Shiro and Yukio walked together down the steps and past the garden. The air was cold and crisp, and a few snowflakes began to fall and hit the sidewalk. Yukio's mind was on the shy girl who he had met. She confused him, yet made him blush. She made him nervous and now, the butterflies flew around his stomach every time he thought of her.
When they were nearly half way from down the narrow street, Shiro began to laugh, presumably to himself. Yukio looked up at the old man through his foggy glasses. "What's so funny, Dad?" Shiro shook his head and a few strands of blonde-gray hair fell down onto his forehead. "Oh, nothing. Don't worry about it." Yukio sulked for a few long moments until he looked back over at his father, again. "Come on, tell me already. Please." Shiro shook his head as he stopped walking and sat down on an old bench that was nearby. He groaned like an old man as he sat, though he was no older than fifty.
"Come, sit," Shiro told his son and patted the bench. Yukio came over and sat next to him. Feeling a little more relaxed than earlier, he loosened his tie and jacket. "You like her, don't you?" Yukio gave Shiro a questioning look and finally it came to him. He was speaking of Shiemi. He felt a deep red come up and singe his neck, ears, and cheeks, but he tried hard to hide it. "Sure, she's sweet. It was pretty cool of her to give me that char-" Shiro waved off his comment with the flick of a wrist. "I don't mean like that. I mean do you like-like her?" Yukio couldn't help but laugh at his father's use of words.
Shiro watched the younger man and waited patiently for him to speak. He was always respectful that way. He was very much like a Native American, with the way he conducted himself all the time, so calm and collected. Shiro stretched and leaned his arm back on the bench, barely touching his son's shoulder. Yukio sighed. If there was one person in the world he couldn't lie to, it was his father. "She's really cute and she's shy like me. I don't know…I feel nervous around her, but that's because we just met. I guess I like her, I mean, I do like her, yeah." Shiro smiled at his younger son and thought for a moment. "I thought so. I could tell by how bad your hands were shaking."
Shiro wrapped an arm around his son and squeezed him a little. "It's getting to be that time, isn't it?" Yukio's brow furrowed. "Time for what?" Yukio asked. His father looked down at him and squinted as the sun began to shine more brightly. "I mean, it's about time you got interested in girls." Yukio nodded in understanding. "Oh." The light came through the trees and lit up the tar sidewalk. Shiro got lost in his thoughts and it got quiet. In that moment, Yukio understood that his father was sifting through old memories, so he kept quiet.
"She's something special, Shiemi is," Shiro finally said. "She has so much potential. I can see it in her. I just think she needs someone to help her let it out." Yukio looked up at the older man and replied, "I think everyone does, Dad. Sometimes people just need to able to see it in themselves. Everyone is special somehow." He took a breath and thought for a moment, then continued to speak. "One day Rin will see what's in his heart. I want him to and I know you do, too. Rin has a special soul. He's got so much good in him." Yukio noticed Shiro's lips quiver the slightest bit and a tear rolled down past his glasses and down his cheek. "You're just like your mother…" There was a long, heartfelt pause between them both. For that one moment, Yukio wondered what had gone on between Shiro Fujimoto and his mother, Yuri Egin. Surely they had a history. His thoughts were cut off, though. "You're right," Shiro said and tried to smile. "I just pray to God I'm around to see it…"
Yukio thought about what his father had said as he looked around at all the people who passed by. "You know," Shiro began. "I go to the shop to pick up supplies quite a lot and you'll be coming with me more often than not. You and Shiemi will be seeing an awful lot of each other." Shiro made a kissey face at his son. Yukio rolled his eyes and hit his father's arm. "Come on, let's go home."
All the way home, Shiro sang out-of-tune romantic songs from the eighties and nineties. Yukio found it nearly unbearable but if there was one thing he was good at, it was blocking out his father's teasing. "Thank God, we're almost home,' he said as they reached the street they lived on. Shiro let out a good hearty laugh as he followed his son to the gate of the church.