Yellow Diamond: Chapter 2 - part 2

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As he moved farther from the station, the darkness seemed to take over. The streetlights grew fewer and farther between, with the bright lights of vending machines and convenience stores starting to stand out. Passing through a familiar three-way intersection, he could see the old apartment building beyond a concrete wall. Small rectangular windows lined up at even intervals. Akimori's house could probably fit this whole apartment complex into its garden.

The kitchen light was on in the farthest room. His father was home. His steps grew heavier at once. He really didn’t want to see that carefree face today. He lingered there for about ten minutes, unsure of what else to do, but with nowhere else to go, and his stomach starting to growl, he resigned himself and began walking again. Standing in front of the door, he reached for his keys but thought, "Just maybe..." and tried the doorknob. It turned easily without any resistance. Typical. He sighed, too exasperated to even be surprised.

"I'm home."

Opening the door, he saw something sprawled on the tatami floor. The sound of a TV show filled the air, though the television was off. It was the neighbor's voice, laughing through the thin walls—the walls here were as flimsy as cardboard. He stepped inside, carefully avoiding Isamu, who was lying there like a beached tuna. Shun’ichi made his way to the dresser, stripped off his school uniform, and changed into cotton pants and a T-shirt. He was exhausted, though he hadn’t done anything in particular. He felt like just lying down next to Isamu and falling asleep. But he knew if he did that, nothing would change. Isamu wouldn’t even wake up if he made a lot of noise. Small face, small limbs—once, his father had seemed big, but now, as Shun’ichi grew closer to his height, he realized how small Isamu really was compared to most fathers. Thin, restless, and not at all like an adult. People often mistook him for a high schooler, and more than once, when they were out together, they’d been asked, "Are you two brothers?"

"Hey, wake up."

He lightly nudged his father's side with his foot. Isamu sluggishly rolled over and mumbled, "Just a little longer..."

"I'm hungry, c’mon."

Squatting down by his father’s head, Shun’ichi pulled hard on his cheek. Isamu finally opened his eyes, frowning at the pain. It still took him a good five minutes to fully get up. He rubbed his eyes roughly and let out a huge yawn.

"Let’s go to Kunihiko's place already," Shun’ichi said.

Isamu scratched his hair lazily and stood up, though it was unclear if he had actually heard. He shuffled to the kitchen and drank straight from the faucet, his throat making loud gulping sounds.

"We’re not going to Kunihiko’s," Isamu declared from the kitchen.

“What? Did you have another fight? I don’t wanna go out and buy a convenience store bento again,” Shun’ichi complained.

Isamu grinned smugly, as if he were proud of something.

“Idiot, we didn’t fight. Kunihiko’s on a business trip for three days starting today. But don’t worry, I made sure we’ve got plenty of food.”

Isamu opened the fridge. Usually, it was practically empty, but now it was stuffed full of various-sized Tupperware containers. He pulled a few out and placed them on the sink.

“Uh, the ones with the blue lids can be eaten cold, the red lids need to be heated, and... wait, what was the yellow one for?”

Watching him fumble around was getting frustrating, so Shun’ichi nudged him aside.

“You can figure it out just by looking. Never mind, I’ll do it. Just boil the water.”

Shun’ichi started plating the food Kunihiko had prepared and packed into the Tupperware. He put what seemed like the warmable items into the microwave. Judging by everything else, it seemed like the container with the yellow lid needed to be microwaved, too. After filling the kettle with water and setting it on the stove, Isamu flopped back down onto the tatami.

“Hey, did you take a bath after you got home?”

Isamu’s thin, thread-like eyes cracked open slightly.

“...Not yet,” came the small reply.

“You smell. I don’t want to eat while smelling that, so hurry up and take a bath.”

With slow, heavy movements, Isamu stood up, grabbed a bath towel, and headed to the bathroom. But he came back out in less than three minutes. His hair was damp, but it was suspiciously quick, leaving Shun’ichi doubtful if he’d even washed.

“Did you wash your hair?” he asked.

Rubbing his wet head with the towel, Isamu looked away sheepishly. “Does it even matter?”

As expected, he hadn’t. Shun’ichi placed his hands on his hips and exaggerated a long sigh.

“You should wash your hair every day. It’s dirty. Maybe you don’t mind, but I’ve always told you I hate weird smells.”

Isamu pulled the towel over his head, hiding his face. As Shun’ichi continued complaining about the smell and dirt, Isamu slipped away unnoticed, and the sound of water splashing in the bathroom echoed through the house. About five minutes later, Isamu reappeared in front of his son, puffing out his chest with a ridiculous sense of pride that was almost comical.

They set the microwaved food on the small dining table and ate across from each other, both devouring their meals as if in a race. While eating, Shun’ichi couldn’t help but wonder if his family was different from others. Except when Kunihiko was away on business, they always had dinner at his apartment. In normal families, mothers cooked dinner. In homes without mothers, the father or grandparents took care of meals. But in his house, there were no grandparents, and Isamu wasn’t good at cooking. Kunihiko wasn’t even a relative—just a friend—yet he always made their dinner. It wasn’t until a classmate pointed out how strange it was when he was in elementary school that Shun’ichi realized his family situation was unusual. But even if it was strange, Kunihiko still made their meals, and they continued going over to eat. Otherwise, it’d just be convenience store bento every night with Isamu.

Kunihiko called Isamu by his first name. After hearing it so often, Shun’ichi had started calling him “Isamu” too. Isamu never told him to stop. At school, Shun’ichi also referred to his father as “Isamu,” and one day, a teacher misunderstood and thought he had a brother named Isamu. When the teacher found out that Isamu was his father, they scolded him, saying, “You shouldn’t call your father by his first name. It’s disrespectful.”

When Shun’ichi asked why, the teacher replied, “It’s rude to call your father by name.”

Shun’ichi had answered, “Yes,” but he didn’t understand why it was considered disrespectful. Looking around, he realized no one else called their father by name. The teacher kept saying, “It’s a matter of manners.” If it was a matter of manners, why hadn’t Isamu ever corrected him? Even as an elementary school student, Shun’ichi found it odd. Isamu was his father, no doubt about it, but he wasn’t like the “fathers” that appeared in dramas or books. He didn’t wear suits, and he’d never made Shun’ichi sit in formal seiza position to lecture him. In fact, Isamu had never scolded him at all.

“So, where’d you play today?” Isamu asked, chewing messily like a preschooler, scattering bits of food around.

“You dropped something,” Shun’ichi pointed out.

“Ah, right,” Isamu muttered, picking up the fallen scraps with his fingers and popping them into his mouth. Once the conversation shifted, Isamu often forgot what they’d been talking about.

“I went to a friend’s house, the one with the dog. I got to see a Golden Retriever.”

Isamu paused his chopsticks and nodded, “Oh?”

“So that Golden-whatever, is it some kind of amazing dog?”

Shun’ichi wasn’t sure what Isamu was comparing “amazing” to.

“I don’t know if it’s amazing, but Golden Retrievers are big dogs. The one I saw is still a puppy, though.”

“Hmm,” Isamu hummed, putting down his chopsticks. He scanned the table, apparently not finding what he was looking for, and got up. Grabbing a toothpick from the cupboard, he started clicking his tongue in frustration before muttering, “Ahh…”

"Hey, remember when you brought that dog home? A black one. Do you still remember? That time when the landlord found out and we got kicked out of the apartment. What a mess that was."

Isamu spoke about what had been such a painful memory for Shun’ichi, a moment that had made him never want to ask for a pet again, as though it were some amusing story.

“Dogs are great, aren’t they? I wanted one when I was a kid too, but my parents wouldn’t let me. I’d get so mad seeing other kids with dogs, I’d mess with their houses on purpose.”

Isamu snapped the toothpick in half and tossed it into the trash.

“You can’t keep a dog unless you live in a house, though. And places like that are expensive.” He shrugged and flashed a wide grin, showing his crooked front teeth.

“When you go to college, get a job, and start making money, you should get a dog. Then I’ll play with it too.”

Even though Isamu was talking about a distant future, it felt so far away and unrealistic that Shun’ichi couldn’t picture it at all.

“That’s... I don’t know,” Shun’ichi muttered.

“You’re smart like your mother, so you’ll be fine. Really, it’s a good thing you didn’t turn out like me. That’s why I’m excited when I think about your future.”

As he spoke, Isamu reached up to the top of the fridge, grabbed his cigarettes and lighter, and headed for the front door. Isamu didn’t drink alcohol, but after dinner, he would always smoke one cigarette. Since he thought the smoke was bad for children, he made a point of stepping outside, no matter if it was a hot summer day or a cold winter evening.

After finishing the meal, Shun’ichi washed the dirty dishes in the sink. Isamu never asked him to help around the house, but Isamu also wouldn’t wash the dishes until there were no clean ones left, so if Shun’ichi didn’t do it, they’d just stay dirty forever. Once, when he left them unwashed for about ten days during the summer, flies and cockroaches infested the place. Shun’ichi would never forget the horrifying experience of waking up with a cockroach crawling across his face. That nightmare had taught him to wash the dishes regularly after that.

The faint smell of cigarettes lingered in the air. Through the small ten-centimeter gap in the kitchen window, Shun’ichi could see Isamu outside by the front door, enjoying the last bit of his cigarette.

After cleaning up the table, Shun’ichi sat down to start on his homework. When Isamu came back inside, smelling of cigarette smoke, he glanced at Shun’ichi working on his homework and casually turned on the TV. Shun’ichi had been studying in noisy rooms for as long as he could remember, so he wasn’t the type to need silence to concentrate. As long as he focused, he could absorb anything, no matter where he was.

About an hour later, after finishing his homework, he sat next to Isamu, hugging his knees. Isamu was glued to one of those vulgar, crass shows full of dirty jokes that Shun’ichi didn’t like, but Isamu loved and never missed. Even when Shun’ichi said, “This show is boring,” Isamu would just reply with a casual, “Oh, yeah?” and keep watching, unconcerned.

When the show ended at 9 p.m., Isamu let out a big yawn and rolled over onto the tatami. Shun’ichi quickly got up and pulled the futon out from the closet.

"Come on, sleep properly in the futon," he said. 

Isamu burrowed into the laid-out futon and, while at it, dragged Shun’ichi in with him. 

"Whoa, cut it out!" 

Tickled on his side, Shun’ichi flailed around inside the futon. In retaliation, he tickled back. Their playful tussle was suddenly silenced by a shout from the other side of the cardboard wall, "Keep it down!" The two of them froze for a moment before exchanging glances and breaking into laughter. Taking advantage of not being seen, Isamu stuck his tongue out dramatically toward the wall. 

Inside the warm futon, Isamu began to doze off, but for some reason, Shun’ichi felt like Isamu was clinging to him more tightly than usual. Feeling uncomfortable, he squirmed his shoulders. 

"Hey, you're crushing me." 

"Yeah," Isamu mumbled and loosened his grip a little. 

"I don’t know... I just feel kinda lonely," he said. 

"Lonely? What’s making you lonely?" 

Isamu’s head, still resting on Shun’ichi’s back, shifted slightly. 

"I can’t really put it into words, but when I think about how much you’ve grown, I start to feel really lonely." 

"That’s weird." 

Isamu sighed against Shun’ichi’s back with a soft "Ahhh." 

"I wish Kunihiko would hurry back from his business trip." 

"You think Kunihiko would get how you're feeling?" 

At the question, Isamu went silent. "I don’t think so," his voice eventually came through, resonating against Shun’ichi’s back. After a few thoughtful hmm, hmm noises, he added, "But that guy’s really good at comforting people." 

Isamu fell asleep quickly after that, but Shun’ichi found himself unable to sleep, staring at the ceiling instead. The wooden ceiling, square-shaped and stained in several spots, felt too familiar. The sound of cars driving outside seemed louder than usual. If asked whether he liked this apartment, Shun’ichi would definitely shake his head. Yet, he always returned here—this small apartment where his father lived. 

That night, Shun’ichi dreamed. In the dream, he, Isamu, and Kunihiko were all living together in the Akimori house. They were playing with a puppy in the spacious garden—the same black puppy they had picked up when they were in elementary school. "Come over here!" Shun’ichi beckoned, and Isamu came running to join in the fun. Kunihiko sat on a chair under a tree, reading a book. It was so fun, so happy, it felt like a dream. Then Shun’ichi realized, it was a dream. The gap between dream and reality made him feel even more down. 

He went to school in a dark mood and, just as he had expected, Mizusawa ignored him. It was because of what had happened yesterday. He was holding a grudge, and while his mood might improve by tomorrow, he felt a deep sense of gloom knowing that today would be filled with this awful atmosphere. 

Noticing Akimori staring at him with a look that suggested he wanted to say something, Shun’ichi immediately made an excuse to leave the classroom before Akimori could approach him. Shun’ichi had no desire to get closer to him. He didn’t hate Akimori, but he didn’t particularly like him either. More than anything, he never wanted to visit Akimori’s house again.

That day, when he returned home, there was a large package carelessly placed on top of the low dining table. It was wrapped in cellophane paper with a red ribbon tied around it—a stuffed beagle, about 30 centimeters tall. 

"What’s this?" 

Isamu, who had been peeling an apple in the kitchen, turned around and grinned. "It’s for you." 

Shun’ichi wasn’t exactly at an age where he’d be thrilled to receive a stuffed animal, and on top of that, the dog was rather ugly. Isamu’s gestures always seemed just a little off. What was he supposed to do with this? After some contemplation, Shun’ichi placed the dog at the entrance. 

"Woof," he said, imitating a dog. 

A fake guard dog that couldn’t even bark properly. Shun’ichi let out a quiet laugh. 

◇:-:◆:-:◇

The air was muggy and humid. Even though the window across the room was wide open, no breeze came through at all. It was only early May, but the sunlight felt like the middle of summer. The folding chairs lined up against the hallway wall had vinyl seats and backs, and after sitting for a while, the areas where your body touched became sticky with sweat, making your shirt and pants cling to your skin uncomfortably.

There was a soft pattering sound, accompanied by a faint, powdery scent. The woman sitting a seat away from him was fanning her face with a handkerchief, her brow furrowed. Her makeup had run from the sweat, leaving splotches across her nose, and the lipstick had faded from the center of her lips, leaving only a dark outline. Shun’ichi stole glances at her face, wondering if this was what mothers typically looked like.

With a rattling sound, the door to the counseling room opened. As a student and her mother stepped out, the woman next to him, along with the female student sitting in front of Shun’ichi, entered the counseling room. Shun’ichi pulled out the watch he had taken off earlier to avoid getting it soaked in sweat, checked the time, and let out a sigh. Even when he leaned close to the window and looked out over the schoolyard, he didn’t see any sign of who he was waiting for. The appointment was set for 2:00 p.m., and it was already fifteen minutes past. The interviews were running behind, and Shun’ichi’s turn hadn’t come up yet, but the student with the number right before his had just started, so his turn would come in five, maybe ten minutes.

He had already told Isamu in advance that today was the parent-teacher-student conference. Isamu had promised to attend, saying he couldn’t make it to the open house or the parents’ gathering due to work, but he’d definitely show up for the interview. Shun’ichi doubted that Isamu had forgotten, especially since that morning, Isamu had been muttering things like, "I can take a short leave from work, but I don’t have a suit." What worried Shun’ichi more than the lack of a suit was whether Isamu would at least take a bath. He dreaded the thought of Isamu rushing over straight from work after just changing into a suit, carrying that distinct garbage smell and stinking up the place, especially on such a hot day.

Watching the second hand on his watch only made him more irritated, so Shun’ichi shoved it back into the pocket of his school uniform. With a thud, he plopped down on the chair, anxious for the sound of the counseling room door opening. What excuse could he offer to the teacher? "My dad is late," — was that good enough?

"Sanada-kun." He was called by name, but it wasn’t the teacher’s voice. He looked up and immediately noticed a light blue women’s suit. Despite the heat, Akimori’s mother wasn’t sweating at all, smiling coolly. She gently placed a lace handkerchief to her mouth, and just that small movement brought with it a sweet, feminine scent. Next to her, Akimori also smiled at him.

"It’s awfully hot today, isn’t it?" 

She sat down beside him, leaving one seat between them, and spoke to him. He couldn’t exactly ignore her, so he responded reluctantly. 

"...Yeah, it’s hot." 

"Who’s coming to the interview from your family, Sanada-kun?" Akimori’s mother glanced around. 

Isamu... Shun’ichi started to say, but quickly corrected himself. 

"My father." 

"Your father, is it? I’ve been meaning to introduce myself." 

Her polite phrasing, like "introduce myself," seemed too refined for someone like Isamu. Just imagining what she would think when she met him made Shun’ichi feel a sudden wave of embarrassment.

"Looks like he’s running a bit late... he’s not here yet," he offered, making excuses while inwardly wishing with all his might that his father wouldn’t show up, despite having anxiously awaited his arrival just moments before.

"Oh, is that so?" Akimori’s mother peered into Shun’ichi’s face and nodded deeply. 

"Most of the time, it’s the mothers who attend these interviews since the fathers are usually busy with work. For your father to take time off work to attend, he must be very dedicated to your education." 

"Mom, uh..." Akimori tugged at his mother’s sleeve. 

"What is it?" she turned to her son with a soft "yes, dear." Akimori looked awkward, clearly uncomfortable. Though Shun’ichi had never really spoken to him, Akimori probably knew.

"I don't have a mother at home."

Akimori’s mother widened her eyes in surprise, bringing her hand up to her mouth. 

"Oh my, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know. It must be difficult for you and your father. If you ever need help with anything, don’t hesitate to ask me, alright?" 

If he took her words at face value and actually went to ask for help, what kind of face would she make? She might treat him kindly on the surface, but Shun’ichi doubted she would truly welcome him. 

"Sanada-kun, why don’t you come over to my house again?" Akimori invited. Ever since Shun’ichi had visited to see Akimori's dog, Akimori had been talking to him more often. Shun’ichi purposely avoided engaging with him, though. If the conversation didn’t continue, Akimori wouldn’t linger by his side. He was good at sports, smart, not overly serious, and could be funny. Shun’ichi had no reason to dislike him, but for some reason, he just couldn’t deal with him—he simply didn’t want to talk to him. Why was that? Shun’ichi vaguely knew it was his own inferiority complex. It wasn’t just Akimori’s perfection, but everything behind it as well, that irritated him. 

With a loud clatter, the door to the counseling room opened, and a mother and child stepped out. Finally, it was his turn. Just moments ago, he had dreaded this moment, but now, he felt a sense of relief. Isamu hadn’t shown up. And that was a good thing. He could just say that his father was too busy to come, and then he’d be able to go straight home. 

As Shun’ichi started walking toward the door, he suddenly heard the sound of slippers slapping against the floor behind him. The sign that said "No running in the hallway" was completely ignored as someone hurried toward him. Shun’ichi was sure it was his father’s footsteps but didn’t dare turn around. Why now? He’d been fine not showing up. He muttered it under his breath. The footsteps came to a stop right behind him. 

"Shun’ichi." 

The voice wasn’t Isamu’s usual high, drawn-out tone. Shun’ichi turned around, and to his shock, standing there was none other than Kunihiko Kamioka—Isamu’s friend, the one who always made him dinner. He was wearing a white dress shirt and a navy tie. His forehead glistened with sweat, and he was panting, looking down at Shun’ichi. 

"Sorry I’m late. I had some work I just couldn’t leave. Has the interview already finished?" 

"It’s about to start…" 

Why was Kunihiko here? Just a moment ago, he had wished his father wouldn’t show up, but now that Kunihiko had come in his place, an intense anger boiled up inside Shun’ichi at Isamu for not coming. 

"Where’s Isamu?" he snapped. 

Kunihiko, in a calming gesture, placed a hand on Shun’ichi’s head. 

  

"There were some circumstances. I’ll explain everything to the teacher." 

"Sanada, you can come in now." 

The door to the counseling room opened, and the homeroom teacher peeked out into the hallway. 

"Glad I made it in time," Kunihiko said with a sigh of relief, placing a firm hand on Shun’ichi’s back. As he was guided toward the career counseling room, Kunihiko noticed the two people who had been watching—Akimori and his mother. Kunihiko gave them a polite nod. Akimori’s mother smiled in return. The two exchanged the kind of casual greetings only adults could share.

◇:-:◆:-:◇

The meeting itself was over in just ten minutes, and there wasn’t much of a discussion. Kunihiko only asked the teacher one question: how Shun’ichi had been spending his time at school. That was all. After it was over, they were free to go home, so they left the junior high school grounds together.

"Don’t you need to go back to work?"

Shun’ichi asked Kunihiko, who didn’t seem to be in a hurry like when he arrived.

"I took the afternoon off."

"I see."

For a while after that, neither of them spoke. Shun’ichi was still angry that Isamu hadn’t shown up, so he deliberately stayed silent. Whether Kunihiko, who was naturally quiet, noticed this or not was unclear.

"Shun’ichi."

He was stopped just before the crosswalk. Kunihiko sighed, loosening the collar of his dress shirt with his fingers.

"How about we get something cold to drink before heading back?"

"Sure."

Kunihiko turned on his heel and walked back a short distance. They entered a narrow alley Shun’ichi had never set foot in before, and Kunihiko pushed open the door of a shop with an antique gate. As soon as they stepped inside, the cool air brought a comforting relief.

The shop's large beams and slightly hazy, worn ceiling declared its age. The menu offered little more than coffee, tea, milk, and mixed juice. There were three other customers in the small shop, all of whom appeared older than Kunihiko.

"If you're hungry, you can order something to eat, but they only have sandwiches. Though that’s probably just right so it doesn’t spoil your dinner."

Without hesitation, Shun’ichi ordered a sandwich and mixed juice. He had wanted something carbonated, but since there wasn’t any, he gave up. Kunihiko ordered an iced coffee. Despite the simple orders, it took a bit of time for the food to arrive. While Kunihiko, sitting across from him, read the newspaper available in the shop, Shun’ichi reached for the plate of sandwiches on the table. Taking a bite, he was surprised. It tasted exactly like the sandwiches Kunihiko always made for him. Kunihiko, who was absentmindedly sipping his iced coffee, noticed Shun’ichi watching him.

"Tastes good?" he asked.

Shun’ichi nodded, and Kunihiko narrowed his eyes in satisfaction.

"Oh, Kamioka-san is here at an unusual time!"

A woman with long black hair tied back, and pale skin, called out to Kunihiko from behind the counter. She was different from the person who had taken their order—about the same age as Kunihiko and had a soft, gentle beauty about her.

"I took the afternoon off," Kunihiko replied. The woman shrugged her shoulders lightly and smiled.

"Thanks for spending your day off here. By the way, who’s this adorable child? I hadn’t heard you got married."

Kunihiko’s usually expressionless face softened slightly at her teasing.

"He’s Isamu’s kid."

"No way, really?"

The woman came out from behind the counter and crouched down, peering at Shun’ichi’s face. Despite it being early summer, her neckline seemed a bit too exposed, and Shun’ichi noticed a small red flower tattoo on her chest. Suddenly, his heart started pounding loudly.

"He doesn’t look anything like him. He’s so cute," she said, her fingers unhesitatingly brushing through his hair like she was petting a cat. She smelled sweet and pleasant.

"Doesn’t he resemble you more than Sanada-san? You two look like a real father and son like this."

With a soft laugh, the woman floated away like a sweet breeze. Still bewildered by his racing heart, Shun’ichi glanced at Kunihiko’s face. He had never heard anything about Kunihiko having a girlfriend, but maybe he was just keeping it private. If Kunihiko ever got married, maybe Shun’ichi wouldn’t be able to have dinner with him every night anymore. Or perhaps Kunihiko’s wife would be kind and cook for him and Isamu, too.

"Isamu came to my workplace at noon today, begging me to take his place for your parent-teacher meeting."

Without any preamble, Kunihiko began to speak.

"Wasn't Isamu unable to take the day off from work?" 

Shun’ichi had assumed that was why Kunihiko had come in his place. But if Isamu could have come, it meant he simply chose not to. 

"He did go to your junior high school, but he couldn’t bring himself to enter the building. Apparently, he’d been agonizing over it for days. He was worried that he wouldn’t be able to help with things like your future or studies. After thinking it over, he asked me to go in his place." 

"What the hell is that?" 

A father who brings a substitute to a parent-teacher meeting because he doesn't understand what’s going on? Shun’ichi had never heard of such a thing. In the end, Isamu used his ignorance as an excuse to run away from something he didn’t want to face. 

"I tried to persuade him, telling him that it would be better if he went, even if he didn’t understand everything, but he refused to budge. I couldn’t entirely blame him, so I agreed to take his place. Isamu said all he can do for you is provide money, that he's useless for anything else." 

Just because he gives money doesn’t mean he can skip out on something as important as the parent-teacher meeting. No, that’s not quite right. Even Shun’ichi had thought it would be better if Isamu didn’t come. His father, so uncool, without even a proper suit—Shun’ichi didn’t want anyone to see him. And yet, he still wanted him there. He wanted his father sitting beside him, wearing the face of a parent. He wanted him there, but didn’t want him there. He didn’t know what he truly wanted, and the frustration of that made him angry. 

"Even if he’s giving us money, Isamu doesn’t make much, does he? We’re really poor, aren’t we?" 

"Isamu works hard." 

Kunihiko’s voice was stern as he scolded Shun’ichi. 

"Even if he works hard, we’re still poor. And he’s such an idiot..." 

The words slipped out before Shun’ichi could stop them. But before he could continue, a sharp pain interrupted his words. His cheek burned. His mind went blank with the realization that he'd been slapped. 

"Don’t you ever call your father an idiot again." 

After the blankness came a surge of intense anger, burning deep in his gut. 

"What’s wrong with calling an idiot an idiot? He can’t even read kanji, he messes up basic math, and he always smells bad! I never want anyone to see a father like that..." 

His emotions overwhelmed him, and tears began to spill. 

"I’m so sick of this! I wanted a normal dad. Someone who works in an office, wears a proper suit..." 

For some reason, the image that came to mind was Kunihiko, sitting right in front of him. 

"If I had that, we could live somewhere bigger, and maybe we could even have a dog..." 

Even Shun’ichi knew how ridiculous his words were. 

"Calm down and think. Who do you think Isamu works for? That lazy man—who do you think he works for, every single day without taking a break?" 

"I never asked him to work! My friend's parents are doctors. If your dad’s a doctor, you can be proud of that, but when I say my dad collects garbage, everyone just makes fun of me!" 

Shun’ichi collapsed onto the table, burying his face in his arms. Everything he had kept bottled up in his heart until now spilled out. The more he said the things he knew he shouldn’t, the more he felt this overwhelming emptiness and sadness. 

"I didn’t choose to be born with a father like that!" 

If only he could’ve stayed small, when he thought his father was fun and played with him every night. If only he hadn’t realized how foolish his father seemed. If only he hadn’t heard the things people said about him. If only none of that had happened, then maybe he wouldn’t feel like this. 

The sound of melting ice clinking softly broke the silence. 

"I understand how you feel," the voice across from him said, low and deep. 

"Lift your head." 

Shun’ichi was too afraid to meet Kunihiko’s eyes, so even as he raised his head, his gaze remained fixed downward. 

"You’re free to think and feel whatever you want. I don’t have the right to tell you otherwise. But don’t say a word of this in front of Isamu." 

The warning in Kunihiko’s firm voice made Shun’ichi swallow hard. 

"Never say something like that to the man who calls you the reason for his existence." 

Something inside Shun’ichi snapped. His chest tightened painfully, and he felt hot tears welling up. He forgot where he was as they spilled over. Burying his face in his arms on the table, he tried to suppress his sobs, but his shoulders wouldn’t stop trembling. For a brief, painful moment, he wished he could disappear. He hated himself for feeling this way. He wished he could die. 

A large hand touched his hair. It was Kunihiko’s. Like when he was small, Kunihiko gently stroked his head again and again, as if trying to soothe him.  

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