The Eyes of a Child: Chapter 02

Previous TOC Next

Misaki burst into the offices of EWI Corporation, dragging a sobbing man by the necktie as if he were walking a dog.

"Bring out the representative! The rep!"

The receptionist could only stare, stunned, at the man storming in wearing filthy overalls and the other man who was bawling uncontrollably. Almost immediately, another man, different from the one Misaki had spoken to when he’d asked to visit his brother, came running over in a panic.

"This is a problem... You’re Misaki Kashiwabara-san, right?"

The middle-aged man chuckled nervously, as if trying to curry favor, smoothing down his thinning hair. To Misaki, the sight of him was insufferably unpleasant.

"I’m the one with the problem here!" Misaki shot back. "You dump this mess on me out of nowhere, and you think I’m not gonna be pissed?!"

The man held his hands out, trying to calm him. "Now, now… Let’s not say such heartless things. He’s your brother, isn’t he?"

Misaki swatted the sobbing man’s head roughly.

"I cut ties with this guy ages ago. We don’t even think of each other as brothers."

The man placed a hand on his rounded belly and let out a long sigh.

"Well, this really puts us in a bind. You see, we sent him over out of kindness. Even if you've disowned each other, if your real-life brother were to just collapse and die on the street, you'd probably lose some sleep over it, right?"

He glanced up at Misaki, watching his reaction.

"This man’s caused us a great deal of trouble, you know. Right after the previous president passed away, during a chaotic time full of inheritance issues and whatnot, he gets into some accident and loses his memory. Even so, we figured we’d support him, seeing as he was the late president’s grandson. But once we started sorting out the business in his place, one by one all these personal fund diversions and debts started surfacing. We covered the debts by selling off the late president’s personal assets, but the problem now is what to do with him."

He shook his head slowly.

"He’s a grown adult, but his memory’s regressed to that of a six-year-old. He’s no longer capable of working. We even took pity on him and brought him to all sorts of doctors, but they all said the chances of recovery were fifty-fifty, and even if his memory does come back, there's no telling when. On top of that, the man’s been saying he wants to see his family. So in the end, we concluded that the best thing would be for you to take care of him."

Putting on a theatrical smile, the man turned to the older brother and called out, "Hitoshi-kun…"

The brother looked up, face streaked with tears.

"Hitoshi-kun, you’d rather live with your little brother than stay with us old men, right?"

Hitoshi gave a small nod, then beamed brightly.

"Yeah! I wanna be with Misaki!"

"See what I mean?" the man said, shrugging with exaggerated helplessness.

"And besides, as of yesterday, he was officially dismissed from the company. So really, we don’t have any ties to him anymore. But if you’re still planning to make a fuss about this, Kashiwabara-san, we’ll have no choice but to pursue this through legal channels."

Legal channels = lawyers = money, the equation assembled itself in Misaki’s head.

"Well then, if there’s nothing more to discuss, we’ll be taking our leave."

The man flashed a broad smile and gestured gracefully toward the exit.

◇:-:◆:-:◇

Clatter, clatter, the train shook as it moved along. Misaki, still in the grimy coveralls from the auto repair shop, was jostled about inside the packed train car. Right beside him stood a child with the appearance of his thirty-year-old brother, his face flushed red.

Just looking at him made Misaki’s blood boil. Every time those helpless eyes turned to him, he shot back a glare sharp enough to pierce. Why had he ended up saddled with taking care of this man? No matter how he turned it over in his head, it felt nothing short of absurd.

When the train finally arrived at the nearest station, Misaki exited through the ticket gate, but couldn’t just keep walking. His brother kept stopping, distracted by every little thing, glancing around like a tourist seeing the world for the first time. Misaki had to turn back again and again, waiting for him to catch up.

Once, the distance between them stretched far enough that a voice whispered in Misaki’s ear, Just leave him.

If I left him here… maybe…

But in the brief moment of hesitation, his brother came running after him in a panic. Misaki clicked his tongue and picked up his pace.

Hunched over despite his height, the older brother followed at a careful distance. As they walked through the residential neighborhood, a sudden barking broke out nearby. At the same moment, Misaki felt a slight tug and turned to look. His brother’s face had gone pale as he clung tightly to Misaki’s sleeve.

Misaki yanked his arm away roughly. But after only a few more steps, the same hand reached out and grabbed the hem of his clothes.

“Let go.”

The hand released. But now he felt a presence creeping closer behind him. When he turned around, his brother was lightly pinching the edge of Misaki’s jacket between his fingertips, just enough that it wouldn’t be noticed.

“I said let go.”

At his shout, the hand dropped away again. This time, the brother walked behind him without touching. But soon enough, sniffling sounds began, soft at first, then growing into hiccuping sobs.

“D-dogs… dogs are scary…”

“Don’t cry, damn it. It’s annoying. If it’s tied up, it’s not gonna bite you.”

Misaki barked at him as he turned around. His brother stopped in his tracks, and then burst into louder, wailing tears.

And then, unbelievably, a dark patch began to spread across the front of his slacks. A puddle started forming at his feet.

Misaki stared, stunned.

“Y-you better not be pissing yourself—!”

The more he yelled, the louder the crying grew, and the larger the wet stain became.

“Shut up! Stop crying already!”

His brother crouched down and stayed there. I can't take care of something like this, Misaki thought, walking about five meters ahead, only to stop again, heart snagged by the sound of sobbing behind him.

Clicking his tongue in frustration, he turned back.

There his brother was, small and hunched on the ground. The cowlick at the top of his head trembled with tiny shivers. Misaki sighed, gave in, and grabbed him by the arm, forcing him to stand. Then he pulled him along by the sleeve of his suit.

A faint spring wind blew against them. The subtle scent of urine mixed with it, making Misaki feel utterly miserable.

In the distance, the cheerful sounds of people carried over the air. It was early evening, hanami by the riverside must still be going on.

His brother no longer cried. He simply trailed behind Misaki, plodding along.

◇:-:◆:-:◇

“Eww, gross! It stinks!”

Jotaro had come running to the entrance to greet them with an enthusiastic welcome home, but the moment he spotted the wet patch on the brother’s pants, he pinched his nose in disgust. Just when the crying had finally stopped, that single comment made the brother start sniffling all over again.

“Don’t whine like some girl. Strip, now. You’re not setting foot in this house stinking like that.”

Still crying, the brother just stood there, frozen in place, refusing to move. The reek of urine was starting to fill the entryway, and Misaki, at his limit, yanked off the foul-smelling clothes right then and there. His brother stiffened, his face twisted in terror.

Misaki ordered Jotaro to bring a rag, then forced the now-naked brother to step on it before shoving him into the bathroom.

“Wash yourself thoroughly. Especially between your legs.”

He barked the order from the dressing room. Inside the bath, the sound of sniffling echoed pitifully.

After scrubbing his own hands clean, Misaki headed into the kitchen to start on dinner. His stomach was already grumbling. Jotaro, too, declared he was hungry, bouncing around Misaki like a hyperactive cat.

“Hey, dad. Who is that guy?”

“How the hell should I know?”

Misaki answered offhandedly while tossing the rinsed vegetables into a mixing bowl.

“You’re always saying not to let strangers into the house.”

“Then he’s an idiot.”

Apparently picking up on Misaki’s evasiveness, Jotaro pouted, lips jutting out.

“The teacher said we’re not supposed to call people idiots.”

His kid was just smart enough now to be annoying. Misaki clicked his tongue.

“Fine. He’s someone I know, alright? He’s sick, poor guy, so I brought him here. He looks like a grown-up, but in his head, he’s about the same as you.”

Jotaro still seemed like he had more questions, but Misaki shooed him into the living room before he could become any more of a nuisance.

It took less than fifteen minutes for Misaki to prep the hotpot and set it on the low table in the living room. But the brother still hadn’t come out of the bath. Irritated, Misaki called out, “I’m opening the door”, and pushed it open.

The brother flinched and looked back at him with frightened eyes.

“You wash properly?”

He gave a small nod. Misaki grabbed his damp arm and pulled him out of the bathroom.

“If you’re done, get out already. We’re eating.”

In the dressing area, Misaki threw a bath towel over his head and handed him a clean T-shirt and a pair of shorts. The brother trembled as he dressed, then crept into the living room and sat down in the corner, hugging his knees.

“You can’t eat over there. Come here.”

At Misaki’s shout, he flinched, looked like he might cry again, and slowly crawled over to sit beside Jotaro in front of the table, kneeling formally.

“It’s hotpot, so take what you want and eat.”

But the brother didn’t even pick up his chopsticks. Misaki, deciding to ignore him, started eating on his own. Jotaro, however, kept glancing sidelong at the newcomer, clearly curious.

“Hey, are you, like… sick or something?”

Still holding his chopsticks wrong no matter how many times he’d been corrected, Jotaro posed the question.

“I-I… I…”

The brother mumbled, eyes downcast.

“You are sick, right?”

“Jotaro, eat. Quietly.”

Misaki snapped, and Jotaro fell silent. But then, without warning, the brother shot up and slammed his hands on the table.

“I’m not sick!”

His voice rang out louder than anyone expected, and then he collapsed forward, burying his face in his arms and sobbing violently.

How many times had Misaki had to deal with this guy’s crying in just a few hours? He couldn’t even count anymore.

He banged his chopsticks against his rice bowl in frustration.

“Quit crying! It’s annoying! If you’ve got time to cry, you’ve got time to eat!”

Misaki kept his eyes away from the pathetic figure beside him and focused on his own meal. Jotaro, meanwhile, couldn’t take his eyes off the sobbing man, his own dinner forgotten.

Eventually, he picked up a deep plate, scooped some food from the pot, and quietly set it in front of the brother.

“Here, this is for you.”

The brother lifted his face, which had been hanging low, and stared fixedly at the steaming dish placed in front of him.

“Eat it. It’s good. I love fish, but today I’m giving you the big piece.”

The brother kept his eyes on the dish, swallowed hard, then hesitantly picked up his chopsticks and brought a piece of fish to his mouth.

“…It’s delicious.”

His face lit up with a soft, contented smile, and seeing that, Jotaro beamed right back at him.

“My name’s Jotaro. What’s yours?”

“Hitoshi.”

Just being given food seemed to have relaxed Hitoshi’s guard.

“I see. How old are you, Hitoshi?”

“Six.”

He answered seriously, and Jotaro tilted his head in confusion.

“No way! You’re huge!”

“I’m not lying! I am six!”

Hitoshi said it with such confidence that Jotaro blinked and murmured, “Oh… okay.”

Seriously? You’re gonna buy that? A guy that size, saying he’s six?

Misaki glanced at his son’s face, but Jotaro didn’t seem to doubt a word of it.

“Hey, once we finish eating…”

Jotaro, still with a grain of rice stuck to his cheek, leaned in close to Hitoshi.

“Let’s play together.”

“Okay!”

Hitoshi’s face lit up, and he asked brightly, “What should we play?”

“Let’s play a game!”

“What’s that? I don’t know it.”

“You don’t know games? Alright, I’ll teach you.”

“Yeah!”

Listening to the exchange gave Misaki a headache. His thirty-year-old brother and his six-year-old son were having a conversation at exactly the same level.

What the hell’s gonna happen from here on out…?

He stopped thinking about it, it was too terrifying.

As soon as dinner was over, Jotaro plopped himself down in front of the TV and started teaching Hitoshi how to play video games. Even after Misaki finished cleaning up and came out of the bath, the two of them were still glued to the screen. Eventually, he had to forcibly turn off the TV with a blunt “Bedtime,” ignoring their protests.

Jotaro grumbled as he crawled into the futon. Hitoshi remained seated in front of the now-dark screen, staring at Jotaro with a lonely expression.

There was barely anything in this house beyond the essentials. Of course there was only one futon set. Misaki usually shared it with his son. But there was no way he had the space, or the willingness, to cram his brother in, too.

No way in hell he was sleeping next to his brother.

“Hey,” Misaki called, then pointed to a kotatsu blanket tossed in the corner.

“Sleep under that.”

He left it at that and turned off the room light.

Even after the lights went out, Hitoshi remained seated in front of the television. But after a while, he began to move, creeping slowly toward the blanket and slipping underneath it.

The room fell quiet. Sleep began to softly weigh down Misaki’s eyelids.

Just as he was drifting off—

Sniffling. A quiet cry began to echo in the dark.

Misaki pressed his hands over his ears, trying to drown it out, focusing only on the sound of his own breathing pulsing in his head.

Then came the faint rustle of movement beside him. Jotaro shifted, creating a gap in the futon.

“Hitoshi? Hitoshi, why are you crying?”

“Jotaro…”

Hitoshi’s sobs grew louder.

“Where did my mom and dad go? Why won’t they come get me?”

Their parents had died when Hitoshi was eleven. If his mind had regressed to six, then of course he wouldn’t remember their deaths.

“I’m lonely… I don’t wanna be alone…”

“Don’t cry…”

Jotaro’s voice quivered, and before long, the two of them were crying together.

Misaki clenched his palms tighter against his ears, trying to block out the duet of sobs.

“I’ll sleep with you. If I’m with you, you won’t feel lonely, right?”

“Yeah…”

Eventually, their voices faded into silence. Misaki quietly slipped out of futon and peeked into the mound made by the kotatsu blanket. The sight made him sigh, one hand pressed to his forehead. A big child and a little child, tangled together, sound asleep.

◇:-:◆:-:◇

The next morning, before heading out to work, Misaki gave his brother a stern warning.

“Don’t touch the gas stove. No matter who comes, do not open the front door. Unless it’s me or Jotaro, absolutely not. And if you ever let a stranger into the apartment, I swear I won’t forgive you.”

His brother nodded, trembling, looking like he was about to burst into tears.

During his lunch break, Misaki sat in the factory office, frowning as he picked at a convenience store bento while sipping on hot sencha Oyassan’s wife had prepared. Just a little yelling was enough to frighten his brother into sobbing. Thinking about having to build a life with someone so helpless made a heavy gloom settle over him.

“Misaki-san seems kinda pissed today,” Matsui mumbled to Oyassan as he poked at his overcooked hamburger bento, something his girlfriend had apparently made.

“Everyone has those days,” Oyassan replied.

Neither of them seemed particularly concerned with keeping their voices down. Even though they were whispering, their words carried clearly to Misaki, who sat across the table. Misaki hunched his shoulders and let out a long sigh.

“If you’re still hung up about turning down that matchmaking thing the other day, don’t worry about my wife,” Oyassan said out of nowhere. “She set that up on her own.”

Matsui pounced. “Wait, wait, you had a matchmaking offer? Seriously?”

Misaki quickly waved his hands in front of his face. “It’s not about that. It’s just… I’ve got kind of a problem right now.”

Oyassan dragged his chair forward with a scrape and furrowed his brow, suddenly serious.

“Talk to me. If there’s anything I can do to help, I will.”

Two years ago, when Megumi’s condition had taken a sudden turn and Misaki had been stuck at the hospital day and night, it was Oyassan who had looked after Jotaro. He’d done so much, even though they were strangers connected only by work. A far cry from a certain someone who’d coldly spat out “We’re strangers on paper.” Sometimes, the people closer than family are the ones unrelated by blood. That’s reality.

All at once, Misaki felt like he wanted to talk about his brother. He wanted to vent, just a little, to people who understood him. But there was still something that made him hesitate to admit it was happening to him.

“It’s not my story exactly...” he prefaced deliberately.

“It’s this guy I know, some stranger showed up one day with the guy’s long-lost brother, who’d been separated from him since they were little. Said, ‘You’re family, so take care of him.’ Thing is, the brother had amnesia…”

“Sounds like a drama,” Matsui said, leaning in with interest.

“It’s not like he forgot everything. He still remembers up to when he was six. So he looks like a thirty-year-old man, but mentally, he’s basically six years old.”

“Whoa, that actually happens?” Matsui said, crossing his arms, clearly impressed.

“The guy’s broke. Doesn’t have the means to take care of someone like that. What do you think he should do?”

Oyassan tilted his head and said thoughtfully, “Amnesia, huh…”

“His body’s an adult, right? Then the older brother could work too, no?” Matsui said, poking at his empty bento with his chopsticks.

“But his mind’s six. He probably can’t even do basic math.”

“Then he could work at a factory or construction site. Those jobs don’t need brains, just brawn.”

…The image of his brother as a sharply dressed elite businessman flashed through Misaki’s mind. Compared to that, putting him in a hard-hat job felt like such a fall from grace, it was almost heartbreaking. “Yeah, maybe…” Oyassan murmured with his usual easygoing air.

"He's six now, but give it a few years and his mind will catch up too, right? Then there's no problem. It’s not like the guy’s brother wanted to lose his memory either. Don’t overthink it, just treat him like a real kid, take it easy, and before you know it, he’ll turn into a decent earner. And if he regains his lost memories in the meantime, well, that’s even better.”

Hearing Oyassan’s words, Misaki felt as if he had been jolted awake. Up until now, all he’d thought about was how to deal with the burden his brother had become. But Oyassan was right, his brother hadn't lost his memory on purpose. It was because Misaki saw him as an adult that he kept getting so irritated. Maybe he just needed to accept him as a real six-year-old. And if the boy picked up enough smarts to start working for himself, then he could even live on his own. It felt like the dark clouds hanging over him had started to clear. For the first time, he could see a way forward.

"Yeah… that was good advice. I’ll try telling him that too."

"A brother who lost his memory, huh…"

Oyassan murmured quietly.

"Even if you’ve cut ties, brothers are still brothers. You can’t just leave him be."

Those words sent a small jolt through Misaki. He couldn’t help but feel a twinge of guilt.

"Whoops, we’ve been dawdling so long it’s already past one o’clock. Hurry up and eat so we can get back to work."

Realizing he’d spent more time talking than eating, Misaki hurriedly shoveled down the half-finished convenience store bento and washed it down with tea. Matsui, maybe having overeaten, burped and cleared his throat as he stepped out of the office, but suddenly turned around like he’d just remembered something.

"Oh right, I've got some game software I’m already bored with. Want me to give it to Joe?"

"You already gave him some before, didn’t you? Those things aren’t cheap. Thanks, but it’s fine."

Matsui grinned.

"They’re secondhand anyway, so no need to be polite. I’ll bring them next time."

He hadn’t had much of a connection with family since the day he was born, but he'd been blessed with a workplace, coworkers, and a wife. Good-natured, warm-hearted people. Misaki gave Matsui a pat on the shoulder and strolled slowly toward the warehouse where they worked.

◇:-:◆:-:◇

Hearing Oyassan’s advice had stirred, if only faintly, a feeling of maybe he really is pitiful toward his older brother Hitoshi. But once they returned to the apartment and he saw Hitoshi looking at him with terrified eyes, that irritation inevitably returned. He considered sending him to their grandmother in the countryside, but the thought of burdening an elderly woman just because he didn’t want to deal with it made his conscience prick.

Maybe if he turns out to be useful, this irritation will settle a bit.

With that in mind, Misaki called his brother, who was completely absorbed in playing games with Jotaro, into the kitchen. It was obvious that Hitoshi was afraid of him; he flinched and trembled as he approached.

“Help me get dinner ready. Bring three plates and glasses over to the table.”

Hitoshi answered with a quiet “Okay” and carried the plates and cups to the table. But after he’d done that, he went straight back to playing with Jotaro.

“Who said you could stop after carrying the plates?! You’re helping with everything!”

When Misaki yelled, Hitoshi twisted his lips into a miserable pout and came back to the kitchen looking like he was holding back tears.

“Cut the carrots into round slices, about one centimeter thick. Then cut those into smaller pieces so they’re easier to eat.”

Hitoshi stared at the carrot on the cutting board without moving, clutching the knife but not lifting a finger. Misaki, growing impatient, gave him a rough shove.

“What are you doing? Hurry up and cut them!”

“But… but… Mama said I’m not allowed to use knives…”

To a six-year-old, not being allowed to handle sharp objects made perfect sense. But Misaki forgot that his brother was still a child, and that whiny excuse hit one of his anger triggers.

“You’re plenty big enough already! Quit whining and get to work!”

“B-but… Onii-chan…”

Onii-chan?! Misaki nearly exploded. You’re the one who’s older!

He forced himself not to yell, though he was well aware of the scary look on his face when he turned back. Hitoshi, trembling, murmured through quivering lips:

“What’s… one centimeter?”

Misaki snatched the knife from him, sliced the carrot into one-centimeter rounds, then quartered each piece.

“Do it exactly like I did.”

He handed the knife back, and Hitoshi began chopping clumsily. Misaki had thought putting him to work might ease the frustration, but it was only getting worse. Still, he seemed like he might be at least somewhat useful, and Misaki let out a quiet sigh.

“Oww!”

The scream came just as he exhaled. He spun around to see the knife clattering wildly on the kitchen mat and instinctively took a step back.

“What the hell are you doing?! That’s dangerous!”

He shouted, then froze when he saw his brother. Blood was pouring from Hitoshi’s fingertip, splattering thick drops onto the mat. And then Hitoshi burst into tears like a baby whose pain switch had just been flipped.

“It hurts! It hurts!”

Misaki grabbed Hitoshi’s left hand and held it under the tap, letting cold water rinse away the blood. The cut wasn’t as deep as it looked. He had Jotaro bring the first-aid kit and patched the wound. The whole thing was a hassle, and Misaki found it irritating more than anything else, he didn’t feel pity, and it didn’t look particularly painful to him either. By the time he’d finished wrapping the finger in bandages, Hitoshi had finally stopped crying.

“That’s enough. Go watch TV with Jotaro.”

He let out a sigh and gave a light push to Hitoshi’s hunched back as he sat slumped on the floor.

“Seriously, you’re completely useless.”

To Misaki, it had been nothing more than an offhand remark. He’d meant to have Hitoshi help out, but instead he’d wasted time and delayed dinner. Misaki quickly began chopping the potatoes and onions, but just as he’d settled into the rhythm, he sensed something behind him. When he turned, he saw his brother standing directly behind him. The look on Hitoshi’s face was so intense, so desperate, that for a split second, Misaki felt a chill run through him, wondering if Hitoshi was about to stab him.

“I told you to go sit over there.”

“I wanna help!”

Misaki clicked his tongue and slammed the knife down on the cutting board with a loud thunk.

“Help, huh? And what exactly do you think you can do with that hand?”

Hitoshi swung his left hand, bandaged at the finger, wildly through the air.

“It doesn’t hurt at all!”

He said it boldly, but his face was pale, and he was biting his lip tightly.

“I said it’s fine. You’re just getting in the way, go!”

Misaki’s irritation reached its peak. He shoved his brother’s shoulder roughly, and Hitoshi toppled backward, landing on his backside with a thud. His head struck the corner of the dish cabinet with a loud crack. Misaki nearly rushed over on reflex, startled by the sound, but Hitoshi didn’t even cry out, and it didn’t seem like a serious injury. Misaki pulled back the foot he’d stepped forward with.

Hitoshi looked up at him, eyes wet, clutching his head. For a moment, Misaki felt like he’d done something terrible, but then he glared back. Not compared to what you did. He turned his back and returned to making curry.

But soon after, the sound of sniffles started behind him. Then the sniffles turned into hiccupping sobs, and finally into full-on wailing. Great. He felt a sharp thump against his lower back. When he turned around, Jotaro was glaring up at him with angry eyes.

“Dad, you’re mean! You say sorry to him!”

The declaration took Misaki aback, and irritated him.

“Listen, kid. Who do you think’s right here, your own father or some random stranger?”

Jotaro froze, his face scrunching as he considered it seriously. But his answer came quickly.

“The one doing the bullying is the bad guy!”

Even a six-year-old’s fists hurt when they came down hard. Misaki tried to peel his son off as Jotaro pounded on him in protest.

“I’m sorry!”

Hitoshi suddenly shouted loud enough to echo through the entire apartment. Both Misaki and Jotaro turned, startled.

“I’m sorry I’m no good and can’t do anything!”

His crying echoed through the room. Misaki scratched roughly at the back of his neck. God, this is awkward. He crouched down and pulled Jotaro close, whispering in his ear.

“Go cheer him up.”

Jotaro bolted over to Hitoshi, gently patting his trembling head with his tiny hand.

“Hey, does it hurt? Are you okay?”

Hitoshi’s sobs began to quiet under his nephew’s comfort. Misaki, still feeling a bit ashamed, went back to silently tending the curry. He added the roux and let it simmer down, just a little longer until it was ready, when there was a knock at the front door.

“Jotaro, go ask who it is.”

He’d only said to ask, but the next thing he heard was the front door flinging open. Misaki turned around in surprise to see Jotaro laughing, arms thrown around Matsui, who had picked him up.

“’Scuse the intrusion, Misaki-san!”

Matsui barged into the apartment like it was his own place.

“My girl just up and went back to her parents’ all of a sudden, said she had something important to take care of. Think I could mooch a meal off you? Oh, wait, is that curry I smell? Man, I love curry!”

Normally, Misaki would’ve welcomed Matsui, especially since Jotaro knew him too and had clearly felt safe opening the door. But right now… this was the last time he wanted anyone dropping by.

“Uh… Matsui, sorry, but it’s kinda not a good time, ”

“Eh? What’s up?”

Matsui’s gaze landed on Hitoshi, who was still curled up in the corner of the room, sniffling. His mouth formed a soft ohhh, and without another word, he nodded like he understood everything, then turned right around with Jotaro still in his arms.

“I’ll take Joe outside for a bit.”

Misaki was glad he was leaving, but now he was stuck alone with Hitoshi, and that was just as awkward.

“Hey, leave Jotaro here. Matsui, really, today’s not—”

Before he could finish, Jotaro wriggled free and jumped down, bouncing on his feet at the entrance.

“Dad, dinner ready yet?”

Jotaro’s stomach growled loudly. As if on cue, Misaki’s stomach joined in. Then Matsui’s, letting out a sad, hollow rumble. The whole thing was starting to spiral out of control.

Misaki put a hand on his hip and let out a long sigh.

“…Alright, let’s eat.”

◇:-:◆:-:◇

The square dining table had all four sides filled with people. The curry was a bit undercooked and lacked depth of flavor, but that didn’t stop Matsui from wolfing down his second bowl, repeating “So good, so good” between mouthfuls. In contrast, Hitoshi ate like a little bird, pecking at his food delicately. It seemed to catch Matsui’s attention, he kept glancing up from his plate to peer at the face across from him.

“You don’t eat much, do you?”

Hitoshi didn’t respond, his head bowed, possibly not even realizing the comment was directed at him. Matsui didn’t seem bothered by the lack of reply and kept talking anyway.

“I’m Matsui, a junior colleague of Misaki-san’s at the auto repair shop. He’s always looking out for me.”

Hitoshi finally raised his face and murmured “auto… repair?” while tilting his head in puzzlement.

“Did I say something weird?” Matsui whispered to Misaki, who hesitated, unsure how to explain the situation.

“Well… um, he’s…”

If he made something up, Jotaro might call him out, he was right there. But saying plainly “He’s my amnesiac brother” felt awkward too, especially after brushing it off earlier the day as “a friend’s story.”

“Matsui-onii-chan.”

“Huh?” Matsui turned, looking around to find the source of the voice.

“My name is Hitoshi Kashiwabara,” Hitoshi said, giving a polite bow.

His words had that rhythm unique to children, and Matsui stared at him, dumbfounded.

“Uh… n-nice to meet you,” he stammered, then leaned over to Misaki and whispered in his ear.

“He talks like a kid. How old is he?”

Apparently, the whisper wasn’t quite as quiet as intended. Jotaro, who had been silent up until then, shouted gleefully:

“Hitoshi is the same age as me! We’re both six, right?”

He turned to Hitoshi, who smiled back, clearly pleased to be included.

Matsui looked astonished, then let out a wheezy chuckle, his shoulders shaking.

“C’mon, Joe, don’t joke around. Hitoshi-san’s gotta be past twenty, no matter how you look at him.”

“But I am six,” Hitoshi said, puffing his chest with pride, lips in a pout, an adult man speaking in the sing-song tone of a child.

Matsui furrowed his brows, tilting his head repeatedly, then whispered again to Misaki.

“No offense, but… does he have some kind of mental illness? He looks smart, which makes it even sadder.”

“Well… not exactly an illness…”

As Misaki struggled to explain, Matsui had already cleaned his plate and pulled out the plastic bag he’d brought along. He held it out toward Jotaro.

“Here, a little present for you, a game software.”

“Yaaay!”

Jotaro dove at the bag and immediately grabbed Hitoshi by the arm, tugging him away from the table. Hitoshi followed obediently, though his curry was still mostly untouched.

After they finished cleaning up, Misaki and Matsui stood near the kitchen vent fan, smoking as they watched the boys absorbed in their new game. Misaki had quit smoking when Jotaro was born, house rules, but today, he’d really needed one and bummed a cigarette off Matsui.

Hiding the truth about Hitoshi would only work for so long. Misaki gave up and confessed everything to Matsui, explaining how things had led to this point.

“I didn’t realize that story from earlier was about you,” Matsui said. “But still… that executive guy who dumped your brother on you, what a jerk.”

The righteous anger in Matsui’s voice lifted Misaki’s spirits a little. He gets it.

“You think so too, huh?”

“Of course! Sounds like they were just trying to get rid of their problem and figured you'd be convenient.”

“Right? That’s exactly how it felt.”

“It’s seriously messed up.”

Their conversation lapsed into silence as they watched the boys’ backs, hunched over the game console in a two-player battle.

Then, out of nowhere, Matsui gave a little snort and shook with laughter.

“But, y’know… your brother’s kinda cuter than I imagined. Look at him, Joe’s totally got the upper hand. He’s such a softie, huh?”

“You say that ‘cause you didn’t know him before. The real guy was nothing like this, cute was the last word anyone would’ve used.”

“Gimme another one,” Misaki muttered, reaching into Matsui’s pocket and swiping a second cigarette, lighting up again.

Previous TOC Next