If he could have rejected it, buried it deep within himself and never used it, he might have had a chance at being normal. He loved it regardless of everything else and had never been able to bring himself to do so. In spite of the torment and pain it brought him, Haru cherished his abilities. He didn’t flaunt it, didn’t draw attention to himself, but didn’t forsake it either. When he was small, it had been his only friend until he had met Saitou. It had kept him company, protected him, and nurtured him. The wind had whispered to him, a happy playmate, giggling and adventurous. The plants had spoken to him, their voices blending together to form a single sound, the gentle delicate whisper of a teacher speaking to a beloved student. They had taught him so many things. He had never been hesitant to admit that they were better company than anyone else he had ever met. Until Saitou. It seemed like so many things in his life could be defined that way.
