Warnings: past babies out of wedlock, class differences, alcohol jokes, mentions of spoon theory, a woman gets punched
Chapter Nine - Maize - 1991
"You passed the bar exam and you're at a bar."
It took Iori a minute too long to make the connection there. "Screw you," he said, not even meaning it. He smacked his head unceremoniously (and more importantly, improperly) onto the bar and waited for the gods to take him. "I have no spoons for this. I am exhausted, Takeru-san, do not."
Takeru laughs, the uncharitable person that he is. "Sorry, sorry." He goes quiet. "Congratulations though, really. I'm glad you were able to achieve your dream."
Iori flushes with joy. "Thank you, Takeru-san." And he is grateful. He wishes things could have been different but he is grateful to Takeru, even now.
Iori doesn't pretend he's not bitter. Because he is. Because they should have been equal, fair, important, not lesser. And that's the feeling that none of them have really managed to get rid of in the whole situation and that's… it just hurts, that's all there is to it.
But it's a years old issue that can't be resolved by anything other than forgiveness, and of the three best suited to forgiveness, one's in the DIgital World and the other two are still working out their issues and Iori can't pretend that he's one of them. Which is really okay. It's just hard.
He loves Takeru as the older brother he's never had, and that makes it so very hard, even though they're all adults, even though they're preparing for the inevitable.
To think as kids they had loved it.
"How's Noriko?"
Takeru asks it softly, reverently, in awe of their patience, their devotion, their refusal to be pulled by anyone else's flow.
How is Noriko, he asks. As if he doesn't know, as if he doesn't visit, as if he's not aware of half the problem.
"Tired," he admits. "Often."
Because Takeru does not have the monopoly on stupid mistakes and Iori doesn't have the monopoly of nobly trying to fix them alone.
"So are you," Takeru points out, gentle and understanding. Then again, of course he's understanding, he doesn't think Iori and Noriko did anything wrong. But then again, they are also staying together and working through their problems. They'd already given up most of their childhoods already.
Perhaps it's just Iori still feels thirteen and screwed up, rather than acknowledging, hey, you're in your thirties this is perfectly gosh darn normal.
"It doesn't feel right."
"You married her, Iori-kun," Takeru reminds him gently. "You two swore to do your best by each other."
Iori takes a gentle swig of beer and grimaces at the taste. He doesn't think he'll ever like it. "You're right."
Takeru smiles at him, but neither of them believe the other.
"Come on," he says, and pulls out his wallet. "We're going to find something else to do."
"Such as?"
Takeru shrugs. "Find one of my one night stands on the street and make their day?"
Iori made a face. "Really not funny."
"Funny's for Mimi-san." Takeru chugs his drink, ice included, which is honestly disgusting. "I'm realistic."
"You're supposed to be hopeful."
"Same thing."
Iori wants to dispute that, but he's tired so he settles for slugging his best friend in the arm and following him outside.
They don't actually go ex hunting, thank god. Instead they visit a park, occupied by children and dogs and a few stray squirrels. Oh and some parents, obviously. Even this late.
One of the kids is playing with a dog. He looks, well, not happy at all if Iori wants to be honest, which is his usual state of being. His hair is dirty and dark and his clothes are patched in places, but he doesn't look upset. A bit too small maybe, but hardly upset.
Iori shuts his eyes, then enjoys the quiet of the park. He'll be joining a firm and slowly getting jobs and providing for his family-
And hoping his children will be too young to fight for their lives when the time comes. Hoping very very much.
What if Father's in the digital world?"
It's not the first time he's thought this, but he still has the same mindset of, and what difference will that make?
The loss of his father still aches, aches in away that's distant, but not as close as the fear of his grandfather being dead. Or will he have long or how will he be? The list of worries goes on. His mother is stronger and stubborn and levelheaded and had wished often that he had gotten more from his dreamer father other than his sense of justice and loyalty.
And he sometimes wishes he had too. But that would have required more time, which they didn't have.
I wonder if they'll be proud of me.
He wants to think so.
Iori turns his head to check on Takeru. Sure, Takeru tends to be quiet but he also likes to fill the silence in a way Daisuke doesn't. Steadier, like there's not a lull at all. But he finds his friend staring at the dirty boy playing with the dog. And then past him at the woman on the bench. She looks tired and ready to slump over.
But Takeru has that look in his eyes from when he was eleven and inscrutable and loathing of the darkness itself and he is rising from his seat.
"Takeru," Iori starts but the man was already halfway across the park to the woman. Iori looks between them and the child, and goes to the little boy instead.
He stops at the crunching leaves. The boy's dog, which is really quite small and harmless looking, barks and runs up to sniff him. Iori is happy to let him, as he's always rather liked dogs. They remind him of Daisuke. In a good way. Honest.
"Ty!" the boy says to the dog in a cross little voice that only sounds cute and worn out at the same time. "You were supposed to be fetching."
His vocabulary is rather high, but then he looks about five. Perhaps his parents raise him well and with lots of books.
The boy reaches him, still looking adorably cross. "'M sorry sir," he says. "Ty's a dog who forgets to dog."
"My fiance has a cat who forgets to cat," Iori tells him with a sober frown. "Maybe they can be friends."
The boy brightens. "I dunno if he likes cats!"
"That's a concern," Iori says. "But we can make it workI am sorry I bothered you. My name is Hida Iori. What's your name?"
The boy must have been taught both stranger danger and keep an open mind, because he smiles with yellowed cheeks and gaps in his teeth. "Hirose! Mama named me for my da's da, but she won't talk about him." He runs his hands over his filthy sweater as if to wipe them, even though it's summer in the night it must be warm. "Did yer parents ever do a thing like that?"
"No," Iori tells him and takes a seat. He'll mourn the dirt on his business slacks at another time. "My father died when I was very young, you see, and it was to my family an honorable death, so I had to be aware of him. It's only now that I'm older that I find myself missing him a whole lot more."
And Oikawa, who could have… done something, been a family friend, helped out, something. Before he'd been sad. Now he is kind of angry and hurting and while that iasn't the man's fault, and speaking ill of the dead was wrong, thinking isn't.
"What about your mum?" The boy asks. Perhaps he's at ease because he can see his mother nearby. Iori is afraid to look and see what the two of them are doing.
"My mother is a housewife even now because of the government money, and my grandfather's dojo. He teaches kendo." It's odd to say it in present tense, because it's what he remembers, because it's what had happened and if they are woken up again, it might be what continues, only with his own children. If they survive.
Iori, before the Digital World, had only found the truth in what he could see. And now he has to find the truth in more than that. Sometimes, he realizes, you have to make it for yourself.
"Your mom sounds nice," Hirose says. His voice is solemn. "She made food for you and stuff?"
"And scolded me and helped me with school," he agrees.
"Huh," he says. "Mum tries that, but she's always tired. Maybe that's why she's so mad at that guy." Hirose looks up at him with big blue eyes, a little glassy from hunger. "Is that your friend Iori-san? The man talking to mum?"
Iori had no choice but to acknowledge Takeru now, who had thankfully not decked the woman in the face or something equally as silly. And Iori can't hear what he's saying. His hands are thankfully loose and he looks entirely non-threatening barring his creased forehead and narrowed eyes.
Iori sighs. "Unfortunately."
Hirose frowns, a little. "He has my nose," he says, like this is something you can tell from the ground. Ty nips at his shirt and gets a small pat. "Not now Ty, I'm thinkin'."
"He does have your nose," Iori agrees softly. "And your eyes."
Hirose stands there quietly, a little solemn frown now at his mouth. "Hey, Iori-san,do you think that guy's my dad?"
Iori hums, like he's giving it some thought. "You know, Hirose-kun, I think he might be."
"Huh." Hirose says. Then he looks at Iori. "Do you think he'll like me?"
"Truthfully?" Iori says."I think he's wanted to love you for a while."
"Oh." Hirose picks up a stick, then begins to peel it. "Do you know how to make a sand castle?"
As it turns out, Iori does know how to make a sand castle.
He also knows how to stand up for Takeru, even when his friend is probably in the wrong. (He can't be sure, because even he knows that there are women who do these things on purpose.)
"You could have called," Iori says reasonably, helping Hirose set up a stick in his current sand hill as the adults get closer. "Sent letters, reached out to us. Even email is becoming possible. You did not have to go through this alone. But you did, and that was your mistake."
The woman sputters and Takeru is staring at him like he's grown a second head.
And somehow, and perhaps it's just because Iori knows the look of a cornered person, desperate to escape their own mistakes, he's able to cover Hirose's ears before he can hear her say,
"Well, I didn't want him!"
Or something of that effect. Admittedly, Iori isn't listening.
He cannot stop him from seeing Takeru deck the woman in the face and hearing people gasp about it.
The woman sputters again in outrage.
I'm not even a lawyer and I'm probably going to have to bail him out of jail, Iori thinks.
"Did she say something rude?" Hirose asks.
Iori thinks it over. "She said something rude about you."
Hirose blinks at him, then shrugs. "It wouldn't be the first time. Grandma scolds her a lot."
Iori wrinkles his nose. "I see." He watches Takeru and the woman now scream at each other.
"She doesn't mean it," Hirose adds. "She loves me a lot. It's just really hard."
"That's rather the problem," Iori tells him gently. "She doesn't have to mean it."
Hirose nods after a moment and goes back to petting his dog.
Iori is starting to understand how they had become Chosen Children. It's very uncomfortable.
Iori gets home close to midnight, spit-sober. Takeru is not in jail, rather after a lot of negotiation, a call to Daisuke, and a rumbling dog, they had managed to get him, the ex and the son to go to Takeru's apartment. They'll have to handle that because if Iori's required to be near them for anything other than playdates for the next three months he'll scream.
He barely gets his shoes off before a tiny body flies over to him with all the speed a body can muster. "Papa!"
Iori barely catches her to scold, "Mio, you're supposed to be asleep." His daughter ignores him, firmly wrapped around his waist and not moving for gods or hell.
"She was until you opened the door." Kawada Noriko follows her out of their tiny living room space with a yawn and reaches to hug the two of them together. "Takeru get you drunk?"
"No, we found out he had a son he didn't know about." Iori tries to sound casual, and instead hugs Mio a bit too hard. She squirms against him and he apologetically lets go, moving to pick her up instead.
Noriko looks at him thoughtfully and then answers, "Okay so he still didn't get you drunk. After all that."
Iori can't help it. He laughs.
"How do you always know what to say?" he asks her in genuine awe.
Noriko shrugs. "Practice figuring it out I suppose. You always seem to know what to do."
That's a lie, he knows, but he wants to believe her.
He looks at Mio. "Want to watch some cartoons?"
His daughter cheers and for a moment, Iori actually feels like he can raise a good child.
He just, even now, has no idea if he can raise a Chosen Child.
