Money and Martyrdom
Sweat had gathered on his chest, making the tight straps of his bag slip over his shoulders as he dragged himself down the hall to his hotel room. It wasn't a warm kind of sweat either. It was a cold, lingering sweat that had collected slowly during the long train ride, flight and cab journey to his hotel. He wanted a shower. But, even more than that, he wanted sleep. Back home he'd be setting up for bed right about now even though where he was the sun had only just risen. Finally reaching his room he rushed through the process of unlocking his door and let his two heaving bags drop to the floor as soon as he'd crossed the threshold. After kicking the door closed his body soon joined his bags on the floor as he collapsed from relief and exhaustion.
He didn't notice at first that his hotel room wasn't quite what he'd expected from looking at the pictures online. But, then again, that wasn't unusual. At least it was better than most places. There was a clean-looking double bed, complete with sheets and pillows, a bathroom, a window, a television, everything he needed. Anything else was just a bonus. It certainly looked like heaven after looking at the back of airplane and car seats for the last ten hours or so.
After some delirious mumbling into the carpet, Yamato peeled his face off the floor and set to standing. He knew he had to stay awake. If he fell asleep now he'd only make it more difficult to adjust to the different time zone the next day.
He stumbled over to the bed.
Must stay awake.
He sat down on the lumpy mattress and reached for the phone.
Must...stay awake.
He toppled sideways onto the downy pillow and poised his finger over the keys to call for room service. Some coffee would keep him awake.
Must...
With his legs still dangling off the bed and the phone abandoned by his head Yamato passed out cold, his mouth hanging open and whispered snores escaping his dribbling lips. He wouldn't realise what had happened until he woke up at 11pm the next day. And as soon as he realised, before even thinking about getting up, he took his time to swear at the ceiling and run through his terrible predictions of what the next twenty four hours would be like – none were worth looking forward to.
When 6am rolled around he pushed away all thoughts of sleep and set to ordering the coffee that he'd attempted to order twelve hours ago, along with two eggs, some pastries and even more coffee. He didn't take time to debate whether or not the food would be worth the bill. He just needed something to keep him awake.
That's how he spent his first official morning in Japan; downing espressos with the practiced ease he showed when taking a shot of spirit, and tiredly chewing on sugary bread without really thinking. In fact, after moving into the 'so-tired-I-don't-know-if-I'm-even-alive' stage he did very little thinking if any at all. He was even able to watch some Japanese dramas because he didn't realise that he was watching them until he almost fell asleep on the remote and turned the television up to full volume with his nose. It'd taken him a full five seconds to realise that his ears were hurting because of the noise and not because one of them had fallen into his mug of hot coffee.
He had yet to fall asleep completely luckily. The sounds outside his window and the blaring sun seeping through the slotted blinds made sure of that. However, sometimes the sounds of the world waking up outside his window began to conveniently quieten whenever he dozed for long than a few seconds. Often it would be the shock of his face hitting the bed that would wake him up, but every other time a car would blast its horn suddenly or a ray of sun would leak through the blinds and start burning a hole into his face. He threw several tantrums the first four times it happened, but after that he became too tired to throw a fit and settled with angry grumbles and inward curses to the world.
Once the sun had reached a height to brighten his whole room Yamato's phone rang and without bothering to look at who it was that was disturbing him he rolled onto his back and placed the phone to his ear.
"Yelloo?"
He croaked, the strain of his neck affecting his voice. He heard a familiar chuckle through the speaker.
"Good morning to you, too."
Yamato groaned and kicked his legs across the bed, disturbing the sheet that had been neatly covering it.
"Ugh, why would you say that? I think I'm dying."
"Aww, bad flight?"
"The worst. Right now I'd prefer to swim back to America than get another plane. My back is killing me."
"Are you at the hotel right now?"
Yamato stifled a yawn and raked his nails over the stubble on his chin, reminding him that he had yet to even bother to take a shower. He didn't dare to check how bad his odour was.
"Yep. I've just been sleeping and eating. Sorry I didn't say goodbye before I left. I didn't want to wake you."
"That's okay. I had an early meeting anyway, so thanks for being considerate."
"Are you still at work? I have no idea what time it is."
"It's about eight. I'm just leaving the office now. Are you suffering from jet lag, then?"
"Severely. I stupidly went to bed as soon as I got to the hotel. Now I'm tired all over again and I don't have proper blinds in this room. Why is everyone so noisy during the daytime?"
"Try to stay up until at least lunch time. Play cards or something or unpack some of your clothes."
"That might be a good idea. I have no idea what I packed. I just chucked a handful of things into that old bag. I might not even have a clean pair of underwear for tomorrow."
"Then, spend the day buying the essentials that you forgot about. You've got some money saved up, right? Why not buy a nice jacket or something?"
"I can't. I'm saving it all up for a stage, remember? I might not get that hotel gig after all. I don't want to set myself back by buying a few clothes."
"At least buy some fresh underwear, for everyone's sake."
"Yes, mother."
He yawned again to the ceiling, not bothering to cover his mouth this time. It seemed all too easy to adjust once again to being in absolute privacy. He happily slouched, belched and scratched according to his own volition without considering what was rude or disgusting. The hotel room was entirely his domain. But, strangely, he still didn't feel comfortable enough to freely undress. There was still a lingering sense of paranoia that he'd kept with him all his life.
After taking a moment to realise that he didn't have anything else to say to Ken he rolled over, back onto his stomach, and tiredly mumbled into the phone.
"Okay, I've got to order up some more coffee so I'll talk to you later. Goodnight."
"Have a nice day."
"Ugh, don't remind me."
He hung up the phone on the sound of Ken's laugh and dropped his face down into the bed covers. It took a while for him to find the motivation to get off the bed. The first important matter on the agenda was a well needed shower. He grabbed the fresh folded towel that hung from a hook on the bathroom door and laughed as he picked up the tiny bottles of shampoo and shower gel as he made his way to the shower. It took a while to figure out how to work the taps but once he got the hang of it he made sure that the temperature was a hot as he could bear it. His skin quickly flushed a glowing red and the tension in his shoulders melted beneath the scalding water. The ache in his back from the airplane seats was rather persistent, but he decided that a walk around the city while he bought some essentials might stretch it out a bit. He'd much rather go for his usual morning jog, but with Tokyo being such a busy place he'd be sidestepping around pedestrians more than he'd be doing any actual exercise.
After his skin became nicely pruned he finally exited the shower with a sigh. He made sure that the towel was securely wrapped around his waist before entering the room, feeling slightly self conscious in the silence of the room with his chest on display. He wiped his neck to catch several stray droplets of water that had dropped from his hair and felt scratches against his palm from the prickly hairs on his chin. It brought his rugged face to attention once again and after hoisting the towel higher on his hips he strolled over to his bags with hopes that he'd packed his razor.
He kneeled before the largest bag and unzipped it with one hand while preventing the towel from slipping with his other. Like his personality suggested his bag was poorly packed and disorganised. Clothes were bundled into balls and stuffed into the corners to make room for more clothes and his toiletries were scattered about between the cracks. With a sigh he tipped the entire thing onto the floor and began digging through clothes like a child at the beach would dig through the sand.
During his search he came across the hauntingly black suit that he'd brought for the funeral and noted that he'd need to get it dry-cleaned. He pointlessly folded it neatly and placed it apart from the rest of the pile. After ten minutes of checking and rechecking his luggage he had yet to find his razor. He growled and realised that he'd have to go and buy one, meaning that he'd have to showcase to the world his rough appearance. But an afterthought brought him hope. This trip was the first time he'd used this particular bag since he last used it to move to America. He hadn't checked the pockets in practically five years. There was still the possibility that he'd packed a razor all those years ago and forgotten about it. Considering he was drunk when he'd first packed it and still remembered to bring such trivialities as socks and a toothbrush, maybe he'd packed it without realising.
He shuffled on his knees back to the bag and reminded himself of the several pockets both on the inside and outside of the bag.
In the outer pocket...was nothing.
In the side pocket...was a very old pack of gum; so old that it practically disintegrated when he squeezed it in his hand.
In the inner pocket...was something metal. It was quite a narrow compartment so he couldn't fit much of his hand inside to really feel what the object was when he first came across it. He rubbed his fingers over it and discovered another object as well. They were similar in shape and...they were attached to something else as well - a ring. The objects were attached to a key ring by the feel of it. So, following a logical path of thought, that had to mean that...
He pulled out the object delicately and held it in an open palm.
It was a set of keys; a set of very familiar keys. They had been left cold and abandoned in the bag for five long years. He rolled them between his fingers and felt across the jagged teeth, remembering exactly what locks they would fit into. He remembered the doors, their paint colours, how stiff or smoothly they opened and exactly what they lead to. Nostalgia brought with it icy hands that ran over his body, causing him to shiver. But he mistook the cause of his sudden coldness as the cold water that still dripped from his hair onto his naked chest. To put a stop to it he decided that it would be best to put some clothes on. So, he dropped the keys on the bed and never truly noticed that with that small action he felt much warmer already.
At eleven o'clock, after a desperate search for some warm clothing, Yamato braved the winter weather of Tokyo in a faux fur hooded parka and a pair of heavy boots. During the time it took him to put some clothes on more people had gathered in the streets. He took his time walking around the city. The sense of nostalgia had long since passed, replaced now with a sense of awe at the changes he could see. Young adults that had escaped their studies paraded in new fashions down the high street, flaunting their new gadgets and accessories that had yet to catch trend in America. When he passed new, fashionable outlets he heard new songs playing on their radios, performed by equally new bands and artists that had recently gained popularity. He felt out of place in his own home country.
It wasn't just the changes that evoked a sense of strangeness either. Even the things that were the same felt different to him. The usual lines of vending machines that sold close to everything now seemed like an oddity. Who in America would think to buy a tie from a vending machine or a bag of fruit? Passing by food stalls he could hear the harmonising of slurping and smacking lips while the people ate, something he'd been scolded for doing in the presence of his roommate. At least there was one thing that was the same. In both of his homes there were so many lights. The sun that was at its brightest even struggled to compete with the flashing advertisements, spotlights, shop signs and traffic lights that had enough power to noticeably shine on a bright morning.
It didn't take him long to find what he needed. In less than an hour he'd bought a cheap pack of razors and few plain pairs of boxers to last him for the next few days. After that he wasn't sure what to do with himself. Lounging around for a night and morning had left him restless and reluctant to return to the seclusion of his hotel room. It was barely twelve o'clock and only the first of so many days where he had nothing to do. The thought made him regret coming to Japan so many weeks before he needed to be there.
Aimlessly wandering around the shopping area he approached the vending machines without really thinking about it and browsed the drinks. There was a typical collection of cold sodas but unlike what he was used to there was also a selection of warm canned teas as well in extensive flavours. He didn't feel particularly adventurous and so settled with a can of green tea. All he really wanted to do was warm his fingers. He hadn't thought to buy a pair of gloves yet. He very nearly allowed himself to slip back into American custom and walk off with his drink but looking around he realised where he was and scoped the scenery for a place to sit. A lone bench stood a few feet away that was only lightly dusted with frost which he saw as acceptable. He waited until he was comfortably seated, with his coat tucked beneath him to protect his jeans from being soaked by the ice, before opening the can and holding his face over the open top for the steam to warm his nose. There was no way to protect his shoulder bag though. He dropped it on the floor by his feet and saw a darkening of the material spread from what of it touched the wet floor. His newly bought underwear was likely to be damp when he took it out.
He felt a bit ridiculous just sitting on a bench and enjoying his tea. He was used to a town where everyone was busy – no one task was done with a person's full attention and no one could simply sit on a bench without doing a separate job that incorporated the act of being seated. He was used to strange looks from Americans who assumed that he was a lout or a bum because he sat on a bench without a laptop on his knee. But here he didn't receive any strange looks. In fact an older woman in a suit sat next to him for a moment to quickly consume her own drink before dashing back into her busy day. He watched with interest while she barely acknowledged that he was there.
"Please, Hondo! I just want one picture."
"No, way. Can't we just use one of those passport photo booths?"
"But look at the choices! We can have one with hearts in the picture! Or dolphins! I want to put it on my keychain, like Mitsuki and her boyfriend."
"What?! I don't want people seeing that. It's just stupid."
"It's not stupid!"
Yamato looked towards the entrance of the arcade and saw a young teenage couple tugging at each other's hands around a novelty photo booth. The young girl's pleated skirt lifted to a dangerous height when she leant down to look at the choices of layouts on the booth and for her sake Yamato kept his eyes above her waist. Her boyfriend kept his other hand in his pocket, keeping his head down to avoid anyone noticing that he was hanging around a cheesy couple's booth. He won the fight eventually and dashed off with her trailing behind and Yamato watching from his place on the bench. He remembered being in a similar situation in high school. He remembered standing by the same brand of booth by the beach, pretending to focus on a cigarette between his fingers while his hand was being tugged into the booth by an overly excited companion.
Yamato rolled the can between his hands, feeling what was left of its warmth transfer into his palms. His expression was serious now – no longer contemplative or serene. He'd tried desperately not to think about this, but he was too tired to properly shepherd his train of thought. There were stray images that swiped across his eyes that he didn't have the strength to banish. It felt like a migraine more than a moment of clarity. Each memory was a thick needle that slowly pierced and slid into his temple. Although his visits to central Tokyo hadn't been frequent he'd experienced the place enough to give it some sentimental value. Not enough to miss the place when he left, but he could see shadows of himself around the city tracing paths that he'd travelled down. He watched himself dash out of restaurants to skip the bill; play dead on the pavement just to fish for an interesting reaction; stumble to the station after a night of drinking. And all of these shadows lead right back to him on the bench. He was their future.
What of the other silhouettes that dashed and lay down and stumbled beside him? What future did they lead to?
Yamato placed his cold can gently on the floor so that the remaining tea wouldn't spill and protected it from the wind with his foot so that it wouldn't fall. Then he dipped his hand into his coat pocket and pulled out a set of keys. He'd picked them up before he'd left the hotel after thinking that they looked lonely and abandoned on the double bed. They warmed in his palm as he ran his thumbs over the cool metal. He thought of the home to these keys. Had the duplicates of these keys been passed on to new hands over the years?
With a sigh he gripped them tightly in a fist and wondered how much of his home had changed. Did the Odaiba that he remembered still exist? Was the corner shop he frequented still there? What about the hill behind his old high school, or old tree in the park with his name carved into it?
He raised his eyes to the road, counting the few cars that drove by.
"If the next car is red...I'll visit Odaiba."
He whispered to himself. He wasn't entirely serious in his promise. It was hardly even likely that the next car was-
The crimson Toyota's headlights looked to be winking at him as it drove by.
"Shit.
Yamato stomped his foot in shock as he lurched forward and knocked over the can. A short second later he heard the aluminium against the concrete as it began to roll away. He quickly stretched underneath the bench soon enough to pick it up again with a sorry wince. People hadn't looked at him before but they were certainly straining their necks now to watch the man swear to himself. More heads turned when he began to laugh.
"Ahaha, what a coincidence. I scared myself a bit there."
His manic laughter tapered off slowly and those around returned to their business reluctantly, either glad that they were no longer distracted or upset that they'd lost a source of entertainment. When the last of his chuckles were carried off with a particularly strong gust of wind that blew through him Yamato's serious face returned. The coincidence had left him slightly shaken. Had he been serious about his bargain he would've really had to visit his home town. What an awful idea. The whole reason he'd been reluctant to come to Japan was because he didn't want to encounter anyone he knew and going to Odaiba was worse than going into the lion's den. It was the equivalent of holding open the lion's mouth, staring it straight in the eye and grabbing its tongue.
But...the dangerous territory he spoke of was his home. There was more than just people there. There were happy spots in time that linked to the place itself. Maybe he could just look at the scenery...just to see if anything had changed. It's not as though he had anything important to do today.
He squinted his eyes in absolute concentration. He held one word in the front of his mind as he stared into the road.
Yellow.
Sure enough the Hondo that rushed passed him was pristine, impossible to miss, badly suited, daffodil yellow. He didn't throw a tantrum this time. What was the point? He'd given the world a choice and he'd been given the final decision. He was a man with orders now.
Yamato drank the remains of his tea because he felt obliged to and dropped the finally empty can into the recycling bin beside him. He wiped his mouth across his sleeved forearm and then across his naked hand, feeling the stubble on his cheek once again. It was for the better now. No one now would recognise him as being the delicate young boy who could barely grow a shadow on his lip only a few years ago.
He walked with powerful strides to the nearest station, hardly noticing the anxious twisting of his gut.
His heart had set on fire somewhere around his second lap and the fire was spreading to his dry, rubbery oesophagus. He concentrated on his feet. His coach told him to experiment with running on his toes and his awareness of his technique was overtaking that of his speed.
"Come on, Yamato! You're four seconds off! Pick up the pace!"
He heard the shout from the opposite side of the track. He didn't acknowledge his coach apart from lifting his head to show that he was aware of what he'd been told. He tried to put his footwork in a corner of his mind where it didn't take up all of his attention. The spongy floor of the track gave way for the pounding of his feet against it as he pushed himself harder. The world seemed to be running away from him in the opposite direction, passing by him so quickly. The fire reached the back of his throat after he gave up trying to drown it with gulps of his own saliva.
"Last lap! Really push yourself for this one!"
He overtook the voice of his coach as he ran past him at the start line. At his order Yamato leapt off on the foot that he landed on and forced his legs forward with all of his power. Pain was hardly a hindrance now. He didn't ignore it, he savoured it. He hated sports, but he loved this. Adrenalin wasn't the easiest drug to get his hands on, but it was always there when he needed it, unlike everything else. If he took a pill or had a smoke whenever he was low he'd probably be dead. Running was his opiate when he couldn't trust himself with anything else. Worries fell to the importance of keeping his body moving in rhythm.
Fuck love. Fuck school. Fuck brushing his hair. Fuck parents. Fuck getting a job. Fuck talking to people. Fuck game shows, microwave dinners, bitter old ladies, uniforms, dental floss, math homework, high collared shirts, getting the bus, bank accounts, school festivals, indoor slippers, hand soap, picking fights, smoking dope, blacking out, bad hand jobs, being alone! Fuck it all!
Breathing became more and more difficult. The air was cold enough to burn his sinuses and too thin to give him the oxygen he needed. He threw his arms with the same power that he used to throw his legs. His hands were clenched in fists and punched the air in rhythm.
Fuck university. It didn't matter that he couldn't go. What would be the point anyway, even if he could afford it? There was nothing he wanted to study. The only reason he was upset was because he wasn't given an option. Anyone would despise having their future chosen for them.
He could feel the tenderness in the back of his legs from hitting the ground with such force. He was back to his usual technique, thinking only about pushing himself to move faster. He gritted his teeth and forgot about his breathing technique as well. All he cared about was giving his lungs the air they needed. His coach standing on the sidelines was cheering him on, which meant he was obviously doing something right.
Fuck getting a job. He had free time anyway. What was the point in indulging in the things that he enjoyed? They wouldn't do any fucking good in the future. And his friends? He'd lose them anyway when they went off to study without him. He'd need to prepare himself to not spend so much time with them, so why not start sooner than later?
He could feel his knees begin to lock. He was close to his limit. The pulsing of the blood in his face was becoming more of a distraction than ever. The rhythm was fast and the hammering of his blood in his ears synchronised with each impact of his trainers against the track.
"Come on, Yamato!"
Each laboured breath scraped against the dry back of his throat, blistering the tender surface. His fists clenched tighter. His back teeth felt close to shattering he was clenching them so hard. His coach held to his cap when Yamato ran past so that it wouldn't be blown off by the wind that Yamato carried with him. When Yamato threw his leg over the peeling white line his coach's thumb that had been poised over the button on the stopwatch pressed down and the final digits flashed on the small screen.
"Yes! You beat your time by point six!"
Yamato didn't hear. He maintained his speed and powered on. He didn't want to stop. As he turned the corner round the track the school gate came into view right in front of him, across from the sports field. He was tempted to run right off the track and through the gate. Maybe he could make it halfway across town before he threw up from over exertion.
"Yamato, you're done! You can slow down!"
His voice was just extra noise that fell silent to Yamato, like the whistling of the wind as it rushed past his ears. Everything hurt. But he wasn't done. It wasn't over yet.
"You'll strain yourself!"
Yamato suddenly halted, not even bothering to slow down before he came to an absolute stand still. He leant forward over his feet at his abrupt halt in the middle of the track. His breathing was deep and fast – greedy and desperate. He stared at his feet and saw from the bottom of his vision that his legs were shaking. His coach silently watched, pulling off his cap to prevent the view of his student being obscured. He watched Yamato fall sideways onto the grass and almost began to run over to him to check him for injuries. Before he'd placed even one foot forward he heard the loud, obnoxious laughter of Yamato who rolled around on the grass. He sighed and scratched his head, mumbling to himself.
"It's always the weirdos that are the talented ones."
He laughed and saw from afar the absolute joy on Yamato's face as he slowly struggled to sit up.
"Come on, Yamato!"
He retreated to the bench on the edge of the field to fill in his progress report.
Yamato was practically crying he was laughing so hard. He didn't even know what the cause of it was. Perhaps he'd simply not drunk enough water. He wiped his face with his grassy hands, smearing green across his red cheeks. His chest was practically vibrating. Eventually, after the feeling came back into his legs he jumped up and jogged over to his coach who was scribbling down on his clip board.
"Coach?"
"Yep?"
The older man didn't look up. He simply spared his hand to pat the seat next to him for Yamato to sit down. Yamato wiped his soaking face again and looked out onto the track with a longing smile.
"I'm giving up."
That got the man's attention. He looked to his student with a cocked brow
"What do you mean you're 'giving up'?"
"I'm not doing track anymore. This is my last practice."
The coach dropped his clipboard onto the bench with deliberate carelessness and looked down at Yamato who was still panting.
"Your reason?"
Yamato stayed silent and smeared the sweat on his hands across his cold arms.
"Yamato, you're good. I'm not letting go of one of my best runners without a good reason."
"I can't say. I'll get in trouble."
"With who?"
"The school."
The older man rubbed his neck with a weary expression. Yamato had always been difficult to deal with. The young student had always been aloof and unwilling to communicate. He could guess what the boy was up to outside of school. He saw himself to be a young rebel with no future and everyone knew it. Whether that was what he actually was had always been a matter for debate.
"May I ask you as a concerned adult, then? I'll judge whether or not the school needs to know what's going on."
He still cared for the boy. Yamato didn't speak to many other students so he always worried that the boy may have problems that he couldn't talk about. So, he asked out of his own interest, not lying that he wouldn't tell the school if it was important.
Yamato judged the man's face for a moment before deciding that he didn't have much of a choice to keep his reasons to himself.
"I got a job."
"A job?"
He laughed. Yamato didn't share his amusement and his downward gaze stopped his coach from laughing once he'd seen it. The man looked at the younger male with the tilted head of a questioning dog. Something told him that this wasn't the decision of a student that honestly wanted to work for the sake of learning responsibility.
"You're not cutting school all together are you?"
"No. It's an evening job at a cafe bar type thing."
"Do your employers know you're in school?"
"They know my age. They didn't ask about whether I'm in school or not."
After looking Yamato up and down he tore out the progress sheet from his board in frustration. The noise of tearing paper made Yamato beside him flinch and lower his shoulders.
"The teams really going to suffer, you know."
Yamato picked up his water bottle by the side of the bench and stood up.
"Sorry."
He tried his best not to look back at his coach or the track when he dashed to the locker room. He regretted not running out the gates when he had the chance.
Yamato began walking away from the school at a fast pace after looking at the track longingly for a few moments. A few members of the school club were still jogging round at a leisurely pace to cool down after a sprint.
He found himself more entertained in Odaiba than he'd expected. The sun had leapt over the sky and began to set on the opposite side while he'd been preoccupied. He'd found his name on the tree in the park and inspected the new names that surrounded it. He'd bought lunch from the restaurant that had taken the place of the old corner shop where he used to buy his beer. As for the hill he didn't care to visit it. He could see it from his place at the front of the school and that was enough. It would be overwhelming for all of his memories of his hill to come back at once. It had been his refuge when he felt like brooding and his secret escape when he and another got a bit too excited during lunch. Maybe now it was another boy's territory.
At this point he'd chosen to walk the usual route that he used to jog when he got the chance. He went past the school, through the suburbs, past the beach until he was lead where he would usually start – at a weathered block of apartments.
The door that he'd had in his memory was different to what it was in reality. The paint was the same, but years of the sun shining on it and wind beating down on it left the colour faded and patchy. But it was definitely the same door. There was even still a chip in the step that he remembered tripping over countless times while he grew up living here.
He took a gulp of cold air and brought the keys out of his pocket, feeling the same chill that he had in his hotel room. He clasped the first between his thumb and forefinger and poised it over the lock.
"If the key still works, I'll go in."
He mumbled and stilled a shiver that shook his hand. He didn't know which result he was hoping for. He didn't know if he would actually go in if it worked. His mind was bottled chaos.
The key slipped in with only a small jolt of resistance that made him flinch. It turned smoothly and with a firm press against the door it swung open. He chuckled softly.
"Ha, cheapskate landlord. No wonder this place kept getting broken into."
His footsteps still echoed in the stairwell like they used to as he climbed the metal stairs, reminding him of the agonizing sound of a prisoner taking his final steps towards his execution. Although he was now a lot fitter than he was in his late teens, the three flights of stairs seemed a lot more difficult to climb than they used to be.
On the last step he felt his knees creak as though the level of gravity was greater on the particular floor of the apartment complex. His next obstacle stood directly opposite him at the top of the stairs. The panels in the apartment door looked like accusing eyes that seemed to challenge him as he slowly approached. He looked at the lock and was quick to judge that the key that he had yet to use would most likely fit into it. But, he was no longer a tenant. He had no right to enter without permission.
He held a loose fist before the door and hesitated. He still had a chance to run away. He didn't know what he was hoping for. Maybe it would be better if a stranger answered the door rather than his father.
He knocked on the door gently at first. After a short while of waiting he received no answer. So, he knocked again but this time a little harder, although he kicked himself a second afterwards for destroying his last chance to run away. He still stood stiffly in front of the old door in anticipation. There was no sign of life from the other side. Whoever lived there wasn't home.
Was he supposed to leave? Or was this all just a test to prove himself as brave enough to confront his past?
He found himself hesitantly stepping back from the door. Whatever he decided to do he knew that there was no point in knocking again on a door to an empty apartment. He adjusted the hood of his coat to prepare for the cold and took his time walking back to the stairs, hoping or worrying that someone might still open the door. He took one last look back at it before making his decent.
Two seconds after Yamato took his first step down the stairs another man, quite a bit older, was unlocking the front door to the apartment complex. His hair was evenly grey and his face was characterised by deep lines that cornered his mouth and eyes. In his hands were several plastic bags of food that he struggled with while his keys were still in his hand and close to slipping out of his hold completely. With luck and persistence he managed to keep hold of all four bags and loop his keys around his finger to leave his hands mostly free. His progression up the stairs was slow and required a lot of concentration. He cursed the stubborn, cheapskate landlord for not making the building wheelchair accessible for when his elderly muscles began to tire. By focusing so much attention on his unsteady feet and heavy baggage he didn't notice when he almost ran into someone until he heard the stutter of unsteady footsteps on the metal stairs.
"Oh, sorry."
He stuttered and looked up into a young man's face that he didn't quite recognise. The man had a pointed chin and shapely blue eyes that reminded him of his wife. The thick coat and pulled up hood concealed most of his features but from what he could see the man was young and fit and a new object of jealousy for a man that was on the downward slope in his life. The younger man smiled lightly and took a step to the side to allow him to pass.
"That's okay."
His voice was deep and smooth; familiar but foreign. He took one last look at the stranger before offering a grateful nod and continuing up the stairs to his apartment. While at his door he listened to the other man's footsteps as he ended the last flight of stairs and exited the building. There'd been something so familiar about him. But...the man was so young it was unlikely that he was an old friend or something. Perhaps he worked at the station, or was a waiter at a restaurant he'd been to, or maybe he'd seen him in the apartment complex before. He did have quite a memorable face after all. He seemed like the kind of man that would be difficult to forget. His blue eyes were piercing and so rare in Japan. He was tall enough to look over most people and would definitely stick out in a crowd, especially with that...blond...hair...
Ishida Hiroaki let his four heavy bags drop to the floor, forgetting about the eggs that he'd been so careful not to break and the milk carton that probably split when the tinned fruit was dropped on top of it. He left the food by his front door and found himself moving faster than he thought he still could as he jumped the stairs and leapt out into the cold. He looked to his left into the street and saw it empty. Then he looked to his right. Two of the street lamps had been smashed, leaving that end of the road in a darkened state, but where the first intact light was he saw a thick coated figure emerge from the darkness with his hands in his pockets and his head tilted to the ground. He didn't care about embarrassing himself or waking any neighbours when he shouted in a shaky voice.
"Wait! Stop! Hey you!"
He called out to the man who either didn't hear him or realise that the he was being addressed. Hiroaki took a few steps forward on his tired legs and cupped his hands around his mouth.
"Yamato!"
When the man froze in mid step Hiroaki took off in a sprint towards him.
Yamato didn't recognise the voice, or the man that was running towards him that was shrouded in darkness, but he definitely recognised is own name when it was shouted at him. He turned around slowly to look at the man and, in his shock at being recognised, had difficulty thinking who this person could be. An old teacher? An old boss? An uncle? All were unreasonable suggestions considering he was standing outside of his old apartment building expecting to meet his father. For some reason the thought that this man was his father never came to him.
As the old man walked forward to reach the span of the light that Yamato stood under his features became more distinct, and Yamato became more uncertain of whom this person was. The shape of his eyes matched his own, but the man was sharply dressed, unlike what he remembered of his dad. He was apparently fit, unlike his dad. His face was clean shaven and his hair tamed, unlike his dad. And most importantly he was sober...unlike his dad.
Yamato stood helplessly still until the man was right in front of him. They were equal in height, meaning that he met the other's pointed stare directly and felt it pierce through his eyes and brain. Yamato didn't protest when the elder man reached over without warning and pulled down the hood of his parka to expose his full face and hair. The wrinkles on his face stretched to accommodate more lines when the man smiled. His eyes were bright and moist when he finally spoke.
"Okaeri.[1]"
Realisation felt like a punch in the face. Yamato felt himself gag on a caught pocket of air in his throat. In the time that it took him to digest the situation his father had caught his breath and entered his personal boundary completely, radiating enough warmth to protect Yamato from the night air. Eventually Yamato's features began to relax; his fists unclenched; his knees unlocked and his eyes that had been wide and frightened returned to their usual state if not slightly softer. His voice came out as breathy and pathetic, hardly traceable between what little noise surrounded them. But Hiroaki had most definitely heard it.
"Tadaima.[2]"
A silence hung between them, barely disrupted by a passing car that flashed its headlights over the two shocked faces. They both felt as though they were confronting a stranger, not completely convinced that they knew the person opposite them. Yamato stuttered to speak first, but upon meeting the other's eyes submitted to silence once again. Hiroaki did the same a few times as well before finally deciding to say something insignificant so to gently chip away at the solid barrier between them.
"Y-Your...your hair...is longer. I didn't recognise you."
"Yeah."
Yamato sighed, scratching his rough neck gently and dropping his gaze from his father's eyes. He looked down at the man's suit clad torso instead. He noticed the man's arm twitching quite noticeably. Not the nervous kind of twitch, but a twitch that moved the entire arm with the hesitant urge to move them. Those small movements were his only warning for the moment when his father threw his arms around his shoulders clumsily and harshly. The "hug" as he wanted to call it was cruelly tight around his neck and the force of the body thrown into his own left Yamato feeling dizzy and stunned. He didn't react for quite a long time, but Hiroaki was persistent in maintaining their connection. Yamato's fully grown body felt foreign to Hiroaki, but small signs were all he needed to recognise him. Yamato's scent, the curve of his shoulders, even the way he breathed was all that was needed for a father to know his son.
Yamato was the same. Although an embrace from his father had always been rare he could recognise the way his father's chin would fit into his shoulder. Just like when he was held as a child, his father curled his fingers into his skin as though he were hooking in his talons, preparing to never let go. Yamato finally wrapped his arms around his father's chest and felt his body soften.
"I just-...I just can't believe I didn't recognise you."
Hiroaki laughed and his chest rumbled against his son's. He pulled out of the hug with his hands on Yamato's shoulders and finally met his son's eyes with courage instead of uncertainty. There was no longer a hesitant expression on his face - only a smile. One that was brighter than Yamato ever remembered it being. He managed a nervous nod in reply. Then his father tangled a wrinkled hand into his overgrown blond locks and sent all hairs astray in different directions.
"You look so much older."
He said without really noticing that he had spoken. Reflexively Yamato batted his father's hands away like he always used to.
"Hey! Speak for yourself, old man."
Another reflex. He cursed his sharp tongue and instinct to talk back when he saw his dad make a strange face. But he found himself worrying unnecessarily when that face cleared only to make room for more laughter
"Oh God...it really is you!"
Another swift, punishing hug came soon after, startling Yamato once again. It didn't last as long as the first crushing hug though, which he was guiltily relieved about. When their bodies parted Hiroaki wiped under his eyes, as though they had been leaking, and smiled at his son.
"I see that...you've kept your key all this time."
He laughed and Yamato, who had been running his fingers over the set of keys while he had been walking away, pulled the keys from his pocket.
"I wouldn't just throw it away."
He held them out to his father as proof. Hiroaki folded his arms after shortly inspecting them.
"But you were just going to walk away without actually visiting me?!"
"Well you obviously weren't in. And...to be honest I kind of came here on a whim. I didn't know what I would do if I actually saw you. My feet just sort of...brought me here without me realising."
Hiroaki gave a strange look to his son, unsure of what to take from what had been said or how to reply. He uncrossed his arms with a sigh and Yamato thought for a second that he'd upset the older man. He put the keys back in his pocket shamefully and lowered his head. Hiroaki tuned his body halfway towards the apartment block and waved his arm towards Yamato.
"Come inside. My groceries have probably defrosted by now."
"Sorry about that."
Yamato bashfully chuckled and followed a few steps behind his father towards the apartment. They walked silently up the metal stairs to the apartment door that they had both stood outside of not a few minutes ago where the collection of food was slowly thawing. Yamato picked up three of them and shifted his own bag to rest on his shoulder while Hiroaki unlocked and opened the door. He picked up the last bag on his way inside and held the door open for Yamato.
"Welcome home, I guess."
He smiled and gestured with his free arm to the apartment. It took a moment for Yamato to find the will to actually enter and when he did he did so at a cautions pace. He passed his father slowly to inhale enough of the man's cologne to make the inside of his nose itch, but while both of his hands were filled with grocery bags he couldn't attempt to scratch it.
His first thought of the apartment?
'Where the fuck am I?'
He was so certain that an alternate universe must have existed within the apartment complex because there was no feasible explanation as to how his old shitty apartment could have been transformed into what he was currently looking at.
Hiroaki tapped his awestruck son on the shoulder as he made his way into the kitchen. Yamato jumped out of his stupor and began toeing off his boots blindly while his eyes were still preoccupied with viewing the apartment.
"I see you've noticed that I fixed up the place."
Yamato nodded dumbly and took in all of the changes. On top of actually being able to see the floor without it being obscured by litter he noticed that new hardwood flooring had been laid. It was buffed, varnished, polished and free from scratches and cigarette burns. The walls had been repainted a fresh cream colour with new pictures hanging straight in silver frames around the living area and on the shelves where books were neatly lined. There was even a vase of flowers on the centre table instead of the typical dirty plates and empty beer cans.
"Are you sure we're in the right apartment?"
He was still looking around in shock while he followed his father into the kitchen, sliding his socks along the smooth wooden floor. Hiroaki laughed as he began unpacking the food from the bag that he'd placed on the counter. Yamato put down the bags that he'd been carrying next to it and leant against the sink, taking in the new kitchen as well.
"The station picked up a few years back and I came into quite a bit of money after I was promoted. I didn't want to move because...well, you might not be able to find me again. So, I just put it towards fixing this place up."
"It looks great. I had no idea you had taste."
"I don't. I had to get a designer in. I was given quite a stern lecture from her for wanting to paint the place green."
A polite laugh was shared between them while Yamato helped to unpack the rest of the groceries, assuming correctly that the layout of the kitchen was the same as it used to be. After it was done Yamato leant his back against the counter and watched as his father tried to prolong the process of stacking the last few items into the refrigerator. They were both silently asking themselves the same questions, the most obvious one relating to what they should say next to spark a light conversation.
"Do you...Do you want a coffee?"
"Uh, yeah, that'd be great. Thanks"
Smiles were given out of courtesy and without any sincere expression behind them. Yamato turned his head away quickly to hide his embarrassment and Hiroaki turned towards the counter to prepare the drinks for the same reason. He managed to calmly take out two mugs, turn on the kettle, take out a spoon from the drawer next to him and open the lid to the jar of instant coffee while pretending that his son that he hadn't seen in five years wasn't standing right behind him. However, as soon as he heard the small buzzer on the electric kettle the spoon was thrown down in shock onto the counter and the boiled water abandoned. He spun on the heels of his slippers to look at Yamato who had jumped back at the sudden sound of the metal spoon colliding with the marble counter top.
"I-I'm sorry. This is all a bit...surreal. I'm not sure what to say...or do."
Yamato smirked and shook his head at the floor. His hands were clutching tightly at the edge of the counter behind him.
"I have as much of an idea as you. I'm sorry for just...showing up."
"No, no, don't be! I'm just glad you showed up at all. Why don't you look around the apartment or something? I'll just...finish making the coffee."
Yamato nodded and made his way into the living area. Walking through the apartment he remembered yet didn't recognise was an unreal experience. He ran his hand over the smooth leather of the sofa while he walked around it to meet the centre of the room. From here he could survey it entirely. He uncertainly put his hands in his back pockets and allowed his head to tilt and sway in any direction that felt right and observed whatever details of the room entered his line of vision. Although, after being caught in a fascinated stare at something in particular, he approached a shelf that lined the wall across from him and tilted back one of the picture frames to eliminate the glare from the lights that hung overhead. In the frame was a picture he had never seen before. He recognised himself in the image, although a lot younger. Himself and a boy that looked similar, but also much younger, were smiling brightly at the camera in the living room of their first family home. The remains of chocolate treats were smeared across their faces and the smart clothing that they had tried to struggle out of. Yamato smiled, not necessarily remembering the event but remembering the feeling of being young and playful. He placed the picture delicately back in its place and took a step to his right to get a look at the next picture on the shelf. This one was of only him. He was even younger in this picture, barely developed enough to sit up on his own. Two pale arms cradled him to a woman's chest whose face was out of reach of the camera lens. But, from the way his big eyes were staring up at her in amazement, he could assume that the woman was his mother. The slender, feminine hands held delicately to his small body that was pink and fresh.
"Where are these pictures from? I've never seen them before."
He called to his father and moved onto the next picture of Takeru on his first bicycle.
"I found some old film while I was cleaning up the apartment. There're lots more of you two when you were babies, but Takeru kicked up a big fuss when I tried to display them. There's a photo album in the top drawer if you want to see the rest."
Yamato spun around in search for the drawer that his father spoke of. A chest of drawers that he hadn't gotten around to noticing stood beside the television on his left and he assumed that was what he was looking for. He discovered the photo album where he'd been told it was only a few seconds later and he took the book that was heavier than he'd expected to the sofa to sit down. He flicked through the pages slowly, recognising most of the people yet none of the actual photographs. Each of them brought back memories that he hadn't realised were still stored in his mind after so many years of being neglected. He was so immersed in the photographs that he didn't realise that his father was standing right beside him until he'd cleared his throat to attract attention.
Yamato shook his head and looked up at the hand that held out a mug of fresh coffee. He accepted it with a small thank you and almost chocked on the first sip in surprise when his father sat next to him. He thankfully managed to hide his blunder and swallowed the coffee without too much of a struggle. Meanwhile his father leaned across him to look at the album in his lap, exuding his personal musk beneath the sharp scent of his cologne. Yamato, feeling restless in his seat, crossed his ankles and flicked onto the next page.
"I didn't know you took all of these."
He said as he turned his attention back to the photographs. His father laughed behind his closed lips and pointed at the photo in the top corner.
"Your mother took that one. We both did our fair share of documenting. I was just the forgetful one in charge of getting them developed. There were about twenty rolls of film stashed away in the cupboard."
Yamato nodded and shifted his eyes towards the picture that had been pointed at. It was of him and his father at the beach before Takeru had been born. He was looking in serious fascination at his father who was building a sandcastle in front of him, smiling at his son's reaction. He didn't remember the event at all and he didn't remember seeing his father ever looking so healthy and slim. Most importantly he didn't remember having fun with his father like this since the divorce of his parents. There were no laughs that he remembered sharing with his father without his mother watching on with love only a few feet away. The thought took the joy out of the photograph.
"There are some of you and Takeru in your yukatas somewhere in here, and a couple from your school concert too. I couldn't find any from your graduation, though."
Yamato sighed, hating to take the smile from his father's face.
"I...don't think you were there."
"Oh."
Hiroaki resorted to a guilty silence, not knowing what to say. Much to Yamato's expectation he had stopped smiling and now looked at the photographs on the page with a certain sadness in his expression. Both were upset while looking at the smiling faces in the glossy pictures that seemed to be at a level of happiness that felt no longer achievable.
Yamato remembered his graduation. He remembered looking at the empty seat where his father was supposed to be and dismissing the rise of negative emotions as though he was unaffected by the small act of betrayal. He'd held his hands in fists when he walked up on stage, too tense to properly accept his diploma without crushing it and he'd bowed in a stiff line. He remembered sitting on the hill behind the gymnasium with Taichi afterwards, rolling up a thick joint and stubbornly repeating that 'he hadn't expected him to come' and that 'he wasn't bothered by it'. After taking a moment to dwell in his old pain Yamato took a gulp of his coffee and recovered. Hiroaki however looked to be still absorbed in his regret, so Yamato took it upon himself to distract him. He closed the photo album and turned his body to his father.
"I've been living in America. I'm a musician."
Hiroaki looked up from his steaming coffee to his son.
"Really? A musician? You mean...performing on stage?"
"Yeah. I'm not a recording artist or anything, but I manage to make a pretty good living from it. I'm hopefully getting a job when I get back that'll give me enough to book proper stages and get some better quality equipment. I want to put on some big shows and maybe later on I'll think about making an album."
Hiroaki's smile grew as he truly listened to his son's voice. His tone was upbeat and filled with passion while he rushed through his words with excitement.
"That's great. It sounds like you're enjoying yourself."
"Yeah. I am."
Their awkward greeting and unhappy reminiscing was almost entirely forgotten when they smiled at each other. From that point on the conversation wasn't as strained. Yamato talked about everything that came to mind about his life in America and his father was genuinely interested in all that was said to him about the country that he didn't know much about. Once all that could be said had been the leading role in the conversation turned to Hiroaki. He chose his conversation topics carefully in comparison to Yamato. He talked about the success of his job, the woman that he'd recently been seeing, the affects of old age on his body among other things that were chosen to keep conversation upbeat and avoid mentioning Yamato's absence in his life.
Their drinks cooled over time and Yamato began to relax more and slouch back into the furniture, feeling his tiredness get the best of him despite the recent dose of caffeine. Noticing the dangerous droop of the cup in Yamato's hand Hiroaki decided to take it back into the kitchen with his own, receiving quiet thanks from a dozing son. He continued the conversation between the two rooms, raising the volume of his voice over the sound of rushing water while he washed out the used mugs.
"So, how long are you back for? Are you here for new year?"
"I was planning to leave on the 29th."
"Wow. That doesn't give you a lot of time, does it? When were you planning on seeing Takeru? Or your friends?"
Yamato pushed himself back up in his seat and tried to stimulate his eyes by rubbing them harshly with the heel of his palm to stop them from drooping.
"Uh...to be honest I wasn't planning on seeing them. At least not yet. I came back for other reasons."
He heard the water being turned off.
"And what are those reasons, exactly?"
His father's tone was sharp; not quite upset but being on the brink. Yamato didn't want to have to shout his reply, but it didn't sound like his father was going to come back into the room any time soon.
"I'm attending a funeral."
Silence met him at first but after a moment he heard the pat of his father's slippers on the wooden floor as he came back into the room. Yamato tilted his head back to look behind him at his dad. Hiroaki looked a little ashamed but otherwise not seriously upset by Yamato's words like the younger man had feared.
"I'm sorry, Yamato. Was it anyone I might've known?"
"No, he's someone that I met just before leaving. He performed at the cafe I worked at."
Hiroaki leant against the doorframe and looked at the back of the sofa, just below Yamato's face.
"So, you definitely didn't come back for us?"
Yamato lowered his eyes and turned his body back to face forward, basically ignoring his father's question entirely. Hiroaki sighed and sat next to his stiff and silent son. He noticed the way that Yamato bit his lip and curled his fingers into the furniture beneath him, but he didn't choose to change the subject. Joyful conversation was over.
"Yamato, were you ever planning on coming back?"
As much as he wanted to avoid the question his father stubbornly stayed in silence, refusing to allow any sort of conversation to proceed without his questions being answered.
Yamato rubbed his face again to try and get some blood into his cheeks. He had gone numb from tiredness otherwise and with his normalised circulation he felt tingles infecting the nerves in his face. Hiroaki watched him, trying not to feel sympathetic at the sight of his struggling son. Yamato soon turned his head towards him, but kept his eyes slightly lowered to look at his father's collar instead of his face.
"Eventually. But, truthfully, I didn't have any plans to come back until I heard about the funeral."
He darted his eyes upwards to look at his father's expression but lost his courage once he reached his chin which already looked tense with emotion.
"I'm sorry."
He spoke with the softest breath. Hiroaki didn't answer. Instead he turned to face forward away from Yamato and leant forward onto his hands that cupped his knees. His breathing was louder than usual and sounded slightly more forced through his nose. His head was steadily bobbing, as though he were agreeing with someone that was continuously talking.
"Alright."
He said in a strange tone. His neck muscles were straining to maintain the movement on his head. But then, with a final sharp nod, he slapped his hands on his thighs and stood up.
"Alright."
He said in a completely different tone this time. Yamato watched in fascination, his eyebrows knitted tightly in confusion as he turned his whole body to continue staring at his father as he walked out of the room. He stared at the empty doorway that was his father's exit route and listened to the noises that emitted from the other room. A short moment later his father stormed back in with his sharp shoulders held stiffly as though his jacket were carved from marble. He didn't sit back in his original seat. He marched around the sofa and around the centre table all away to Yamato's side and dropped a cordless phone onto the table in front of him, not caring if he chipped the wood that looked freshly polished and clean.
"Call Takeru."
"What? Right now?"
"Yes, right now!"
"It's late at night, he-"
"He's your brother! You didn't say goodbye to him or tell him what was wrong and he was blaming himself for a long time because of it. You owe it to him. You've had five years to work up the courage."
Hiroaki made sharp, violent hand gestures as he spoke in a hardened voice. The facial expression, stance and voice could never have been associated with the usually quiet man before this moment in Yamato's mind. Yamato couldn't remember his father ever taking authority like this. He stared up at the stranger that was his parent in a frozen state of shock. Hiroaki eventually picked the phone back up and held it out directly in Yamato's face to break his stare.
"I'll say the numbers. You press the buttons. You can't keep running, Yamato."
Yamato, conscious once again, sighed with a slight growl buried beneath it.
"Dad-"
"It's not a request. I'm still your father, no matter how grown up you've become."
He tapped his fingers against the phone waiting for Yamato to stop gawking and take it from him. Yamato's face slowly relaxed, but he didn't move at all. He stared deeply into his father's eyes with a chin of stone, challenging him to give up; to let the matter go. Their stubbornness was proved to be a hereditary feature after quite a long moment of heatedly glaring at each other. Yamato pursed his lips finally and snorted sharply before snatching the phone from the outreached hand.
"You're setting me up for so much trouble, you know."
Hiroaki chuckled and shook his head.
"I really don't care."
He said, and it was never decided whether or not his laugh was sarcastic.
A phone was ringing in an apartment nearby. While the two occupants dozed on the sofa in front of the television neither of them expected the phone to be ringing in real life, and so neither got up to answer it at first. The noise's persistence was the only thing that indicated that it wasn't coming from the television.
"'Keru, you should probably get that."
"Yeah, I know."
The male of the embracing couple yawned and eventually pulled away the hand that was wrapped around the woman's waist. He stumbled in the dark towards the ringing cell phone in his bag by the front door. He didn't even bother to look at the caller ID before answering the call. He held it to his ear and stifled yet another yawn that made his eyes tear up.
"Hello?"
He heard his partner lowering the volume of the television and deemed it safe to return to his comfortable place on the sofa. He was barely listening to the voice coming from the phone's speaker.
"Uh...Takeru?"
"Mmmyeah...speaking."
"It's Yamato."
He'd heard the name clearly. But he didn't believe it. He convinced himself that he'd experienced a short lapse in sanity due to his tiredness.
"Pardon?"
"It's Yamato...your brother, assuming that I dialled the right number."
Yamato's small attempt at humour was not received at all well. In fact it was almost completely ignored. Takeru was pulled sharply from his tired slump to a high standing and Hikari, who had been falling back asleep only a few feet away, threw off the blanket covering her in shock when he shouted in a commanding voice.
"Where are you?!"
That question came purely from instinct over any other. No greeting or asking 'where have you been?' or even 'how are you?'. Hikari knelt up in her seat to watch Takeru shuffle back and forth while the phone was held to his ear. He kept hesitating towards the front door in a panic that was almost contagious.
"Well, I'm at Dad's right now, but-"
"I'm on my way!"
Hazel irises darted across whites to keep Takeru in sight as he rushed into the bedroom to change out of his pyjamas. He didn't bother to change his top though, not caring that it was dirty, and simply threw on a jacket over his dirty t-shirt. Afterwards he dashed back into the living room, skidding on his socks towards his shoes by the front door.
"What?! You don't have to get all worked up. I'm in town for a couple of weeks."
"I said that I was on my way, so I am! I'm putting on my shoes! Don't move a damn finger!"
On the other side of the call Yamato was finding it difficult not to laugh at Takeru's demands. Never before had he been ordered around by his little brother.
"Okay, calm down. I'll stay put."
"Good! I'll be over in ten minutes."
Takeru hung up with no goodbye or even a conclusive tone in his final sentence. He left the end of the conversation hanging intending to pick it up again once they were face to face. He dropped the phone onto the floor while he put on his shoes with more difficulty than expected. His overactive hands and desire for speed did more to hinder than to help the delicate task of tying his laces.
Hikari's dainty feet padded across the floor to carry her next to him. She held the blanket around her shoulders with one tense hand.
"What's going on? Who was that?"
While answering her, Takeru banged his feet against the floor to fit them into his shoes more comfortably.
"Yamato's at Dad's. I'm going over there to see him."
Hikari dropped the blanket in shock and caught herself only observing Takeru reach for the door instead of doing something productive. She stopped him with her words before he could step out the door.
"I'm coming, too!"
"You should go to bed, you've got work tomorrow."
"I'll call in sick. This is far more important. Just give me a second to put some clothes on."
She leapt over the crumpled blanket on the floor towards their bedroom manically. After watching her run off Takeru stepped over the threshold into the outside world before calling over his shoulder.
"I'll bring the car around. Meet me out front."
The door slammed shut after him and those that were listening could hear his rubber soled shoes hammering against the pavement towards his car that had been parked in the only available parking space at the bottom of the road.
Yamato chuckled as he hung up, thinking about how many more surprises were in store for him during this evening. First he was introduced to a well groomed, authoritative father, then his now deep voiced brother was giving him orders over the phone, he was half anticipating Takeru to show up with an extra arm or legs that were twice the length he remembered them to be. He gently placed the phone onto the centre table before leaning back into his seat with a sigh.
"Takeru's on his way over."
Ignoring his sulking son Hiroaki picked up the phone to place it back in its cradle in the kitchen.
"Good. Stop being a coward, Yamato."
"Yeah, yeah, story of my life. Do you have anything stronger than coffee?"
"Nope. I don't drink."
The phone made a beeping sound as it was connected with its charger. Normally it wouldn't have been noticed but during that moment the apartment had been completely silent. Hiroaki returned to the living room where Yamato was sat completely upright in his chair, stiff and silent, looking dead ahead and not at all recognising that someone else was in his company. Hiroaki approached him the way one would a snarling animal.
"I haven't touched it in about three years."
He said almost sadly, as though it weren't necessarily a good thing. Yamato didn't notice his tone at all, caught up in his own strange turn of thoughts, and looked at his father with a smile that in most circumstances wouldn't count as being sincere.
"That's..."
He paused, darting his eyes around the room as though the rest of his sentence was floating in the air around him.
"...great. That's really great."
His father snorted sharply once through his nose; more of an indication of amusement rather than an actual laugh. He sunk back into the sofa coolly while his son was still stuck in his taut position next to him.
"A lot can change in five years, Yamato."
Yamato stared into his lap and nodded.
"Yeah. You're telling me."
The flow of conversation ceased completely during the wait for Takeru. Yamato sat rubbing his knees anxiously while Hiroaki watched him, finding the repetitive motion to grate on him the longer it continued. Eventually he pulled a carton from his pocket and held it out in offering.
"Cigarette?"
Yamato smiled softly in thanks and picked out a crisply rolled cigarette from the carton and placed it between his lips.
"What, you didn't give that up, too?"
His father laughed and picked one out for himself while simultaneously dragging towards him a glass ashtray on the table before him that was positioned there for mainly decorative purposes.
"I'm getting around to it. I'm only human – can't do everything at once."
He dropped the carton on the table next to the tray and picked an engraved lighter from his pocket. Yamato observed the process and gently nibbled at the cigarette end between his lips.
"You shouldn't have tempted me, you know. I've been smoke free for a few months now."
Hiroaki lit his cigarette and withheld the lighter teasingly with a smirk that rivalled the one that the one his son had trademarked in his youth.
"You don't have to accept it if you don't want it."
"I didn't say anything about not wanting it."
Hiroaki chuckled and spun the lighter between his fingers before offering it to his son. Yamato reached for it gingerly, half expecting his dad to jokingly pull his hand back when he got close. No such prank was played and the transaction was made smoothly. Yamato lit his cigarette effortlessly and deeply inhaled the fumes. At first, after so long without smoking, he found the taste to be sickly. He released the smoke from his lungs with a slight grimace. After that first draw it got a lot easier, and the smoke began to taste better. By the time he'd smoked half of his cigarette he forgot why he would ever think to give up such a wonderful thing in the first place.
He began to relax further with each intake of smoke. His rigid spine unlocked and he slowly rolled backwards to lean into his seat again. Yamato and his father looked related more than ever in that moment, similarly slouched and enjoying their cigarettes in silence, even going so far as to hold their cigarettes in the same fashion with their fingers relaxed and half bent.
Yamato bounced his leg anxiously. This was all happening way too soon. He'd thought that maybe he could simply check on his dad to see if he wasn't dead or something. He was nowhere near mentally prepared to meet Takeru. He didn't think he could properly look him in the eye. Nothing had been resolved when he'd left. All the issues had been hanging over him all this time and he'd done nothing but bat them away, hoping that later on he'd come to a decision about what to do...or how to feel. He knew that he'd forgiven Takeru, but there was still a lingering bitterness that scratched at the back of his tongue whenever he remembered what happened. There was anger and hurt but they remained twisting inside of him with no victim to be directed towards.
Both men jumped up in their seat at the sound of the doorbell being rung in a rhythmic pattern.
"That must be my other son."
Hiroaki sniggered and stubbed out what little was left of his cigarette as he stood up. Yamato didn't stand up to greet his brother. His legs were too shaky to put any weight on them. He flicked some ash into the tray and took another deep inhale of his cigarette, not knowing that the fingers on his other hand were tapping nervously against his thigh. His father shook his head at the sight and found himself having enough empathy to feel slightly nervous himself, despite having no reason to be.
He brushed a grey hair from his brow and pressed the button by the door that would allow his visitors to enter the building. Then there was a momentary wait. He had enough time to re-tuck his shirt and look back over his shoulder at the living area before knuckles rapped at the door from the other side. The gentleness of the knock confused him momentarily. After hearing Takeru's typical violent attack of the doorbell he expected to hear the also typical pounding of fists against his door. All of his questions were answered when he met Hikari's thin, feminine face upon opening the door. She stood alone in the hall, enveloped in a large woollen jumper that overwhelmed her slight frame. She smiled at him with tired eyes and he stood aside to allow her in.
"What a nice change to see you here, too, Hikari."
"Hello, Mr Ishida. Takeru's here, too. He's just-"
She stopped to listen to quickly pounding feet on the stairs as her partner leapt up the four flights. He rushed at her back, panting and pocketing his car keys.
"Where is he?!"
Hikari stepped across the threshold and stood at Hiroaki's side to allow Takeru to enter. Hiroaki jabbed his thumb in the direction down the hallway.
"In the living room."
No words were spared for a single greeting to his father. Takeru barely had time to kick off his loosely tied shoes before skating down the hall in his socks. Hikari smiled slightly after him and a silent agreement passed between Hiroaki and her that they should leave the boys, or men to be more precise, to greet each other in private. She followed the older man into the kitchen and he silently prepared her a cup of tea, knowing after her several visits to his home that she was not one to drink coffee.
Takeru stumbled at the room's entrance, contemplating several things in the few short seconds he had left. He questioned whether he should greet his brother with happiness or anger, for he felt both emotions so strongly that his expression changed back and forth between a fiery scowl and a smile that exposed even his back teeth. He entered the room with a blank face, willing to improvise his reactions instead of planning them out. Had he been informed a day earlier that he had been meeting his brother he would have probably planned everything down to his body language. But this was all so sudden and poorly timed that he felt it best to just allow the event to play out as it may.
Takeru saw the back of the sofa when he entered. Over the top of it, from the other side, peered a set of broad shoulders and a head of golden hair that hung long enough to hide the neck that attached the two. A delicate string of smoke sailed up from what he assumed to be a cigarette that was out of sight. It took little effort to make his presence known, despite Yamato being severely distracted. He coughed lightly and Yamato's ears almost twitched like a dog's when he caught the quiet sound. He tried to forge composure by taking his time to stub out his cigarette when in reality he was just trying to buy some time. He stood up and pivoted slowly on the balls of his feet.
Neither of them truly recognised each other. Takeru was no longer a scrawny teenager after all. He was a nearly fully grown man with a square jaw and blond evening stubble. His eyes still held their youthful round shape, which was the only defining feature that reassured Yamato of his identity. In Takeru's mind he almost felt angry about how well and healthy his brother looked. Yamato was no longer sickly thin and pale but lean with broad shoulders and glowing skin from an American summer. It didn't seem fair that his brother would do so well away from his home. He caught himself biting his lip to stop his expression from darkening any further.
"Hey there, little monster."
Yamato said in a smooth, calm voice that contradicted the screams of panic that echoed in his head. Takeru laughed bitterly at him and crossed his arms, looking frighteningly similar to his father.
"Che, five years and you still haven't dropped the cool act."
"Who said anything about it being an act?"
Takeru shook his head, his thoughts a complete mystery to Yamato who was unable to read his expression. Takeru's bottom lip was caught between his teeth and his brows were drawn together in a solid line, twitching with each sharp exhale. Yamato stood in silence, allowing his facade to slip away to expose his true humbleness. He waited for Takeru to speak first for he had nothing of any value to say.
"I hate you, you know."
Yamato almost believed him. He wondered if Takeru knew that his voice had wavered, or if maybe he'd intentionally allowed his voice to creak. Yamato nodded and lowered his head.
"Yeah...I know."
He didn't want to assume that Takeru hadn't been serious, so he stood quietly in preparation for what was to be said next. But, if anything, Takeru found his frustration to grow when Yamato didn't defend himself. He wanted a fight and he wanted answers to his questions. He uncrossed his arms and threw them to his sides in tight fists.
"You just ran off! You didn't call or write or anything! I thought you were dead!"
Yamato had only enough time to nod before Takeru raised his voice again.
"And now you have the fucking nerve to call me on a work night and suddenly walk back into my life?"
It was Takeru's turn to be silent this time. He anticipated a rebuttal from his usually feisty older sibling. Never before had he won an argument against him. And yet, Yamato did nothing. He was not willing to argue. He raised his head slowly and met Takeru's eyes. Takeru's voice and words sounded angry and hateful and his body language was equally as aggressive, but there was so much about him, things that only a brother could notice, that revealed what he truly felt. The faults in his performance were too many to count when he truly looked for them.
Yamato slowly circled the sofa, maintaining eye contact with a soft expression. As he began to approach Takeru took a hesitant step back towards the hallway.
"I fucking hate you!"
It was at this moment that the differences between the two brothers became most pronounced. Ishidas were not known for being the most affectionate of people. Other than in the special occasion of being reunited after five years Yamato would have hardly ever expected a hug from his father. However, Takaishis were well known softies in comparison. Visiting his mother's family, especially his French grandparents, had always proved to be a test of endurance for Yamato who disliked being touched by people he didn't know particularly well. If, in an angered state, Yamato was approached with a loving gesture he would most likely lash out in violence. But, when Yamato held out his arms to his young brother, whose eyes still welled with fury that had yet to be released, he knew that the reaction from Takeru would be very different.
Takeru looked at the offer quizzically at first, tightly clenching his lips shut to stop any further outbursts while Yamato was not responding to him in the way that he wanted him to. Yamato held his arms open despite the ache that grew in his forearms while he waited for Takeru to respond. Cautiously, like an animal inspecting an offering of food, Takeru loosened his fists and approached. From Yamato's serene expression he could see that he was being genuine, not that he had any reason not to be. What possible ulterior motives could there be to a simple hug? So, not seeing the harm at the same time as not seeing the point, Takeru stepped forward and allowed Yamato to wrap his arms around him without responding. He stood there, stiff and uncertain, while his emotionally warped older brother embraced him sincerely.
Takeru still hadn't managed to catch up to his brother in height and his cheek rested against his collar. It was the perfect position to be entirely surrounded by his sibling's warmth, with his strong arms locked around his neck and shoulders. Once in this position all sorts of emotions and forgotten feelings began to emerge from their hidden sanctuary beneath his rage. He recognised his brother's slightly sweet smell that used to linger in the bedroom they shared as kids; the movement he made as he breathed that reminded him of falling asleep on his brother's chest; his heartbeat that had always been so delicate and soft that he used to fear that it would fade at any moment.
It took a few seconds for it to work, but Yamato soon felt what he'd expected – Takeru's hands gripped tightly to the back of his shirt and he pressed his body closer. Takeru's stiff shoulders slowly relaxed, but then began to shudder.
"I really hate you."
He whispered with tears in his voice rather than his eyes. He held tightly to Yamato, realising that his return trumped his leaving in importance. He felt the laughter rumble in the chest he was pressed against and sank further into the embrace, taking solace in the action that proved that there was still life in his brother's body.
"Join the club. I think you get a free tee shirt with membership."
Takeru didn't laugh. He smiled, though, and nuzzled Yamato's shirt with his nose, feeling that after years of throwing off his brother's mothering ways he wanted to be looked after once again.
"Hey, you alright?"
Yamato pushed him away gently. Not to break his hold, but to look his brother in the eye. Accommodating his closeness to Yamato's body Takeru swiped the heel of his palm across his eye and mumbled quietly.
"I'm sorry."
"Why are you sorry?"
He looked up into Yamato's face and beneath the slightly darker eyes, longer hair and solid chin he recognised the brother that he had lost. It was a great comfort to find him behind the near stranger that he'd first greeted. He shook his head of what doubts that had been pulling at him and smiled instead of glared.
"Never mind."
He laughed and pulled out of the embrace. It was not for his own sake but for his brother's whom he knew was easily unnerved by awkward hugs or eye contact that was held for too long. There was a short silence between them while Takeru recovered from the sentimental moment. After a moment of deep breathing and eye wiping Yamato decided that he'd waited long enough. He smiled and looked his brother up and down, noting the changes and similarities between his present and past appearance. He chuckled in his throat and took enjoyment from being able to still look over the top of Takeru's head.
"I was dreading that you might've gotten taller than me. Looks like I've been worried for nothing."
Takeru smiled and released a burst of air between his teeth that Yamato assumed to be a laugh.
"Shut up. You're just abnormally tall. Are you even Japanese?"
"Hey, I got Dad's height and you got his chin. That's a pretty fair deal to me."
"Yeah, and you got Mum's hair by the looks of it."
Takeru laughed pointing at Yamato's locks that curved around his face and rested on his shoulders. Yamato smirked, finding his brother's attempts at banter as endearing as they'd always been.
"Oh, and your bowl haircut is fashionable this season, is it?"
He rubbed his palm into the top of his brother's head, messing up his already tangled blond hair. Takeru tried to swipe him away a few times but was easily dodged by Yamato. Takeru laughed from the pit of his stomach and finally slapped away the hand with pretend anger.
"Nii-chan, stop it!"
They both froze and Yamato quickly snapped back his hand as though Takeru would bite him. They both looked at each other with wide eyes.
It had just slipped out. He'd become so relaxed and familiar while joking with his brother that...it felt like he was young again, addressing his older brother. Takeru panicked because Yamato had panicked. Did I offend him? Is it too soon? Does he still even consider me to be his brother after-...
Yamato had only stepped back on reflex. It had been a bit of a shock to be called that old name after so long. No one else in the world addressed him as Nii-chan, and even Takeru had began to stop using it as often when he grew up, only calling him that as a way to soften him up when he wanted something from him. Yamato began to relax upon seeing that Takeru's expression was much like his own. Did I offend him? Is it too soon? Does he even consider me to be his brother after-...
Yamato dropped the hand that he'd held stiff in the air after it had been slapped away by Takeru. He forced his face to relax and stood tall before his brother. Takeru called him 'Nii-chan' and so that is what he was once again. After five years...he was finally a brother again. He tilted his head and smiled – not smirked.
"I missed you, Otouto."
The ice in Takeru's spine and face melted. He looked up into the eyes of his brother and returned the smile wholly.
"Me too."
"Are you boys still fighting?"
Hiroaki called from the kitchen where he and Hikari had long since run out of light conversation. Hikari was sweet and polite, but Hiroaki had never really been the social type. Takeru thought about that for a moment and felt the need to rescue his partner from one of his father's uncomfortable silences. He straightened his shirt and directed his smile towards the direction of Hiroaki's voice.
"No, we're good. You can come in, now."
Hiroaki came out first with Hikari trailing behind him. As soon as the eldest noticed the moist layer across Takeru's eyes he marched across to his younger son to pat him on the shoulder. Takeru nodded, knowing that to his father that action was the equivalent of a hug. Yamato hadn't known that Hikari was in the apartment until he saw her at that moment. As soon as they made eye contact he gave a subtle, gentlemanly bow to her.
"Hello, Hikari. It's been a while."
She blushed lightly at the polite gesture but as soon as he'd straightened his back she leapt over to give him a gentle embrace. Being the affectionate type much like the rest of her family bodily contact was a top priority when greeting a friend.
"It's great to see you, Yamato. You look really good."
She smiled and stepped back to observe him. The differences between the two brothers were much more obvious now that they'd matured and Hikari took note of them all. Takeru allowed this for less than a second before he became impatient with the lack of her attention on him.
"Hey, hello. Boyfriend standing right next to you."
She turned to him with a cheeky smile before Yamato interrupted the two with a smile of his own.
"Oooh, boyfriend, you say?"
Takeru flushed. He had forgotten that Yamato was not up to date with issues like this. Yamato wiggled his brow and laughed, promising that Takeru would most definitely have to explain how this change in relationship came about and in explicit detail. Hiroaki caught the message as well and lifted a hand to his head with a laugh.
"It's a good thing I just went grocery shopping. Everyone sit down, I'll get you something to eat."
"You cook now?"
Yamato pretended to gasp, making Hikari giggle and Takeru roll his eyes. Before leaving to the kitchen Hiroaki pointed his finger at Yamato with his thumb point at the ceiling, mimicking the shape of a pistol.
"Watch it, wise ass."
He harmlessly threatened. With a harmless shrug he gave way for Hikari and Takeru to exit the room first.
Hiroaki hardly prepared a feast after only having bought enough food for himself during the week. A man living alone was never particularly picky about buying impressive meals. He made Yamato a fresh cup of coffee to keep him from banging his head on the floor when he kept dozing off in the middle of conversation. Hikari, as the only truly generous person there, offered to serve the food and the drinks when the old man struggled a bit. His hosting skills weren't what they used to be.
Yamato had to repeat pretty much everything that he'd told his father only a short while ago. He ran through everything that had happened quite quickly now that he'd had a bit of practice with it. When his tired mind struggled with words Takeru and Hikari gave him a bit of a break and told him about their lives. It wasn't until Takeru's third year of university that the young couple had realised their feelings for each other and by then Takeru had gotten a relatively good grasp on how to survive as an independent adult. He was currently interning at a publishing company while Hikari was working at a gallery on the edge of Tokyo trying to pick up some tips on how to kick start her career as a photographer.
Coffee was refilled several times more and heads began to droop. Feeling more comfortable around Yamato now that she had spoken to him Hikari felt that the atmosphere was casual enough for her to lean slightly on Takeru to support her tired head on his shoulders. Takeru had wrapped an arm around her waist and stifled a yawn in the crook of his other arm.
"So, where are you staying at the moment?"
Yamato tapped his nails against his coffee mug and gave his weary mind a short time to think about the answer before he actually spoke.
"Uh, I've got a hotel room booked on the edge of Tokyo for the next few weeks."
"Do you need a ride back? I don't think you've got enough time to catch the last train."
"Are you sure? It's a bit far out your way."
Takeru's hair swayed about his face as he shook his head.
"It's no problem, Hikari's not going to work tomorrow anyway and that coffee's going to keep me up anyway."
Yamato nodded. He wanted to say thank you, but his jaw muscles felt to have lost their elasticity and refused to operate his mouth to form the words. They all silently agreed that it was time to leave. Even Hiroaki who was used to working late ours was drooping his head to rest on his chest.
They cleaned their places and collected their things before heading to the door with Takeru leading the way to his car. However, just as Yamato was about to put on his shoes a heavy hand dropped onto his shoulder.
"Yamato."
"Huh?"
Yamato turned round to look at his father, nearly falling backwards into the door on his weak legs. Hiroaki held out his hand.
"Cell phone."
Yamato looked at the empty hand that was offered to him and then looked back up into his father's face.
"Say what?"
"Your cell phone. Give it here."
"O-Okay?"
He slowly reached into his pocket, all the while inspecting his father's face in wonder. The device was passed over hesitantly and Hiroaki took his own cell phone out of his pocket as well to hold a device in each hand. Yamato stared blankly, his exhaustion causing him to concentrate a lot more to focus on what was happening. His father typed his number into Yamato's cell phone and then sent himself a text so that he'd receive Yamato's cell phone number as well.
"If you don't call me in the next week then I'll call you. If you don't answer I'll hunt you down."
He handed the phone back and Yamato pocketed it, proud that he only missed his pocket three times with his shaky hands. He nodded and jammed his feet into his boots, not bothering to tighten the laces before following Takeru like an old dog out the door. They all whispered their final goodbyes down the hall while Hiroaki slowly closed his front door hesitantly. He kept it open so that there was just a slit for him to look out of. He wanted to watch his oldest son until he was completely out of his line of sight, thinking that that might eliminate the feeling of dread that came with watching his son walk away for the first time since the last, five years ago.
From Yamato's position in the back seat Hikari and Takeru looked like an already married couple. They joked and smiled across the gearbox and Takeru would look back at him in his rear view mirror like a dad checking on his children. Conversation wasn't strained on the drive to Yamato's hotel, but they all partook in regular silences to give themselves a short break. Eventually Takeru pulled into a familiar street and pulled to the side of the road.
"Is this the one?"
He asked, tilting his head to look up and the tall hotel. Yamato pulled his bag on his shoulder and unbuckled his seatbelt.
"Yeah. This is home for now. Thanks for the lift."
"No, problem."
Hikari turned around in her seat before Yamato could slide out and offered a tired smile.
"Goodnight. We'll see you soon."
Yamato nodded and opened the door. He would have said more but he could barely gather the energy to walk to his room. Behind him Takeru tightened his grip on the steering wheel before letting it go completely and rushing out of the car, leaving his door wide open and Hikari watching from the passenger seat.
"Wait!"
Yamato turned swiftly just as he reached the first paved step of the hotel. In three long strides Takeru had reached him with an urgent expression but once he'd fully approached he hesitated to speak. He brushed his hair, dusted his arms and stamped his feet, moving his mouth as though he were actually saying something. He didn't entirely know what he wanted to say. He'd just acted on the painful, knotted feeling in his stomach that grew as he'd watched Yamato walk away.
"Don't-...don't run off again."
He mumbled and bashfully lowered his head. Yamato's eyes softened.
"I wouldn't do that."
"I know. I just..."
Takeru laughed, embarrassed that he'd only really approached his brother because of his fear of never seeing him again. Yamato understood though, and he didn't laugh with Takeru. Instead he placed his cold hand on Takeru's shoulder, pressing heavy enough for Takeru to feel his touch through his thick coat.
"I'm not going anywhere just yet."
He said quietly and Takeru smiled, feeling the tiniest bit comforted. He nodded and relished the weight of the limb that rested upon him. Eventually he sensed Hikari's eyes upon them and realised her presence. His car door was still open and she sat with her hands tucked into her coat, patiently waiting as the cold slowly crawled towards her. Takeru looked back at her apologetically before addressing Yamato once more.
"I can't see you tomorrow. I'm working. But come to dinner on Saturday. We'll invite everyone and you can tell them about everything, too. They've all missed you too."
He skipped backwards towards the car as he spoke and Yamato raised his hand to wave him goodbye.
"Don't worry, I'll be there."
"Goodnight."
Takeru slid into his car and watched as Yamato strode towards the half lit hotel whilst blowing on his cold hands. He smiled and turned the heating to its maximum setting as an apology to Hikari for delaying their journey home.
"Well, I wasn't expecting all this when I woke up today."
He laughed and pulled out onto the nearly empty road, smiling to himself in an immature sort of way. Hikari strangely didn't acknowledge him and so when the road was clear he spared a second to glance at her. She had shifted in her seat to curl up beneath her padded coat and her eyes were thoughtfully downcast towards her hands that she held under her nose to warm them. He forced the smile from his face.
"You alright?"
"I'm fine. Just thinking."
"Oh?"
Takeru asked. She didn't answer as promptly as she had the previous question. During the space after the question had been asked and her reply Takeru had returned his full attention back to the road to carefully stop at a traffic light. When she finally did speak a silence came over the rest of the world.
"About Taichi."
"Oh."
[1] welcome home
[2] I'm home.
Remember what I said last time? He's in Japan now so everything in bold is said in English. Anyways, HELLO AGAIN! It's been a while. How are you? I have even more excuses this time. New house...no internet...for nearly a month. I KNOW! It is a piece of poo. I've had this pretty much typed up for a long time but with no way to upload it. I've been checking my emails by bringing my laptop to pubs but that doesn't mean that I can upload this in public without getting dodgy looks. But, the plus side is that while I've had no internet I've been able to get a head start on my next chapter. One third done, woohoo! And because it's a new Uni year I have nothing but introduction and warm up lectures for a while so I haven't got much to distract me to get it done. I've set myself a goal for two months this time. That seems like a safe bet. If all goes well maybe I could get it up in a month, but I don't want to sacrifice the quality.
I know that this whole situation seems a bit rushed. Yamato's already meeting everyone again within his first few days, I know. But there's so much that needs to happen and I don't want to just write about the days where nothing happened. So I've sped it along. I've got so much planned. SO much. I've made a chronological plan to make sure that there aren't too many gaps in my writing and that I don't make things up as I go along. I have the whole story practically set out apart from the ending. I don't know whether to make it happy or sad. I guess that's just something I'll have to think about ;)
Please review. I LOVE hearing from you all. Tell me what you think about this chapter too. It's a little rushed in some places so maybe you could give me some advice. Can't wait to hear from you all.
Bed. Of. Nails. And. Sandpaper