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In the beginning.
When the buzzer at his door sounds for the second time that morning, Karino expects something normal. A package delivery, or a neighbor wanting to borrow an egg. Hopefully not another violent ex-girlfriend, but it’s not outside the realm of possibility.
The buzzer sounds again, and he answers it.
Standing in his doorway is a kid, no more than four or five years old. He’s got a toy samurai sword at his side and is holding a box of… tissues? Before he can get a single word out, the kid starts talking.
“Please forgive the intrusion, good sir. My name is Kotaro Sato, and I just moved in next door. I am pleased to meet you.”
“Uh,” is all Karino can think to say.
“Please accept these as a token of my good will,” the kid continues, thrusting the tissues at him.
“…Thanks,” he says, while internally wondering what the hell is going on.
What follows is one of the most awkward conversations Karino has ever had, with him trying to sus out where this kid’s parents are, and the kid himself being oblivious to how weird this entire situation is, eventually culminating in the bombshell:
“I shall be the sole occupant of the room.”
And with that, the kid walks off, leaving Karino standing alone with a box of tissues in his hands and a single question in his mind.
“What the hell just happened?”
A few days later.
Karino’s day so far has been… not great.
Ok, that’s an understatement. It’s been a dumpster fire. First his editor came and verbally ripped his art to shreds, then he threw his back out, and now his tiny, eccentric neighbor is in his apartment, rambling about… bandaging his knees.
Which, ordinarily, he probably wouldn’t mind that much. Karino’s never been that fond of kids, and he spends time with Kotaro more for the kid’s own safety than anything else, but he has to admit, the kid’s grown on him.
That being said, the sensation of nails being driven into his spine is just a little bit distracting, and the sooner Kotaro leaves and lets him start treating his back, the happier he’ll be.
“How is it?” Kotaro asks.
“What?
“I knew it would sting, but disinfected the wound thoroughly, in spite of the pain.”
“Uh-huh.”
“I was prepared to suffer, and still followed through.”
“Yeah, I get it.”
“Well?” Kotaro asks.
Well, what? He’s doing his best here, agreeing with everything the kid is saying, so why is he still looking at him like that? What more does he possibly want?
Hold on.
“Do you want me to say… good job?”
Kotaro’s cheeks color. “You weren’t supposed to say it out loud,” he mumbles, and Karino almost starts laughing, but then another spike of pain shoots up his back, so he stops.
“So, you came over here just to tell me this?” He asks.
“Of course,” Kotaro responds matter-of-factly. “Up until today, I was very fearful of disinfecting my own scrapes. I could barely get the bandages on straight.”
“Ok, so you were scared. Why didn’t you just ask someone else for help?
“Ask who?”
“I dunno, your paren—” He cuts himself off, remembering the kid’s situation, but karma still punishes him with another spike of pain. He decides he needs medical attention before this conversation goes any further.
Luckily, Kotaro doesn’t mind. A few minutes later the kid has successfully applied the icy-hot patch to Karino’s back, and with the pain already fading, he can think more clearly.
That’s when he gets the idea.
“Say, would you mind handing me that pen?” He points to the cup on the table. Kotaro complies.
“Alright, now sit down.”
“Why?”
“Just do it,” he says, turning so they’re facing one another. Kotaro looks confused, but doesn’t ask any questions as Karino uncaps the marker and sets to work on the band-aids on his knees, drawing the Tonosaman character Kotaro likes so much on one side, and the kid’s face on the other.
“There you go,” he says he finishes, leaning back to examine his work. “Think of it as a… reward, for doing a good job.” The drawings aren’t the best he’s ever done, but considering the makeshift canvas he had to work with, they’re not too bad. And besides, Kotaro doesn’t seem to mind. The kid is even smiling!
Wait, why is he so excited about that? Kids smile all the time, for all sorts of dumb things. It’s totally normal.
Or is it? Kotaro is always so serious—not that Karino can blame him, being alone at such a young age. But now he’s grinning like today is every holiday and his birthday all rolled into one, and his eyes are literally shining.
Karino wonders how he, of all people, could be the one to elicit this reaction, and if it’s normal that he’s already wondering how he can do it again.
Two years later.
Karino attempts to rub away the headache forming in his temples as he rereads the papers in front of him for the third time. It doesn’t work.
“Just so I’ve got this straight,” he says slowly, “you’re telling me that Kotaro’s mom’s life insurance is about to run out, and in three months he’s going to be penniless.”
Across the table, Koboyashi, the deliverywoman for Kotaro’s monthly allowance, looks as miserable as he feels.
“His mother’s insurance policy was generous, but unfortunately, the money isn’t infinite. We got the notice from the main office today; my supervisor sent me over as soon as he found out.”
Karino mutters a curse under his breath, before asking the obvious question.
“Well, what are you gonna do? He needs cash to survive, and—” Karino’s eyes widen as the realization dawns on him—“Dammit, his ‘generous person’.” The kid already has enough emotional trauma, god only knows what being abandoned by his fanacial sponsor. will do to him.
Koboyashi nods gravely
“This is bad.”
“Well… maybe, maybe not.”
Karino raises his eyes, only to give her his best “are you out of your mind’ look.
“The hell is that supposed to mean?”
“What if Kotaro were to move in with you?”
Now he looks at her like she’s really crazy.
Koboyashi doesn’t flinch. “Think about it. Living with you as his guardian, he wouldn’t need to pay for his own expenses. And if that were the case, we could simply tell him that his ‘generous person’ has been made aware of the change, and won’t be sending money if it isn’t needed. Kotaro’s a pretty level-headed kid. I think he’ll recognize the fairness there.”
“Wha—why are you talking about the specifics like this is a done deal?!”
Koboyashi sighs. “Look. There are other options. If you don’t want to take him in, he can always go back to the group home. But—" she leans in slightly. “—(the two of you have become pretty close in the past few months). Can you look me in the eye, and honestly say you’d be ok with not seeing him every day?”
“Yes,” he says firmly to the tabletop.
So that’s how he ends up with Kotaro in the bathhouse, helping the kid pat his hair dry and asking him, “How would you feel about living with me?”
He doesn’t expect a response right away, nor does he get one. Kotaro takes his time processing the question, and by the time he finally answers, his hair is bone-dry and staticky from the towel.
“Why?” he asks.
Karino barely stops himself from swearing.
Leave it to this kid to ask the worst question possible. And leave it to him to not see this coming. Dammit, he should have thought ahead. But he didn’t, and now Kotaro’s looking at him with those wide curious little kid eyes, clearly not going to afford Karino the same patience he received.
Karino needs to come up with an answer, and fast.
But what can he say? Not the truth, obviously. Something about his own finances? That he needs a roommate to make rent? No, that won’t work either. Crap, Kotaro’s still staring… Come on, say something!
“I just… uh… I think it would be nice,” he croaks.
As soon as it’s out of his mouth he wants to take it back. It’s clearly a cop-out answer, and barely even believable. Kotaro’s a smart kid, and any second now he’s going to call him on it.
Except… he doesn’t. At first the kid is quiet again, considering, but when he turns around to meet Karino’s gaze, he has a tell-tale gleam in his eye.
“Ok.”
“Ok?”
With a mixture of amusement and trepidation he watches Kotaro stand to his full four-and-a-half feet of height, toss his frizzy hair back, and, with all the authority of the feudal lords he imitates, declare:
“I agree to your proposition. At the earliest convenience, you and I will begin sharing a residence.”
They haven’t even made it back home before Karino’s headache starts again. Although the main issue has now been solved, a million new ones have just been born, and all of them are his responsibility.
He’s going to have to find a new apartment, to start with—his current bachelor pad will be too small for the two of them, not to mention the mountain of paperwork he’s going to have to complete, and shit, if he’s going to be responsible for Kotaro’s expenses, will he need to find a better-paying job? The questions ricochet off each other like billiard balls in his head, the din growing until he can feel his temples start to throb again from the overwhelming noise.
A small voice interrupts the cacophony.
“Sir Karino?”
“Hm?”
“We’re home.”
“Wha—oh.”
Karino blinks, and suddenly realizes how zoned out he’s been. Sure enough, he’s standing at the gates outside the apartment building, Kotaro right beside him.
Karino looks up at the lights glowing in the apartment windows, then down, at the boy whose eyes they are reflecting in, and his contented smile.
“We sure are.”
Five years later.
“7:52!” Karino calls out from the kitchen as he stirs sugar into his coffee.
“Shit!” Comes the response from Kotaro’s bedroom.
Ordinarily Karino would probably reprimand the boy for language, but given the circumstances he can let it slide. Kotaro’s alarm clock is broken. Consequently, the alarm he set last night never went off, he overslept, and now he has approximately eight minutes to get to the train station down the street, or else he’s going to have to wait in the cold for the next one.
Kotaro emerges from his room, slinging his backpack over his shoulder. His hair is sticking up in odd directions, his tie askew below a collar that’s half-up, half-down. Karino can’t help but snort at the sight of a kid normally so composed in such a disheveled state.
Karino watches in amusement as Kotaro stumbles to the bowl where they keep their fruit, and jams a banana into his mouth for a breakfast on-the-go.
“Hmfdkrp!” He garbles around the banana, waving goodbye his free hand, and makes to leave.
“Hang on!” Karino grabs the boy by his sleeve, stopping him before he can rush from the kitchen, and hands him a small box.
It’s a bento. Nothing too fancy: some rice, leftover fish, and hastily chopped vegetables. Kotaro will usually make himself something nicer in the morning, but today Karino knew he wouldn’t have time, and even something as simple as this will be better than whatever the vending machines at school had to offer.
Kotaro grabs the box and tucks it under his arm, then spits out the banana to give Karino a grateful grin.
“Thanks Dad!”
“No problem.”
The kid is out the door and Karino has already turned back to his coffee before the word registers, prompting him to spit the drink out of his mouth.
“Dad?!?!”
He’s only just recovered enough to start drying his now-wet shirt, when Kotaro bursts back into the apartment, wide-eyed and red as a tomato. The tension is so thick he can almost taste it.
“I didn’t, uh, mean to say that,” Kotaro says.
“Right,” he says, doing his best to keep his face neutral.
“It was a mistake.”
“Yep.”
“A slip of the tongue.”
“Got it.”
“…Sorry,” Kotaro mumbles.
Wait, what?
The boy’s eyes are glued to the floor, and his shoulders are raised. He looks like a kid who just got caught sneaking a cookie before dinner.
“Kotaro.” He tries his best to look serious—as serious as a person with a coffee-drenched shirt can look, anyway. “There’s nothing to apologize for. And, listen, I’m not trying to influence your decision or, but for what it’s worth—” as he’s speaking he’s been approaching the kid slowly, like one would a frightened animal, and now he rests a gentle, yet firm hand on Kotaro’s shoulder.
“—I’d be honored to be considered your father.”
Kotaro does end up missing his train. Strictly speaking, Karino doesn’t need to come wait with him for the next one, but when he hears the tiny “bye, dad,” mumbled just before the doors slide shut, bitter winter air doesn’t bother him in the least, and the tears slipping down his face feel as warm as summer sunshine.
Two years later.
Karino hears the front door slam, signaling his son’s return from school, and wastes no time launching into the lecture he’s been preparing since Kotaro’s usual arrival time came and went… two hours ago.
“Hey kiddo, you’re late! Did you have clean-up duty at school? You know you’ve gotta tell me about that. Now come eat your food, it’s probably already cold.”
No response.
“Kotaro, are you listening to me?” He asks louder.
Silence. “Kid probably has his damn headphones on again,” he thinks to himself, and strides towards the entryway, now ready to deliver a real scolding, only to have the words die in his throat the moment he sees his son.
Something is wrong. Kotaro isn’t moving, isn’t slipping off his shoes or setting down his bookbag or doing any of the things he normally does when he gets home. Instead, he’s just sort of… standing in the entryway. His head bent, the hair he’s been growing out obscuring his face.
No headphones in sight.
“…Kotaro?” He ventures, now concerned.
“I went to visit my mother’s grave.”
Oh.
Oh god no.
Kotaro continues, eyes still fixed to the ground and oblivious of to the stricken look on Karino’s face.
“You knew, didn’t you? That’s why you never let me go alone. That’s why you always insisted on washing the right side yourself.”
He wants to deny it. To swear he had no idea, that he’s just as blindsided as the boy himself, but the words won’t come.
His silence is so loud, it practically echoes off the walls.
Kotaro finally looks up at him, but Karino wishes he didn’t. Because beyond the shimmering film of unshed tears, his eyes hold something darker, harder: an emotion he never wanted to see directed at him.
“You’re a liar,” he spits.
And Karino… has nothing to say to that.
Without another word, Kotaro shoves past him and runs into his room, slamming his door behind him. The words he didn’t say linger in the air—unspoken, but not unheard.
“I hate you.”
The days that follow are the hardest of Karino’s entire life. Harder than breakups, harder than manga deadlines: his son isn’t talking to him. In fact, Karino hardly sees hide nor hair of the boy. He leaves for school at the crack of dawn and stays out late, far later than school runs, only to slip inside as quiet as a mouse, scurrying back into his bedroom before Karino can get a single word out. For two weeks, the most interaction Karino has with his son is listening to him cry late at night, when he probably thinks Karino is asleep.
Karino sleeps, but only in short-lived, fitful bursts. Most of the time he lays awake, wallowing in misery and guilt. Every once in a while some small, stubborn part of him will make an attempt to justify his actions, but the rest of him is quick to shut that down.
“He’s already been through so much. I didn’t want to hurt him any more than he already was,” it says.
He replays the memory of Kotaro saying “liar”, and then continues on his own. “Don't act like you were being noble. You were just scared. You were scared of what the pain would do to him, and you were scared of what it would do to your relationship with him, having to be the one who inflicted it. So you hid it away, hoped you’d never have to deal with it, and this is the result.”
“I’m a coward,” he whispers to the darkness. “A selfish coward.”
From the other side of the wall, his son’s sobs concur.
How long does this go on for? The calendar tells him two weeks, but it feels like much, much longer: a series of empty grey days that threaten to stretch into infinity. He wakes up, and Kotaro is already gone. He draws his manga in a haze, barely even aware of what he’s doing. Dejectedly, he cooks dinner for two. The food is stone-cold by the time Kotaro gets back, and he dashes back to his bedroom before Karino can say a word, the slammed door inviting no further attempts at communication. Every night stretches on a little longer, and sleeping becomes even more difficult. When he’s not mentally berating himself, he stares at the ceiling for hours, as if the stains above his bed might hold some kind of remedy. But they don’t. There’s no solution to this problem.
That’s when, blessedly, he has the thought.
It’s true, there’s nothing he can say that will fix this. No words will undo the hurt he’s caused, so it’s pointless to even try.
But he has to say something.
“I’m sorry,” he says aloud, testing the words on his tongue.
No, not right.
“I’m sorry,” he tries again, this time with more feeling.
Still wrong. Sorry, he realizes, isn’t enough for this situation.
Is anything?
“I know you’re hurting. I won’t claim to understand how much, but I… I know. And I know that I’m the cause of at least some of that hurt. Maybe most.”
Again, he lapses into silence. What more can he say? “Sorry” won’t cut it, and pretty lies are what got them into this mess in the first place.
The truth then. As difficult and ugly as it is.
“I was scared, Kotaro. I didn’t want to tell you, because I was didn’t want you to have to deal with any more pain. And—I know it’s messed up, but I was scared of being the one to tell you, because I was afraid it might affect our relationship, and that maybe being the one to break the news could make you… make you hate me.” His stomach is twisting, guilt and shame curling sourly, but still he ploughs on.
“But I fucked up. You needed to know, and I didn’t let you have that, because I was selfish. So now you had to find out on your own, and contend with my betrayal, too.”
“I would give anything to have a do-over, and make the right choice… but I can’t. And if you hate me now… well, that’s completely justified.”
“I just want you to know that—” and here his voice nearly breaks, the next words coming out unnaturally high, “—that I love you. And if there’s anything, even a single thing I can do to make any of this easier, then I’ll do it.”
He hears a sound then, like a cross between a gasp and a sob, on the other side of the wall, and has a split-second of panic, thinking someone’s broke in, before he remembers.
Kotaro’s bedroom is right next to his.
For a long moment he’s frozen, not even breathing. And then, slowly, he slips out of bed and pads toward his door. On the other side of the wall, he hears someone else doing the same, and when he steps gingerly into the kitchen, there’s Kotaro, standing in his pajamas with his arms crossed, glaring at Karino like he’s a piece of gum stuck to his shoe. Somehow, Karino finds the courage to meet his gaze.
They maintain eye contact for one, two, three seconds…
…and then Kotaro breaks.
Violent sobs tear from his throat, wracking his entire body as he throws himself into Karino’s arms with so much force that it nearly knocks his father over.
For a moment, Karino is stiff, frozen from the shock of the sudden change, but then his body takes over, his arms moving automatically to wrap around his son, and then his legs bending to bring them both to the floor, where he can hold the boy in his lap.
The position is awkward. Kotaro isn’t a little kid anymore; his gangly teenage limbs don’t fit neatly on Karino’s lap, and his face being pressed into his father’s shoulder is putting uncomfortable strain on the man’s muscles.
Still, Karino doesn’t pull away, or do anything to dislodge the boy. Instead he just wraps his arms around him tighter, and begins rocking him gently in a way he hopes is soothing.
Kotaro’s crying continues with no sign of stopping. Every once a while he manages to calm himself just enough to choke out a few painful words, each one smashing Karino’s heart into a billion tiny pieces, over and over again.
“You should have told me.”
“I miss her.”
“I trusted you.”
“I never got to say goodbye.”
And every time, all he can do is keep rocking.
And finally, hours later, once Karino’s shirt has dried and Kotaro’s breathing has settled to deep, even breaths, his son mutters one last thing, right before the exhaustion carries him off to sleep.
“I don’t hate you.”
The late-night meeting doesn’t fix anything. When Karino wakes up the next morning Kotaro is gone again, his conscious weighs no less than it had the day before. But a few nights later, when Karino has the numbers of several qualified therapists, and Kotaro stops at the kitchen table just long enough to snatch up his bowl and take it to his room, he knows they’ll be ok.
Four years later.
It’s a gorgeous day. A light fog blurs the morning sunlight, giving the world a gauzy, almost ethereal effect. A gentle breeze is blowing, birds are singing in the treetops, and Karino is standing in the driveway, doing his best not to cry.
Somehow, he manages to choke down the tears to ask a few essential questions.
“Are you sure that’s everything?”
“Uh-huh.”
“And it’s going to be enough?”
“Yep.”
“What about underwear? Did you pack enough—”
“Dad!”
Karino bites his lip. He knows Kotaro will be fine. Of course he does. But still, watching his son loading his luggage for college into the trunk of his car…
It’s only natural for a father to worry.
Kotaro slips the last suitcase in and slams the trunk shut, before turning back to Karino with a soft smile.
“Dad, cut it out. There’s no need to worry.”
He’s tall, taller than Karino now, with wider shoulders, too. Gone are the soft, boyish features; he has a man’s face now. His hair is different than it used to be, a little longer, and more stylish. On top of all that, there’s a tattoo now, peeking out from under his t-shirt sleeve—a heart with his mother’s name in it. Karino looks at him and wonders, “Where did my little boy go?”
Nowhere, he remembers, when Kotaro steps forward and envelopes him in a hug. His son is right here.
“It’s only a two-hour drive.”
“I know.”
“I’ll come back to visit.”
“I know.
“I’ll be fine.”
“…I know.”
Karino wraps his arms around his son, squeezing him in the tightest bear hug possible. They stay like that for a moment, or more likely several, both of them trying their hardest to crystalize this moment, like a butterfly encased in amber. A treasure that never flies away.
Too soon it’s over. Kotaro disentangles himself, pats his dad on the back one last time, and drives out of sight, leaving Karino standing alone in front of their apartment building, the last words he said before his son climbed into the car hanging heavy in the air.
“I love you.”
Kotaro will be fine. He’ll work hard in school, just like he always has, and when he gets his degree, he’s going to be an amazing social worker. He’s going to make friends, and try new things, and discover the world, just like Karino did when he was young. He’s going to help so many people. He’s going to live a good life.
Karino knows all this. And he knows that whatever happens, no matter how far he goes, no matter how old either of them get… Kotaro will always be his son.
But today, he’s leaving, so Karino goes back inside to look through old photo albums and finally let himself cry.