Not Going Anywhere
By Laura Schiller
Based on: Shugo Chara
Copyright: Peach Pit
A shrill wail split the air of the small seventh-floor apartment. Tsukiyomi Ikuto unfolded himself from under the bedcovers, muttering darkly, bumping into the doorframe before he could manage to pry his eyes open. The source of the noise was a red-faced mite of a baby in the next room.
"It's okay, it's okay," Ikuto muttered, picking him up. "Geez, if you'd let us sleep every once in a while, I might remember where your mom puts the baby formula … "
Speaking of Amu, he remembered that she had already left for work. She was a full-time waitress at a local restaurant, which was one of the few work options available for a nineteen-year-old mother who had married straight out of highschool. Ikuto smiled crookedly at his own reflection in the glass balcony doors, in striped pyjamas, holding his son with one hand. He liked to refer to baby Yoru as 'his little accident' – the result of a careless night together and a subsequent shotgun wedding (seemingly the only way of preventing Mr. Hinamori from working himself into a heart attack).
"Boy, if your namesake could see me now," he confided to Yoru. "He'd laugh himself silly."
His shugo chara had Xed himself on the night of the wedding. After all, one couldn't be free as a stray cat with a wife and son to look after.
"No offense, Yoru-kun," said Ikuto, glancing down at the baby's dark blue eyes. Judging by his contented gurgle, he did not take offense.
"I'm not going," he muttered, speaking more to himself than to the baby. "I'm not going anywhere. I will not repeat Father's mistake."
Yet, a treacherous part of his mind (the part that still meowed and dreamed of darting over rooftops) whispered to him: What was Father's real mistake? Leaving Mother for the sake of his music … or marrying her in the first place?
Tsukiyomi Amu sighed as she hung up her uniform apron in her locker. The other women were giggling about something by the changing room mirrors; one of them waved her over, winking a mascaraed eye at her. "So, Tsukiyomi-san. You up for karaoke tonight?"
"Uh, no thanks. I gotta shop for groceries before going home."
"Got your gorgeous husband to look after, eh? If I were you," squeezing Amu's shoulders, "I'd go home early every night!"
The girls burst out into raucous laughter; since the time Ikuto had showed up at the restaurant, french-kissed her and tucked a rose behind her ear, Amu had been universally envied. Never mind the embarrassment involved or the chewing-out her boss had given her later.
"How was his audition?" they wanted to know. "I still can't believe he plays the violin, how cool is that?"
Amu shrugged diplomatically. "Well, you know … it's a very exclusive group. He didn't make it … but there are always other options."
And in the meantime, he'll still be there, leaving hairs in the bathtub and crumbs on the sofa no matter what I say. Begging for attention every night, whether I feel up to it or not. And if I took Yoru-kun and left, who would look after him?
The little voice inside her mind was all that remained of Suu, the obedient housemaid, sounding a great deal older now. Her sisters had Xed themselves long ago – she would never be an athlete, an artist or a singer in this life. Suu was the only one who had faded painlessly, lending her necessary domestic skills and endless supply of patience.
He needs me. They both need me. I'm not going anywhere.