Chapter Text
It was hard for a child to understand why mum and dad were yelling. Arguments are inevitable in a couple, such as they are, but the louder they got the more unbearable they became, especially for a four-year-old.
It was the middle of the night when Takashi blinked awake, a tiny fist rubbing his sleepy eye. There was noise coming from downstairs, familiar voices raised above the tenderness he was used to. An orchestra of breaking dishes hitting linoleum and open-palmed slaps striking flesh followed, making the boy quiver underneath the space theme sheets as if the vastness of the universe in his bed could keep him safe from the monstrosity that overtook his parents.
The discussions had become regular as of recently; they began over little things, such as peas left in the corner of the plate at dinner (and the bitter remark that another woman might be cooking his peas better), to things of greater significance, like dad leaving more and more often on business trips and coming back later, breaking promises of family dinners, forgetting birthdays and anniversaries, making excuses about his absence. Mum cried. She cried a lot, sitting at the kitchen table, shaking her head in disbelief as she held dad’s smartphone in her trembling hands, and then throwing the device at his face when he stepped into the division to pick up a beer from the fridge. Mum hit him and said bad words and demanded that he left.
He didn’t.
Instead, he held mum a bit forcefully until she calmed into a sobbing mess, cradling her in his arms as if she were the most precious person in the world for him; he even said so in a whisper, Takashi heard it in between hiccups and yelps.
This otherwise peaceful night, the young Shirogane debated whether it would be okay for him to slip out of bed; should he be reprimanded for being up that late, he’d just say he really wanted to pee! Yes. He would lie just this one time, only because he felt this brave need to protect Ma and Da from whatever foul creatures possessed them.
He peeked over the sheets and analyzed the shadows under his door, noting that the voices increased in both volume and intensity as his parents paced from the kitchen to their bedroom. There, mum yelled over more tossed items, and that was when Takashi decided to get up from the false safety of his bedsheets and open his door about a slit wide, just enough to spy on whatever was happening.
Mum was crying on the floor. Her face was hidden between her knees, features twisted like she had a real bad tummy ache, her hands forming fists that she banged on the wooden floor in her fit. Dad said nothing, heavy footsteps indicating that he was still there, moving within the two-step distance between the wardrobe and the bed. Then he crossed the hallway again, a large bag over his shoulder and his wife pitifully crawling after him, grabbing him by the ankle to stop him at any cost.
There were questions that Takashi couldn’t come around to voice, tongue heavy in fear, stomach turned in guilt. Was dad leaving again? Were they talking so loud because of him? Had he done something wrong? He sure heard mum yell his name in the middle of those adult words, which brought shiny constellations of tears to his lashes and a thick lump bobbing on his throat.
“Takashi.” his dad said, this time directed at him. Urged by a gesture, he took a step out of the room, just enough so that he’d have a clear view over the front door and he would’ve gone further – perhaps into the embrace his dad offered, – but he was roughly tugged back by a female hand, nude polished fingernails digging into his shoulder with a bit too much strength. The child winced, but simply looked up to his mother, rather than voicing his discomfort.
“Don’t go.” Mother pleaded, to which Dad simply shrugged and grabbed the bag he had prepared and exited through the front door without as much as a look over the shoulder. “Please, don’t go…”
Mum begged for Dad not to go.
But this time he did.
~*~
Coping with the absence of one parent was hard enough on a kid, but to have Mother moving on without him was the hardest. Father had moved out of reach immediately after the divorce – Norway, if Mum’s profoundly spiteful and bitter words were anything to go by – and not long after, she too met a handsome Japanese fellow, rich enough to make her forget her pain (and even her own son) through expensive jewelry and golden opportunities.
After dumping Takashi with his grandparents – whom he very dearly loved and owed more than he could possibly give back – his mother exited the picture about the same way as his father had: back turned, no proper goodbye, towards another life.
Ten years later, the boy told himself he should be over it by now. It was a chant he repeated every day in his head, as if repeating it would eventually make it true, and for a while it might’ve worked too.
Takashi Shirogane, top of his class, star of the school’s track team, spelling team champion, popular among the students, fresh out of middle school with the promise of a scholarship in America, into one of the world-renowned NASA branch for youngsters who ambitioned towards space exploration. Once he turned fifteen, he’d move to Arizona and just a little bit closer to his dream.
But even after a decade of pretending he was okay, of making plans and having his life right where he wanted it, Shiro still felt like something was missing. Maybe someone.
Grandpa stayed up with him one night, upon the roof of the little countryside house they shared, both reciting in unison the name of every visible constellation, the ones Shiro already knew like the back of his hand but adored nevertheless. They talked about this void in his heart, wisdom of years pouring out of the elder’s mouth in the form of tender advice.
“You’re meant for the stars, Takashi, and you’ll get there. You don’t need your father or your mother for that, not when you have that amazing brain and platinum will of yours.” A thin arm wrapped itself around Takashi’s neck, pulling him into a weak, yet unconditionally affectionate, embrace. “If you feel like you must reach out to your parents, then do it. I understand they’ve both been a permanent question mark in your heart and seeing these past questions you have wrapped up inside you answered might seem like a priority before you take the next step towards your future. Honestly, mago, what’s the worst that could happen? You already lived a life without them; the worst-case scenario is the life you currently have, and that’s not so bad, now is it?”
It wasn’t so bad, indeed, Shiro concluded, suppressing a cry when his ojii-san tightened the hug and said he was proud of the man he was becoming.
The next day, he called Mother for the first time since his 7th birthday. Grandma couldn’t help her nurturing concern, so she stood by Takashi with a supportive hand on his shoulder, during the couple times he heard the automatic voicemail message instead of the voice he hoped to. He might’ve tried again after a few hours, but the denial was clear; he should’ve preferred the silence after the first try to the dragged out feeling of complete exclusion of his mother’s life.
The following week, it snowed in Osaka.
He hated the strict dressing code at school which demanded him to wear a white shirt and a blazer, as well as a pair of pants that did a terrible job at keeping his legs warm, but rules were rules. There was a secret relief in knowing that this last week of December would be his last days in uniform.
On his way to the Academy, the fourteen-year-old stopped by the post office with a small envelope in his hands. He had rewritten the addresses and the whole letter about six times the night before, making sure the calligraphy was as spotless as his grammar. Would Father even understand Japanese anymore? That was a silly concern, the man had spent twenty-eight years of his life in Tokyo, where he had been born; ten years abroad might rust a mother tongue, but not enough to wipe it completely from memory.
There was no way of knowing if he’d ever receive an answer, but he shoved the thin envelope into the metal box anyway, allowing his heart to settle far from that limbo of uncertainty. Even if Father didn’t want anything to do with Takashi, he’d move on to the New Year with the clear conscience that, at least, he tried.
~*~
The Japanese school year began in Spring, the seasonal metaphor for new beginnings, but Takashi wouldn’t be joining his classmates for the first year of high-school. Instead, he had to wait until September, according to the American academic calendar, to begin his first year at the Galaxy Garrison. That meant he had nine months ahead of him to do absolutely nothing.
Thrilling.
He found himself alone in the attic he claimed as a bedroom, sprawled over a salvaged couch with his earphones on, tutting to the vibe of The Beach Boys’ “Kokomo”. Even the fluorescent star shaped stickers in the ceiling bored him, after hours of faintly glowing into nothingness.
Mid-January and he had already reviewed the first-year worth of books on quantum physics to get a head start at the Garrison. What else was there to do? Try his luck at Advanced Math? He preferred to delay that one, for sure, and only pick it up when he really had to.
Cranky spiraling stairs complained at the weight of an intruder, barely audible over the chorus, but enough to make the teen open his titanium colored eyes.
“You could’ve called me, oba-chan, I would’ve gone downstairs!” Takashi snapped, with no real heat beyond the obvious concern for the old woman’s pained joints, nearly jumping out of the sofa to meet her by the staircase. He eyed her suspiciously, brow raising. “Is… something wrong?”
The smile on her face was sad, but still encouraging. There was a moment of hesitation, but after a gentle comb of her silver hair behind her ear, Grandma extended the envelope in her hands towards the boy. “From your father, dear.”