they wish they were us | conan gray

1. coin for good luck

A sudden itch, a case of restless nerves breaks out in Conan's ankle. He hisses like cold water on the hot bonnet of a car and scratches his ankle through the sock with his other foot. 

"Don't do that," his mother chastens in an irritated tone, much like the itch that is currently driving Conan crazy. She shoots him a sharp look overflowing with disapproval to which he is provoked to roll his eyes. Whatever.  

It's not like they're meeting the fucking president. He bets his mother wouldn't even be intrigued to meet the current douchebag President they have, as excited as she is for this. They're meeting a fellow Japanese family from Hiroshima with whom Conan has apparently participated in sand eating as a kid. 

Every time his mom mentions Japan, a pleasant smile takes over her face and Conan feels like a small child being told of a wondrous land far away. She misses Japan a lot and from participating in Japanese religious congregations to celebrating Yuki Matsuri, she tries everything to hold onto her Asian culture. His dad once told him his mother cried when Alyssa was born because she looked exactly like their grandmother. 

"What if they find the coin over the top?" he asks, looking pointedly at the small pouch his mother is holding. It contains a small punched Japanese coin which in fact wasn't a chocolate coin to Conan's disappointment. His teeth still hurt. 

"It was either coin for good luck or broom to sweep away the evil," she says placidly and with that she's made her point. 

Conan presses the door bell gently at her urge. In distant corner of the house, it goes off with in the form of a bird shrieking. At first the cussing that comes after, feels a part of the doorbell. Conan has to grin at the choice of doorbell but then the realization dawns on him. It was actually a woman on the other side of the door. 

He shares a look with his mother who trying very hard to keep a straight face and ignore what transpired a few seconds ago. The doorknob turns with a click. 

"Hello." The woman standing beyond the door is dressed in mom jeans and a plain black sweater that looks new or maybe it's just that Conan is used to seeing things wrapped in cat hair. Her hair is straight and pinned back into a neat bun that reminds Conan so much of Alyssa's hair. 

But most importantly, Conan is sure that he doesn't remember her as their neighbor in Hiroshima and given her age it's hard to believe he ate sand with her. Is that a fetish she had? Or has to this date? And what in tarnation was Conan doing there with her, eating sand? 

His mother's accent slips and soon turns to familiar Japanese. The two women hug and a much awaited comment comes from the woman. 

"You've grown so much, Conan," she says and smiles at him in a more motherly than his own mother. She has a nice and kind face, the one Conan could easily warm up to. "You and Noah both have grown so much."

Noah. He doesn't remember why he can't remember this Noah. 

"Seventeen this year, can you believe it?" his mom says. Conan can't believe it either. He never even thought he would make it to thirteen. The two women laugh as if they know something he doesn't, probably a good old mystery of life. His mother's eyes crinkle with familiarity and she pushes the embroidered purse with the gold coin into her hand. "For good luck."

The woman's eyes flood with emotions and she clutches the bag impossibly closer to her chest. Nostalgia is a heavy emotion, her eyes weigh down. "Thank you."

"It's all good," his mother says, waving around a hand. "Where is Noah?"

"He is sensitive to audio and we haven't replaced the doorbell yet," she says, slightly abashed at her own forgetfulness. "He'll take a bit of time to get comfortable with the idea that somebody is in here, autism can be hard sometimes."

"Would he mind being introduced to Conan here?" 

Conan, no offence to Noah, just wants to head back home and go over calculus homework with Ashley and Gus while simultaneously shipping them because he knows how much they both hate that. 

"You can try but it will be easier if he is approached with one new face," she states. She sounds almost robotic, like it's all revised, burned into memory. 

Conan looks around the house, it's extremely airy and open with huge window panes. He doesn't notice the difference between being inside the house and outside it. The walls are painted light colors and there are buckets of fresh paint next to fireplace which Conan loves. The red brick of it really pops with the pale pastel colors. He devours it with his eyes. 

"I will take you up to meet Noah," the woman who now Conan remembers is called Diane. His mother urges him to go on and he almost groans. This wasn't his plan of a fun weekend, getting stuck baby sitting some five year old and not getting any money. He's doing it for his mother, to make her happy. Also because he sometimes wishes she would not dump Japan stories impulsively on him. She has a literal Japanese immigrant friend now. 

They leave his mother on the kitchen table with a glass of water next to her. Conan notices the halls lead both up and down. They're on the house's middle level which is apparently the ground floor. The stairs are short and grouped in sets where they curl against a wall. Along them is a ramp which Conan finds dangerous for little children. What kind of a parent is this woman?

After being led though multiple sets of short stairs that have a treading gap, they reach a door. Conan jumps on the last step which makes the woman smile with giddiness. 

"Noah will like you. If he says nothing, try not to let that bother you please. He goes non-verbal sometimes."

I hope not. I really need to go back home. 

She opens the door a crack and peeks in. Her neutral look, morphs into a smile. Diane's heart is bursting with love. "Hey, Noah. Conan is here. He wants to talk."

I don't. 

"Sure."

And that doesn't sound like a kid at all. Conan swallows all his negative emotions and walks through the door to find who the fuck Noah is supposed to be. 

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a/n: add this to ur library or dont. idc. i do jk. please do