and your lights burning

by Halfpenny

Sojiro Sakura remains an excellent dad, a passable business owner, and the most grudging collector of strays this side of Yongen-Jaya. Maruki/Sojiro, tags inside.

2. in the second watch

Trigger warnings for suicidal thoughts/implied and referenced suicide attempts.

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Akira texted him a picture of a dachshund in an aquamarine vest and Sojiro had a couple of reckonings on his plate. Some of them were his doing and some of them were karmically assigned. He left Futaba's breakfast in the refrigerator and went to open the shop as usual, and for a while it was easy to fade into the rhythm of his usual routine: three call-in orders for pick-up, his usual big-spending cranky businessman customer who mainlined his Jamaican Blue Mountain, and the elderly widow who lived down the street and blew half an hour on crossword puzzles as the morning news droned in the corner. Summer traffic had a hit-or-miss element that usually had him guessing, but chilly mornings typically saw more random traffic as the warm tones of Leblanc's exterior drew in the same people more apt to pass it up on a hot day.

Sojiro determinedly didn't think about upstairs until the flow of customers tapered off after eight. He eased the flame down under the pots and spent a quarter of an hour casing his refrigerator, bracing himself against the door as he mentally wrote down the supplies for curry that he needed to pick up at the corner mart. When the morning news had cycled off into a daytime drama and the alleyway outside remained void of customers, he flicked it off and leaned his elbows on the counter for a while to figure out how guilty he felt about blowing Akira off. There was a ten percent chance he could play it cool and a two hundred ten percent chance Akira would psychically sense his distress from several cities away. He wouldn't put it past Futaba to feed him information either. The dachshund in the vest could just be a dachshund. It could also be a test of honesty Sojiro was being set up to fail. Nice vest could very well be Akira's cue that Sojiro was willing to hide important things from him, like 'I'm hosting your would-be metaverse overlord in your bed' or 'I'm potentially endangering your sister by hosting your would-be metaverse overlord in your bed'. Truth led to things. Lies led to other things.

In the end he texted Nice vest because he was still too tired from yesterday to decipher international code. Maruki still hadn't made his presence known, which meant he was either asleep, hiding, or had followed through on his threat to crawl out the window. Sojiro had no basis of statistics to predict which one was most likely.

He brewed himself a cup of Narimo and allotted himself a few extra minutes of quiet to enjoy it, bracing a crossword puzzle on the counter and filling in a few of the slots. When he could no longer stifle his curiosity, he slid the book into his back pocket, thumbed the pen behind his ear, and ascended the stairs with a stifled groan of protest as his back creaked.

Maruki was tangled in the sheet atop the bed, hair mussed on the pillow. His foot was hanging over the side, his wrist crooked and mashed against the wall like he'd tried to claw through it sometime in the night. His dishes from the previous night sat in a neat pile on his bedside table.

Sojiro took them up and glanced through them. The tea was drained, half the rice portion congealing in the bowl. The chopsticks had been painstakingly nestled in the drawer.

The amount left behind gave Sojiro pause. All things considered it really hadn't been exorbitant. He'd accounted for the late hour and the fact that Maruki likely wasn't used to big meals. The portion Maruki had taken down wouldn't have rounded the belly of a rat.

He brought the dishes down, disposed of the leftover rice, and soaped up the bento before leaving it on the rack to air-dry. Using what supplies he could scrounge up, he prepared some breakfast miso and tea, throwing in a simple onigiri with a plum center before lugging it up.

Maruki didn't stir when Sojiro set the plate and glass down. Sojiro at this point had more or less updated his plans. He briskly rubbed the steam off his glasses and resettled them into place before giving Maruki's shoulder a shake.

It took several attempts for Maruki to stir. "Up and at'em," Sojiro said. "Got your breakfast here. I'm gonna get back downstairs and start preparing the curry for the lunch rush."

Maruki's voice was barely audible. "What time is it."

"Breakfast time. Sit up, your chow's getting cold."

Maruki tried to move his arm, got his elbow caught in the taut tangle of sheets, and instead shuffled his legs. "Sakura-san." He turned his head on the pillow to blink groggily up at Sojiro. "Sakura-san," Maruki muttered again to himself, eyes closing. He made a sound in his throat as he freed his other hand to scrub his palm across his face. He sounded defeated. "I meant to leave before store hours."

"Does it look like I'm worried about that? Take as much of that down as you can. I'll be up to collect the dishes later."

"I have to go."

"Not before breakfast you don't. Old Haruhito told me someone came to pick up your cab. Not gonna keep you anywhere against your will, but I'm not helping you do anything stupid either. Your boss already knows you're not coming in today, so you might as well take it easy and get some food down your neck."

Maruki's palm remained in front of his face. His voice was still oddly filmy and indistinct, like a TV playing in another room. "My papers were in the cab."

"Then they're back at the agency by now. It's fine."

"I can't miss this paycheck. I won't be able to afford to eat."

"What do you think is right next to you?" The entire situation was so stupid that Sojiro nearly laughed out of masochism. "You're already here. You've got food, a bed, and you're not fired, so you might as well make the most of it. Just don't make noise up here to draw attention to yourself. I'll bring you up something later after the rush is over."

Maruki didn't reply. He remained there on the bed, palm upturned over his eyes, breathing shallowly.

Sojiro tossed his hands up and went back downstairs to prep the curry. The rest of the morning passed by without further hitch, an unexpected slip into rain around noon bringing in a healthier than usual crowd as the odd customer hastily ducked in from the alley to escape the drizzle.

Flushed with steam, Sojiro prepared his spicy curry and flavored it with the remaining apples he had on hand. Figuring it wouldn't hurt to try, he reserved three slices and sprinkled them with lemon juice to keep them from oxidizing too fast before setting them in the refrigerator for later. As if psychically hijacking his plans for the future, Futaba texted him just after noon demanding vittles fit for a queen, so he obediently also reserved a bowl of curry for her in the event she bestirred herself enough to come get it.

He was in the process of ringing up a take-out meal for an elderly woman when a concussive thud from upstairs made his hand jump on the keys. "Oh my." Natsuko blinked upwards with sleepy surprise. "Sojiro, you didn't tell me your boy was back here with you."

"Slipped my mind," Sojiro growled, taking off the extra zero and tallying up some extra excuses for murder.

"Well he is just the most wonderful boy," Natsuko said. "Oh, do tell me if he decides he wants to make deliveries for me again. I have a new delivery girl but she just isn't as reliable as Akira-kun. He would always remember to pick up my favorite things even when I forgot to put them on the list. Half the time my new girl doesn't even remember to pick up the list."

"I'll make sure to let you know." He walked her to the door and handed the bag handles over to her once she was outside, steadying her until she brought up her umbrella. He watched over her until he saw her safely crest the main street, then closed the door and headed upstairs.

Maruki was on the floor between the shelving unit and the plant, the overturned pot spilling dirt around him in a pool. He had managed to wedge himself upright against the shelf, knee crooked, hair clumped in his fist as he panted behind the support. There was no color in his face. "I'm sorry," he breathed. "I tried to catch it before it toppled. I'm sorry."

Sojiro took a knee and brushed the soil aside, eyeing the peripheral damage. Akira had doted on the plant and had left him in charge of it, making him promise to water it weekly and add nutrients bi-monthly. It had suffered a bent branch but otherwise straightened back up with minimal protest when Sojiro set it back up on its stand. "I ruined it, didn't I," Maruki said.

"It's fine." Sojiro pressed a hand against Maruki's forehead, keeping half an ear out for the bell downstairs. Maruki turned his head away from the pressure slightly but otherwise didn't put up a fight. "You're on fire," Sojiro gritted, exasperated. "Didn't I tell you to stay in bed?"

"I was trying to figure out how to use the bathroom without attracting attention," Maruki said weakly. His eyes were still closed, his lips as blanched with color as the rest of him. It looked like he was on the verge of throwing up in somebody's lap. "I think I stood too quickly. I'm sorry that I made a mess. I'll clean it up. I didn't mean to cause a fuss."

A fuss. Sojiro was laundry-listing some pretty vivid fusses as he went down to flip the sign and lock the door. He returned to help Maruki down the stairs, closing the door behind him once Maruki had angled himself into the bathroom.

Sojiro had a clarifying smoke at the counter while he reviewed all the fucks he gave in numerical order. When he was done he took out his phone to dial. "Long time no contact, Sakura-san," Tae Takemi said. "Who died?"

"No one yet. Got some fresh meat for you. You still running lab experiments or are you full up on rats?"

"There are never enough rats," Tae said. "That said, I've been narrowing the scope of my focus this past month. Less intentional poisoning, more incidental poisoning. It broadens my scope of research."

"You still make house calls?"

There was something rattling around in the background. He heard her cover the receiver, heard her speak; when she came back on her tone was brisker and more professional. "Is it Futaba?"

"No. Stray I picked up."

She was dry again. "That seems to be a habit of yours."

Sojiro didn't descend into the maw of crushing madness but it was close. "Adult man, thirty-something, high fever. Collapsed twice in as many days. I figure he's just tired and dehydrated, but I don't want to take any chances if it's something more serious."

"Would I happen to know this potential lab rat?"

Possibly. Sojiro actually hadn't given that much thought. He had no idea if Maruki was a licensed PhD or if he'd even travel in her circles if he was. "Akira's probably mentioned him. Counselor at his school. I took him in last night when he fainted in the café."

"He fainted in your café and you just now thought to call me?"

"Look, you coming over or not?"

There was no response. Sojiro waited, then realized that she'd hung up.

He was about to call back when he heard the faucet shut off in the bathroom. The door opened slowly to a crack; Sojiro saw the thatch of hair first. "I turned the sign," Sojiro said. "Let's get you back upstairs."

"I really should go." Maruki's voice was thready and exhausted. He was clinging to the bathroom frame. "I'm causing trouble for everyone."

Sojiro steadied him by the waist and guided him back upstairs without casualties. As Maruki was fumbling with the sheet, Sojiro squatted down to rummage through the supply box again. The comforter he found was threadbare but soft; he dug it out while managing not to spill anything. "I'll bring you up some water," Sojiro said, tossing it on Maruki's lap. "Think you can take anything down?"

Maruki shook his head. He looked like he was barely keeping topside.

Sojiro pushed him back down to the pillow and covered him up. He took the uneaten breakfast downstairs and tossed the miso, salvaging the onigiri with a cheesecloth and stuffing it in the refrigerator to worry about later. He didn't have a thermometer at the café that wasn't designed for jabbing into cooked meat. Neither he nor Futaba tended to get sick, though that'd probably change once she started attending high school.

What do I do with this. He was surprised by the intensity of his frustration. He threw a used dishtowel on the counter and scrubbed his face down under his glasses. What did he do with this. Calling an ambulance was still an option but something was staying his hand.

He began to hunt around for the basin and a fresh cloth when the door jarred on its hinges like it was being kicked by a boot. "Café's closed," he snapped, striding over to the window, then paused when he saw Takemi's distinctive dye job. "You came," he murmured as he opened the door. He had to lean against the doorframe for a moment to gather his composure. "Give a guy a hint next time."

"I like to keep Y-chromosomes upright." She ducked under his arm shamelessly, scuffing her boots off on the mat. "Coast clear?"

"Clear as it can be. The rat's upstairs. Let's get down to it." Sojiro locked the door again and faced her firmly. "What kind of payment we looking at for this?"

"Aren't you businesslike this morning," Takemi said. "Nice. I like it. Depends on the patient, the diagnosis, and the treatment. I shuttered my doors for this, so maybe I'll charge for lost revenue too. It depends on how mercenary I feel like being today."

"Remind me why I called you again?" Sojiro said.

"Because I assume this lab rat needs to duck the attention of either law enforcement, the media, the medical community, or a mixed bag of all of the above," Takemi said. "Which – for a fellow confidant of the illustrious Phantom Thieves and someone you claim Akira knows – makes the list of possible lab rats you're hiding rather small. Don't you think?"

"Would you just get up there?"

"And people say it's a marvel you're still single." Takemi had a lollipop in her mouth. She shuffled it to the other side of her smile and patted his arm as he passed. "I'll take care of it. Take a load off. You remember what I told you about stress and your heart."

And now Futaba and whatever ears she had planted in here knew about stress and his heart too, which meant this day had just gotten exponentially more annoying without him having to lift any further fingers. He counted to five. "Tell me if you need anything."

"You're a peach," she said, and was up the stairs a moment later with the rest of her antagonism.

Sojiro clattered around the kitchen to cover up the sound of money flying out his ass. He paused to assemble two call-in orders and met his patrons at the door with their bags, waving away their concerns at the early closing. "Just a routine cleaning of the bathroom," he said, smiling warmly as the housewife flushed at it. "Just figured that's an evil that should be vanquished without civilian casualties."

It took Takemi a full half hour to clunk back down the stairs. At that point Sojiro had wound his way through a second cup of Narimo and had marginally managed to slow his own roll with a boring documentary on Heian art. He palmed it off as Takemi slid herself onto one of the barstools with a sigh, setting her bag down beside her. It clinked suspiciously.

Sojiro poured the Mocha Matari he'd prepared for her, layered it with a surface of fresh cream, and slid it over on a saucer to her with a handful of chocolates. "Thank you." The hands that Takemi wrapped around it were nearly as pale as the porcelain. She took a genuinely appreciative whiff, her eyes fluttering shut as the steam wafted up to her.

Sojiro wiped down his side of the bar. Under Leblanc's warm lighting she was striking in cool tones: black and blue and silver that clinked in studs and chains. She took her time, cradling the mug throughout ladylike sips, before finally lowering it back to the countertop. "He's sleeping now," she reported. "His fever had him in a lot of pain. I gave him an anti-pyretic and analgesic cocktail that'll knock him out for a few hours. He'll need to put something in his stomach before he takes the next dose. You say he collapsed on your doorstep? And again this morning?"

"Passed out the first time. Not sure if he passed out the second time or just lost his balance."

"What was he doing here?"

Sojiro didn't bother obfuscating. Even if Takemi were oblivious enough to somehow miss the taxi driver uniform folded on the shelving unit, it was obvious Maruki wasn't a regular. "Noticed something was screwy with him when he ferried me home. He'd taken off before I could pay him in full the first time, so I invited him to the café to brew him up some coffee."

Takemi's eyes were catlike over her mug as she brought it to her lips. "Sure his collapse wasn't a commentary on the coffee?"

"Cute. What's wrong with him?"

"I have an itemized list if you want it, but for the most part it's a trifecta of dehydration, malnutrition, and exhaustion. A sinus infection is the root of the fever – probably triggered from all the pollen and then worsened when he delayed treating it. It's a drop in the bucket compared to the rest. He hasn't eaten a solid meal in weeks."

"Wouldn't surprise me." The man stacked up like a pile of polygons.

"I prescribed him a round of antibiotics and a nasal spray to clear up the infection. A day later and I'd have wanted him on an IV for his dehydration, but it looks like you turned that around in time. He'll be weak for a while. He shouldn't be working and he shouldn't be getting behind a wheel – at the very least, not on the cocktail I have him on."

Sojiro leaned against the counter and rubbed his eyes slowly. "I do know him," Takemi said. "He's infamous in the world of theoretical cognitive research. He's participated in a number of studies under the umbrella of mental health – mostly intervention strategies for neuroatypical grade school students. Some of his methods have actually somewhat wound their way into standard first-year medical curriculum, though he's not usually cited by name. What studies he personally pioneered were usually absorbed by teams with more funding. The rest of his studies… let's just say that which is lucrative doesn't always bring a windfall to the right people. He was famous for going rogue and securing ancillary funding for his pet projects."

"He sounds like a pain in the ass."

"Yes, but a brilliant pain in the ass," Takemi said. "Cognitive research historically sees spotty funding. Sometimes the overhead is interested in it and sometimes they view it as a money-sucking black hole. For him to be that invested in it without financial support, while also finding the time and mental energy to organize coherent data sets on neuroatypical behaviors, is… pretty extraordinary. Almost unfathomable."

Sojiro kept working at a stain until it yielded. "Doesn't have that energy now."

"No, he doesn't," Takemi said. "If I may ask, how exactly did you two cross paths?"

"Like I said, he taxi'd me home."

"That's it?"

"No, I needed to scratch an itch and he was my Tuesday night hook-up," Sojiro said. "What do you want from me?"

"He was delirious until the anti-emetic took hold. He was talking about Akira and the metaverse. Can I assume he's also one of the Phantom Thieves' 'confidants'?"

Sojiro almost went cross-eyed at the sheer height of that flyover. If Akira hadn't told her about Maruki he wasn't about to go around shooting things down. "You could say that," he relented. "Don't know him personally though."

"Does Akira know he's here?"

"No. And don't text him about it either. I know you two exchanged numbers. Just… let me take care of that end myself."

Takemi devoted another handful of minutes to her coffee. She reached down and one-handedly began unwrapping the chocolate.

Sojiro tossed the soiled towel into the bar's hamper and fished about for things to do that didn't look like he was trying to escape from her.

Takemi said, "He's very sick."

"I get that."

"Moreover, his body is weak. If he were in a hospital or even my clinic, there could be blood tests run to determine what he's deficient in, but without more targeted treatment it'll take him longer to improve."

"He doesn't want a hospital."

"And I tried to convince him to come to my clinic, once he was cogent enough to hear good advice," Takemi said. "It seems he feels safer here. Are you sure there's nothing else I should know?"

Sojiro rescued the half-empty bottle of mixed glass cleaner and debated how far he wanted to go. It was clear from the set of her shoulders and the look in her eyes that she had an idea. Ultimately it really just wasn't his business to tell. "Had some stuff go down in the metaverse."

For better or worse – probably worse – Takemi didn't visibly react to this at all. "And your decision to take him in?"

"He needed help. Don't make it more than what it is."

"Takuto is a good man. I don't know what landed him here, but whatever it was, I can't imagine it necessitated a price this high. I would've pried more, but he wasn't in much shape to answer me."

"So you want me to fill you in?" Sojiro swallowed down his irritation at her presumption. "What makes you so sure he didn't have it coming?"

"A combination of hunches and data, like any good quack," Takemi said. "Part of what got him into trouble in the first place was that he invested himself too heavily in his projects. Picking up bills for some clients who were financially suffering, personally appealing to the coaches of student athletes who felt overwhelmed, advocating in person for students to their advisors – he was everywhere. He devotes himself to his work and he's the collateral damage. You can sell me on a few misdemeanors, but I'm not about to hop on board a train of his villainy."

"Look, why are you telling me all this?"

"Because you just asked."

"You, Futaba, even Haruhito for god's sake – why does everyone keep acting like this is supposed to be my problem? What's it got to do with me? I don't know who he is. I met him three times. Why is this suddenly my fire to put out?"

"My mistake." Takemi's tone didn't change at all in the face of his antagonism. "Am I in your way? You can use this phone here to call the ambulance. Let me just move my things."

"All I'm getting is people telling me how I'm supposed to think without giving me a reason why. This isn't a hotel. It's barely even a café most days. I don't have the resources for this. This isn't my problem."

Takemi was studying him over her mug again.

Suddenly embarrassed, frustrated, Sojiro turned his back on her to hide his shame. He aggressively got to work scrubbing the table tops, putting elbow grease into the splashes of coffee.

Takemi said, after far too long a pause to be anything but deliberate, "Is there anything else you needed from me?"

"No," he muttered. He didn't look at her.

"You and Futaba are both doing well? No seasonal allergies I need to treat?"

"No."

"I left his medication and the instructions by his bedside. I'll trust you to be able to interpret them." She finished her coffee with a longer drag and set it back on the saucer with a neat ceramic click. "Thank you for the coffee. It was delicious. Narimo, right?"

"Yeah."

"It paired impeccably with the chocolates. You have good taste."

"Thanks."

"For the record, Sakura-san," Tae Takemi said, "people assuming that you'll help them isn't the same as people taking your kindness for granted. The people in Yongen-Jaya are well-aware of their hometown treasure. How do you think you keep attracting new customers when your hours are so erratic? Businesses with ten times more to offer have died out for less."

"I didn't ask for this."

"Then call an ambulance."

He kept scrubbing. "I'll follow up tomorrow," Takemi said, bending to retrieve her satchel. "If you do plan on bringing him to a hospital, I'd like you to do me a favor and call me first. I doubt he has a primary physician, so for the moment I'm going to go ahead and list him as one of mine. It's not much of a medical history, but I've started charts for his blood pressure and vitals, so it'll at least be something to start with."

"What do I owe you?"

"Nasal spray, anti-biotics, a house visit, revenue at the clinic lost, diagnosis, out-patient consultation…" Takemi cross-referenced her flip-chart. "Comes to about three free coffees, give or take."

Something both warm and miserable kindled in his chest. Sojiro leaned both palms against the table and breathed out slowly.

"Five," he said.

Surprise flared before her lowered eyebrows could suppress it. "Very well," she drawled. "And one large plate of curry for a follow-up appointment, I think."

"Three meals. With coffee."

"You drive a hard bargain, Sakura-san. But I suppose I can settle just this once."

"Thank you," Sojiro murmured as Takemi reached the door. He made himself busy when she looked over her shoulder at him. "I… appreciate it. Sorry I made a fuss. I'll let you know if anything changes."

She had her hand on the door, preventing it from closing. Her gaze was doing that soft thing that women's faces always did when Sojiro showed an iota of human kindness. He couldn't tell if it irritated him or encouraged him. Probably neither. "Of all the doorsteps to collapse in, he was lucky it was yours," Takemi said. "Take care, Sakura-san."

Sojiro lifted his hand over his head to wave her off. Once he was sure she was gone from the alley, he locked the door after her and dimmed all but the back security lights by the refrigerator to finish cleaning in peace.

The afternoon drizzle had intensified to a steady downpour by the time he reopened. He lost himself in the uptick of takeout orders, meeting customers at the door as they peered into the window under their umbrellas. His usual elderly couple didn't arrive for their meal at five, but he fielded a call a quarter of an hour later from the husband tentatively asking about pick-up procedures. Sojiro temporarily flipped his sign and delivered their meal out to them instead, packages tucked against his chest to spare them the worst of the runoff from his own dog-eared umbrella.

Yongen-Jaya was nearly deserted by the time he came back. Tired and chilled, Sojiro kept his café open an hour longer to pick up the stragglers as they dragged themselves back from work across the city. When the final trickle had died, he closed up for good and spent the next half hour cleaning the store for the second time that day.

Futaba had remained mysteriously but conspicuously silent that day, texting him only once about a package that'd been delivered that afternoon. Store empty and clean, Sojiro balled up his apron into the hamper and wondered what the hell to do. He couldn't stay here. Futaba would binge on cup noodles and pocky and while it wouldn't kill her, he didn't feel like making another store run for cup noodles and pocky in the middle of the week. Normally he might ask her to come on over so he could just feed her from the café, but the downpour was torrential and from the look of the radar, it had no plans to let up until tomorrow morning at the earliest. If he was going to be entirely honest with himself, he wasn't itching to subject himself to it either.

As if to reaffirm this there was a flash in his peripherals, followed by the immediate growl of thunder so throaty it shook the building. Sojiro listened for any sign of life upstairs, but it'd been dead silent since Takemi had left.

Or just dead. Sojiro gave up. He filled a glass full of water, dimmed the downstairs lights, and headed upstairs to see if there was a corpse in his attic. He flipped the lights at the top of the stairs on as he crested the landing, noting immediately that Takemi had left the window open a crack to help air out the room. Probably less a commentary on the temperature he kept the café and more a commentary on how he needed to pick up a fucking broom once every two years.

Maruki had managed to retain the covers on top of him this time. He didn't stir when Sojiro set the glass down on the bedside table, breaths congested but steady. Glancing quickly at his face, Sojiro took up the instructions Takemi had left behind and angled them towards the light to squint at him. Anti-emetics three times a day before meals to help keep them down. Antipyretics three times a day for the fever, analgesics every six hours as needed. Nasal spray twice a day, antibiotic once a day in the morning with food. "Dosed you up like an elephant, kid," Sojiro sighed. He rummaged around Akira's desk for the dusty tape dispenser and affixed the instructions up next to the bed.

Maruki didn't rouse himself until the back of Sojiro's hand came to rest between his eyes. Sojiro watched his eyes flinch open, counting the seconds it took for Maruki to locate him.

Sojiro kept his hand there for a while to think. It was clear the old dose of antipyretics had worn off. Maruki was about as temperate as a dumpster fire. To be taken with food. Did he even have anything in his kitchen suitable for a sensitive stomach? "Is it time for me to go?" Maruki mumbled.

Sojiro withdrew. He went back downstairs to prepare the bowl and compress, thunking back up with aching calves. He dragged Akira's desk chair over to sprawl into it, half-tempted to kick off his shoes but figuring the air didn't need to get any more stale.

Maruki didn't react at all as Sojiro worked to mop up the fever. Sojiro worked clinically, mind occupied as he went over the information available to him. He could bluster all he want in front of witnesses, but ultimately he was familiar enough with his own weaknesses to know when to accept defeat. There was no way he'd kick a sewer rat out into the torrential rain in this condition, let alone a human. For better or worse, this was a dumpster fire that he'd adopted. Another night – another two nights, even another three nights – wasn't beyond him. He'd disproved his own hardassery a year ago. Now he was just running off fumes.

Once Maruki felt cool enough to not incinerate the furniture, Sojiro settled the cloth back into the bowl and got down to business. "Takemi says you got three choices. Here, a hospital, or her clinic. She says you can't safely get behind a wheel in this condition."

Maruki spoke for the first time. His voice was stripped of inflection. "I have to get back to work."

"Not one of the choices. You're gonna have to talk to your boss and work it out. It's pouring-ass rain outside and I'm not in the mood to cart you over there, so unless you got family willing to come pick you up, you're staying here until everything cools off. You included."

Maruki said nothing.

What did he even have to fix in that refrigerator, Sojiro wondered, still rubbing the bridge of his nose tiredly. Something bland that wouldn't hurt coming back up. Curry was out of the question and he was running low on the herbs to make the Chinese medicinal dish. He really should just fall back to the basics and make okayu. He'd done it for Akira on the rare occasions the kid had come down with a cold. It wouldn't put weight on a hamster but it'd be enough to cradle a few meds.

Maruki watched the rain drown the ambience of Yongen-Jaya in hazy grey smears.

Sojiro thought of the flood of cheerful chatter that had nearly drowned him in the cab. He listened to the skies brawl it out outside the cocoon of the café. "Thank you." Maruki spoke unexpectedly, his voice soft. "I wish I hadn't put you out so much."

"You're the one you've put out. Takemi says you've done a number on your body. She put you on a cocktail to get the symptoms under control, but she'll be checking up on you tomorrow to make sure you're following instructions. She's a pistol and she's got my number, so I'd appreciate it if you didn't give her a fuss."

Maruki again said nothing.

Sojiro scratched his neck until restlessness had him back up out of his chair and down the stairs. He prepared a basin of cool water as he put the rice on for okayu. Figuring a little flavor would help it go down, he sprinkled it with a smattering of cinnamon and gave it a dash of powdered orange.

Maruki was still watching out the window when Sojiro thumped back up the stairs like four asthmatic hippopotami. "Brought you something that should be pretty easy to take down," Sojiro said, grunting again as he plopped back into the chair. "Should help the meds sit. I brought you up a spoon."

"Thank you."

"Takemi says she wants you to be drinking a lot more or she's going to admit you. She wants a full glass to go down your neck with every med you take. I know it's not optimal, but if you're having trouble getting down the stairs for the restroom, I'll bring you up a bucket and something to rinse your hands off in. Better than tumbling spout over kettle down the stairs."

"Thank you."

"Look at me," Sojiro said.

He expected a fight, but to his surprise Maruki's head turned immediately. There was a therapist's gentle smile on his face. "Thank you," Maruki said again, before Sojiro could smack it off him. "This is all so very generous, Sakura-san. More than I could ever hope to repay."

Sojiro went through a brief catalogue of smiles. He gave the okayu a stir to make sure the spices were wound in and thought about a smile in a rearview mirror. A smile to cloak nerves. A smile of gratitude. A smile to an old woman needing help. A smile meant to placate.

Recalling the entire list, only one had felt genuine, and it was the only one Maruki hadn't yet directed towards him. "Here." He motioned, and Maruki obediently took the bowl. "Can you manage on your own?"

"Yes. If you have other things to do, please don't let me keep you."

He didn't argue. "Eat as much as you can," he said, and escaped downstairs to whip up something for himself. His main criteria for food at this point was something that either didn't kill him or that killed him very quickly, so he surrendered to a six day-old bowl of leftover curry from the back of the refrigerator and the rest of the Narimo from the pot.

By the time the evening news was over, his headache of strain was back. He popped two analgesics for himself with a handful of water from the tap, gave it an extra quarter hour to start kicking in, and made his way upstairs for what hopefully was the last time that evening.

Maruki had fallen asleep upright against the wall by the window, the bowl of okayu still between his legs. Sojiro glanced into it curtly before taking it, gratified to see Maruki had managed to take down half. He roused Maruki enough to get him to take down his dose, then helped lay him down. After last night's confusion he didn't want to dim the lights completely, so he relocated Akira's lamp to the opposite end of the room to avoid shining the nightlight in Maruki's eyes.

Maruki was still awake when Sojiro came back for the last time. His eyes were narrow and tired as they focused out the window without their glasses, the back of his hand resting on his forehead as if to shield himself from the rain. "How's it sitting," Sojiro said.

It took Maruki a long moment to speak. Just when Sojiro thought he was going to blow him off, Maruki murmured at last, "Very well. It was delicious. Thank you."

"No need to go overboard. It was just okayu."

"Still. It was very good. Have you made it before?"

"Used to make it all the time for Futaba. She'd get stomachaches from pigging down too much junk food. She'd complain the whole time she was eating it, but she'd scrape her plate clean."

Maruki's huff was almost a chuckle, but his expression didn't change. Tired and distant. "Strong girl."

Sojiro considered everything. It was time to go home and cook animals and hopefully several plants for that strong girl. She'd been weirdly patient with him that day, but he knew patience usually came with caveats and an expiration date. Mostly he just needed to justify to himself that it was fine to leave dumpster fires in the rearview mirror for a while. Eventually they either went out on their own or attracted the attention of someone more qualified.

He scratched the back of his head and made his decision. He went downstairs to grab one of his older cleaning buckets and slid the handle over his inner elbow as he filled a basin. He delivered those upstairs and backtracked to bring up some senbei crackers and a jug of water. "I won't force you, but I don't want you navigating the stairs by yourself if you can avoid it," he said, setting the supplies on Akira's desk. "Gotta pee, do it in the bucket. Anything else, scoot yourself down on your backside so I don't come in tomorrow morning to see your neck broken at the bottom. Leaving my house number on the desk if there's an emergency, but if you think you're in real trouble, stop being a pain in the ass and just call an ambulance."

"Thank you." Maruki was back to studying the window. "You've been so generous, Sakura-san. I'm sorry I can't repay you."

"Told you not to worry about it. Get some sleep. Takemi'll come in tomorrow and see what's up with you. Until then, keep covered up. And shut the damn window if the draft gets any worse. Last thing I need is rot up here to deal with."

"I'll make sure to shut it. Thank you, Sakura-san, for everything."

Years later, Sojiro still wouldn't be exactly sure what'd cued him in. He'd gotten to the stairs and had already taken two of them down when something in the back of his mind flickered, brief as a spark from a lighter.

He paused with his hand still on the top of the shelf to look over his shoulder. Maruki's head was leaning against the wall, his hands curled upright atop his thighs. Still-damp hair from the compress curled in parentheses over his forehead.

Sojiro slowly let go of the shelf and turned. Thunder vibrated in the stairs under his feet.

He said, "You gonna do something stupid to yourself if I leave?"

Maruki watched the rain.

Sojiro watched his gaze eventually flit away. It roamed down the wall, across the desk, down to the bed, before finally finding him from across the room. The smile was regretful and human and only one of two genuine smiles Sojiro had seen on his face so far.

"I haven't decided yet," Takuto Maruki admitted weakly.

---

.

He texted Futaba to let her know about the pudding he'd hidden in the back of the fridge and to make sure she got herself in bed at an hour that didn't invite scrutiny from child welfare services. The TV was scrolling flash-flood warnings across the screen by the time he was finished with all his preparations for the night; Sojiro scrounged for his painter's tarp and shot her off more instructions to bunch a towel in front of their door and set up one of their trashcans under the leak in their ceiling if she hadn't already. Once he'd spread the tarp out over the floor, he braved the downpour to rescue his outdoor plants, shaking them free of water as best he could before settling them on the canvas. His washed-out sidewalk sign came next, then his table, until all of Leblanc's trappings were safely inside with him.

He untucked his dishtowel from the refrigerator handle to scrub his hair dry as he set about locking up. Using another of Futaba's bright yellow sticky notes, he cleanly markered on tomorrow's date and stuck it center-mass on the 'CLOSED' side of the sign before turning it out to face the street. It'd been so long since he'd lowered the blinds over the door that a shower of dust assaulted him when he pulled the cord. He blinked it off his lashes as he fumbled with the slats, then attended to the windows with the same result. When he was done, Leblanc stood completely shuttered from the outside world for the first time since it'd opened.

Maruki's pain meds knocked him out for the first several hours. He woke when it was time to administer the nasal spray and the fever-reducer, listlessly submitting to the full glass of water Sojiro insisted on chasing them down with. He was vomiting into his bucket thirty minutes later, clinging to the bedside table with a white-knuckled hand.

Sojiro rinsed out the bucket downstairs and called Takemi on the emergency line she'd left him to see if he should re-administer the dose. "No, it's been absorbed through his stomach already if it's been a half an hour," she said. "It's probably stress. See if he can keep some rice down and feed him an anti-emetic. Call me if he vomits again."

Time passed by under the percussion of the storm. Lulled by repetition in general, Sojiro gradually lost all sense of context. Maruki slept fitfully, alternating between a fetal position and full body thrashing that at one point knocked Sojiro's glasses off his face. Sojiro forced down an anti-emetic and filled the basin up to work on keeping Maruki cool as Maruki calmly, deliriously explained why Sojiro should let him die. He explained that he would make it very unmessy as Sojiro coaxed down lukewarm bites of okayu and reassured him under the compress that he would walk out of Leblanc first before dying so it wouldn't incriminate any of them.

Maruki ended up drifting somewhere after midnight, blankets clutched in his fist as he curled against the wall. Sojiro retreated downstairs to make himself some grave-delaying coffee and switched on the news to give himself something else to listen to. When he tried to phone up Futaba to check on her, she refused to pick up but did stack eleven thumbs-up emojis atop each other in rapid succession in his messages.

Sojiro paced. He smoked and then he didn't, snuffing out the cigarette before the smoke could trail upstairs. He sat at the table where Akira had used to study and braced his elbows atop the scarred surface to scratch his temples until they stung.

Wakaba. The segmented shadow of the blinds warmed and then faded as a bike light passed by outside, throwing a sheet of water up against the base of his door. He could picture her no-nonsense shark grin across the table from him but otherwise didn't have the wherewithal to summon up what she might have done in his situation. Somewhere along the line Wakaba the person had faded into the collection of colorful, scented fractals people swept up and kept as mementos after a loved one's death.

Sojiro filled a glass and watered Akira's plant. The space heater fuel was running low. He topped it off and then went back downstairs to find a rag to wipe the dust off the shelves. What had used to be a space time didn't touch now seemed to move and breathe and change wherever he looked.

He made a last trip downstairs to grab the book he stored under the counter and re-settled himself in the chair. He sat his phone on the bed stand and for a while sat with his attention poised out the window, index finger marking his spot in the pages. Yongen-Jaya lay smothered and muted, interspersed with commercial lights and apartment windows opening and shutting their eyes in the gloom. Stagnation that moved like a pulse.

---

.

"I dreamed last spring," Maruki said.

Sojiro had been drifting. He blinked himself back to focus on the dust motes in the spill of lamplight. "I don't remember when it started." Maruki's eyes were on the ceiling, half-hidden under the splay of his fingers. It was the first coherent thing he'd spoken in almost two hours. "I don't even know if it had anything resembling a start or an end. It was primordial. It was composed of all essence. Fear, wonder. Light and dark. Sound and silence. I knew I'd seen it before but I couldn't tell where. All I knew was that once it was inside my head - once I saw it for what it was – I couldn't unsee it."

The scent from the windows was heady. Sodden earth and steam curling from roof tiles. Sojiro's book was tented open atop his knee. He shifted on reflex to get Maruki some more water and realized the pitcher was empty.

For a moment, suspended between realities, he had the crazy thought to open the window and stick the pitcher outside to refill it. "Have you ever had such a dream, Sakura-san?" Maruki said.

"Can't say I have."

"I thought the world had changed while I was sleeping," Maruki said. "But the longer I lived in that new world, the more I realized it wasn't the world that had changed – it was my cognition of that world. In that moment falling became flying. The wall that had separated life from death now seemed no more substantial than a ribbon across a doorway. Everything that I'd thought was intangible were suddenly a million threads I could weave with my own hands. For the first time I could see things not only as they were, but everything that could be, outside the laws of physics. A world that could be fashioned to facilitate salvation instead of suffering."

Sojiro watched Maruki splay a shaking hand above his face, fingers outstretched as if to brace the ceiling away from falling on him. "It sounds insane, doesn't it," Maruki said. "A dream that can shape reality."

"Yeah."

"What would you have done? Knowing the world could be remade with a strong enough will, and that will was your own? What if you'd known the only way to ease suffering was to build back the world from the ground-up?"

Sojiro felt so old he was new. Clear skies and thunder both in his head. He watched the window and tried to remember where and when he was. "It's true: it is insane," Maruki said. "I think I already knew at that point I'd passed the last bend. But it was worse than that. What I'd found – what he had shown me – was how permeable everything was. How pain and pleasure warp memory until it no longer resembles anything it once was. Reality means nothing, Sakura-san. It disappears when we do. We have no way of definitively proving that the past exists. As far as we're concerned, historical figures and storybook characters are one in the same. All that separates them is how we choose to engage with them. We live a life balanced on intangibles."

Sojiro had half a mind to get the water. He found he couldn't move. Sitting there, an unintentionally willing captive in someone else's headspace, he realized he'd forgotten what up and down were supposed to look like.

"I had a dream that the world would be set on fire," Maruki Takuto said. "I'd already watched it in another time. Humanity itself collapsed to ash. The one who'd set it on fire had said that there was nothing to be done. It'd already been written. The only thing that I could change was when.

"He handed me the flame. No match, no kindling. The fire itself sat on my hand like a bird." Maruki's fingers curled a little towards his palm. "It didn't hurt. I knew the instant I let it go, everything would go up around me. I had no idea how long I was supposed to hold it. I didn't know if it would let me stand there and do nothing or if it'd wait until I fell asleep to escape. All I knew was that once I let it go, everything would burn."

Sojiro watched Maruki's other hand slowly lift until both palms were braced towards a ceiling above his reach. Holding up the sky. "I thought about my dream then," Maruki said. "If the world had to be set ablaze – if it'd already been written – what if I instead changed my cognition of that world? If I became that world, I would be the only thing that would burn. Any suffering that any god could dream up would have no choice but to come straight to me. So I swallowed it. It hurt this time – worse than any pain I've ever felt. It burned the heart out of me. Every drop of blood. I screamed and nobody heard it. People kept passing by. Rain fell and didn't touch me. I burned and burned and nobody saw me burn, and I …"

Maruki's voice broke for the first time. Sojiro saw him blink rapidly towards his hands. The room felt sodden with rain and wood smoke. "I opened my eyes and everyone was smiling," Maruki said. "Nothing was in flames. The trees were growing. Blue skies and the smell of damp grass after a storm. It was like hurt had just… disappeared. All it'd taken was a flex of willpower, and I'd rerouted all the suffering in the world. I had swallowed pain, and the only one who remembered what it felt like to burn to pieces was me. And I was fine with that."

Sojiro felt like air wasn't reaching his chest. It took him a long, disembodied eternity to realize what he was feeling was terror.

"Why couldn't he have let go of my hand," Maruki said. Both palms came down to rest against his eyes, hard enough to blanche the skin around them, and then he was weeping – soft, rasping breaths that cinched straight up from his toes. "Why couldn't Akira have just let me burn."

---

.

Futaba came in a half hour later, bundled up in a yellow parka and lugging an overnight bag. Sojiro was back down to refill the water pitcher and jotting down reminders to himself for the following morning. He glanced up as she shouldered the door closed behind her, shoving her key back into her pocket and discarding her umbrella off to the side without collapsing it. She stood there, quaking and nonverbal, eyes fixed on the floor.

The jagged edges in him softened. He set aside the pen with a deliberate motion he could see her hawkishly track in her peripherals. "Did you lock up?"

She nodded. She took her glasses off and rubbed the back of her wrist across both eyes.

He fished up the usual blanket from the leftmost corner under the counter and fit it into the nearest bench. She curled into herself like a cat as he sat in the booth across from her with coffee and a crossword he didn't bother untangling. He let the sound of the rain prickle sensation across his skin.

When he stood to return upstairs nearly a half hour later, Futaba whispered, breathless and pinched in her own shadow, "Sojiro."

He sat back down. She curled her legs up tighter and bit out increasingly panicked little puffs against the inside of her wrist until he moved to sit beside her. She squiggled around in her cocoon until she was resting against him.

He rubbed a thumb into the hair behind her ear, slow and rhythmic, watching the clock navigate the rest of the hour. When her panic faded she was left leaden against him, hand fisted in his suit jacket as she slept.

Sojiro leaned the back of his head against the headrest and closed his eyes slowly.

When he could manage to move without splintering, he untangled himself, settled her back into her cocoon, and went back upstairs to watch the world burn.

---

.

Sakamoto came by the next morning and prowled out in the rain like a tomcat until Sojiro let him in. "Woah," Sakamoto said, registering the shuttered emptiness with a blink. "Who died?"

"What the hell have I told you about traipsing over here during rainstorms, idiot?" Sojiro snapped. "You want a repeat of last time?"

"Hey, that was a fluke. Look, I wore a raincoat and brought an umbrella and everything."

Futaba was still balled up in the seat under her blanket and camouflaged under Sojiro's jacket. "You're getting a hot drink down your neck," Sojiro said. He threw Ryuji a dish towel and motioned impatiently towards the bar as he started up the kettle. "Dry off so you're not splattering all over my floor."

"You sure?" Ryuji brightened anyway, scrubbing his hair perfunctorily before slinging the towel over his neck. He swung himself onto the stool like a rancher mounting a horse. "I mean I won't turn you down, no mistake, but I ain't really here for that if it's too much trouble."

"It is trouble, which is why I keep telling you not to come over here when it's raining hogs and asses out there!"

"It's typhoon season, Boss. If I let a little rain stop me, I'd be cooped up in that house for a month." Ryuji braced his forehead against his palm and grinned crazily at the bar. "Hogs and asses. That's so great. Hogs and effin' asses."

"Pipe down. Dry off your hair." Sojiro felt cobbled together with kindling and coffee grounds. He glanced brusquely over to the door as he got down his cacao beans. "Where the girlfriend?"

"She's at a shoot. Apparently they're making a 'rainy day' catalogue thingy and they're taking advantage of the shitty weather. Dunno, she wasn't all that pumped about it, so I didn't press her about it."

"You're not there with her?"

"Hell no, are you kidding? It's wet out there, man."

Sojiro counted to fifteen and went to fetch the cream from the refrigerator. "Anyways, reason I'm over here is for this." Ryuji reached down by his feet and slung up a thoroughly knotted plastic bag Sojiro hadn't seen him lug in. "The group's getting stuff together to send Akira a care package. I figured I'd drop by and see if you wanted in. It's cheaper than sending like, five different ones or whatever, and this way we could all pitch in to ship one."

Sojiro squinted over at him dryly. "The group, huh."

"I mean, mayyybe it was Ann's and my idea," Ryuji said. "But the others would've thought of it if we hadn't. We just got a jump on it first."

"And what makes you think I haven't already been sending my own?"

"Have you?"

Sojiro clattered around the kitchen until he remembered he was trying to let Futaba sleep. He settled for making his back look as pissy as possible. "Anyway, Ann's been on me to get it done, so I thought I'd use my time today to, you know," Ryuji said. "It's harder getting the gang together now with everybody spreading out, and once summer's over it's gonna be harder to get a hold of Ann, so. Strike while the iron's hot sorta thing."

"You guys talk about that? The long-distance stuff, I mean."

Ryuji's hands were on the table. He slid the towel out from behind his neck and wrapped his fists up gently in it, slow and methodical. "Can't just sit on it and expect it to work, kid," Sojiro said.

"We're not. I mean," Ryuji said, and stopped. "I mean, we've sorta had practice. Not to put too fine a point on it or anything."

Sojiro poured the cacao beans into the grinder and closed the lid. "I know, uh." Ryuji twisted the towel a bit more, taking a visibly deep breath. "Look, Boss, I know you're still not a hundred percent on… on all this, but—"

"I don't care." That was a fucking lie. Sojiro kept his back on Ryuji, using the noise from the bean grinder to give himself a moment to rephrase. He decided to shoot straight. "Listen, maybe I'm just old-fashioned, and maybe I may not… completely 'get' it, but while I didn't exactly approve at first—"

"Boss—"

"Don't interrupt. I may not get it, but at the end of the day it isn't my business. What is my business is whether or not you're treating my kid right. As long as you two don't hurt him – that's all I ask. That's all I want."

Ryuji kept his gaze on the towel.

Sojiro brought the water to a boil and added the ground cacao in with the rest of the ingredients to make Jamaican hot chocolate. Ryuji had recovered enough to give him a sheepish half-smile when Sojiro thunked the mug down on a coaster in front of him. "You really sounded like a dad just now," Ryuji said.

"I am a dad."

"It's nice. Sometimes I sorta forget. You know? There are good dads out there. That's all."

Sojiro took the towel from him and turned his back to clean up his supplies. He didn't have a crisis mostly because he didn't have time or energy for it. "So, uh," Ryuji said from behind him. "I wasn't gonna ask, but… kinda sorta couldn't help but notice Futaba balled up over there. Everything okay?"

"Had a rough night."

"Anything I can do?"

Sojiro was keenly aware of the silence upstairs. He kept scrubbing the stain on the counter until it lifted. "It's nothing anyone can fix. Just gotta give it time."

"Sure there's nothing? I can always call up Ann or Makoto."

Sojiro considered it. He tossed the towel on the counter and gave up subterfuge. He leaned against the refrigerator and closed his eyes to knead them. "Wow, that bad, huh," Ryuji said. "Sorta feel like a dick for coming over unannounced now."

"You don't have to feel bad about that," Sojiro said gruffly. "Just wish you'd quit swimming over here in shorts during rainstorms. Your mother's going to have my head."

"She kinda won't shut up about what a good influence you are, actually. It's getting kind of annoying. Swear you could probably saw off my leg at this point and she'd thank you for teaching me about life's hardships or whatever."

Sojiro hid a smile behind his hand. He kept rubbing. "Well, I won't pry or nothing," Ryuji said. "But if you need me, or Futaba needs me, just let me know. I'm probably the closest at this point now that Makoto's moved out of her sister's place. I can always bop over here and play videogames with her or whatever. You got my number, just use it whenever."

"Thanks." He was honest. "I appreciate it. I know she will too."

Ryuji gathered the mug up in one hand and pushed the bag across the counter with the other. Sojiro got to work. He got out his to-go packets and began measuring out beans, taking care to label them before sealing them shut. "Woah, Blue Mountain?" Ryuji said, peering over at his work. "You seriously sending that pricey stuff? He's gonna flip."

"He's earned it."

"Hope his dick parents won't snatch it. He's gonna have to hide it under his mattress or something."

Sojiro considered this briefly, pencil pausing. He erased it and wrote, Electric Blue Cat Piss. "There we go," Ryuji laughed.

"Want you to hurry up and go home after you finish that." Sojiro pointed his elbow at Ryuji's mug as he searched for a takeout box to store the packets in. "Take a shower and for god's sake don't wade anywhere else in this weather. They say the worst is still to come."

"Feels kinda apocalyptic, doesn't it? All this rain all of a sudden. It was so sunny a few days ago. It's like this came outta nowhere."

"It's just the way it goes this time of year." Sojiro looked around the shop, suddenly seized with an ugly sort of longing. What he really wanted was to pack up the entire goddamn shop and ship it. He wanted to send a prepaid empty box for Akira to stuff himself into in order to ship himself back. There just wasn't enough worldly packing tape to make either happen. The look in Akira's eyes as he'd left had haunted Sojiro into weeks of sleepless nights. Sending coffee and Leblanc pastries wasn't enough. What Akira needed was to wake up every morning to hot curry and coffee and someone who gave a shit.

Ryuji was working on the dregs out of his mug with his forefinger. "Hey," Sojiro said.

Ryuji looked at him inquisitively, biting at his knuckle to mop up the sugar. "How often you in contact with Akira?" Sojiro asked.

"Pretty much every day. He likes me to check in after physical therapy."

"He mention anything to you about… all that stuff?"

"What stuff."

"You know." Sojiro waved an aimless, impatient finger overhead. "All that."

"Oh, the metaverse stuff? Not really. It's not his style."

"What does he talk to you about?"

"Honestly? Kind of nothing," Ryuji said. "I think he doesn't want to worry us. He mostly just keeps it light. Inconsequential crap, you know? Like sewing and knitting and cooking and stuff. He sends me pictures of the park that's by him sometimes. Birds and shit."

"And Ann?"

"We're usually on a three-way text, so most of what I get, she gets, 'less it's something personal. Why? What's up."

Sojiro shook his head. He found a container he could afford to sacrifice and lined it with the packets of beans, then sealed it shut. "Hey, thanks," Ryuji said, taking it from him when Sojiro held it out. "Want to send a note or whatever?"

"I'll text him later. He'll know those are from me."

"Roger." Ryuji loaded it back into the plastic bag and re-knotted it. When he stood, Sojiro noticed he kept a hold of the counter until he could stabilize the weight on his leg. "Say hi to Futaba for me when she wakes up, okay?" Ryuji said. "Let her know I dropped by."

"I will."

Ryuji slung the bag over his shoulder, anchoring it with his forefinger as he clumsily bent to retrieve his umbrella.

Sojiro watched his eyes flit over the café and linger on the stairs. There was something a little sharp in them, and for a moment Ryuji appeared to hesitate. He scuffed his foot along the floor, chewed on it a little, and then visibly let it go. "G'night, Boss."

"It's morning, idiot."

"For some of us," Ryuji laughed.

Sojiro made himself coffee with the remaining hot water. Futaba didn't wake when he sat across from her. He let her sleep, rescuing the crossword puzzle from the previous night and finally attending to it, allowing the TV to remain off so he could immerse himself in the static of rain.

By the time Futaba finally stirred, Sojiro's own eyes had begun to grow heavy. He had to blink himself back when she partially propped herself up, hand flailing out of the cocoon of her blankets to pad around the table. "Left," Sojiro said.

Her fingers tapped until they found the saucer. She stole his coffee mug with a serpentine snap, head emerging so she could greedily gulp it. "It's cold," she rasped, offended, shoving it back towards him so quickly it almost tipped.

"Of course it is, I poured it an hour ago."

"How can you drink cold coffee? It's so nasty."

"You think most coffee is nasty anyway. I don't know what you expected."

"I smelled chocolate and thought maybe you'd grown tastebuds or something! How was I supposed to know you'd bait and switch me?"

"How do you feel," Sojiro said.

Futaba lifted up the rest of the way. Her glasses had been discarded on the edge of the table by the napkin holder the previous night; she now shook off the blanket until it rested loosely around her ribs, unfolding the frames with one-handed dexterity and shoving them on her nose. "You don't have to stay here," Sojiro said preemptively. "I've got control of the situation. If it makes you uncomfortable—"

Futaba shook her head. "I want to see him."

He'd halfway expected it but still felt an unpleasant jolt in his stomach. He took a deep breath. "Futaba—"

"I'll be fine."

"Futaba, you're not ready."

"You don't get to decide that," she said, and as always the truth made another part of Sojiro twinge, quick as a wayward bolt of static. "I thought it over last night. I want to go up with you."

"He's still sick. He needs sleep."

"He hasn't coughed since last night. If he took Takemi's medicine, he's either dead or nearing 70% regeneration. There is zero in-between," Futaba said. "I need to go up. I need to. This isn't an option."

"How much did you hear last night?"

Futaba didn't meet his eyes.

Sojiro tried to hide his sigh into his coffee before remembering the mug was empty. He set it back down and stood up with a grunt. His bones hurt. "Please," Futaba said, smaller.

He'd apparently called her bluff. "I just don't know if it's good for either of you."

"I'll stand by the stairs. I'll just watch."

"Sure you will."

"I will. Don't make fun of me."

"I'm not making fun of you, I'm looking out for you. It's my job. You know that, right? Even if you saved the world, you're still my world to save. That doesn't change just because you… you pilot UFOs and take down mobsters in your spare time."

"You can't just say sappy things like that," Futaba said crossly, rubbing the inside of her wrist under her eyes to wall herself off from him. "It's not playing fair. Dad."

"I'm just saying." Though that knocked the wind out of him because of course it did. It did every time. It's why she did it. He had to hide his sentimentality in the dirty dishes at the sink for a while until he could compose himself. Perhaps understanding that the next decision directly relied on it, Futaba was ready by the time Sojiro was ready to face her. She was standing beside the booth now, blanket discarded, posture rigid but hands deliberately relaxed out of their fists. It took her a moment to find his eyes, but once she did she didn't let go. Her chin hiked up to punctuate the effort.

He compared her to the nonverbal vision of her a year ago. He was still comparing as he gathered his supplies: a refilled water pitcher, a fresh towel, crackers and the slices of leftover fruit from the refrigerator that he'd sliced last night. He heard her little feet traipse like an elephant's up behind him as they both ascended the stairs and he didn't stop her. She'd already known he wouldn't.

Maruki was on his stomach in the bed, arm tucked around his pillow. He stirred more readily than he had earlier that morning, drowsily blinking himself up from sleep when Sojiro lowered himself down into the chair by his bed. "I didn't mean to make you close your café," Maruki rasped. "This is costing you money."

"Must be feeling better if you're already back to nagging me about my store." Sojiro helped him sit up without a lot of introduction. "Takemi says you have to take these doses down with food. Can you manage on your own this time?"

"Yes. Thank you." Maruki hid behind his wrist for a moment. Despite his original skepticism of Futaba's prognosis, Sojiro could admit to being taken aback by the medication's efficacy. Maruki had been in six separate time zones the previous night and now merely seemed exhausted, if loopy from nasal spray. He focused on Sojiro with effort once he lowered his arm. "Was there someone here earlier? I thought I heard someone else's voice."

"The Sakamoto kid. Just came to pick some stuff up. He left a while ago."

Maruki was quiet a moment. "Does he know I'm here?"

"No, but he knows something's up. He's not a dumb kid," Sojiro said. "Just got a loud mouth. What, you wanted me to hide it?"

Maruki's voice was weak. "It's just a bit of a slap across the face, that's all."

"Look, I'm not playing cloak and dagger with you or anyone else. You needed help and I was here to give it. I don't have time for the rest of the crap. Come on, eat up." Sojiro gestured to the plate and Maruki took it reluctantly. "Get it down. You're late for your next dose and I don't want her getting up in my grill about messing up your treatment. She's already annoyed you're not in a clinic."

"Takemi-san said that?"

"Whatever else you are, Takemi apparently thinks enough of you to vouch for you. You must've made a good impression."

"Takemi-san." Maruki's voice had dropped to a murmur. He ate the slice of apple methodically, eyes straying as he visibly mulled the information.

Sojiro saw the exact moment where Maruki spotted Futaba at the stairs. Every ounce of color he'd gained from sleep was lanced out of his face. He dropped the plate into his lap as his eyes went wide with terror. "Yo," Futaba said. Sojiro could hear a note of surprised glee at the visceral reaction. "'Sup Doc."

"Futaba," Sojiro sighed. He rescued the plate and set it on the bed stand. "Play nice or get lost."

"Futaba-san," Maruki breathed. Sojiro saw his muscles start to twitch towards the window.

"So. I got questions," Futaba said. She advanced across the room and climbed without any fucking preamble whatsoever onto Akira's desktop, crossing her skinny legs underneath her. She propped her elbow up on one of them and leaned her chin onto her fist, staring at Maruki with soulless fish eyes. "Sojiro said you were in pretty rough shape last night, but he's naïve to the ways of the meta-medical world. I'm thinking Takemi's illegal meds knocked all the status effects out of you at this point. You and I both know that makes you fair game. Agreed?"

Sojiro was about to intercede, but something in Maruki's face stopped him. Maruki was still staring at Futaba with colorless dread, but something behind his eyes had shifted as he'd watched her situate herself. Futaba patiently permitted the scrutiny, unfazed, attention laser-focused on her victim. "Futaba-san." Maruki was still rough. He cleared his throat gently. His hands gathered in his lap, fingers briefly tangling and then uncrossing. "I'm sorry, I suppose I wasn't—"

"Expecting me? You kinda should have," Futaba said. "You know I keep a close watch on Sojiro. You may have picked up on this already, but he's really into picking up strays. I mean, just look at me. If my mess didn't scare him off, there's no telling what he'll sluice up off the streets."

"Futaba," Sojiro growled.

"Oh come on, don't get your apron in a bunch, you know it's true. But we're not here to examine your bad habits." Futaba leaned forward a bit to angle her other elbow atop her other knee. "I've had a pretty long time to think, Doc. And if you know as much about the inside of my head as I think you do, you know that 'a long time' for me is like, three times as long as it is for a normal person, which means I'm real tired of chewing on it. So I'm thinking, you're awake, and we're both here, and I'm soooort of not the type to mince words so I'm just gonna go for it."

Sojiro watched Maruki compose himself in fractals. He tried to straighten against his pillows, seemed to recognize dignity was a futile effort, and gave up to simply cross his hands in his lap. Sojiro saw the doctor persona emerge and decay in the same breath. Maruki's eyes roamed his knees for a while.

When he looked up his expression was both gentle and resigned. "What can I do for you."

"Well, that's kind of a whole basket of fries," Futaba said. "Got three bullet points for you. They have to do with the metaverse."

Maruki's eyes immediately flitted to Sojiro. "Don't worry, he knows all about that," Futaba said. "Well, mostly about it. He doesn't quite know exactly how many times we were all on the brink of a violent grisly death, but I'll tell him when he gets older and can handle R ratings."

"Would you stop needling me?" Sojiro snapped. "For god's sake, what did we just talk about? You said you'd come up and stay quiet by the stairs!"

"I lied to your face," Futaba said. "But in my defense I kind of have to to get anything done. In terms of parenting you're sort of like this pink bearded drone instead of a helicopter."

Sojiro was half out of his seat to have a much needed and very immediate conversation somewhere else when Maruki's soft interjection stopped him. "It's all right, Sakura-san."

"You stay out of this," Sojiro said. "This has nothing to do with you."

"I think I can guess what she's here for. I know I'm no longer qualified to dispense an opinion, but if you'd forgive me for speaking out… that is, if I'm right, I think it'll be beneficial for her to hear those answers from me."

Sojiro eyeballed Futaba. She seemed to sense that she'd pushed him a bit too far, because she looked down at her knees to avoid his frown, thumbing at her ankle bone. "Fine," Sojiro said, sitting back down. "But I'm staying right here. And I reserve the right to put a stop to this if it gets out of hand."

"Futaba-san." Maruki directed his next words towards her. "Please go ahead. I'll try to answer to the best of my ability."

Futaba took a moment to regroup her momentum. She pushed her glasses back up on her nose and held up her index finger, a bit less aggressively than the first time. "Question one," she said. "I need to know if you were holding back during that battle."

"Which battle."

"The one we were all in. Not the one you and Akira slapped at each other like pre-teen girls."

"No."

"Yeah, see, already I feel like you're not being straight-up with me," Futaba said. "I'm the Phantom Thieves scouter and I knew for a fact just how close that battle was. If Joker hadn't had that ridiculously souped-up Shiji-Ouji we would've lost mid-game. I had to work overtime just to keep them on their feet, and that was on top of scanning. It took just about everything I had and I slept for like a week afterwards."

"I never took any pleasure in the violence. I was fighting to keep my dream alive, but it was also the dream I wanted to forge for you. It wouldn't have occurred to me to use lethal force. It went against the purpose of my mission."

"So you were holding back," Futaba said.

Maruki was silent. "Why not just take out our leader and let the rest of us fall like a house of cards?" Futaba asked.

"Because I was fighting to actualize his dreams too."

"Isn't sacrificing one guy worth it if you can make the rest of the world happy?"

"I'm afraid I don't subscribe to that philosophy."

"Lie," Futaba said.

"Even if I had the stomach to single out a single person to sacrifice, Akira's wishes were so unselfish I could never bring myself to deny them. It's why I fought so hard to actualize them. All of his most fervent wishes were for all of you to be happy. He wanted Akechi-kun to live, he wanted Shiho's assault erased, he wanted Sakamoto-kun to run again. The only dream he kept for himself – his only selfish wish – was to be adopted and be able to stay here forever. It was thing I hoped to give him most."

"Sidebar: turns out he didn't really need your help for that," Futaba said. "Sojiro is snipping a whole bunch of red tape right now to do just that. Even if it doesn't happen when Akira is a minor, it's gonna happen when he's an adult. It's just a bureaucratic waiting game."

"I heard." Maruki was still gentle. "It's wonderful news."

"And he accomplished it without mega mind-controlling sorcerer metaverse juju, which was kind of the whole point we were making in there," Futaba said. "But end sidebar: that doesn't matter. You still lied. Don't you think we knew what was going to happen to you if you got your way? You said you weren't going to make Rumi love you again even though you had the power for it. You're way more cutthroat than you pretend to be."

"Of course I was willing to sacrifice for my cause. That isn't martyrdom or even altruism," Maruki said. "Actualizing other people's dreams is what makes me happy. I can afford a few sacrifices on the side to see that everyone comes out better for it. I knew Rumi would be happier without me, and that fact did make me happy."

Futaba studied him for a long time.

For his part, Sojiro found himself immersed in Maruki's responses. His interactions thus far with Maruki had mostly either been surface-level or unflattering or both. Seeing him discuss cognitive ideology and world domination with his teenage daughter while barely being able to hold an upright position on the bed left the situation feeling cock-eyed and surreal. "Fine," Futaba said abruptly. "Not exactly satisfied, but you answered the question. Fair enough. Number two."

Maruki waited. "I want to know if you and my mother knew each other," Futaba said.

"Wakaba-san was mostly outside my sphere of access. We dabbled under similar umbrellas – metaphysics, psience, behavioral therapy – but she had already established herself in the department well before I'd gotten there. She was something of a child prodigy: she'd already begun her research at the age of seventeen. My studies were more diversified and for the most part kept me out of her direct orbit. I specialized in occupational therapy for neuro-divergent students for my undergraduate degree and spent a lot of my time after that in primarily academic circles."

"So you just vacuumed up an entire metaphysical branch of cognitive therapy because you were bored?"

"I picked it up because I thought it would be useful in improving my patients' quality of life," Maruki said. "Learning new things was never the issue for me – it was applying them in a tangible way that saw real-world results. Memorization, research, even data sets… it's all theoretical. It only starts mattering when it starts making a difference."

"Huh." Futaba's eyes stayed glued on him for a while. "So you weren't really in the know about her death."

"I'm afraid not. I did… suffer some of the same consequences she suffered, academically speaking, but no one tried to hurt me personally."

"You got your research stolen by Shido. I remember that. I wonder why he didn't kill you too."

"To be honest, I've thought about that often," Maruki said. "I can only surmise that he felt he needed to keep at least one researcher alive just in case a twist in the metaverse necessitated expert guidance. He was fairly sure he had it figured out, but he's not the type to charge recklessly. If something in the metaverse had changed in a way that impeded his work, he knew very well he wouldn't be able to understand it without someone familiar with the psience. My guess is that he took stock of his team of researchers, assessed our risk levels, and eliminated the ones he thought would pose the most threat."

"Like my mom," Futaba said.

Maruki's gaze dropped back to his knees.

Futaba took several long, even breaths. Not exactly happy with the trajectory of the conversation, Sojiro nevertheless held off on intervening for now, trusting her to know her own limits. "I think I might have a few follow-ups later, but for the most part I think there's just one more thing I need answered," Futaba said. "And it's probably the most important one, so I really need you to be up front with this one."

Maruki was silent a moment longer. "All right."

Futaba straightened to let her legs slide over the edge of the desk. She then gripped the edge with her hands and leaned forward to skewer Maruki with a look so intense it bordered on comical. What she said wasn't. "I want to know why you didn't attack me in the metaverse with Adam Kadmon."

This caught Sojiro completely off-guard. He felt himself jerk, gaze automatically shifting to Maruki. In contrast Maruki didn't seem surprised by the question. He shifted his gaze to look out the window, taking in and letting out the same even breath. His hands remained clasped in his lap. "Because let's be real," Futaba said. "Adam Kadmon… it was a monster. A god. The strongest persona ever conceived in the metaverse. It was so massive it wrinkled time. And that came from your head. I could feel you scouting me the same time I scouted you. You knew our weaknesses, our strengths – even our fears. You could see everything we tried to engineer in your world."

Maruki didn't respond.

Futaba scooted closer. Sojiro could sense every cell in her body sub-atomically focus on Maruki's response. The intensity was truly off-putting and for an odd moment Sojiro found himself feeling sorry for him. "I told Sojiro the truth," Futaba said. "You didn't lay a finger on me with Adam Kadmon, but it's not like you didn't fight Ann or Makoto or Haru. The only one not to walk away from that brawl with bruises was me. I want to know why."

Maruki finally spoke, but very softly. "You weren't in the fight."

"Yeah, I think we both know that's not true," she said. "I was the lynchpin in that fight. Akira might have a swiss army knife arsenal of gods and demons in his head, but in that metaverse? I'm the demon god. I can see everything inside of Prometheus. And you knew it. All it would've taken to cripple us was to knock me out of commission so I couldn't feed them your weaknesses. It wouldn't even have taken much. What I want to know is why you didn't."

"I didn't want to."

"Not good enough," Futaba said. "Doc, you were prepared to go toe to toe against the entire planet. You were willing to rewrite time itself. But you couldn't slap one glowing cue ball out of the sky to get it done?"

Sojiro found himself as transfixed as Futaba. Maruki at long last shifted, but it ended up merely being to break the doctor persona. He leaned, slow as falling asleep, to rest his head against the wall. "Why," Futaba said. "Tell me the truth. Why didn't you attack me."

Maruki said, very tiredly and without inflection, "Because the first time we met, you already trusted me not to hurt your heart."

Sojiro felt the temperature in the room plummet. Futaba's expression was utterly blank. She opened her mouth and closed it.

"Futaba-san…" Maruki trailed off and hesitated. He seemed to consider his words, thumb slowly massaging his knee. "You are undeniably brilliant, Futaba-san," he said. "I may not have known Wakaba-san very well, but from what I do remember, you resemble her very closely. Not just phenotypically, but in your values and even more so in your thought processes. But I think along the way that intelligence has led you to convince yourself of the dichotomy of logic and emotion, and how you need to temper one in order to legitimize the other. In many ways that can be true. Emotion can blind you to logic; logic can stifle emotion. What years of counseling have taught me, however, is that logic itself can be more fallible than emotion. It twists. It warps under duress. Emotion, however… emotion is always honest. Even if the cause itself is 'fake' – drugs or medication, hormones, stress, dementia – what you feel is genuine. It shakes your heart the same way."

Futaba's throat was working as though she were trying to swallow something.

"That time I first visited the café… when I first brought my book on cognitive psience… I could see just how uncomfortable you were with a stranger in your space," Maruki said. "It took all your courage to speak to me, but you forced yourself to do it. You made yourself overcome those fears. I watched you break down the barriers of your own limitations out of love for your mother, and in that moment, seeing that courage – courage I'd never found in my own heart – I knew I would do anything to protect the courage in yours. I didn't fight you in the metaverse because frankly… I couldn't. Even to give you the future you wanted."

Sojiro's eyes were glued on Futaba. She hadn't moved or reacted at all, chest barely rising and falling. "To you, my motives for not using my full strength against you go against logic, because logic dictates that I would want to win no matter the cost," Maruki said. "My answers don't make sense to you, because technically had I chosen to hurt you, I could have made you forget that it happened at all. But not everything comes down to something that can be codified. The simple answer is that I didn't attack you because I couldn't. My emotions had already exacted a promise from me. So while it may not make sense to you – logically, numerically, quantitatively – my answer still stands. I didn't want to bring any further pain to your door. To summarize: I didn't win because I was too selfish to win. That's it. That's all there is to it."

Sojiro watched Maruki inhale and let it out slowly, shakily.

"I'm truly sorry, Futaba-san," Maruki said.

Futaba was deathly silent for a very long time.

Sojiro began to stand but Futaba was faster. She abruptly slid from the desk and stood on two bare wobbly feet, her fists clenching and unclenching. Her eyes were wide as she processed.

When she broke to move, it was towards the bed. Hearing her approach, Maruki opened his eyes again and straightened from the wall. His smile was tired but genuine.

Futaba's slap cracked off his cheek like gunfire. "Futaba!" Sojiro lunged forward and dragged her back. She didn't fight him, pale with rage, spots of color high on her cheeks as she panted like a horse. "I'm sorry," Sojiro gritted to Maruki, shoveling her back towards the stairs. "Futaba, downstairs. Now."

"It's all right, Sakura-san." Maruki was soft. "Let her go."

"You d-d-don't get to decide what hurts me!" Futaba wrestled her way out of Sojiro's grip and lunged back across the room. Maruki didn't flinch from her as her anger ballooned into his space. "And you don't get to decide what protection I need, and you don't get to decide what I deserve, and you don't get to decide to kill yourself under my roof when I just got over my Mom doing the exact same thing!"

Maruki looked startled, but only for a moment. "Of course," he murmured, deflating. He spoke almost to himself. "Naturally you'd have the place electronically surveilled."

"You may want to take the easy way out, but I've got news for you, buster, you haven't earned that. You tried to rewrite the entire world and erase everything I worked so hard to achieve on my own. You tried to steal my success story from me. Do you have any idea how that makes me feel? That I know I chose between my own happiness and my mother's life?"

"Futaba, stop," Sojiro snapped, alarmed. "That's enough. You've made your point."

"I hate you." Tears were rolling down her cheeks. She pummeled them away with fists scrappy enough to bruise. "We all loved you and then you pulled that megavillain crap and you still somehow made us feel sorry for you even after all you tried to take from us. And now you've got the nerve to throw a tantrum and try to rage-quit because your game file didn't save your world the way you wanted it? Well guess what. It's not happening. You're in my game now. You don't get to put me or Sojiro through that. Ever again."

"I understand," Maruki said. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry, Futaba-san. I truly never meant to bring this back to your door."

"That's not good enough!" Futaba yelled. "You want to make up for what you've done, prove it! You don't just get to up and die in my café because you're tired. You think I wasn't tired too? You think there weren't days where I wanted to lock myself in my room and cry into my pillow because the world is tough and scary and I'm not? Because there were, and I did, and I changed anyway. I made myself go on because I knew I'd hurt the people around me if I didn't try. You really don't want to hurt me, stop trying to drop dead in front of me every time you lose a fight!"

"Futaba, that's enough." Sojiro was firm. He shoveled her towards the landing and this time prevented her about-face. "Go back home. Cool off. I mean it."

He managed to boot her out the door with her umbrella and her duffel and lock it behind her. Wondering how the hell to navigate the sea of this newest trans-Atlantic fuck-up, he stood at the top of the stairs and ran his hand back through his hair and hoped he hadn't just unleashed an ancient vengeful wind spirit out into the domesticity of Yongen-Jaya. "She's grown," Maruki murmured. His cheek was scarlet; he was back to leaning against the wall by the window, eyes closed again. "I thought she was mighty in the metaverse – turns out it was only a prequel."

"She's her mother's daughter." Sojiro made his decision. He crossed the room and sat down, reaching for the towel to soak it. He folded it into a smaller square and passed it along to Maruki, who held it to his cheek without prompting. "I'm not gonna pretend I could follow all that, but I take it you answered whatever questions have been dogging her," Sojiro said.

"I don't know." The laugh that bubbled out of Maruki wasn't quite a laugh. It hitched in his chest and rattled like static. "I thought it was over before. They continue to surprise me at every turn."

"She meant what she said. She'll drag you back from hell if she gets half a notion in her head."

"I know."

"Do you?" Sojiro was frank. "Because I'm not looking to spend another night like last night. You need a psych ward, let's get you there, but I'm not playing this game of psychological roulette with my daughter on the line over our heads."

Maruki's expression was nearly obscured by the fabric. He massaged tiredly, unhurriedly, eyes still on the window. "You said something when you were around the bend," Sojiro said. "Something about Akira not letting go of your hand. That what happened? You tried to give up in there?"

"Yes," Maruki said. Without shame. "I wanted to die."

"And he saved you?"

"He pulled me up. I don't know how much of me was saved."

"Enough of you," Sojiro said. He waited until the swelling had diminished before taking the towel back. He handed back the plate of sliced fruit. "Eat."

Maruki ate mechanically. Sojiro supervised the next dose of meds and made him wash it down with a full glass of water. Afterwards Maruki reached out to fish his glasses from the bed stand, unsteadily arranging them on his face before returning to his careful lean against the wall. "I don't know if I have the motivation she needs me to have in order to keep going," Maruki murmured. "I have no forward momentum. Everything that I lived my life for is gone. I can't even help my patients at this point. I had to sign them all over to another doctor."

"Then start over. Takemi had lost her practice back when she first moved into Yongen-Jaya."

"I don't know if I'm qualified anymore."

"Then do something else. Rebuild something different."

Maruki breathed, exhausted and terrible and fathomless against the wall, "With what."

Sojiro made him take down a second glass of water before carrying the tray back down. He stored the leftovers in the refrigerator, washed the dishes, and sat with a crossword puzzle down in the shadows of the bar for a while as the rain roared on his roof.

Maruki hadn't moved from his spot on the wall when Sojiro returned. Sojiro sat back down and let out his breath, hiked his ankle up over his thigh and leaned back, following Maruki's gaze out the window for a long time.

He said, "So how good are you at food delivery."