Taylor isn't quite sure what she expected out of Ayano's house. She'd only ever had one friend before, and Emma lived in a better neighborhood than either of the girls climbing the run-down staircase. It's a struggle to find anything flattering about the place; the paint-job looks like it had last been done before the emergence of parahumans, faded where it hasn't peeled off. The railing seems to be more for emotional support than to prevent anyone from falling down, possibly along with the rickety thing. Even some of the concrete steps are cracked, which is just - how, even?
At least it doesn't smell, and the doors they pass on their way up don't share the decrepit look – solid things, with two or three locks each. A good door is the one expense everyone is willing to make in Brockton Bay, regardless of their financial standing.
"We're here," Ayano says, appearing to want to say something more for a moment, before hesitantly letting go of Taylor's hand to fish for the keys. The older girl at once finds herself missing the warmth in her palm. Still, she supposes holding hands in the house would be a bit awkward. She used to do that with Emma when they were little, but at some point, they just stopped; whether because they talked about it or if it was just the kind of unspoken agreement that they were too big for it, the teen can't remember. Or was it because they'd noticed people in relationships did that too, and in their unlimited eight-year-old understanding of the world, decided it was gross, like kissing?
...Bad thoughts. It figures Emma would come to mind at a moment like this to tug at her heart. Taylor forces herself to stop thinking, to allow her mind to reset. This is neither the time nor place for her bully. She's about to see Ayano's home!
Taylor commits the door number - seven - to memory as her friend struggles with the locks. Three of them. There's a sound, vacuuming it sounds like, coming from the other side. Huh, it's the middle of the week. She and Dad only bother on Saturdays, though- well, they don't really have guests anymore, and between just the two of them there's little need to vacuum more than that.
By the time Ayano finally opens the door, Taylor is almost convinced she's going to need to help her, but her friend does finally manage, and yup, that's the sound of vacuuming alright. The Asian girl beckons her inside, going right back to her fight with the door once they both step over the doorstep. In the meantime, Taylor begins to undress, taking in the foyer of her best friend's house.
Cluttered is the first word that comes to mind. The layout is just as old-fashioned as the state of the building suggests, with a narrow hallway connecting the five doors cutting the house in half – just big enough to fit in a few utilities, like an open wardrobe and a shoe rack. It still manages to look more tidy and... fresh, than her own house. The smell of detergent in the air probably has something to do with the impression. When was the last time she and Dad properly cleaned the entire house instead of just taking care of the surface-level mess? Have they since Mom?
"Okāsan! Tadaima!" Taylor turns to her friend at her shout, curious as to what has been said. Given how the vacuum turns off a moment later, she can hazard an educated guess.
A second later, a woman appears from one of the rooms, and for a moment, all Taylor can do is stare at someone her brain insists she's already met. Even without already knowing who it is before her, there'd be no mistaking the resemblance. Although, with proper makeup, the woman could likely pass for Ayano's older sister, rather than her mother.
"-et my mother." A fierce blush covers Taylor's cheeks at the realization she spaced out like that, during an introduction no less! Okay, keep it cool. Swallow the lead down her throat and:
"Hi!" Fuck. "I-it's a pleasure to meet you!" She rushes to correct herself.
A disturbingly familiar smile spreads across the woman's lips, similar enough to immediately remind Taylor of her friend, but at the same time... not. It's less... just less.
"The pleasure is all mine." At least their voices are different. Good, she'd hate to call and mistake the woman for her daughter. "I've been wondering when Ayano would bring home her Senpai." Her what? "She's told us so much about you."
"Mother!" Ayano interjects, indignant. Wrong move, now she has to know.
"Told about me?"
"Why, the first she met you, you were all she talked about for a-"
"Mother!" the girl whines. "Please. Excuse us, but we have homework to do, a lot of it, so we should probably get it started." Taylor doesn't even try containing her grin. It's no use – seeing Ayano so openly mortified simply has that sort of effect on her.
"Oh." Mrs. Aishi's gentle smile momentarily slips from her face, to return with twice the radiance when she turns to Taylor. "Of course. If you girls need anything, just ask."
"Thank you, Mrs Aishi." Both the girls awkwardly hang in place before the woman leaves earshot. "Told about me?" Taylor inquires as she turns to Ayano, holding in a laugh as she observes Ayano's flustered expression. It's strange. Normally, she doesn't like having people talk about her, it never spells anything good. Now, though? She can't wipe the grin off her face.
"Y-you know how it is. You go home, your mother asks you how's your day been, and uh- I mean, you stand out so I said - things. Like; how you seemed nice, and maybe I'd talk more with you and um- yeah! Anyway! Come on, I'll show you around."
Still smiling like an idiot, Taylor follows after the girl, curiously taking in the sight of the various knick-knacks decorating the small house. Emphasis on small. Well, maybe it's just that she's used to more space, but that's doubtful. There's enough place to fit in the furniture and still be able to move around, but no more than that. "Living room, that's my parents' room, bathroom, kitchen." Ayano rapidly lists off, pointing to the respective rooms, all of them giving Taylor an impression of a place much better cared for than her own. Ayano did say her mom is a housewife at heart, and the vacuum lying in the living room doesn't do anything to dispel that notion.
"And here, my room." The girl opens the last remaining door. "Let me just get my laptop started and we can-"
Taylor jumps when her friend slams the door with enough force to feel it in her teeth.
"Everything alright?" They both turn to find Ayano's mom peeking out from the guest room with a creased brow.
"Uh, yes mother. Just- I didn't- there's a mess. Inside. To clean up."
"A mess? I just-" she cuts off, her frown giving way to her widening eyes. "Ah. Right. In that case, I believe I should entertain our guest for a little while, no?"
"I really don't mind. I could help." Taylor supplies, provoking a most peculiar expression from Ayano, somewhere between tasting lemon and one of her usual grins.
"That's-" the younger girl begins. "Thank you, but, uh…" Oh.
Oh!
Taylor recognizes a plea for what it is, and briefly considers teasing her friend about it. What could she possibly have on the display she's embarrassed to show? No matter, she's the guest here, and if Ayano wants a moment to hide her secrets, then she's fully entitled to it.
"I won't have a guest of mine work in the house." Mrs Aishi settles the issue. "Come along, I'll make you girls some tea while Ayano fixes her room."
"I'll only be a minute." Ayano promises. "Give me your bag? No point carrying it around."
As an answer, she slips her backpack off her shoulder to hand to her friend. With a small wave, the Asian teen slips into her room, leaving Taylor to follow Mrs Aishi to the kitchen. It actually looks a little bit less cramped from the inside. Nothing like in Emma's house, certainly, or even her own - just big enough for two people to fit in without having them constantly bump into each other or the dining table set by the wall. The girl takes the chair her host motions to as the woman sets water to boil.
"Do you have any preference?" Ayano's mother asks as she sets three mugs down on the counter.
"Not really, I'm fine with what Ayano would like." And if she's not, well, at least one of them will enjoy it.
"That-" Ayano's mother pauses at the sound of something falling to the ground a wall away. She gently shakes her head when Taylor makes to stand, worried. "Oh she's fine, don't worry. We'd know if it was a bookcase that fell over, or something else dangerous. Anyway, you're alright with black tea then? Sugar?"
"N-no. Thank you." She squirms under weight of those unnervingly familiar, grey eyes. A quick sweep of the room reveals nothing that would help her break the increasingly uncomfortable silence, and still the woman keeps watching her.
"Forgive Ayano for this." Oh thank God. "We let her take care of her room on her own, and she doesn't have visitors all that often." That's strange. Ayano is a pretty popular girl, although Taylor supposes that would mean going out instead of having people come over. Especially considering the location. "Though she still should've remembered if she was planning to invite you."
"Oh, no. She-" Telling Ayano's mom she forgot an assignment is probably not what her friend would want. "Something just came up that she needs help with."
"Ah." The furrow in her brow eases into a smile. "In that case, thank you. It's kind of you to help her like this."
"I'm sure she'd do the same if I asked - if she were a class up. It's nothing, really."
"Humble too, I see. I was being truthful when I said Ayano talks a lot about you. All good things, of course." The words ignite something in the pit of Taylor's stomach, though what it is, the teen can't say. It's… good to know she's not the only one who often thinks about the other, even at home, or when telling her parents about her day. At times, she fears she's being weird.
"I hope I can measure up, then." She smiles up at the woman with all the confidence she doesn't have.
"Well. You do seem polite so far, so that's another check off the list."
There's enough to make a list? She can't say if the woman is speaking in jest or not. Now that she thinks about it, a lot of her conversations with Dad somehow included her friend, lately. But unlike Ayano, she's a friendless loser who just doesn't have anyone else.
Though if she were to judge by her friend's reaction earlier in the hall, there might be something to it. It looked remarkably like Taylor suspects she would look if their situations were reversed. So really, she shouldn't pry.
"Um. What else did she say about me?"
"Hmm, where to start? It's quite a broad subject, you understand." She winks, and the teen can't say if it's a good or bad kind of anticipation performing barrel rolls in her gut. "For one, she said you were pretty."
"Pretty?" Taylor will forever consider the fact she managed not to stutter an achievement. If only she could exercise that same control over the blood rushing to her face in embarrassment. Because, well, having such a thing told about her by the prettiest girl she knows is… flattering, to say the least. A lie, still, but a pleasant one nonetheless.
"Oh, yes." The woman chuckles as she fills the mugs with steaming water. "She was quite ada-"
"I'm done!" A somewhat winded Ayano body-checks the doorframe. "Again. I'm really sorry for that but - we can start now."
"Of course, here." Mrs Aishi says, already opening one of the drawers to pick a little glass plate from there. "For the bags. Now go, I'll finish vacuuming tomorrow, give you some peace and quiet."
With a thanks for their tea, the girls set off to Ayano's room, the Asian teen insisting on carrying everything for the both of them.
As she enter her friend's sanctuary, what immediately jumps at Taylor is an offbeat sense of familiarity, despite the room looking almost aggressively… bare. Did Ayano just hide everything? No, that can't be it, that'd take more time, and the fact only serves to fuel Taylor's curiosity. What did Ayano even have to hide in a place like this? Actually, maybe this emptiness is the reason why she felt like she had to. Anything at all out of place would stand out like a sore thumb. In comparison, her own room may not exactly be cluttered, but she'd have to throw out a few solid pounds of stuff to achieve the same effect. So then why does this still look so… oh. Oh, they've painted their rooms the same colors, that's where the feeling is coming from!
However, the colors are where the similarities end. There's a picture with a bird, a crane, hanging on a wall, and a small cactus on a neatly arranged desk, but that's as far as decorations go. Honestly, were it not for the bed and a bookcase filled with many colorful titles, the room would have a closer resemblance to an office rather than a living space.
A small meow draws her eyes away from appraising the moon-like landscape of her friend's room and to the grey ball of fur squarely in the middle of Ayano's smilarily grey sheets.
"You never said you had a cat. What's his name?"
"Mi. It's a she," Ayano answers, setting down their mugs on the desk.
Oh. "Can I pet her?"
"Sure."
Taylor sits at the edge of the bed, drawing its attention away from Ayano, the other girl busy booting up her laptop. The feline looks as common as they come. She used to have a cat just like Mi, many years ago. The cat still stands out from among the foggy memories of her childhood, red sprawled across the road. How many years ago was that? Seven? Eight?
"Hello there." Taylor reaches out to scratch the pet behind her ear, only remembering all the tips about letting animals make the first move when a flash of pain shoots up her hand.
Her cry immediately brings Ayano to her side, grabbing the hissing cat by the nape to throw it out the door and settle by her side a second later.
"Are you okay? Do you need band-aids? I think we have-"
"It's okay," Taylor cuts her off. "It's nothing, see?" She raises her hand to show the three red lines slowly seeping blood through.
"I'll bring a few towels, and iodine." Iodine? Who uses iodine nowadays?
"It's fine, really."
"No it's not. It could- look, just wait." The girl rushes out of the room, leaving Taylor alone for the few moments it takes her friend to run back inside, paper towels and a small, black bottle in hand. "I'm sorry, I didn't think it'd react like that, she never-"
"Ayano." She makes sure to make eye contact. "It's nothing, I got way worse in school. It doesn't even hurt. I just got startled."
"...Right. Here." The younger girl hands her some towels to wipe off the thin line of red, then sits by Taylor's side and unscrews the bottle to wet the others with iodine. Ugh, she hates the stuff. It burns worse than any other disinfectant she's ever used. Still, it'll just be a moment, and cat scratches do tend to inflame.
The girl bites on her cheek to keep her hiss in once her friend wipes the cuts with the soaked towel, suspecting it'd make Ayano overreact again. One would think she'd be used to cat scratches, having one as a pet and all. Hmm, maybe it only goes after strangers.
Ayano hands Taylor the last of the towels to dry the excess iodine off. It still leaves her skin a peculiar shade of brown.
"Do you want a bandage?"
She can't help it when a laugh escapes her.
"What, for this? Come on, 'tis but a scratch. Let's just get started."
"...Alright, let me just-" Ayano stands to get back to her laptop on the desk. "What was that movie name?"
"Monty Python and the Holy Grail."
"Okay, uh... there." Her grey eyes turn back to her with a question. "Do you mind if we work on the bed? I don't think my desk is big enough for us both."
"Uh-" Taylor glances at the vast, almost-empty desk, then back to her friend's expecting eyes. "Sure. I don't mind."
"Great!" The girl's eyes light up. "So here's what I thought to do..."
To say that it is a relief for Hizashi Aishi to come home after a hard day at work would be a lie fit for taking to court. Over the years, the man has often found himself wondering how it must feel to long for the working hours to be over, to yearn to return home to loved ones. How it would be like to feel safe among them, without stress eating away at his lifespan. To not feel a sense of foreboding as he approaches his home. To look at his family and feel love instead of distress and worry.
He used to remember. He knows this. Many years ago, before the memory of his old life began slipping away. There was a time in his life when he was carefree. Free. Though what it felt like, the man no longer has no way of knowing. Perhaps it is better this way, he often reassures himself with the thought, or maybe it's just easier. He's not sure if he could continue on with the memory of how it should be still present in his head.
He certainly would've reacted differently to the news about the Cornell attack, and not only because it'd be so much easier to care for his wife's family if it were anybody else. A terrorist attack isn't something to be taken lightly; a grim reminder of the world they live in, where anyone can gain powers at any time and, more often than not, use them for wanton destruction.
It's beyond his burned-out emotions to feel bothered. He's merely curious of how Ryoba will react. He wouldn't expect her to care about just about anybody else, but on the few occasions they met she seemed quite taken with her little niece. Well, not so little now, college age is hardly little. Still, if her sense of empathy could be awakened by anybody outside of himself and Ayano, it'd be her.
Such horrific irony, should this monster in human skin turn out to care more than he can bring himself to.
A glorious smell assaults his nose the moment Hizashi enters his house, followed by his wife's awaiting arms and kiss. As always, he lets it happen. As always, he forces a smile onto his plastic features. As always, she either doesn't notice or doesn't care.
Should he?
"How was your day, Darling?"
"Good." As his days always are, no matter what happens throughout them. He doesn't dare speak in negatives, lest the woman decides to try her hand at improving his life. His next words are mechanical, part of a routine they established many years ago. "And yours?"
"Well, the work was fine but- no matter. I have big news." An icy weight settles in Hizashi's stomach. Has she- no, she would tell him if she wanted to try for another child, wouldn't she? He has a hard time imagining her, of all people, being able to keep something like that for herself.
"Ayano brought her Senpai home."
Just as the man's insides begin to thaw, his entire body freezes, all thoughts fleeing his mind to be replaced with the still vivid memories of his own first visit to Ryoba's house. It's a close thing, but the man doesn't immediately rush to his daughter's room. There's no need (he tells himself). It's different (so he tells himself). They're friends (it's all Ayano ever talks about nowadays). It's different from his own experience. Better, even if not quite like how he'd want it to be, with the fact that his child is chasing after a girl being the least troubling issue.
Simply put, he's failed his daughter.
He failed to notice Ayano hasn't gotten better at all. No, that's not quite true. She's made progress, it's just... mechanical. Not what he wanted for her at all. He'd hoped that one day, his little girl could experience life like all children do. He'd even thought himself successful with how well she adapted, how much she's changed from the silent, listless ghost of a child.
It's obvious now, as all things are in hindsight, that he never made any true progress. He sees it in the way her entire being lights up when speaking of her senpai, in the way she keeps her head in the clouds, like she never had before, in how her forever-dull eyes sparkle with life. He never noticed the absence until they appeared, and the difference between her then and now is like between heaven and earth. Some father he is. All it took to fool him was a rare smile, and rarer still, Ayano bringing a friend home. So what if she's a little withdrawn, he had thought, many people are. How could he expect her to be entirely normal with a demon for a mother? She even took up hobbies - what a change from staring at TV all day, never even paying attention to the screen.
Still. Hizashi hopes she came out better than if he had left Ayano to Ryoba's sole care. He remembers how the woman actively encouraged their little daughter to just... be. Not to live, not to experience, not to even try. Merely to exist and do the same thing to some poor soul in the future that she herself has done to him. On that front, at least, it seems his wish has been granted, though it certainly didn't feel like it when he first heard of the murders happening to Winslow students. Again, he thought, it's happening again. He was so certain of it, and even so he couldn't find it in himself to do anything at all. Not even talk, truly, to Ayano, much less Ryoba.
The day he read the news about the culprit being found, his daughter eating her breakfast at the table with him and Her, it was the happiest he had been in... he can't even remember. Probably since before Ryoba, though the memories of that life are unreliable at best. The human mind is so much more adept at remembering the bad.
"That's wonderful," he says after a pause. What else can he say, other than what his wife expects him to? But now, there's a question of telling her about the attack. Maybe he should keep it until after their guest goes back home, as to not spoil the evening. If not for his wife, then for his daughter. Ayano and her cousin might not be the closest, but she would doubtless still worry, right?
"Isn't it? I've been wondering when she was going to bring her home. Why, I couldn't help myself when I met you." He shudders. "But our girl is just so shy." And thank god for that. Hizashi likes to think he's had his hand in preventing their daughter from outright kidnapping the other girl, as Ryoba would've no doubt done.
"Should I get them?" He tries not to sound too eager at the prospect of getting away from his wife. She doesn't take well to openly avoiding her, but it's just so rare to have someone beside Ayano in the house. It's not like he can bring anyone himself. Ryoba won't have anyone loitering in the thoughts of what's hers alone.
"In a moment. Change first, it's still a few minutes before I finish here, and they're watching a movie." A movie? Ayano doesn't watch movies. She sits, or sometimes sleeps through them. He knows Ryoba is aware of the distinction, and that she wouldn't mistake one for the other.
It's not a relief when the woman lets go, not any-longer. Hizashi idly wonders if he'd feel any sort of relief were he to flee to another state, or better yet, continent, or if it'd be even worse to look over his shoulder for the rest of his days; there's no doubt in his mind Ryoba would follow, some way, some day.
A moot point. He's not ever going to do any of the things he so often thinks about. The fact Ryoba would find him anywhere he went notwithstanding, just finding the will to do something else than what he's been doing for almost all of his life seems like too colossal a task for his weary bones. He couldn't just leave his daughter, anyway. She's not guilty of her mother's sins. He can only believe she's not guilty of anything else.
Damn it all. He does believe. The murderer has been found, and it was one of the girls Ayano knew to boot! He should be thankful his little girl went unharmed, not wrestling with his distorted psyche just to call her innocent. There are other things, real things, that he should be worried about, like what's happening with his extended family. If only he also felt something other than a sense of duty to do that.
He hovers in place, uncertain if he should say anything now, or reserve it for later. Ultimately, the decision is made for him when his wife playfully slaps at his arm. "Go," She says, and that is that.
Taking the tie off doesn't loosen the constricting feeling around his neck at all. The knowledge his wife is waiting, always, feels like a noose already. He may not be marching to his death, but Hizashi thinks he knows at least a little of how the convicts of old used to feel when walking to the gallows. Then again, if he were to to be hanged at least he'd be done with it.
The man changes as efficiently as he can, earning an offended look from Mi when he shoos the cat from atop the dresser, all the while struggling to keep his mind off his memories attached to the bedroom. Frankly, he'd rather sleep on the cold kitchen tiles than here. It'd be much easier to find rest there, doubly so without her presence hanging onto his back. Not that there's a chance of that happening. Ryoba only sleeps when he does. That, and she could serve as a definition for light sleeper. The woman would sooner join him on the ground than spend the night alone, to say nothing when she feels in the mood. His pills are the only reason he can ever rest anymore.
Once done, Hizashi directs his steps to the bathroom. Not out of any real need, other than to delay having to spend time with Ryoba. If he can't dally on changing clothes, he can at least spend a few minutes alone in the relative safety of the restroom relative being the key word here. He can't take too long, lest She comes to check up on him.
With a sigh, the man splashes some water on his face to wash at least some of the weariness of the day away. His reflection tells the story of the futility of it. Nothing ever truly helps when Hizashi knows what awaits around the corner. Even going to work has lost its luster after so many years. After all, at the end of the day, he still has to come back to Her.
He sits on the edge of the tub, with his eyes stuck on the closed door. There's a lock on it, and though he often fantasizes on using it, on changing these few minutes of respite into hours, perhaps even days, he knows he would never dare to try. He would have to come out eventually, and face the consequences of his defiance. It's still a nice thought, if naive. As if Ryoba would leave him alone for however long it took her before deciding to break the lock.
Eventually, the man leaves his hiding spot to present himself to his wife, as she expects of him. He could, technically, retreat to the living room, but it would leave Ryoba either more clingy once she's done with the dinner, or worse, make her suspicious, or even outright angry with him. There's no way for him to relax with that knowledge in mind.
For all the sunshine in her smile, he can only feel the cold running down his spine when the woman sees him and nods appreciatively. Hizashi is fairly sure she doesn't actually care beyond him not standing out, in either a good or bad way, and even then only for the sake of the ever-important appearances. After all, the less heads he turns, the better.
"Please tell the girls the dinner is just about ready. And Hizashi..." Her look turns pointed. "Be nice."
"Of course." He agrees immediately, hoping to dispel whatever ire still lingers on Ryoba's mind after their… argument isn't really the word he would use. It'd imply there was ever a possibility of a different outcome. Strange how she's so supportive of Ayano's choice, seeing as she'd always wanted grandchildren. Despite all her failings, she's also always wanted their daughter to be safe. Legend's coming-out might've changed things, but this is Brockton Bay, and a relationship like that will still draw all sorts of negative attention.
Seconds later, Hizashi finds himself before Ayano's room. On principle, he barely ever steps inside. It's unnerving how bare it is. He'd have decorated it himself, but Ryoba insists their daughter should have a space for herself to do whatever she wants with it, that being nothing at all, with the notable exception of Ayano asking for a fresh coat of paint and a shrine some month back.
He knocks.
"Come in." ...It will never stop sounding strange to hear his daughter speak English in house.
The sight that presents itself to his eyes is startling, and it's only thanks to his long years of enforced composure that he remains rooted in place rather than gaping at the sight that greets him; that of two girls lounging on a bed with a bag of snacks between them and a laptop on his daughter's knees. That in itself wouldn't be so strange, Ayano doesn't bring friends over often, but it's not that rare. What makes it suddenly hard to catch a breath is her soft, dare he say it, content expression. One he had never seen on her before.
All it serves do is make him weary. Curse Ryoba.
"Father." Ayano sits up at the sight of him. "We didn't hear you come home, I'm sorry." Truthfully, he doesn't mind. As wary as he is, the fact his daughter became so absorbed in... anything really, that she failed to realize he came back should be cause for celebration. Normally, she'd only miss him when taking a nap. A routine he had mistaken for normalcy.
"It's al-" he catches himself. "It's alright. I see you brought a friend."
"I have." She sets her laptop aside to stand up, her… friend (or is that girlfriend?) following in her footsteps. "Meet Taylor."
"Good evening Mr. Aishi." The girl slightly bows her head while speaking.
"And good evening to you, too. Ayano says a lot of good things about you."
The girl casts a quick look at his daughter - a look neither fearful nor nervous, rather that of… embarrassment? There are no bruises that he can see on her, although given what the media dug up about the Winslow murders and their cause, that wouldn't be conclusive at all. It takes more than a new headmaster for such things to change. Poor girl.
"So I hear," she says with a jab clear in her tone. Hmm. Now that she stands in front of him, he must admit to having imagined she'd look… different, from the way Ayano described her. But that, at least, is apparently normal - to see one's crush in better light than anybody else would. He wouldn't know about it, personally. Ryoba's beauty fills him with revulsion before anything else. Her actions made sure of that.
"Well. Dinner is about to be served, so you girls get ready."
Ayano starts on her way to the kitchen, no doubt to help her mother set the table as she always does, before suddenly stopping to cast a look at her friend, and then at her father. In that short moment, Hizashi could swear her eyes gain the same unmistakable edge of command that her mother's sometimes do, setting his heart to seize with fear. It's over almost as soon as it appears, leaving the man unsure if it's just his nerves acting up. It wouldn't be the first time something set him off for no good reason, and Ayano does look much alike Ryoba, more so with each passing year. Too much for comfort, their eyes especially. Yes. It must be just his brain playing tricks on him. She's not her mother. Not a murderer.
"Can we finish the movie first, please? It's just ten more minutes." It almost hurts to hear the simple question, how different it sounds from the few other times he can remember her ask for something. So genuine. When did she last say please and mean it? Did she ever?
"Of course. I'll go help with the dishes," he announces all the same. His daughter is a host, after all, it wouldn't do to have her leave Taylor alone if she doesn't have to.
Still, he lingers at the door, a hundred questions in his mind, and no way to voice them. Both the girls are setting back down on the bed and huddling back together to watch their movie. Again it strikes him how different, his daughter looks. Yes, she's done this before with other girls, but she had never looked so at ease with it. So natural. And he never noticed. Could he have? There's no frame of reference to draw upon, and barely any of his own memories from his teenage years. He mostly stuck with boys back then, regardless, and that was back in Japan to boot.
The girl - Taylor, catches him looking, and gives him a smile, awkward and unsure, but a smile nonetheless. Not a silent plea for help, no trace of strain or fear from being so close to her captor. No sign she is here for any other reason than her own, free will.
Normal.
Nobody ever saw his own situation as anything but normal, either.
The thought makes him restless just as much as Ryoba's presence in the short time he helps his wife with setting the table. He's already proven to be a worthless observer with Ayano. Would he notice anything if there truly is something to see, or would his failure be twofold, both to his daughter, and an innocent girl forced into a sharing the rest of her miserable life with-
No! No. Ayano's not Ryoba. He knows that, he has to believe that. There's nothing that would suggest otherwise.
Neither was there when his own jailor killed that poor girl, so many years ago.
Wonderful. He's taking a lack of evidence as evidence now? Besides, another girl was responsible here, it's no secret! If anything, despite her… quirks, his daughter has proven a much better person than everybody else in that school. She showed kindness when nobody else had, she wouldn't just make a turn like that.
She wouldn't need to.
God. Is this the extent to which he's been twisted by his demon of a wife? He's known for a long time the woman had broken him, but until recently he was certain, certain, that he managed to raise their child to be a better person - his own fault for blinding himself to his daughter's plight. Still, different as Ayano may be, she's done nothing to deserve his suspicion, nothing but act like he always wished she had acted all her life. He can't judge her for that.
He can't stop himself, either.
"Something on your mind, Love?"
"Just thinking that-" He stops himself to rephrase, just in case. "-how Ayano has changed, lately."
"She has, hasn't she?" A dreamy expression, one rarely shown outside of her… episodes, crosses her features. "I always knew she would one day. I told you, it was just a matter of meeting the right person."
"...I suppose you were right," he concedes after a pause. There's no use pretending otherwise, much as he would like to deny the woman to be right in anything.
"I always am, you shouldn't forget it." The woman sets the last glass on the table, before sitting by his side and leaning into him, letting out a content sigh. A chill runs through Hizashi's spine at the deceptively warm words. As if he could ever forget. His attempts to help their little girl were a concession on Ryoba's part. An empty one, he sees that now. She knew. She always did. Would she have let him try, were that not the case? She was vocal enough about not caring that Ayano's senpai isn't a boy.
The realization tugs at the corners of his lips. In a way, it's almost amusing - his failure. Had he not learned long ago there is no standing against Ryoba?
It's a welcome distraction from his thoughts when the girls finally join them. Their presence distracts Ryoba as well, and for that Hizashi is thankful. It makes sitting next to her less of a fight against himself, and more a discomfort. At least she's not staring at him eating. It's so much easier to swallow.
Indeed, the whole atmosphere around the table feels much lighter than what he's used to. On any other day, it'd be a rare occurrence for Ayano to speak unless spoken to, now though? Between her and Taylor, it's his daughter who's letting her meal go cold, what with her mouth otherwise occupied - talking about everything and nothing: school, TV, books, the capes and the assignment the girls were working on. It's easily the most the man has ever heard Ayano speak about topics other than the girl by her side. For her part, Taylor seems overwhelmed at the attention from both his wife and daughter, but, at least so far as Hizashi can say, it's nothing more than simple nervousness. She doesn't tense up at every brushed shoulder, at every call for attention from Ayano. Just an ordinary case of nerves. In a way, it's almost reassuring to see, almost. Not enough, never quite enough.
He doesn't say a word through it all, opting instead to observe in fear of bursting Ryoba out of her ever-so-rare bubble. That, and to study his daughter's crush. He wants to believe he sees nothing of himself in her simply because there's nothing to be seen. No fear. No desire to flee. That the nervousness in her demeanour is natural for sitting at the table with her friend's parents. That the glances she sometimes sends his way are not her way of asking for help.
He wishes he could answer those looks. That he could hold her eyes for longer than the moment he meets them. That he could begin to think of a way to ask her if everything is alright. If his daughter is alright.
Wishful thinking all of it. If he ever could do something, he would've long ago. All that is left for him is to nod along and smile. And pretend, always pretend, that nothing is wrong. If not for his own sake (certainly not Ryoba's), then at least for Ayano's. He has to believe her. In her.
What else is there for him?