And here we reach the "family trauma" section of the program.
Told y'all there were themes in these stories.
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A purple swatch on the rainbow blanket caught Noa's eye; he wasn't sure what it was that struck him about it. It was rare that he was ever able to pinpoint what interested him about anything he found himself staring at. But he knew it was important, somehow, whatever it was, and he didn't turn his attention away from it.
He found himself thinking about something he'd had hidden in the darker corners of his mind for a long time; and while he wanted nothing less than to strike the little smile from Ryo's face—it was such a pretty smile—there was something that compelled Noa to say something this time.
He just wasn't sure how.
He eventually decided to stop thinking about it. He said: "Your father uses his work to hide from his grief, doesn't he?"
There was a shift in Ryo's mood, just as Noa anticipated there would be, but it wasn't nearly as drastic as he'd feared. There was something sad, profoundly sad, about the fact that Ryo still had a smile on his face when he said: "I think so. I think it's the best option he has. I think . . . Papa doesn't know what else to do, honestly."
Noa hummed. "You don't sound very upset about that."
Ryo shrugged and shook his head. "I'm not," he said. "I mean, I wish he could figure out a way to move past the hurt that didn't involve pushing himself so much. I keep wondering when I'm going to get a call, maybe from a person I've never met, who tells me he collapsed at a dig from a heart attack and never got back up. But . . . I don't have any answers for him, so I don't feel comfortable trying to tell him what he ought to do."
Noa frowned; his brow creased. "He ought to help you."
"He can't." Ryo shrugged again, at the sharp look Noa sent his way. "I don't think there's anything Papa could do, or say, that would make any difference at this point. I don't know if we even have a relationship anymore."
"That's . . ." Noa swallowed, hard. "Ryo, I don't feel comfortable saying this, but that's horrible."
Ryo's mouth twisted into something like a grimace, but it didn't stay. "I haven't told him about you," he said slowly. "I'm not scared of what he'll say. I'm not worried that he's homophobic. But I don't know if I want to lay out everything that's been going on, how it's been so important to me, just to get the equivalent of a thumbs-up emoji in the mail next month."
Noa thought about being surprised that Ryo would just come right out and invoke homophobia, but he decided it wasn't the right reaction. Who was he kidding? He hadn't spent eleven years in isolation just to not know himself. He knew damn well that they were a couple, and so did Ryo. They were a thing. They were together.
We're . . . us, Noa thought.
Noa drew in a breath, let it out, then stared up at the ceiling. At the light hanging from the center of that ceiling. Felt the yarn of the rainbow blanket against his fingers.
He said: "I think, if your father did that, Aniki would demand to know where he was. Right now. Just so that he could book a flight and beat the ever-loving shit out of him." He turned his gaze back to Ryo. "I want you to know that I'm not going to tell him about this, but only because it's not my place. Not because I don't want him to do it."
Ryo smiled again.
". . . I love you, too, Noa," he said.