Chapter Text
She was dead. The hospital was a blinding white and the AC was deafening. Shinso’s body ached with numbness after sitting in the waiting room for so long. He didn’t know where his dad was, he didn’t know if he wanted to know.
His mouth was stale after only eating food from the nearby vending machine all day. It was eight at night and he had known since six that she was gone, it just wasn’t realistic for him to keep such high hopes
They were too late, really, for her to survive. Giloblastoma, they called it, at least when Shinso was in the room. When he wasn’t they called it what it was, stage five brain cancer.
His dad entered through the door leading to the hospital rooms. Dark purple eye bags hung below his eyes that matched his hair. He wore an old sweater and jeans that smelled like mothballs.
Hitoshi immediately shot up from his seat, the sudden movement almost causing his knees to buckle. His dad’s eyes were soft under the liminal lighting of the room. He weakly smiled before Hitoshi ran into his arms.
The waiting room was empty besides them. His dad held him tight and pressed his lips against the top of his head.
“Do you want to see her?” He asked, quietly.
Any tears that dared to escape his eyes were quickly wiped away by his dad’s sweater.
“Yeah,” Hitoshi croaked.
He didn’t want to let go of him, he held onto his dad like he could lose him too. However, to walk down the hallway, he settled for holding his hand. It was freezing like they had entered a morgue.
The tiles were so clean his shoes squeaked beneath them. The lights overhead made a faint buzzing noise and were the loudest things in the hospital, everything else was deathly quiet. He didn’t see any doctors or nurses on their way to her room, it was just them and the inevitable.
They walked slowly, well, Hitoshi walked slowly causing his dad to match his pace. He wanted to run back to the waiting room, to continue sitting in ignorant bliss, still believing she might have had a chance. He felt each step beneath his feet, they clicked like a ticking time bomb, like a clock running out of time.
At the doorway, he noticed how badly he was squeezing his dad’s hand, it must have hurt but he didn’t say anything. Hitoshi let go.
She laid in the hospital bed, still as a portrait and just as beautiful. Her iridescent hair was braided down the middle, weaving opal strands into one. Hitoshi walked to her side while his dad stayed by the door. The bedframe was a cool metal when he let his hands rest on the railing.
Next to her, a heart monitor stood, silent. He coughed out tears, his legs shook as he held back vomit. She still looked so alive, it wasn’t right. He wondered if there had been a mistake, he wanted to sink his hand into her chest and prove her heart was still beating. Her skin was always pale, so even dead she looked alive.
Soon, he couldn’t see her through the tears pooling in his eyes. Instead, it was like he was looking at her through broken glass. Warmth spread through him as his dad put a hand on his shoulder from behind him. It was his touch that kept him standing, that stopped him from throwing himself onto the bed and wailing for her to come back.
The nurses would come and try to rip him from her cold body, but he would not budge. He would lay there until he died from dehydration, his skin would cave in and his muscles disintegrate, his bones would meld into hers and he would live inside her womb once again.
But he wasn’t alone, his mother didn’t just leave a son, but a husband, a lover. It was wrong to think of it as her leaving, that makes it sound like she had a say. No, she was stolen and betrayed. Stolen from them and betrayed by her own body, betrayed by the doctors who couldn’t save her.
She had only known Hitoshi for sixteen years, but he had known her his whole life, she was his whole life. It was true that he was a splitting image of his father, but he had her lips and jaw. In that moment he only wished he had her bravery.
His dad pulled him into another hug. Hitoshi could tell he was trying to be strong for him, but he was still human. They cried together, Hitoshi’s chest hiccuped and heaved with each breath while his dad let out small sighs.
It was dark outside the hospital room window, clouds covered an illuminated moon. Hitoshi was sleep deprived and his head felt hazy, but he still couldn’t convince himself this was a dream. Not when he had been living through Hell for the past six months.
It was a cold January, colder now that he had lost the first person he had ever loved. It was a Sunday during his second year of high school and he doubted his teachers would let him mourn for more than a week.
He buried his face deeper into his dad’s chest. He was only a few inches shorter than him but he remembered a time when his father was the tallest person in the world. He would sit on his shoulders and feel powerful while his mom laughed. He was too big now to feel powerful.
“It’s going to be okay.” He rubbed his back.
“It hurts,” Hitoshi mumbled.
“I know, I know it does.”
His guts spilled out of his eyes and nose and mouth, he stained his dad’s shirt but he kept holding him. He bled out onto the floor until he couldn’t breath but his dad’s careful hand on his back helped him cough out the grief.
“It isn’t fair.” It hurt to speak, like each word was a slit to his throat.
“I love you, Hitoshi.”
“Why did she have to go?”
“I love you, Hitoshi.”
“I miss her.”
“I love you, Hitoshi.”
“…I love you too.” He swallowed the bile and the tears and the guts.
“I need you to be strong.”
He sniffled. “Okay.” The response was empty.
𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆝⋆.˚ 𓇼
Summers in Tokyo were suffocating, and Shinso was already feeling the effects one day in. It had been five months since she left and since then he had been miserable in every aspect except his grades. He had to sacrifice one, his academic career or his social life, he chose the most expendable one.
He told himself it was for the best, that he didn’t really fit in with his friends anyway, and it wasn’t like they reached out while he was hurting, anyway. He walked home alone, kicking rocks and listening to music. He ate meals alone, since his dad worked overtime at his office, and he told himself he was strong for doing it.
In the early months he slept in the same bed as his dad, went with him on errands, and practically never left his side. But the world kept spinning and the price of raising just one teenager rose each passing day, so his dad left him for his own good. He had exams to study for and colleges to apply to, they were out of time together.
Being alone all the time had its own effects on Hitoshi, he found ways to cope and fill the void in his heart. He ate noodles in his bedroom under his covers and watched superhero movies, wishing something cool, like getting bit by a radioactive spider, would happen to him.
He suffered constant headaches, skull splitting headaches that felt like someone was taking the dull end of a hammer to his head. He waited for release and for the pressure to subside but some days it never did. Bottles of painkillers sat on his bedside due to his dad never taking him to a doctor for a prescription, because that meant admitting his son was broken. He endured the migraines and called it strength instead of suffering.
He fed the neighborhood cats and gave them all names. Sometimes his dad would catch him playing with them on the patio when he came home. They were all ridden with fleas and diseases but they loved Shinso, who was already extremely touch deprived, so he didn’t object when they rubbed against him. His favorite cat was an orange one he named Apple, because she liked apples, unlike any of the other cats.
Down the road, he would look around the city dump for discarded bikes and bike parts. He would haul them back to his house and ignore the concerned looks from his neighbors. At first he worked on them in his room before his dad caught him and yelled at him to keep it in the garage. So he moved his base of operations to the garage and added even more clutter.
It was the garage where they had decided to store all of his mom’s things. Pretty things that, as men, they didn’t see any use in having. Silk table cloths that were just waiting to be stained and fine china one slip away from breaking into a million pieces. Maybe that was why they hid all of it away, to protect it from themselves. So that one day, when they were both in better places mentally, they could go back and look through the boxes with fond memories.
He watched a lot of porn, being alone in his room all the time, his house was an empty shell most of the day with just him inside of it. Since his dad worked past midnight most nights he carelessly let himself moan at his own touch and numb his brain. Those ten minutes, sometimes twenty, were the best part of his day because he didn’t have to think; he could just be a normal, horny teenager. Most nights, he fell asleep right after, when he didn’t he would either repeat or go find food.
In early February, he was sent to a therapist. “It comes in waves,” she said while talking about the stages of grief. She was the one who usually talked while Hitoshi stared out a window and listened. He never had much to add, when she asked him how he felt he just shrugged. The knot of emotions in his chest was too far gone to untangle.
He didn’t know what stage he was in, he didn’t feel much anymore. Denial, anger, bargaining were just words to him, he didn’t know what they were supposed to feel like. Some days he felt nothing while others he felt everything at once, a deafening, blinding feeling that made him go back to feeling nothing again.
For the most part, he would say he coped well. He kept his body and mind busy with school, repairing bikes, and masturbation. People tended to leave him alone at school once word got out about his mom, which he preferred. His teachers pitied him like an abandoned puppy, not that they needed to, he received top marks in all his classes, dead mom or not.
There were mornings he couldn’t get out of bed. He would curl in on himself and cry until his dad found him at two in the morning the next day. His therapist said things would get better, that the emotions would pass through him and then depart, but he felt more like the emotions were rotting inside him.
He would feel his father’s weight sink into his mattress when he sat at his feet.
“Hitoshi,” he would whisper.
“I’m sorry.”
“Did you call the school?”
“I—sniffle—left my—cough—phone in the kitchen.”
“Oh, kiddo…” he always ended up rubbing his back until he fell asleep.
Sometimes, his dad accused him of wanting the rot, of wanting to just give up. They didn’t fight a lot, but when they did it usually ended in them both crying. He didn’t want to give up, but it was so easy to eat noodles in bed and numb his mind. He knew his dad was trying so hard to keep it together for them and he was right for chastising Hitoshi, but he couldn’t do much since his son still managed to ace his tests while having another mental breakdown the night before instead of studying.
Sometimes, it would hit him in the middle of school and he would have to run to the bathroom. He dialed his number quickly since it was the only one left in his phone.
“…What’s wrong?”
“Can I go home?” His voice was always so small when he asked for something.
“It’s almost three, you’ll be okay.”
“Please, dad, I can’t— I can’t do it—.”
“Yes you can Hitoshi. You’re strong.”
That’s usually how those conversations went.
He grew into his dad’s hair and eye bags until they were the same height, the only difference was his heart shaped lips and sharp jaw. There was nothing powerful about being 6’2, just the awkwardness of sticking out and walking around like a baby giraffe.
Sometimes, he wondered if his dad would ever remarry, or if he could handle having a stepmother. He imagined what an ideal stepmom would look like. She couldn’t look anything like his mom, dark hair, glasses—because she had to be smart—, and maybe a son Hitoshi’s age, no, no, not a son, a daughter, a daughter he could date, or was that weird?
He had never had a crush so he wasn’t exactly sure what it was supposed to feel like when you’re in love. People always told him he would just know. His friends at school talked about girls, they talked about their parts like they were dissecting them. Hitoshi found it weird. Whenever he noticed a girl's skirt riding up her thighs, exposing her underwear, he only felt embarrassed, definitely not attracted.
Perhaps his deepest secret when it came to attraction was that when he watched his videos late at night on his laptop, he never focused on the woman.
On the last day of his second year, he opened the front door without having to unlock it. The wood swung open and he saw his dad sitting in the living room.
“What’s going on?” He asked. His dad worked until one in the morning on weekdays.
His dad stood up. “How was your last day of school?”
“Fine. Why are you here?” He had planned to go through the landfill and look for a jockey wheel, but him being home completely disrupted his thinking time.
“We’re visiting your cousins in Nansui.”
“What?” He hadn’t talked to his cousins since he was a child.
They lived on an island off the Southern coast of Japan. He had one cousin, Kyoka Jiro, her mom was his dad’s sister, his mom was an only child so he had no other cousins besides her.
They were similar in age, only a few months difference, but distance raised them apart. He knew his aunt and uncle were performers and well off for themselves in Nansui, but nothing more than that.
“Just for the summer, we never go on vacation, it’ll be nice.”
“The entire summer?!” Hitoshi didn’t mean to yell but he was caught off guard.
“You’ll have Kyoka and an entire island to explore, don’t act like you’ll miss Tokyo.”
“I don’t want to go.”
“Our flight is tomorrow morning.”
“Dad?!” He cried and threw his book bag to the floor.
“I know! I should’ve told you, but I knew—.”
“You knew I’d say no!”
“You need fresh air! You need to get out of this stuffy house, Hitoshi! And dammit, I miss my sister! They’re family and you love them.”
They both fell silent.
“Go pack,” he demanded.
“I— I severely dislike you right now!” He said because his mom had taught him to never use the word hate.
“It’s too strong, there are very few things in this world I can say I hate for certain, and none of those things should be taken lightly.”
Hitoshi stomped off and nearly slammed his door before quickly stopping it from crashing against the doorframe. He was upset but he didn’t have a death wish—today, at least—. He couldn’t believe his dad, he didn’t want to leave the moment he was getting into the habit of things. School was the problem, not their house, his bed was comfortable and he was able to hide in the plush mattress, he didn’t want to leave his haven.
He contemplated walking back into the living room and crying on his knees. Begging and pleading to stay, his dad could go while he stayed home and watered the plants, anything to stay. But his dad was stern when it came to decisions, especially when they were for Hitoshi’s wellbeing.
In the back of his closet, he fished out a suitcase. He threw it onto his bed in a fit of anger. What was his dad thinking? They couldn’t leave their house for a month. He thought about having to share a house full of relatives, people who hadn’t seen him since he was a baby. The knot in his chest expanded, suffocating him.
Most of the time, he felt like nobody understood him, and now he was going to be surrounded by people who thought they understood him but didn’t. Kyoka had never lost her mom, he just hoped she wouldn’t pity him too hard and further alienate him. He followed her on social media so he had some understanding of her current life. She had dark purple hair like the rest of his dad’s side of the family, she played the electric guitar and sang in dive bars, in short, she was much cooler than Hitoshi could ever be.
His door slowly opened and his dad stood in the doorway with a bowl of sliced pineapple.
“Do you need help?” He asked.
“No.”
He pursed his lips. “They’ll be happy to see you.”
“I know.”
“They live right by the beach, remember when we went when you were little?”
“Yes.” It was where he learned to swim.
“The flight is at six, try to go to bed early tonight, okay?”
“Okay.”
He sighed and set the bowl down on his desk before leaving back into the living room, closing the door behind him.
Hitoshi stood in his bedroom alone. His body was telling himself to move, to pack, but his brain wanted comfort and rest. He sat on his desk chair and shoved a few pieces of pineapple into his mouth, the fruit was sweet and cool. He tried to recall memories of Nansui, he remembered finding shells in the sand, and how big the kitchen was in Kyoka’s house, but that was about it.
When the bowl was empty he stood up to grab hangers from his closet and shorts from his drawers before throwing them into his suitcase. He didn’t care to fold anything and almost forgot underwear. He only had two pairs of swim trunks and he wasn’t even sure if they fit, he had hit a late growth spurt in April.
Whenever he didn’t feel sick enough to pass out, he would go out and ride his favorite bike up and down hills until he was gasping for air, the only downside to this was now his thighs had grown too big to fit into most of his old pants. He only prayed his swim shorts would not suffer the same fate.
When he was done the sun was setting. He zipped up the suitcase and left his room to leave it by the front door. When he walked into the living room he saw his dad in the kitchen, something sweet was simmering in a pan.
“Hungry?”
He contemplated going back to his room and hiding, but he hadn’t eaten lunch and was starving.
“Sure.”
Nikujaga was poured into a bowl and set on the kitchen counter. Chopped vegetables and meat floated in a brown broth. Hitoshi grabbed a spoon from a kitchen drawer and stood next to his dad while eating it.
“Don’t stand and eat.” He poured himself a bowl.
“How long is the flight?”
He sighed. “Three hours.”
Hitoshi raised the spoon to his mouth and winced at the metal burning his tongue.
“That’s not bad…”
“Promise me you’ll be okay?”
“What?” He felt attacked.
“I just— don’t want to worry them, that’s all.”
He knew what he was saying; no crying or sulking.
“I’ll be okay.”
“The place is beautiful, the air is clean and the water is clear, you’ll like it.”
He took a sip. “Maybe.”
“Everyone bikes everywhere.”
His head perked up. “Really?”
“Yup.” His dad smiled.
“Do they have bikes?”
“I’ll have to ask.”
They ate their dinner while standing in the kitchen under the dim ceiling lights. Hitoshi had changed out of his school uniform and wore an oversized shirt from a 5k his dad ran a while ago. His dad had taken off his suit jacket and was left with slacks and a button up.
They didn’t talk about having to get up at four AM the next morning for their flight and they most certainly didn’t talk about how he owed Hitoshi an apology, but they were still able to stand next to each other in comfortable silence.
𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆝⋆.˚ 𓇼
The house was silent by nine. Empty, dirty bowls sat in the kitchen sink, attracting flies.
Hitoshi had been sitting in his bed since dinner ended, scrolling on his phone. It wasn’t until his eyes burned and a headache began to form in his temples that he put his phone down to take a shower.
There was a bathroom connected to his bedroom. It was white and boring, the only color being the numerous sticky notes he left on his mirror.
Buy apples
Ibuprofen, and in smaller letters beneath: store brand is cheaper
Need: jockey wheel & new saddle
Learn to sew??
Lily Records sale 7/12
Some were crossed out but were still stuck on his mirror:
Hikaru likes CHERRY hi-chew
New uniform pants
Learn to braid hair
He ignored them most of the time, unless he needed reminding. He turned the shower handle until warm water began to pour from its head. As steam coated the mirror and his reflection he pulled his shirt off over his head and let his boxers drop to the bathroom floor.
When the water wet his hair it managed to reach his shoulders, he usually wore it shorter but had been growing it out since the beginning of the year. Spring was when he normally went to get a haircut with his mom, but she was gone and so was spring. His dad also wore his hair pretty long so he probably wouldn’t understand if Hitoshi went to him to ask for a haircut.
It was fairly thick too. The annoying part about having thick, purple hair meant that it was impossible to shave and even more noticeable against his pale skin. He never learned to shave his face, he just grew up watching his dad do it and eventually went out on his own one day to buy a razor.
Bubbles washed down his back as he scrubbed his scalp until it was clean. After a few minutes of standing and untangling it he sat down in the porcelain tub. He brought his knees to his chin and let the water wash over him.
Sudden change was his least favorite pill to swallow, he could handle spontaneity when it benefitted him, but this was different. His mothers death was excruciatingly slow, like being slowly boiled alive, the cancer upping the heat gradually until they finally noticed she was dying.
He buried his face in his knees and wrapped his arms around his legs. No tears came, and if they did he wouldn’t have noticed with the shower pouring down on him.
When he got tired he unraveled himself and laid on the shower’s floor, staring up at the ceiling. His stomach faced the overhead lighting and he imagined he was somewhere else. He closed his eyes and—.
“Hitoshi!” His dad called from the other side of the bathroom door and he flinched. “You aren’t falling asleep in the shower again, are you!?”
He hurried to stand up and almost slipped. “N— no! Sorry!”
Adrenaline coursed through him as he shut the shower off and stepped out of it.
“You’re okay, just checking.” He murmured before walking away.
Hitoshi gripped the countertop and stared at himself in the mirror until his breathing settled. When he felt better again he let go and reached for his hairbrush.
His dad had curly hair he didn’t take care of and his mom had long, pin straight hair, which left him with a weird, wavy mess. Some parts curled while others stayed straight. He took after his dad when it came to not taking care of it, he just wished it was easier to manage.
Recently, he had found a tolerable solution to the frizz and knots he normally woke up with. He gathered his hair before parting it into three pieces and braiding it down the middle. In a drawer below his sink he grabbed a hair tie and wrapped it around the end of the braid.
When he was done he left into his room to grab clean underwear. When he went to his dresser to grab a pair he quickly remembered he already packed all of them in his suitcase. That was a problem. He had two options now, he could walk back into the living room with a towel around his waist, unzip his suitcase, and rummage through it until he found some, or he could go to sleep with just a shirt on.
He bit his lip before shrugging back on his sleep shirt from the bathroom floor and crawling into bed. He had purposely packed up his laptop already so he didn’t stay up too late doing things he would regret the next morning.
When he closed his eyes he tried to remember Nansui. The AC blasting in his room sounded like waves in the distance and the cars honking outside his window could have been seagulls squawking. Kyoka was scared of lizards and loved caramel. She smelled like her house, which smelled like rain and smoke. He tossed and turned, trying to recall other things he had picked up on as a child in Nansui.
He curled in on himself in a fetal position. His wet hair stained his pillow and cooled down his neck as the early summer heat made it almost impossible to fall asleep. Almost.