Never Enough
05:13 – Moscow, Russia – Six years after graduation
Hayama Akira is physically exhausted. Hours have passed since he'd first collapsed face-first into bed, and though he's dulled his mind and senses with far too much bourbon and not nearly enough food, he's wide awake. He's not entirely sure what time it is, but he's generally an early riser, and the day's familiar first lights – soft, orange-pink hues and fading denim blue – have already begun to filter across the morning sky.
His head is still spinning, and there's a persistent cacophonous drum solo going off in the space between his eyes. If there's a way to feel sound, he thinks he's more than figured it out.
He doesn't know why, but his hands find his phone by his bed. Stuck at a meagre seven percent battery life, another inconvenience he'll have to deal with in the coming day. He takes a deep breath, then shuts his eyes and taps in the number.
It takes everything in him to not break down when he hears her voice.
"Akira? What's wrong?"
"Nothing, I just—" He forces himself to breathe, but it's too late. By now, Hisako will have noticed the tremor in his voice, and the hesitation that had preceded his response. He wonders if she's home already, safe in the arms of the other man, whose name he can't be bothered to remember. The thought brings fresh tears to his eyes, and he wipes them away angrily, swallowing in an attempt to clear the lump in his throat. "I just needed to hear your voice."
Hisako is quiet just then, and he can just see it if he closes his eyes – her maroon brows furrowed in worry, and her eyes soft with empathy. It's not often that Arato Hisako is soft – after all, she's a firm believer in tough love – but then again, he thinks, he's only ever cried in front of her that one other time.
I miss you, he thinks. In his mind, she responds with three other words.
"I'm here," She says instead. "Do you want to talk about it?"
He lets out a breath. "I found my mother. Or, I guess... she found me."
A mug or a cup of some sort is lowered onto a table. He can barely hear Hisako breathe. But if there's anything his ex is good at, it's keeping a level head in even the toughest of situations.
"I'm sorry," He manages to get out the words, forearms tensing as he clenches his fists. "I didn't know who else to call."
Hisako responds without missing a beat. "No, I'm glad you called. Are you gonna see her?"
"She left me in the slums. Apparently she had a change of heart a few years back, but I was long gone."
"Around the time you started making a name for yourself, you mean?" Hisako's voice sharpens, and he almost flinches at the brutal honesty in both her tone and her words. "Is it legit?"
He swallows. "The PI says yes. We still need to get it verified medically, though – if we do, anyway." The pounding in his head intensifies as he gnashes his teeth together. "I just don't know what to do."
"You do," Hisako lowers her voice, and he's relieved to hear the sharpness dissipate. "You're already doing it. Does Jun know?"
"I don't know how to tell her."
She chuckles, the sound of it warming him to the core. "Akira, you know – whatever you decide, whether or not you want your birth mother in your life, Jun's no less your family. I'm sure she'd agree."
And she would. Hisako has always known – better than him, sometimes, exactly what Jun would say to him in situations like these. Despite the bitterness of their break-up, Hisako knows him best.
He breaks the silence first. "Are you happy?"
The woman on the other end hesitates. He can hear the smile in the following sigh – a soft, sad little thing. It's been two years. She's seeing someone new, and he's had multiple flings, since.
None of them compare.
"I'm okay, Akira." Another pause. "Are you? Happy?"
He opens his eyes and stares up at the ceiling, wondering how many aspirin he's going to need to get him through the day. "I'm okay," he manages to say, before the phone goes dead. He sighs, forcing himself to sit up to plug in the charger, and makes a mental note to text her later when he's at work.
Later, beneath a steady stream of hot water in the shower, he wonders if there has ever been a time where Hisako hadn't been enough. Back then, the money and stars and fame had seemed so important. He'd chased them then, and in doing so, had lost the one thing he's sure he's ever truly needed.
And you weren't enough for her, neither.
He shuts his eyes, leaning forward to press his forehead to the slick, cold tile. The water grows colder.
It's too late, the mind whispers. This is your lot in life – never satisfied, and yet never enough.
And as the sun rises in full to light his room, he sinks onto his knees and weeps for his failures.
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