John's Home
Long Island
New York
7:32 AM
*Rap Rap Rap*
Yoru was gently roused from sleep by the sound of knocking. Her eyelids fluttered before cracking open, letting some light enter her eyes to begin the process of fully waking.
"Yoru?" John – who's now officially the girl's adoptive father – called out to her. "It's time to wake up."
The child groaned and languidly opened her eyes the rest of the way. The sun's bright rays beamed into her violet orbs, quickly burning away any residual morning drowsiness.
Yoru brought her hand over her head to block the early morning light, blinking several more times to clear her vision before sitting up.
"Hahh…" The now-Wick raised her arms over her head and stretched. She let out a soft grunt as the sensation of tenseness coursed through her muscle fibers when her joints went taut.
The girl lowered her forelimbs before interlocking her fingers behind her back for another stretch. Once she properly dealt with her body's morning stiffness, Yoru threw her blankets off her body and swung her legs over the side of her bed.
The child lightly jolted when her feet touched the wooden floorboards. She quickly ignored the sensation of polished wood on her soles and made her bed like how John had shown her.
The twin was still getting used to not having to fold her quilts. In fact, she was still getting used to – well – everything about her new life. She almost jumped out of her bed after her first night here because she was so used to seeing a guardrail when she woke up.
What's more, Yoru didn't truly understand how much Ai's absence would affect her until she woke up without her younger sister nearby. She doesn't know how to describe the feeling, but she doesn't like it.
After putting the pillows in their proper spots, the girl made her way to the bathroom. She shut the door behind herself before locking it, something John – unlike her mother – outright encouraged.
The child took the small step stool tucked beside the toilet and set it in front of the sink. Yoru climbed up the step chair and grabbed her toothbrush, squeezing a pea-sized drop of toothpaste onto the bristles before inserting it into her mouth.
The coolness of mint assaulted her taste buds once she started brushing. The child's mouth twitched at the taste. Mint was too pointy of a flavor and the icy sensation on her tongue was uncomfortable.
But the girl bore it with no complaints. John already took her in and provided her with more than she could've ever dreamed of. It didn't feel fair for her to ask him for more when she hadn't given him anything in return.
The taste of toothpaste isn't anything important. Surely the Soviet must have more pressing things to worry about.
*Ptou*
Yoru quickly spat out the foam accumulated in her mouth once she had finished. She quickly snatched the ceramic cup her toothbrush initially resided in and opened the faucet. The child impatiently waited for the bubbly stream to fill the mug three-quarters of the way before pouring the liquid into her mouth. The sooner she can rid herself of the taste, the better.
*Gurgle*
The elder twin swished the water throughout her mouth, ensuring she washed away the minty remnants in between her teeth prior to expelling the wastewater.
"Eugh…" Yoru stuck her tongue out while the flavor faded. It wasn't the worst thing she's had to put into her mouth – glass shards in rice took the cake for that – but that doesn't mean it's any less pleasant.
The girl turned around and snatched the towel draped across the rack behind her. She rolled the dry cloth into a tight bundle before sticking it into her cup. Once that end had soaked up enough water, the child pulled it out and turned it around to wet the other. Yoru wasn't sure if John was as strict about using water like her mother, but it's better to air on the safe side.
She unfurled the rolled-up towel before scrunching it into a ball. The wet ends of the cloth expelled any excess liquid, allowing the dry portions of the towel to soak up the water. The child quickly wiped her face before using the remaining water in the mug to clean the rag. Once everything was placed back where they were, she left the bathroom to make her way to the kitchen.
Yoru carefully walked down the spiral staircase that connected the house's two floors. The morning sun shone through the mansion's large glass walls, bathing the mahogany treads in orange light as the girl descended step-by-step.
There's a certain elegance in the stairway's appearance. It's luxurious – the six-year-old couldn't imagine something like this existing outside of a TV screen – but isn't ostentatious. Mr. Wick is rich – there's no doubt about that – but the fact that the stairs share the rest of the home's rather minimalist design aesthetic suggests he isn't the type that likes to show off.
The girl held onto the steel railings as she continued walking down the steps, shivering when the thought of slipping crossed her mind. After a dozen or so more careful steps, the nutty scent of coffee greeted the twin once she touched down on the ground floor.
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"Good morning," John greeted Yoru when she stepped into the kitchen. "I made breakfast."
"Thank you, Mr. Wick." The girl gave the man a shallow bow, not noticing the brief look of concern that flashed across his face.
His ward's attempts at distancing herself hadn't gone unnoticed by John. He understood where she was coming from. Given her past experiences with adults who were supposed to care for her,Yoru's actions were more than justified. In fact,the hitman had acted extremely similarly when the Director and Pyotr took him in all those decades ago.
But despite knowing that initial distance is normal, the overly formal way Yoru converses with him causes his more sentimental side to wince. Children her age shouldn't have boundaries this distinct. They are supposed to wear their emotions on their chest and leave nothing about what they feel hidden.
This reservedness just showed how much she'd been forced to mature beyond her years. It's a coping mechanism developed to allow her to survive her environment at the cost of her development.
John turned his attention to the meal in front of him and began eating. Between getting the proper documents for his ward and helping her settle in over the past few days, John hadn't had the chance to restock his pantry. The Soviet hadn't ever envisioned that he would ever have someone else living in his home, so he only kept the barest of necessities in case he couldn't eat at the Continental.
What he made wasn't the most complicated thing in the world – just two bowls of buckwheat kasha, some fried eggs, and a salted fish – but a growing girl like Yoru needs to have something substantial for breakfast. He'll need to go grocery shopping and begin meal prepping soon. Viggo wants him back as soon as possible, and the assassin doesn't want his ward to only eat take out when he isn't home.
John stuck his spoon into the kashaand, scooping up a bite into his mouth. The hitman chewed on the slightly-sweet porridge. The texture was slightly more mushy than he expected, meaning the Soviet had let it boil for slightly too long. But given the fact that it's been years since he had made something more complicated than cornflakes, it wasn't too shabby.
*Crash*
Before John could take a second bite – however – the sharp sound of glass shattering caught his attention. He turned around to catch the sight of Yoru lying on the ground with a toppled over stepladder. Glittering glass fragments alongside thick chunks of crystal were scattered in front of her.
The assassin immediately put his spoon down and got up from his seat. The child's attention snapped to him as soon as she heard the sound of his chair scraping against the ground.
"No!" The girl shouted as the Soviet stepped closer to her. "No… I can fix it!!"
John slowed down, but his eyes soon widened when Yoru attempted to pick up the glass shards. The man rushed over to his ward's side as rapidly as he could, but he wasn't fast enough to stop her from picking up the sharp fragments.
The girl's brows slightly twitched when the fragments slipped from her fingers. Bright red blood leaked from the gashes the shards left, but the girl didn't make a sound.
Yoru reached down to try to grab at another fragment, but John got to her on time and stopped her from touching more sharp glass.
"Stop!" The girl blubbered out. "I can fix it! Please let me fix it!"
The child sniffled, and fat tears trailed down her cheeks.
"Please…" Yoru begged. "Don't make me go back…"
'Ah.' John's mind finally registered what his ward's thoughts were. 'She's scared that I would throw her out because she accidentally broke a glass.'
The hitman thought he was prepared to handle caring for a child from an abusive household because he was in a similar situation when he was younger. However, it appears that the veteran still had much to learn.
"Are you okay?" John asked his ward. His voice carried a gentleness the assassin didn't realize he had in him. But expected or not, it did its job.
Yoru looked up at him in shock. Her fresh tears glistened in contact with sunlight filtering in from the kitchen's windows. From that look on her face, the Soviet instantly knew what was going through her mind.
The girl expected to get hit. To get yelled at. To be disciplined. But John wasn't going to do any of those things. Her dropping the glass was an honest mistake, and – quite frankly – the injuries she could've sustained from the fall was way more important.
"Never focus on what the mistake was," Pyotr – the veteran's adoptive father – once said to him when he was just barely older than his charge. "Instead, focus on what you can learn from it, and what could be done to fix it. But above all, focus on making sure everyone involved is all right."
"Does it hurt anywhere?" The hitman tried again once he got no response.
"N-no…" The girl averted her gaze. "I am okay."
Yoru's small flinch when she tried to move her arm said otherwise.
"Stay here." John stood up. "Don't worry about the glass. I'll clean it up later."
The assassin brushed the glass fragments aside with his foot and opened one of the cabinets to retrieve a first aid kit. He lifted the metal box out of the cupboard and placed it on the granite countertop.
"Did you feel like anything broke when you fell?" The Soviet inquired while removing a roll of bandages and scissors out of the container.
"I don't know…" Yoru quietly answered.
"Does your leg or arm hurt really, really badly?" John corrected himself. Of course a five year old wouldn't know the difference between a broken bone and a bruise.
"My arm hurts bad," The child answered. "But not really, really bad."
The veteran nodded. Just a bruise then.
"Can you lift your fingers?" John knelt down in front of his ward.
Yoru nodded and did as she was told. The assassin squeezed some petroleum jelly onto the cuts before wrapping bandages around the bleeding digits.
"I'll get you some ice for your arm after I finish." The hitman told the Japanese girl.
"I'm sorry." The twin looked down as she apologized, but John just shook his head.
"Don't be, it was an accident." He replied. "It's just a glass. Glasses are replaceable, but you aren't."
"What does 'replaceable' mean?" Yoru curiously asked her caretaker.
"There are thousands of glasses just like that one you broke." The veteran answered as he cut the medical cloth. "If I wanted to get something exactly the same as that glass, I can easily do it."
"But," He continued. "There is only one of you, Yoru. I cannot get another you like I can with that glass. You are far more important than a glass."
"What about Ai?" The girl suddenly asked.
"What about her?" The Soviet cut the bandage after he finished dressing another finger.
"O… Okaa-san said that we're i… iden… identical twins." Yoru divulged. "She said that we are the same."
"Are you?" John simply asked her.
The girl went silent as she pondered the assassin's question.
"No." She finally settled on an answer. "No, we're not."
"That's right." The hitman nodded while he finished bandaging the final injured finger. "Yoru is Yoru, and Ai is Ai. There is only one you in this world, so don't worry so much about a smashed glass."
The veteran stood up and opened the freezer to bring out an ice pack.
"Can you hold it to where it hurts on your arm?" He held the bag out to his ward.
Yoru nodded and pressed the packet against the base of her forearm. John then wrapped some bandages around the cold pack to secure it.
"Come on, let's go eat breakfast." The hitman said, rising to his full height. "I'll clean up and join you."
"Thank you, Mr. Wick." The girl gratefully said to her caretaker.
"Call me John." The veteran simply replied.
"Thank you…" Yoru responded after a couple of moments. "John."
John nodded before grabbing a broom to sweep up the glass shards scattered all over the floor. He looked over to his ward, and a warm feeling rose in his chest when he saw her eat.
Though neither of them realizes it yet, the hitman is starting to become the violet-haired child's father. The Wicks' story is a beautiful one, but as John's adoptive mother so eloquently puts it: art is pain, life is suffering.
The most beautiful of artworks are forged by anguish and torment. You could feel Van Gogh's torment, Munch's ghosts, and Kahlo's pain in their art. The paintings reflect a darkness so many could relate to, ensnaring attention instead of drawing it.
Yoru's story is like a rocky mountain trail leading out of a dark forest. Clearings were scarcely scattered throughout the pathways. They're brief reprieves of light before the dense canopy consumes all light once more. But – in the end – those who were willing to brave the darkness and power through the countless slips and falls will eventually find their way out.
However, all of that would only come later on. The current clearing is quite large and stretches on for a long while. For now, the two are living in their own little section of paradise, ignorant of what's to come.
The absence of light is more imposing when you know how bright light can be.