"They want to spend some a little more time with Mirai tonight."
All of Shion Kaito's strong points, firm hands, that same sculpted smile with the same lips she's fantasised a kiss from for the entirety of her preteen years ー is wiped into a smear of mud at the first mention of her brother.
Rin does not have to be babysat.
She's turning eighteen in a week, her daughter has just had her second birthday, in the face of everything she's gone through, she certainly does not deserve to be handled like a child.
Kaito watches her yank a clip out of her hair, a gift he recognised he'd given during a past birthday: cream, fake pearls, though entirely lovely.
Not anymore.
She slams it against the dressing table before furiously roughing a comb through her tangles. The older boy clears his throat, opening his mouth again, and she spitefully hopes a fly will go in. "Mirai has to get adjusted to them, it's going to make the transition easier for her. Don't be upset with Yuuma, you know this is the last thing he'd want happening to you."
But the transition will never be easy for Rin. Nobody is making it easy for Rin. Ripping her daughter from her every morning, giving no reassurance until night time, when she finally gets to hold what's dearest to her safe.
"Who are you, my brother's lawyer?" She scoffs. "It's the arrangement of the people who plan to take her away from me. He's enabling it."
"No, he's choosing to keep her safe." A hand lands on her shoulder, giving it a squeeze. "While you're with me. I'm keeping you safe, aren't I?"
When she glowers into the mirror, she finds him staring back at her, the tenderness of his eyes forcing a churn through her stomach.
The same tenderness he'd been looking at her with for the past ten years.
Had she been fourteen years old again, or thirteen, or twelve, she would've found it lovelier than the clip in her hands.
No, she would have positively swooned. Had you asked Rin if there ever was the embodiment of a perfect man, her answer had to have been Shion Kaito, a million times over, with the warmest eyes, the most accepting hands.
He's the type of person that looks only at the silver lining of every cloud.
"Think of your aunt and uncle. They're kind. They've helped a lot, there's plenty we have to be grateful for."
If only he would stop talking, she might be able to convince herself she was fourteen again.
"I didn't need the surgery," She snaps, the same time a large clump of hair snags off her head. She starts combing harder. "They only helped so they could feel better about themselves, it's not like they've ever helped before."
"... stop, Rin, you're breaking your hair." He forces the comb out of her hands, and when he stands, she tries not to notice how tall he is beside her. Tall, so, so, tall, towering her at six feet in height. Even with dark circles beneath his eyes, he holds onto the signature smile he's never once allowed to leave his lips, and she nearly wants to smack it off him, scream at him for daring to taunt her. "Here, let me …"
The first run of his fingers through her hair transports her to the past. She remembers being eight again, meeting Yuuma's friend, learning that he visits their house everyday.
How this friend made sure she never be left out of whatever he and Yuuma would do, despite the latter's insistence to keep her far, far away; praising her over the littlest things, offering to hold her hand if they walk her to school.
Shion Kaito has never expressed a temper, took the time and patience to answer all her questions about the world, and would remain gentle to her when her own brothers would not.
It's the way he has eyes that are kind, deep and dark and warm, the birch of a tree in summer, with quite honestly the most handsome face she's ever seen in her life.
Then she thinks of Kagamine Len.
Thinks of how he's small enough, he drowns in every article of clothing he wears. Thinks of how his hands feel when they brush over her ears.
Kaito is understanding, calm, and patient, while Len is the direct opposite of everything Kaito stands for.
His eyes are not deep and dark and warm, the times he shows happiness is rare, but even if he doesn't have the prettiest features in the world ー when he laughs, it crinkles his nose in this special way that makes all of his dimples form. The first time she's ever laid her eyes on that laugh she knew it'd be difficult, even impossible, for an entire room to not stop, hold their breath to watch the last of it fade away.
Because when Len laughs, he does it with his eyes. Sky eyes. They close so tightly, to the point where he can't see, and an intrusive thought never fails to make her wonder whether they might stay closed long enough for her to steal a kiss.
When he laughs, when he really laughs, it's done with his hands.
He'd cover his face and hides away diamonds, as she resists the urge to pry his fingers apart to take a good look of the sun.
And suddenly her heart aches, but this time around, she understands why.
Rin presses her tongue hard to the roof of her mouth at the moment Kaito's combing snags at a split end, breaking her out of her thoughts. She can't help but wish her hair weren't being combed right now, but rather tangled with red leaves and braided, instead.
As if thinking about Kagamine Len, unprovoked, in the middle of the day while arguing with her brother's best friend wasn't intrusive enough.
/
/
/
/
"... ama!" Mirai shrieks once Rin's house comes in view. Just the sight is already making her do these happy, giddy little bounces against his shoulder. The hood of her raincoat scratches his chin, and battling against the wind, it's difficult to balance both the weight of an umbrella on his shoulder alongside a wriggling child he's an inch away from dropping into a puddle double her height.
"I know, we're going back to Mama, keep your voice down... shhshh... sh..."
The flood reaches his knees even though the storm isn't yet at it's peak.
Her next shout pierces directly through his eardrums.
"ー MAMA!"
Recoiling from the noise, and now a newfound headache, he's forced to set her atop a rock ー the highest bit of ground he can find.
Beneath the storm, he swears there's a crow cawing somewhere overhead, watching them over the fog and the streetlights.
Len clasps her cheeks in one palm, cradling his gut in the otherー where she'd kneed him in the stomach during her flailing. "Shhh- shhh, Mirai, the neighbourhood is asleep, see?" A clap of thunder follows, louder than any cry she could've made, as if to challenge her in noise. "I'm sorry, I love you. Don't cry. Do you want us to get in trouble? We need you to be a good girl, okay? Okay, please?"
When she quietens slightly, he decides to test his luck by lifting her against his hip again.
They're lucky her mother's house is set on a hill, mostly untouched by the brunt of the flood. As they climb higher, and he's confident that the water is shallow enough to set her on her own two feet, he keeps a firm grip on her hand.
But it's another workout on it's own to unseat her excitement. He forces his daughter to walk at his own pace, maintaining an effort that lasts only a minute until exhaustion forces him to let go. Freedom, it seems, allows Mirai to rush for the porch, press her face against the gate without bothering how cold the iron is against her skin, crying for her mother.
Go ahead, Mirai, he thinks spitefully ー run off again.
It isn't like Mama's going to come unless he calls for her, anyway.
At the back of his mind, he considers how childish he is for considering an argument (albeit internal) with his own daughter. A child, who, even if at times can be difficult, doesn't intend to bother anybody on purpose.
He yells toward her over the rain. "Should I ring the doorbell!" When he finally reaches the gates, squatting to her height, she peeks at him from below her raincoat. He makes a taunting reach for the buttons, only to pull back his arm at the very last second, causing her eyes to go wide. "... no, maybe we shouldn't... what if somebody other than mummy comes out?"
The lamplight above them flickers.
Her bottom lip is trembling, and her eyes are threatening to drip fat blobs of tears. Len wonders how much longer he's able to drag this out.
"What if it's your granddad? Or one of your uncles? Or ー"
He takes out the lucky blue pacifier carried around in his pocket, wipes it on the inside of his coat for sanitation, then pops it into her mouth as if it solves all the problems in the world. It doesn't, but at least prevents her from another cry, and he might as well help himself in any way he can.
"They might take you away from me. What then? We can't have that happen. Maybe, instead, I should pick you up," He nuzzles his nose into her cheek, cold from the weatuer, for no other reason than her being soft and squishy and his baby because if he doesn't do this now, he doesn't know when the next time will ever be ー as Mirai, unbothered, rattles the gates. "Sneak away your birth certificate.. and before anybody thinks about it, we can run to the south of the country near the beachesー"
"Baby!" This time, he's is cut short.
The gates push open, and not a second later, Mirai is lifted high into the air. In the midst of drawing out time and making his own kid cry, he hadn't noticed how Kagamine Rin had snuck outside the front door, tiptoed down the steps, and taken a fussy child into her arms without a single sound. Not one gasp, not a footstep.
She ushers them beneath the roof, locks the gate closed, and sets their daughter on the entrance for a thorough inspection.
No cuts, no bruises, just a runny nose and a stifled tantrum.
"You're late," Rin starts. Her hands settle on her hips, turning towards him. "Yuuma told you eight. You were supposed to be here an hour ago."
Oh, sure, he's definitely unaware of that. It's not as if there's a bloody clock on his wrist, no, the watch is merely there for decoration. His entire arm could be chopped off and there'd be no loss.
He sets the umbrella against the wall, a retort rising to the tip of his tongue despite not being in the mood to argue. His arms are sore, and the ache grows even more, until he feels a little hand clench onto his trousers. Mirai blinks up at him, pretty pale lashes wet from the rain, and his irritation washes away in waves. "... It's not my fault. The last bus delayed so we walked from the station instead. I'll come back on the dot next time, I promise."
"Do you promise?"
Condescending.
"I don't want to put up with this today, please."
Agreeing to drop the subject, for today, Rin feigns a lighthearted tone when she turns back towards their daughter, puckering her lips. "I heard you went to a museum, Mimi. How exciting! Was it everything you'd hoped for?"
A muffled maaaamaa garbles through the pacifier.
"I know. Me too, mummy missed you soooooo much." She cooed, grabbing Mirai's sides to ambush it with tickles until a little giggle bursts out.
But the laughing fit is short-lived, and soon enough those rosy cheeks puff from exhaustion. Those baby eyes get even narrower than they were before, the pout around Len's lucky charm of a pacifier beginning to loosen. It's time for bed, and the tenderness he feels when Rin announces it so gently, like lavender sheets and cotton kisses, is quickly replaced with anguish when he knows what an end to the night really means.
He sees a large shadow over the stairwell, and he sinks into the porch, where he can drift away, unseen.
She catches him before he can go.
Her brows knit together, and when she heads for the stairs, she turns back to him, hinting for him to follow.
/
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/
/
Earth keeps moving. Life, as it is, won't take your hand when you plummet to the ground. It grasps you by the collar, buries you through the dirt.
He spins an object in his palm: soft, baby blue, the size of his thumb. Had it not been for the stumble of objects in the living room, he would believe himself the only person awake in the building.
Today's dawn is violet, reminding him of his mother. He turns around to find that same shade in his father's grasp, and stamps down the urge to hurl it against the ground.
Lilies.
Somewhere beneath blindsided arrogance convincing himself he can never do any wrong, somewhere, with impulse jumping for each opportunity to speak a single word out of turn, he knows he should've made his presence scarce, laid low instead of clearing his throat.
Anything except throw himself face-forwards for blood for the first thing in the morning.
Contrary to rationality, that is exactly what he does.
But he's quick enough. Before his father can even begin a nag about his belongings strewn across the floor, he interrupts with an interrogation of his own.
"Where are you going?" His words come out odd, voice too dry, and falters when he speaks.
But he pretends to be calm, pocketing the pacifier to cross his arms and portray the illusion that he's more confident than he needs to be.
Len's stubborn, grasping the blanket on his shoulders tighter and tighter until the remnants of dried milk and baby powder are thick enough to waft under his nose. It's then that he realises he'd forgotten to put the cloth in the wash, it's then that he realises molehills grow into mountains because right now he's in his own house, beneath the same roof he's grown up in since birth, exactly where he belongs. Yet somehow, somehow, with another sniff of the cloth, he finds himself more homesick than ever.
The lily bouquet blooms from the bouquet, petals splayed as if they yearn to be held in his hands. But he can't help but favour the thought of tulips instead, fresh air, morning dew, high in the mountains where delivering a toddler her morning smooches give him enough incentive to climb out of bed each day.
He rattles the balcony railings when he leans against it, daring himself to fall off. "I don't remember you telling me to drop by the florists."
His father doesn't hide away his annoyance towards this behaviour.
Scattered pens, now rearranged, clang into one of their decorative mugs. "Of course not, I didn't ask you to. I was hoping to get a visit early for a change."
As if two months have even passed since his father's last visit. Early would be the understatement of this century. "But you've gone recently."
"It doesn't concern you." Leon could care less about an argument with a child when he jams the keys into their front door, not once turning to face his own son. "I'll be back by dinner, so remember not to go out with your friends. Clean up your room, I need you to stay home. Do you understand that?"
Len jumps.
The blistering small fire inside of him shrieks no, no, he definitely does not understand, and he refuses to ever listen to anything more his father has to say.
That same flame is extinguished with a puff of breath, leading him to utter words which catch even himself off guard.
"Let me come with you."
/
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/
/
A deck of cards lay between them, their ears sharing the buds of one headset. The dust under her bed is making Rin's nose stuffy, and in the back of their minds, where a conscience sits still, they realise playing Uno is the stupidest thing possible as such an important countdown ticks over their heads.
But the rain goes on, all through the evening, promising not to halt until the sky hits daylight.
Their daughter, changed into one of her fluffy onesies, nods asleep on the bed after Len's seventh retelling of thumbellina and A Big Bad Wolf. Her fist is loosening around the ear of her bunny lovey, drenched by her mouth as it's adored exactly the way it should be, and doesn't shift when he strokes her hair.
"So, they didn't allow cameras at the museum, but at the outdoor exhibit I managed to capture a video of Mirai before it started raining."
"That's nice."
"Then some old lady stopped us to tell me that she looks like a doll."
"Mhm."
"I got into NHU, by the way." He pushes the baby deeper onto the cushions when she's dipping too dangerously near the edge. Over time, Mirai had become less and less of a light sleeper, and that meant he could speak casually without having to lower his voice. "I thought I should let you know. We're moving Southport."
Rin is hardly paying attention, and doesn't bother to hide it. It's a quarter past eight, she's tired, the only thing preventing her from closing her eyes is the fear that he'd be gone by the next time she opens them.
Len isn't sure whether she can hear him over their playlist. She's frowning as if there's something unsettling her thoughts, lips pouted, and he stifles the urge to trace the bottom with a finger. "Dad wants to find a permanent flat by May, and my brother's already there, anyway."
"There where?"
Ah, so she does listen. "Our new house. Change the song, 80s' rock is hurting my head."
Five cards drawn, he reaches for another from deck, only to pause when she catches his wrist. Rin meets him in the eye. Quick, before a blink, then slowly until she loses all of her breath. With genuine bewilderment she wonders how he can sit so calm as they play cards, simultaneously brushing off what may be their biggest news of the year.
He thinks she has a knack for exaggeration, while she thinks he hasn't realised he's used up all the luck he has over the next lifetime.
"Say that again." She pleads, almost sure she'd heard incorrectly. "Tell me what you said."
Excuse her disbelief, but there's no way a person can mention admittance into the most sought-after university in the country as simple as discussing the weather. (It's actually the top five, he would later correct, begging her to not sugarcoat his position more than she should. She refuses to listen.)
What's worse is when Kagamine Len, with all the nerve of his being, forgoes the topic entirely once she's latched onto it.
"Stop adding anymore horrid songs written before the nineties." He tries to snatch the phone out of the way. "No, not daft punk."
"No!" Rin's motions are quicker. She holds it to her chest, then strikes at his shoulder, wanting to focus on the subject at hand. "Focus. I meant what you were saying about NHU. Len, NHU's acceptance rate isー you of all people know how difficult it is to get a spot! Don't be stupid."
Please. He nearly scoffs.
"Do you know where Utatane Piko is going? Or Iori Yuzuru, next to you in class in first year? National University, first in the country."
"I don't care where Iori Yuzuru, in my class, got into." She doesn't even want to know how he remembers who's beside her in her class. "I care about Kagamine Len from Ooda, crescent eyes, pretty smile, and his next year at NH-University."
Oh.
Furiously forbidding himself from a flush, he redirects his attention towards a ninth card, red, the irony of it all.
But they lose all progress in the match when Rin, concluding Uno irrelevant, crawls over the stack to send their game flying across the floor ー casts aside everything they've built up in favour of burying him in an embrace. And he can't find it in himself to be upset, not when familiarity hits him at full force. How her hair is the scent of clementines, the room of dried milk, the soft rise and fall of her chest at the edge of his fingertips.
Through this confusion, he might rip apart.
He doesn't remember the last time he's been held like this.
The clock hits nine, her phone rings twice with the jingle of bells and when he wraps his own arms around her to return the hug, he finds it impossible to let go.
/
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/
/
The portrait of his mother is freshly engraved in his mind. It's the first time he's gone to pay his respects in years, on the one rainless day they've had all season.
The seatbelt, on the drive home, constricts his chest. It strangles him too tightly to the seat even if he's never had a problem with it before. Incense clings to his nose, lily petals to his jumper no matter how many times he tries to brush them down.
The radio is playing popular hits from the eighties, reminding him of a certain bothersome someone on Thursday night, and the memory rewards him a migraine. It's increased by a hand ruffling his head.
Leon is happier than he's ever been in a long time.
"She'd be relieved." He says, as his son hums, staring through the window towards the paddy fields. "You know, she'd be so, so proud."
She'd be proud of nothing. Len buries a frown, just for show, but understands he's done the right thing when the sight makes his father glow.
It wasn't too bad, was it, the man would ask every now and then; forcing him to turn from the farmers at work on their fields and nod with all the enthusiasm he can gather. Keep up this image of an obedient son he'd slacked over for years.
Even if it was too bad. To him, it had been the second re-enactment of hell, to face the woman that made a decision to turn her back on her family, on everything she had.
Everyone around him expects him to forgive and forget, pretend it's a little mistake anyone could have made. Grow. It's seven years ago now, so let it go, let it go. If that mistake hadn't costed her sons lives along with hers, he might have been more willing, to keep resentment under control. He turns to his father, the man's grip lax on the steering wheel, and feels his own bitterness weaken. "... have you never hated her, even once?"
That same grip, in contrast, tightens.
The road leaves the fields, deeper into a trail through the forest, further from light. "Why should I?"
"She's done nothing for you." Something lodges in his throat, and he doesn't know if it's pain. "She's hurt you. She's hurt me, and she's hurt Yuudai, and never once stopped to think about anyone but herself. I won't fault you for admitting you hate her."
The music stops, the signal is lost. Pure static from the speakers fill the silence.
Their eyes meet through the rearview mirror.
The answer is no.
"I'm more grateful than anything I will ever have to be grateful for," Leon's eyes soften the longer they linger across his son. In the dark, only the dim headlights are capable of showing the path home. "... that she let me keep you for one more day. That's why you weren't in the car with her that night."
/
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/
/
He knows he shouldn't see her, even if he knows exactly where to find her at her usual lake, with her dirtied converses standing out against the ground. A hat with rims large enough to shade her freckles from the sun, as if there was any sun to shine at all, in the face of warning that a storm is only an hour away.
He tries to catch her fingers. She wrangles them from his arms.
Rin rolls a stone, thrice in hand, before giving it a strong fling across the lake. The stone only skids twice across the pool of water, then deep out of sight.
He decides not to reach out again. Len perched above one of the rocks by the riverbed, outstretched palms cradling her carefully-chosen pebbles. His obedience doesn't forbid hostility from fleeing her tone, because if anything, it's almost as if she believes he's encouraging it.
"Do you notice the pram? It's theirs. Awfully nice of them to let me borrow it." Not that the pram matters. Soft footprints indent into the earth, barely larger than two of his thumbs pressed together.
Those footprints are nowhere close to the the pram's warm cushions, instead, they're near the crack of the lake.
His eyes watch their toddler, making sure she doesn't stray too far away from reach.
Before he can call her to come back, a cut distracts him, forming on the palm of his hand as Rin snatches another pebble from it.
"Let's not stay here too long. It's getting cold," Len says through a wince. It stings. "Can you calm down? Christ. It's like you forgot to take your mediciation today."
"Of course not, I'm not a damn infant," She aims to the water. When she stretches for her last pebble, she finally realises the blood spreading across his skin. "Oh... oh, I'm sorry, Lennie."
Through her panic, or her usual recklessness, she starts to pace back and forth, only standing in his way when he reaches for the first-aid he'd tucked beneath the pram.
He trusted only himself with antiseptic, ignoring every offer she has to help him with it. And when he finally does accept her assistance with the bandage, it brings attention from a curious Mirai who sprawls across her mother's shoulders to get a better look. Her parents turned to watch her, and she stared back, with puffed out cheeks.
"I hurt daddy's hand," Rin explained, holding that same hand in both of her own as display. "He has a boo-boo, Mimi."
Mirai peeked closer, snuffling, her nose reacting to the cold like a baby bunny. "' ー oo' boo."
"Yeah! A boo-boo. Like the one on your knee."
" 'nee!"
"Knee! You're so smart, Mirai. Smart, tiny baby. The smartest."
Rin's bare legs, as they dig into the earth, dare insects to crawl up her skin. She looks up, away from their daughter, those iritating round eyes turning wide by the minute as if they expect him to forgive her.
Len tells her to get on her own feet, because as soft as her hands are, encasing his own, it's uncomfortable to have a person hold on his palm for so long. And while he's contemplating the next phrasal of his words without needing to hurt her feelings, she brings his hand close enough to her face.
And plants a fat kiss smack in the centre.
He nearly trips off the rock.
"Rin!" The boy recoils, flustered, recoiling his arm into his sleeves.
His cheeks grow warm, but her grin simply grows. "It's okay, I'm not wearing lipstick today! There's no stain."
But she's forced to stop mid-laugh when Mirai tugs on her sleeve, bottom lip wobbling, rising a problem pulled from nowhere.
He can faintly hear her whine of oo' boo, mama.. muffled into her mother's shoulder.
"Okay," Rin cooed, ignoring the itch of grass to let tiny arms wrap around her neck. "I'll kiss your boo-boo. Come over here."
Mirai, still sniffling, takes a step back. She watches with widened eyes as her skirt is rolled up to her knees.
In a second, she receives multiple, quick pecks to her bruise, making her giggle sweetly enough until she's hiding her face in her hands. Len thinks he should get up and move before she notices his presence, then gets funny ideas about wanting a kiss from him on her boo boos, as well.
But in the same moment Rin thinks: this is it.
This is how it is to laugh with your eyes, so, so, tightly, to the point where you can't see.
Mirai has it, too.
/
/
/
/
The entire country is waiting for summer to come around. Real summer. Not this nonsense with one day of sun, followed by two weeks of storm.
Yuuma was in the middle of complaining about his walk to the cafe in pouring weather as he took a seat.
The tip of his umbrella leaks rain, and he barely remembers to shove into the barrel by the door before it manages to soak the entire floor. When one of the baristas notice this, their face oozes relief, and his attention returns to the little girl hanging off his shoulders, refusing to stir even when he blows air into her ear. On the opposite side of the table, Len watches this happen with a twitch.
He wonders if it's from seeing what belongs to him being held by somebody else.
He clears his throat, takes a long, deep sip of the bottom of his cup with pure espresso in a show of maturity, but the flavour on his tongue begins to reflect him on the inside.
Luck is in his hands because Yuuma doesn't seem to take any notice of that bitterness. Instead, the older boy cradles his niece tighter to his chest as her grip starts to loosen, and she snuggles comfortably against his hold. These motions are another slap to Len's face.
"Your dad dropped you off? Rin's at hospital."
"Is she okay?"
"She's fine, just some blood tests, post-operation checkups... you're so lucky you didn't have to carry a baby all the way here, this building is hard to find. So. What's that you're always calling Mirai, pomegranate, mangosteen, dried persimmons..."
"Clementine."
"Clementine!" Yuuma repeats, nudging her cheek, and Len convinces himself it's the name that makes her blink out of her sleep. "There you are. Want to seeー how does she call youー, daddy?"
Instead of answering, Len's eyes consciously dart towards the window.
Their country's pitiful weather pales in comparison to the gloom of his face when he realises this is a conversation he hasn't had before.
Rin might have brought it up at some point. He should remember, if he tries hard enough, but he must have brushed her off like he did with so many other things she had to say.
Once Mirai, a fist rubbing away the sleep in her eyes, recognises who's sitting opposite her, her entire demeanor brightens.
Len's nearly confident this shift in attitude isn't about him but rather the cookies on his plate, but when her grabby hands stretch across the booth and he doesn't take her immediately, she starts to wail ー causing for the millionth time that day, his body to feel warm, his heart to clench tightly, and his head telling him to drop everything in his hands.
Yuuma gently shook her further. "It's daddy, yay. Yaaaay. Do you want to say hello? Want to go to him?"
"I'm notー not dadd-"
Before he can argue, Mirai is slid over across the table and settled into his own lap.
Comfortable, her round cheek pressed on his chest, her entire hand engulfing just one of his thumbs. Like he'd guessed, her immediate reaction was to reach for his cookie, only to realise they're out of reach. He wonders whether he should allow her any sweets at all ー then she blinks up at him, crescent eyes unusually identical to weeping, full moons, and the memory of her mother eventually forces him to give in.
He breaks off a tiny piece to pop into her mouth.
She chews, yawns, and rolls around in his arms as if preparing for her next nap.
She weighs more than the last time he held her. Her legs, light-up sneakers pressing into his stomach, are longer as well. Len repositions the velcro straps, relaxing his arm so she can lay her head into the crook of his elbow and fiddle with the collar of his shirt, so she has something to play with. "Where did you come from? If you're not at the hospital with Rin?"
"Visiting my aunt and uncle."
"... Oh." suddenly, he wishes he hadn't asked at all.
That urge resurfaces.
The urge to steal his daughter in his grasp, rush to the mountains and slam the door against the rest of the world.
He feels it, but stifles it, spits at it, tries to think nothing but clear, happy thoughts, like her soft breathing over his heartbeat and the way her fingers tighten around the cloth of his jumper.
Her fringe is poking into her eyes, and he brushes them aside to expose her forehead. Nearly kisses her there, until he remembers where they are: out in public, under watchful eyes, surrounded by so many other lives that have nothing to do with theirs, and the thought of humiliation makes him refrain.
Yuuma excuses himself to order a cup of coffee at the cashier, giving Len a moment to take hold of Mirai's arm and pretend to bite into it until she gives him a sleepy whine instead of her usual, strong wails.
Then Yuuma turns back to face him, and he quickly drops her arm as if he hadn't done anything at all.
He bounces his leg, and it's the best way to make Mirai fall back asleep. "... why did you want to meet me here? I could always come around to your house, if the only reason was to let me see Mirai."
A pregnant silence follows.
"She might come home at any time. I didn't want Rin to hear."
"Hear?"
"That this is her last month with Mirai." Their eyes meet. "But I need her to know. So I'm going to ask you for a favour."
/
/
/
/
His father, wearing an apron, in the kitchen, is a sight he found uncommon over the years.
There's a sting in his eyes, and he discovers it's from the red pepper paste, but he can't find himself to complain when there's a home-cooked meal in their house. An actual meal, not one of those combinations of rice-and-soy sauce he'd been trying to pass as a dish for years. Rice Vermicelli, he notes, peering over his father's shoulders, and a whole pot of broth.
Len's footsteps are clearly far too quiet for his own good, because his appearance is sudden enough for the man to stumble over the stove.
He can't help but think about how he's not actually a big fan of rice vermicelli.
But, he will digress.
Beggars can't be choosers.
Dinner with a family member is rare, and he's not one to take things for granted. So Len takes one more breath, steels himself against the spice, then moves to set the table, unprompted.
To make conversation, or rather to fill the silence, his father cleared his throat and spoke. "Have you finished packing?"
As if this was the first time in his life he'd ever heard of having to pack for anything, the young man paused, his hands under the sink.
The bowls are under streaming water, their chopsticks set to dry, it takes him longer than he should to remember what it is that he has to pack for.
As they say, if something was important, surely one would never have forgotten in the first place. But the memory resurfaces when his father scoops up a spoonful of broth from the stove, and lifts it to his mouth for a taste. "How is it, too salty?"
After he swallows, he realises it had been important after all. "No, not salty. About that ー Dad, I'm not sure I can come with yoー"
"I didn't put in any salt."
He wrinkles his nose. "I didn't say you did, did I? I said it isn't salty."
His father paces towards the condiment jars, tossing in another spoonful of sugar into the cooking as if it would balance against the salt, and forces him to taste the broth a second time. Tongue burning, Len nods aggressively, hot ladle in his mouth, pressured to please the older man by not commenting about how the broth was now too sweet. When the initial topic is brought up the second time, over the dinner table, he feels the vermicelli fall stale in his mouth.
"As I was saying," Before he was crassly interrupted, "I haven't packed. You could head off first, check if everything's alright with Yuudai, then I'll take a train the week afterwards."
"You're speaking nonsense."
"I have plans."
"I won't allow you to stay."
"You never allow me to do anything."
Aghast at his audacity to talk back, his father slams a palm against the table.
It's not enough to make the floor shake, but enough to make him straighten his back against his chair.
The older man's jaw clicks, and he understands it's a warning. "I've given you enough leeway, Len. I've done everything to make you happy, saw what you've done and looked the other way, over and over again, yet you can't even keep one simple promise to me. To think, I hoped I'd been kind by turning a blind eye towards your irresponsibility all this time."
Len stares at the ground. "... don't act like a priest, you didn't let her take me." He grumbles beneath his breath. "I can't see how this is any different."
"Don't mumble. Speak. I can't hear you." His father stands only to chuck his bowl into the sink, broth and noodles both unfinished, while Len feels his own appetite fade away. "You're coming with me. That's final. Pack your bags because we're leaving on Thursday night."
He rose his voice, indignant. "You didn't let Lily take me."
"She's still your mother. Don't use her name."
"You didn't let Mum take me."
"For your own good! Because I'm your father! Because I want the best for you!"
"No, because you were being selfish! Because you wanted to control everything you could grab hold of. Now I hate her. And that might be because of you. How is it any different?"
"How could you ever compare them to be the same?!"
"Because in the future, ten years later, I'll find Mirai again." He breathes. "I'm going to find her. But by then, she'll believe I've left her, and she will hate me for it."
His father fell silent. This time, Len took initiative to tilt his chin upwards, shoulders high. His arrogance is on show, to overcompensate for his pain, and he heads straight for the door.
Until a firm hand grasps him by the arm before he can take another step, rooting him to the spot.
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"It was me, just so you know."
Down the road, he can spot his father's car, and a face of impatience through the windows. The headlights are visible through the fog, like eyes threatening to devour him whole.
His trousers soak into a growing puddle when he turns away from the car to fuss with Mirai's raincoat, trying to get her arms to cooperate through the sleeves. He's doing the most he's able, since the next time he might see her would be over the weekend, and Saturday suddenly seems too far away.
"No," Len snipped, more and more irritated the longer his daughter worms her away around his hands. "I don't know. Maybe you should tell me."
"You wrote on the birth registry, our family was planning to throw it away for a new one. I stopped them before they could."
The gears in his mind start to spin, memories along with it.
Rin releasing a cry, a scream, sweaty palmsー then at the end of it all, he was turned away from the NICU. It's not a night he'd like to remember.
"She doesn't.. very much look like you."
That's hardly his fault. Len's gaze turned withering. "You think I don't know that?"
"They wouldn't let her take your family name, they wouldn't put you on her birth certificate. I thought you at least deserved this one thing... for what it's worth, I think it suits her."
"Mirai?"
"Mirai."
Lips parted, he turned towards Rin's brother ー and right then, he felt as if he was seeing Yuuma for the first time.
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He wonders if he had known, three days back, what he'd agreed on by spending Friday night alone with Kagamine Rin, whether he would've gone ahead with her plan.
Scantily-clad women on fashion magazines. Lingerie, lingerie, so many lingerie.
Pretty blondes with feline features, crawling across the ground as if they're about to come through the page, ready to pounce on him.
When he folds his legs, needing some room, the young lady instead takes it as an invitation to sit in between them with her back to his chest. She nudges him to lean against the wall for more space on the mattress, and, resigned, he let his chin rest snugly on her shoulder.
"That's your mother?"
It's with delayed recognition that he realises the magazines are ancient, browning with age, many from the eighties.
"Mmhm."
"You don't look like her at all."
Her face turns dark, hands stopping on a page where one of the women ー straight brown hair in a bob, apparently her mother, was donning an emerald green set, matching jewels hanging off her ears. He instantly realises that opening his mouth had been a mistake once Rin grits out a single word. "What?"
"Nothing," Len replied hastily, pecking the side of her shoulder. "Next page."
"No, hold on. Do you think she's pretty?"
He can't tell whether it's a trick question.
He squinted his eyes. If he said no, he'd be insulting her mother, and if he said... "Yes?"
"Then why did you say she doesn't look like me?"
...
Whatever defense he could've thought of, he should've planned earlier, because once you've broken the dam on Rin's temper, it was simply impossible to get her to stop.
"Do you find these other women attractive too, Len? Hm? This lady?" She jabbed a finger towards the cat-looking blonde woman he'd stared so deeply at, then to another one, slightly less curvier. "Oh, or her? Older women? Do you like them? Old and wrinkly and saggy by now, are you into that?"
Before he can answer, beg her to drop the subject because god knows how many times he's had this same argument with Utatane Piko, they hear a frantic bang against the wall. The bedroom door slides open, and his father, flustered, dips a head in to address him. "Len, I'll be with a colleague tonight. Did you want to ー"
Rin squeaks.
Whatever attack she had on her tongue immediately faded the longer she remained in the spot she'd settled in. In Kagamine Len's lap, in his bed.
She felt mortification for the first time.
Len, on the other hand, didn't seem to think anything they were doing was wrong. He kept his hands firm on her waist, preventing her from shifting away.
Regardless, his father doesn't say anything about their positions. Instead the older man turns his gaze towards the ceiling, scratching at his collar, pointedly avoiding having to acknowledge the elephant in the room: nevermind whether that was Kagamine Rin, with her face turning an unhealthy shade of pink, or the sheer amount of age-inappropriate magazines littered across the bedsheets. Rin tried to hide them with her hands.
"Go ahead," Len finally responds. Feels compelled to add, "Rin won't stay late, her brothers are picking her up in an hour or two. You can leave."
"Good. Good. I'll be ー no funny business."
She kicked aside another magazine.
He affirms, trying as subtly as possible to smack her thigh into remaining still. "Not at all. Goodnight."
"I'll phone her family afterwards to make sure you're telling the truth."
"Do what you want." He waves his father off, and when there's an awkward cough, he barely remembers to shout a reminder as the door slide close. "Make sure you aren't the one driving back if you're going to drinkー"
Both teenagers stilled. Bated breath, they wait for the sound of the front door creak open, shut, then the lock, as five minutes of silence fill the entire flat. Whatever fire Rin had burning earlier, ready to throw her hands at him, instead doused in a pot of cool water, diminished to smoke.
He taps her cheek. When she instinctively tilts her face towards him, he surprises her with a kiss. "Hey."
"... hey."
He stretches the corner of his lips upwards. She recognises it's a comforting smile; one that grows after she mirrors it with a timid smile of her own. Her thumbs poke into his cheek, below the faintest dimple, and she wonders if he can hear how loud her heart is pounding against her chest.
She tries to focus on the state of his room instead ー the sticky stars on his ceiling that grow brighter with each second the skies turn dark, the desk next to his keyboard with pens scattered in just the perfect amount of disorganisation. The way his living space is small, but so homely, it's not at all stifling.
"We're not in trouble. Relax."
"Youー you made me think he wasn't homeー I didn't think."
"I had a talk with him a few days ago, alright? Alright? We're not in trouble."
Despite repeating that they were fine, there was no one out to punish her, she was still with Len, she was safe; she found it hard to breathe.
"Are you going to keep showing me these magazines?" He knocks her out of her own thoughts, and pinches one of her cheeks. "There isn't enough time to do everything, I wanted to go for a walk with you. We can come back and look at these afterwards, if you're okay with that."
Rin nods her head.
Every other thought in her head reminds her that everything she has will soon all be taken away.
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"I wonder how old she'd been. My parents were in middle school when alot of these were taken."
After that short spell, they had made a walk to the convenience store for some warm dumplings, then quickly returned to his flat to curl on the living room couch, retrieving the magazines they'd previously abandoned.
Rin followed his eyes, narrowing on the date in the corner. "She had me when she was nearing fifty."
Gone were her mother's appearance with inner apparels. Now they observed images under a different fashion label.
These are newer. Nineties. The pages are more gray than brown, some of them feature on evening dresses while the rest on wedding gowns. Out of the corner of his eyes he can see Rin flip through multiple models without sparing more than a second's glance, until her eyes finally land on the person she was looking for. Once she does, she releases a dreamy sigh, which he doesn't leave unnoticed.
Len can't help but watch her finger.
It trails down her mother's brown hair, to the skirt of her dress. At first, he guesses it's the longing for her mum that's making her dwell so deeply.
Then he recalls a previous month, of their day in the city. Her head pressed against the window as the bus rode past several wedding boutiques.
Her eyes would light up across each one, then a second later the glow diminished, and she kept mouth kept closed, sealed shut.
A surge of emotion overwhelms him. He isn't sure whether what he feels is desperation, the eager need to please, or resignationー full of guilt.
Rin must have eventually noticed how hard he'd been staring, because her shoulders spike hard in alert, and she faces him with this indignant quirk of the brow as if she's ordering him to speak his mind.
"My parents had me in their twenties." Len says, breaking whatever ice was building between them, whatever animosity, had no room to be here. As she closed the wedding magazine, he refrained from prying the pages back open, from begging she tell him which gowns she'd like to wear.
There was a time and place for everything. But that wasn't now. Not yet.
"They had you young."
Len snorted. "No, your parents had you old. Look in a mirror and think about what just left your mouth."
They had been around sixteen ー fifteen. For someone with mathematics as her best subject, she's doing a piss poor job on simple calculation. She shrugged off the topic, moving onto better concerns. "She's so thin, even after two kids. Do you think I could do that?"
He tries not to mention that Rin, in contrast, was already pudgy before she'd given birth to one. "Sure."
"So, let me ask again. This time: do you think I look like her?"
Len lets a beat skip.
Then he laughs, "God, no."
If he thought she was going to sit back, glaring at him for the remainder of the night, he was wrong.
In a heartbeat, Rin grabs the cushion beside them to pelt him into the sofa.
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The lift had conveniently chosen today, of all days, to be the day it needed maintenance. On the one day he needed it working the most. He'd carried his seventh box down the eight flights of stairs when he met his father, who had remained downstairs, arranging all their belongings inside the boot of the car.
Len let out a particularly loud grunt when he released the largest box yet. It rattles, as if there's something fragile inside, and he hopes it isn't glass. "I thought we gave away most of our stuff?"
"We did."
"What's this rubbish, then?"
He gestured towards the full vehicle, crammed to the brim, and their things scattered across the pavement.
"Those are your brother's school trophies. If you're going to complain the whole evening, Len, it's better you get out of the way, and I can clear this up on my own."
"Fine. Everything's already been brought downstairs, anyway. I'll go."
"Matter of speech. You aren't actually allowed to leaveー pick this up for a moment."
This is a complete waste of time. The moving agency is already scheduled to arrive exactly a week from now on Sunday.
Len couldn't comprehend for the life of him why they had to spend so much time and effort doing things manually when they've paid for a service to take the weight off their hands. For a second, he considers throwing an attitude, as he tended to do towards his father when things wouldn't go his way; then he realises this isn't a behaviour he'd like his own daughter to mimic.
The golden son.
He'd committed, he'd made an oath to himself that he couldn't rip away.
"Are you going to meet with anyone tonight? A friend?" Len breathed out, struggling beneath the weight of another box until it's taken off his hands. Leon shook his head as if this was the first time he'd heard about such plans. "Earlier I heard you talking on the phone."
"Not tonight. Tomorrow, when I reach Southport."
"Eight hour drive, I doubt you'd have the energy."
"I've travelled longer, your train is only going to take six hours. You have your ticket?"
"Yes."
"Don't conveniently misplace it at the last minute, you know what you've promised." Leon had a warning tone.
Len resisted the urge to click his tongue.
"Yes, dad, I know."
He felt a hand on his head, a soft ruffle, rather than anything aggressive, and stood still when he closed his eyes and felt the slightest peck over the top of his scalp.
When he opens them again, he notices his father isn't smiling at him, but instead staring straight into his eyes.
"Don't ever, for a second, doubt that I don't love you."
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His parents started him on the piano at the age of four.
One can never be too early, he convinces himself, as he allows his daughter to ram her fists all across his keyboard.
There's no harm in experimenting. That's how all great works begin.
After ten minutes of free reign, however, the noise cause one of their lower-floor neighbours to bang against the ceiling, demanding they quiet down.
Panicked, Len pulls the cable from the wall switch, and is forced to deal with the aftermath of Mirai when she realises no notes leave the instrument with each new press. She turns in his lap to give him a look; all confused baby eyes, slow, frustrated suckling motions on her blue pacifier that churns guilt into overwhelming him.
She stares at him as if he's able to fix all her troubles in the world.
He wonders how many times, as a child, he must have looked at his own parents the exact same way.
Instead of succumbing to pessure, he sets the cable away, far out of reach ー praying that now it was out of sight, it was out of mind.
As distraction, he slips off the piano stool, dragging her along with him, until they stare at each other through the full length mirror in the corner of his room.
She clings onto his jumper as if she needs the security, even if his hold under her bottom is as secure as it always has been.
Len has dropped many things throughout his lifetime. From his belongings to his feelings to every other priority he can list, but not his daughter. Not her, never even onceー when he gives her a little jiggle, she beams tiny teeth back at him from around the silicone nipple, already forgetting her woes.
He takes another step further from the keyboard.
His free hand, the one not supporting her weight, starts by grazing a finger over her forehead.
It trails down, to the low arch of her brow, the flat tip of her nose, the crescents of her eyes to the rosy roundness of her cheeks, and he wonders how many of these features will change over the time, compared to how many will remain.
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Her chubby fingers lay flat against his cheek, her head so small, laying on the same pillow as him. He strokes her hair, and her eyelids fall lower, as if to fall asleep.
"No dreamland yet, please." He hums softly, helpless as she yawns in his face. "You babble around mummy so much, all day long, but with me, it's all crisis and crickets."
".. ma..."
"I'm not mama. Sorry."
Rin is two hours away at hospital for another appointment that's so secret she dare not spill a single word to him about.
If he gets into her mindset, he understands that's her method of preventing him from worry. But she doesn't understand withholding information worries him even more, how many days she's made him stay awake all night by doing this.
"Do you remember where mama had to go, Clementine?" This time, as he strokes his daughter's scalp again, her eyes fall completely shut. Contrary to his own wishes, he keeps his voice low, beneath a whisper, and lulls her to sleep. "We told you, you're with me tonight, then you'll be with mama in the morning."
Then at the end of a fortnight with different, unfamiliar people, days later. The reminder leaves a sour taste in his mouth.
He's not sure why he's wasting his breath explaining to a child about their plans, about anything that's going on in his mind.
Maybe it's because he's offended about the last time Rin accused him of not spending his time speaking with Mirai.
Maybe it's because he's afraid, if he lets this moment slip, if he doesn't do his best, not only will she forget the sound of his voice, but forget who he is entirely.
"I'm not sure what you can do with this information, but you were born under Delta Hercules, 'Sarin.' But that isn't what I named you after."
A year back, he would have wondered how Kagamine Rin could ever find joy in preventing other people from sleep by letting her mouth run.
Talking, talking and talking, endlessly around bedtime, as if it's impossible for her to run out of breath. Now he understands how feels. Simply throwing out words, even without an audience to listen to him, peels weight off his chest.
Exhilarating. At least, compared to Rin, he's conscious enough to keep his voice to a minimum so his daughter can appreciate him as a lullaby rather than a nuisance.
"I hope you'll understand. Not now, you're still a babyー but in the future."
Future.
The only sounds that leave Mirai for the rest of the night are her soft breathing. She'd likely fallen asleep before the first word had ever left his lips.
He brushes away her fringe once again. No motion, save for the slow rise and fall of her chest.
"I.. tried to think up every possible way, Mirai." He let a finger stroke her cheek, memorising every mark, each minuscule freckle, every constellation he can make from the dots on her face. "I read the laws, spent hours looking into tiny apartments on the mainland where we could go together, and I'd raise you up alone."
Then he finally allows his own eyelids to drift shut, sink deeper into that same pillow with a slow breath.
"... but there's nothing that wouldn't put your mum at risk, none at all..."
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He spent extra time on the weather channel.
Afternoon's forecast isn't sunny, though at the very least, blessed against their monsoons. Rain will drop by with it's full brunt, come night-time.
With the knowledge that a storm is out of the way, he took opportunity to indulge his toddler on a trip to the city, with lemon crepes she'd spat into his palm after deciding she didn't like the taste, and an outdated polaroid camera with dirtied frames. His grip remains on her tiny hand even through multiple tiring attempts of her wriggling away.
They return to visit their sea in what he believes could be the very last time.
Mirai's kicking the sand beneath her toes like it's the most fascinating thing to do on earth.
That, or because there's nothing better for her to do at all ー the kid looks bored out of her mind.
He feels a bit sorry; his daughter loathes the sea. He, personally, loves the sea, so this is doubtlessly the result of Rin's influence.
But if he thinks again, sunlight is Rin's source of energy, her breath of life. Whereas their daughter obviously hopes summer doesn't come by for a long, long time.
Within seconds, the very thing that once caused him pleasure for the past eighteen years has now become his downfall. As the tides draw close enough to hit her feet, Mirai releases this horrid, anguished squeal as if she'd been stabbed by a thousand needles in the back, and leaves him unsure whether to laugh or to cry.
"Shhh, shh... it's okay," He then had to spread his arms, coo into her hair, let her cry until she's convinced she suffered not more than a second of discomfort. "... our Mirai is too fussy... what will you have me to do the water? Punish it? You have to tell me, or I won't know."
Her response is a soft sob into his jacket.
Len nods seriously. "Bad ocean. Bad. You're absolutely right, now I'm angry too."
He brushes the hair away from her forehead, damp and sticky with sweat, and now that there's nobody around to see them ー this time, he does kiss her right in the centre.
Her round cheeks are cupped in his hands.
"Tell you what. Do you know who controls the ocean? The moon. So pa ー papa, will ask Mrs. Moon, if she could ask her friend, the Ocean, to kindly leave Clementine alone. Okay?" If she had refused to hold his hand hours prior, she was now clinging onto him as if her life depended on it. He flicked her nose upwards. "The ocean will listen to the moon, don't worry."
Mirai doesn't move. He takes her stiffness as being sceptical, as much as a child could be
"It will. Because they love each other."
Her return to the sea is met with caution, elaborate persuasion that nothing in the water was out to hurt her, followed by the occasional visits to his lap for a sip of milk. Once she's satisfied her thirst, or delighted in that little bit of red bean and flour from his steamed bun, she's off to spread her wings, circles drawing into the sand as if she hadn't been just seconds short of a tantrum.
It's when he's beginning to peel paper off a new bun does his luck run out.
His back straightens upon a sound stranger than the birds at sea: the crunch of a boot against sand.
He peers over his sunglasses ー useless, considering today's weather, but nevermind being submerged in shade as the clouds set a new record for the year.
Nevermind that his daughter, dipped head-to-toe in sun cream, is a white-shelled egg only six metres away.
Nevermind anything in the presence of Hiyama Fukase.
As a greeting, calloused hands scratch across his scalp. Familiar fingers that never fail to channel the rush of a river's stream, and it reminds him of comfort rather than it would ever be frightening.
"What do you think you're doing on the other side of town, Kagamine?" Fukase sings playfully, inviting himself on the mat Len had laid out. On the road, his bicycle is waiting, kickstand keeping it from hitting the ground.
Len feels his goosebumps rise from his spot. "Having a bun. Obviously."
This side of the island, with uncommon roads, isn't remotely close to the centre of town. He'd purposely chosen a place impossible to come across anyone he would know.
Had he known that this plan would fail, he would've gone to a different beach.
"What are you doing here? Isn't your house further away?"
His friend had actually looked offended.
"Don't be so eager to send me off. I haven't seen you in ages," A huff. "I had to buy milk. While cycling back, I realised ー hey, I probably won't be back on this stupid island for the next few years. I might even start to miss it. Why not take the long way home? That's when I saw you sitting here, all alone, like a loser."
Understandable.
It's the same reason why he's here, too, overlooking the northern shore for the final time.
The idea of leaving their island makes his insides churn. For so long, so many years, he'd considered the possibility, knew it would be inevitable, but he couldn't believe the time had come so soon. The clouds are doubling, though with the darker ones only in the distance, his ears bathe in the waves riding across shore.
There's something about the ocean that holds such a strong leash on him.
Something that takes away all his worries, all of his thoughts and memories in one hand and drowns it under the sea.
The uneasiness nearly takes over his mind, but the ocean stretches out it's arms, offering him a home, it promises to hold him safe.
What interrupts him, once again, is Fukase's cough. At first he thinks it's a subtle hint for some water, so he lifts his flask, offering a sip.
But when his friend readily refuses, instead choosing to nod in a certain direction, he follows this trail.
His eyes soften in recognition, but his heart, in contrast, pumps quicker in his chest. He knows there's something he'd forgotten.
Because its not the water they're staring at, but instead a lone, tiny figure crouched by the sea.
its been a while! sorry for the dip in quality, i've gotten a bit rusty in writing. long chapter to make up for hiatus.