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"Be gentle with your brother," Mother snapped. "You know he's not well."
Everyone knew Ageha-kun wasn't well. His father, his brothers, the neighbors; his brother's' friends, who were always quiet and polite when they came to the apartment, because they didn't want to wake or upset Ageha-kun.
Ageha wanted to be well. He wanted to laugh and play and push like his brothers did; he wanted to go to school when he got older, and have homework like he they did. But mostly, what he did was sleep. He was always so tired.
It made Mother tired too. Mother would take naps beside him sometimes, pulling him into the big futon to sleep. Mother was always nice and warm, and her perfume smelled like peaches. That was nice.
It was harder when his brothers and father were home. Father wanted dinner on the table, and his brothers didn't understand that Ageha-kun was sick, so they had to be quiet and gentle with him.
"Mother," Osamu whined. "We're just trying to have some fun."
"You have to be careful," Mother said.
Ageha frowned. He wanted to have fun too. He coughed, and it felt like his chest was tearing into pieces.
"See?" Mother said, and scooped her youngest son into her arms. "He's delicate."
Mother cried a lot. She was sad, because Ageha was sick. Everyone knew that too. "I'm sorry," she'd say. "I'm so sorry, little one."
Mother said it was her fault, that something about her made Ageha-kun sick. "It's not your fault, Mama," Ageha said. She'd just shake her head and cry some more.
He'd draw her pictures to try to make her feel better. She'd squeeze the tears from her eyes and squeeze his hand. "Thank you," she'd tell him.
Ageha went back into the hospital again when he was four and a half. He spent a long time in the hospital. He slept even more than he had at home, and his hand got sore where they put the tube into his arm. He missed his mother; he missed lying with her on the futon and looking up at the afternoon sunlight when they napped together. He even missed Father's worried face and his brothers' rowdy voices.
The nurses were kind to him, though, and there was a priest who came and told him silly jokes. (Later, much later, he'd worry that it was the same priest that Miyoki had lived with, but Miyoki's priest was English, and his had been Korean. Ageha felt much better after that.)
"When will my family come visit?" he asked one day.
The nurse-- he never remembered, later, which one it was-- looked sad for a moment. "They've been very busy," she said, and squeezed his hand. "I'm sure you'll see them soon."
When he was well enough to go home, Father came and picked him up. "But where is Mother?" Ageha asked.
His father looked angry for a moment. "She's sick," he said, finally. "She'll be home soon, and we'll all be together again."
"All right," Ageha said. He wondered if his mother was sick with the same illness he suffered from. He didn't feel quite right asking, though. Something in Father's demeanor made him think he shouldn't.
The truth came out three days later, when the boys were fighting over dessert. "Why should he have any? It's his fault Mother's in the hospital."
"That's enough," his father said angrily, but Osamu took over from Eiji. "You haven't even told him, have you?"
"Told me what?"
"You shouldn't," Eiji protested, but softly, almost reluctantly.
"She tried to kill herself." Osamu's voice was loud, almost a shout. "She's ashamed she gave birth to you. It's all your fault!"
"That's enough," Father roared, and slapped Osamu on the cheek.
Ageha started coughing again. Sometimes, when he was upset, the coughing got worse. Maybe this time it would be really bad, and he would die. He could stop being a burden then. His brothers would be happy. His father....
When he came to, he was in his own futon, with his father sitting over him. "It's not your fault," Father said. "Mother is very sad, but it's not your fault she's ill."
"But--"
"No," Father said. He put his hand on Ageha's. "You need to sleep. Get some more rest."
"Father," Ageha said. "I--"
"Everything will be all right," Father said. He didn't look like he really believed it, though.
Mother never came back from the hospital. Osamu stopped speaking to Ageha altogether. Eiji would only say what he had to. Father told him, again, that it wasn't his fault.
No one believed him.
Not as many neighbors stopped by, with Mother gone. Father couldn't stay with him during the day, so Eiji would run home at lunch to make sure Ageha hadn't died and had something to eat.
It was very lonely. Ageha watched a lot of cartoons, when he wasn't sleeping. Mother had gotten him some picture books when he'd been in the hospital (it must have been before, he found himself thinking, and quickly pushed the thought back out of his mind), and he looked through those, wishing he could read, wishing he could go into the beautiful world of the tiny mice in his favorite.
One day, Osamu came back instead of Eiji. The tea he gave Ageha to drink was scalding, and he didn't make any lunch at all. "We'd all be better off if you died," he growled at Ageha before he left.
Ageha knew he was right.
The sensible choice was to die at Mother's side. He'd been to the graveyard once before, and he had a good memory. But he had no luck finding the cemetary when he was outside the apartment; before he knew it he was lost, and confused, and feeling more ill than ever.
He was so tired. He didn't want to be sick any more. He just wanted to find Mother and rest.
"Is everything all right?"
Ageha looked up. The man who'd spoken to him was wearing a big black overcoat. He had sad eyes, but he seemed friendly. "I can't find Mama," he said, but speaking was too much effort; he started coughing before the words were fully out of his mouth.
The man leaned down. His eyes were very kind. "Why don't we look for her together?"
Ageha nodded solemnly and took his hand. The man's fingers were very cold, but Ageha didn't mind.
They let him stay with the boy at the hospital until his family could be located. A nurse came in after an hour to tell him the boy's name was Seto Ageha, and they were trying to locate his father at work.
"He was home alone?" Kiyoi asked.
Ageha coughed in his sleep, and Kiyoi startled. He reached for the boy's hand; his fingers were still cold, even after hours in a warm bed. Ageha's eyes fluttered open for a second; he noticed Kiyoi, and his fingers tightened around the older man's hand.
Kiyoi caught his breath. A human boy, and a sick one; this was no one to get attached to. Getting attached just led to--
"I'm sorry," Ageha said. "I didn't mean to--"
"It's all right," Kiyoi said. "I didn't have anywhere else I needed to be today."
"All right," Ageha said. "I'm sorry. I'm a lot of trouble, I know."
"No," Kiyoi said, and squeezed his fingers. "You're no trouble at all."
Kiyoi sat in the waiting room and tried not to listen in. "You can't run away! What do you think people would say about our family? What do you think your mother would--"
"I wanted to see Mama!" Ageha collapsed into another fit of coughing.
"You can't see her again. You know that. You understand, don't you?"
Silence.
Kiyoi put his head in his hands.
It wasn't really a surprise the next time he found the boy. It was hard to explain things to someone as young as Ageha, but not as difficult as he'd anticipated.
"And I'll be like you?"
Kiyoi realized, with a certain horror, that the boy continued to wear his best clothes to commit suicide. "You won't be just like me," he answered, finally. "Not for a very long time."
"But I can be your little boy? And I can stay with you?"
"Yes. And you won't ever get sick again."
Ageha's eyes were wide and solemn. "All right," he said, and took Kiyoi's hand.
Kiyoi thought that would be all there was to it, but young Ageha had more surprises in store. The boy insisted on going to school when he was old enough, and there was paperwork to manage and lies to perfect. There was homework, and reading, and exams, and then, when Ageha was eight, there was a quiet, surly young teenager.
"His name's Masakazu," Ageha announced. "He says he's not hungry, but he is."
Kiyoi learned to cook the meals that had delighted Douzan at restaurants, and the boys ate them with enthusiasm. They did well in school; Masakazu entered college, graduated, and entered a different college. While he seemed to focus most of his mental energy on entertaining girls, at least he was enjoying himself, and Kiyoi didn't mind as long as he remained a gentleman.
Michitaka continued to call him for favors; as the children grew, he drew them into the work, appealing to their boyish chivalry and enthusiasm for justice. They were busy; they were happy.
Kiyoi had a family, finally, of his own.
"There was a missing boy, when I first joined the Force," Michitaka said. "It was Ageha-kun, wasn't it?"
Kiyoi smiled. "Has the statute of limitations passed?"
"It was a sad case." Michitaka's eyes were focused carefully on the lake. "The boy wasn't found missing until the evening, and with his health...."
"Yes," Kiyoi said. "You remember how ill he was."
"And how young I was." Michitaka's grin was wry. "Is that why you've never let me meet them?"
"It might have been part of the reason," Kiyoi conceded.
Michitaka's voice was hesitant. "I would never have--"
"There are some things one does not ask of even the closest allies." Kiyoi noticed something white in Michitaka's hair; he reached for it, then then realized-- his hand centimeters away-- that it was just a hair, gone gray. "Excuse me," he said, moving his hand away hastily. "I thought--"
"Did you not realize?" Hesitation turned to amusement. "Not all of us are timeless."
"Yes," Kiyoi said, quickly, to cover his embarrassment. "Of course." But the the fact of Michitaka's aging disquieted him. There was never enough time, with mortals--
"Kiyoi-san?"
"Yes," Kiyoi said. "I...I'm sorry. A memory, it's nothing."
Michitaka waited for him, as always. "Well," Kiyoki said, when he'd collected himself, taking the folder on the table to hide his discomfort. "I'm afraid I must skip dessert this afternoon. We'll take care of this."
"Thank you," Michitaka said.
Kiyoi could feel the young man's gaze (ah, but not so young as he had been) as he walked away.
"I hope everything was concluded to your satisfaction," Kiyoi said. The boys were safely returned to Eternal Moon Manor; things went well, by their account, and even Makoto was not particularly skilled at lying to him. Things would be different as the boy came into his power, and more complicated still if his bonds with Ageha remained strong; but that was nothing to worry about yet.
"Ah, yes." Michitaka's voice was formal, collected. "Everything went very well. The suspect is in custody now."
"That's good to hear." With the boys at school, the manor was quiet. Kiyoi listened to the mantel clock tick for a moment.
The decision was made on impulse, but even Kiyoi realizes there were decades of indecision behind it. "Would you like to come to dinner tonight?"
"I would be delighted," Michitaka said, after a moment. "Is there a Goukon tonight?"
"No. I thought it would be...pleasant if we could all eat together." His heart was pounding, which was absurd. He had known Michitaka for years, after all.
"Ah!" Michitaka said, finally unable to hide his surprise. "I...yes. Very pleasant indeed. I should-- did you all enjoy the cake I brought? I can bring--"
"That would be fine," Kiyoi said, trying to save him further embarrassment. "Seven o'clock?"
"I will look forward to it," Michitaka said. "Thank you, Kiyoi-san."
The florists were delighted to see him, as always. "And I'd like to request a delivery," he told them, "for this evening."
"Roses, Kiyoi-san?"
"Yes, please. But...not white. I think we should try something different, don't you?"
"We have beautiful peach ones!" Chiyo displayed an armful.
"And red, the color of passion!" That was Manami, pointing to some brilliant scarlet roses in the case.
"Or yellow," Sayo suggested.
"I think yellow would be fine," Chiyo said. "For a handsome, courageous man."
"Courage," Kiyoi said thoughtfully. "Yes, yellow will do nicely."