared at the wall. Kuromaku came over, sat next to him, and put his hand on his shoulder, as he had done hundreds of times. Pik flinched: he thought he was being pitied. He pushed Kuromaku away. Kuromaku, confused, reached out to hug him. And Pik lost it. He hit the wall once, twice, three times—this time right next to Kuromaku's head, who fell to the floor and covered his face with his hands, not trying to hit back. Pik woke up with a quiet sob. He stopped. He went into the bedroom.

Kuromaku remained lying there. Then he got up and wandered into the kitchen. He lit the fire and put the soup on to heat. He sat down at the table. He had a black eye under his left eye and a bruise on his cheekbone. He wasn't crying, but he kept wiping away a tear, pretending to adjust his glasses. He looked at the pot, hurt and tired. Inside, he felt pain and fear: for the first time, he didn't recognize the man he'd loved for five years. But there was no anger. Kuromaku couldn't be angry with Pika.

Pick sat in the bedroom for an hour and a half. He stared at his fists. Then he went out and into the kitchen. He saw Kuromaku at the table, tears in his eyes, soup on the stove. He looked at the black eye, then at the soup, then back at the black eye. His face broke for a second. He walked over, stopped. Silence. He knelt down next to the chair—a huge, scowling, purple-haired Pick, who had never kneeled before anyone. He buried his forehead in Kuromaku's knees. He hugged him from the front, pressing his cheek to his stomach. The soup gurgled softly. And Pick said in a broken whisper:

• Sorry.

Peak can be rude at times, even to someone he loves, but then chastises himself for any actions or words spoken in a fit of anger.