Chapter Text
Ranmaru stared blankly up his ceiling, the memories of last night fresh in his mind.
He remembered calling 119 last night as soon as he could, standing by the door as a medical examiner investigated the room. He remembered how he probably looked that night to the response team.
Tears were streaming down his face, a seemingly permanently shocked look on his face as he stared blankly at the scene in front of him.
Ranmaru blinked before the tears could start again, his eyes focused on tracing the ceiling, noticing how the paint was chipping away bit by bit.
He could tell it was morning, the lights shining through his blinds were enough to tell him. But he didn't want— couldn't get up. It was as if every nerve in his body forced him to stay down.
Kirino Asahi was dead but he wasn't.
That still body Ranmaru saw in his father's bed wasn't him.
Kirino Asahi was somewhere else.
Maybe asleep on the couch after cooking all day, or out with his friends having drinks at his uncle's place, or maybe somewhere around the park with his mother, having a picnic this winter morning.
That's where his father always was. And always will be.
But in this world, faith was cruel and took his father from him. His father's health declined significantly no matter how much Ranmaru begged for him to get better.
No matter how many treatments Ranmaru tried it still wasn't enough to save his father from his inevitable death.
Inevitable.
That's what it was. An unavoidable outcome to his father's life. Death was inevitable, wasn't it?
It didn't matter how many precautions you take, death will take you whether or not you were ready.
Maybe that's what was so discouraging about life. The unpredictability of it. You never know how much time you have left until you're in that moment. You never know how much you've missed until your last moments.
Ranmaru's heart felt like a void, a black hole that could swallow universes in a blink of an eye yet still ached with the feeling of emptiness.
It hurt. It hurt more than Ranmaru could imagine it would've. He'd prepared for it, imagined even how he'd react. Would he have been despaired? Lonely? Or even angry that his father would be gone?
Turns out it was a mix of all three yet what he felt most was empty. Nothing. He wasn't crying or screaming out to whatever god was listening. Instead he was.. nothing.
He felt nothing but a crushing weight in his chest no matter how much he tried to shrug it off, it was still there.
That empty, heavy feeling in his chest.
Kirino Asahi was dead.
He repeated the words in his head but no matter how many times he echoed it in his brain, he still was in disbelief.
The room was warm yet Ranmaru's heart remained untouched by it. The normal warmth in his chest disappearing along with his father's presence.
The blankets held his body, but nothing could reach the emptiness inside him. As if his heart had forgotten how to feel after last night.
His hand lifted to rest against his chest, directly above where his heart lay, slowly beating and he wondered in that moment.
Will it always feel like this?
He let a deep, shaky breath before carefully getting up from his bed, hands gripping the edge of it as he stood up. His legs were wobbly as he walked to his bathroom.
He gripped the sink with one hand while the other brushed his teeth in slow, lazy circles.
After doing his daily routine, he walked down the stairs to prepare himself breakfast. His phone was buzzing on the counter and he reached for it.
His gaze scanning through the messages from his friends wishing him a Merry Christmas yet he didn't answer any of them and set it back down, throwing it to the couch as he sat down on it.
He turned on the TV and let it play as he ate. He didn't understand a single word coming from the cartoon, all the characters words going from one ear to the other.
He huffed.
"Man.. don't I look pathetic like this?"
He let out a low, humourless laugh, its sound echoing the empty room. He hadn't felt this way since his mother left, it was kind of pitiful if he was to be honest with himself.
His hand gripped on the plate, the sound of his laugh fading into the room as he settled into the uncomfortable silence.
He set the plate down on the coffee table, leaning forward and letting his hands rest on his knees. His hands covered his face but he didn't cry, not in that loud, high-pitched way nor in that quiet yet muffled way.
He was just.. staring. Blankly. At his hands, at his socks and at the floor. Anything he could set his eyes on, he stared at. As if.. waiting for something, anything.
He didn't know what he was waiting for. What even was he doing?
His knuckles tightened, letting it curl around the strands of his hair as he stared.
Then he got up, picked up his plate and began washing it.
There was no point in wasting time. He was no longer a kid, no more daddy's little boy who'd cower between his legs.
He wasn't back to being a four year old boy who's only worry was if his parents would give him ice cream if he'd be good that day.
He was no longer the seven year old who would throw papers and kick soccer balls at Takuto when he'd open his ridiculously spoiled mouth of his.
He was no longer the ten year old who wondered why his mother never back home that Christmas day and why his father was slowly forgetting who he was.
He was fourteen now. He was older.. not by much but grown enough. And sometimes he wondered if that was what's wrong with him.
He was mature, responsible, and reliable, the kind of person someone can go to to vent, to talk, to ask advice from.
He was used to that role. He was used to playing the part of some therapist mom friend.
The one who constantly checked on everyone's physical and emotional wellbeing. The one who made sure everybody was prepared and ready before going to the stadium. The one who everyone turned to when nobody else felt safe.
But still he wondered who would he turn to?
He was just a kid after all —no matter how much Ranmaru tried to act like he wasn't— just like Kurama with his random burst of anger, like Minamisawa with his narcissistic and sarcastic comments, like Matsukaze with his stubborness and overenthusiasm, and just like Takuto with his sometimes too openly emotional self.
He was there for everybody and their varying personalities.
What about him?
Who would be his shoulder to cry on? His support system when he needed someone to help him regulate himself?
A therapist? Definitely not. His problems were minimal compared to someone who was actually struggling.
A friend? Even worse option. None of his friends were good at that comforting stuff, they'd probably try to distract him instead. It'd work but after hanging out with them, he'd remember that he wanted someone to vent to.
His team? Somehow even worse. Nobody — except Sangoku —had the emotional stability to even keep themselves in check how would they be able to get him back up on his feet?
Nobody.
That was the correct answer.
Because no matter how much he craved for someone to look— to really look— he also didn't want to feel like a nuisance.
And isn't that ironic? Raimon's resident therapist who never lets any of his teammates feel like burdens for feeling too much is someone who criticises himself for feeling the same.
He shook these thoughts out of his head.
Damn, aren't I a bit dramatic today?
Ranmaru thought to himself with a low chuckle before sighing he had to focus on doing errands now, buy the groceries, clean up the house, and contact a funeral director for his father's body to be transported.
So he started with cleaning the house from doing the dishes, the laundry, making the beds, vacuuming the living room.
He cleaned until the house was spotless.
Then he took a shower, went outside and got groceries. He bought everything he needed to last him a month before heading back home and going back out again.
He wandered around the town, hands tucked in the pockets of his coat as he watched the children run around giggling.
He remembered himself throwing snowballs at Takuto, making snowmen with him and, running around the town when he was a child.
Back when his mother was around, back when his father was still fine.
Back when their family was still whole.
But the cracks were showing even before his mother left. He was just too oblivious to notice the arguments getting more frequent.
He remembered coming home to show his parents that he aced his maths test. He didn't realise back then how his mother was near tears as he barged into their home.
He remembered how his normally meticulous father started forgetting certain routines he'd memorised by heart.
He remembered watching his extroverted and confident father slowly becoming anxious and closed-off.
He remembered the first time his father couldn't recall his name, he remembered being confused as he told his father to stop joking around.
Though the older man only looked at him with a blank expression on his face.
He remembered his mother walking into the room, laughing nervously as she tried desperately to make his father remember.
He did. Eventually.
That was the day he was brought to the hospital.
That was also the day Ranmaru learned the words Alzheimer's Disease.
Each day, his father's condition seemed to have gotten worse.
Then his mother left and he was all alone trying to look after his father.
Ranmaru snapped out of his thoughts and when he looked up, realised he was at the mall. With nothing much to do, he stepped inside and headed straight for the arcade.
There he played, anything, everything, until the money in his wallet was empty. Then he left.
Unsatisfied and cursing at himself for spending all his money, he went on a walk.
He walked through the familiar streets, ignoring the bright lights the stores had as decorations.
He once loved the glow but now he hated it with all his being.
He hated the way they burned his eyes, hated the way they glowed harshly, a bitter reminder of the people who had left.
Every strand of color felt like an insult to his already deep wounds, demanding celebration from those with nothing left to celebrate.
Ranmaru snapped out of his thoughts before noticing he was at the riverbank.
Damn why has he been so lost in thought today?
He stopped in his tracks, staring down at the empty field the memories of his team playing soccer here rushed to his head. He blinked, body turning instinctively as he stepped down onto the field.
He scanned the surroundings as he walked before deciding to sit on the ground near the river.
He didn't even realise he'd come so close to the water and he felt his heart rate spike up for a second, thinking he'd fall but managed to stop himself in time.
And so he just sat there, staring at the river.
Until it got dark, he still sat there. The river was surprisingly calming, he never really got to appreciate it. The weight felt lighter— still present but manageable— here under the shining stars, staring down at the river reflecting the twinkle of the night sky.
Eventually, he got up, looking back one final time before leaving. When he reached his neighbourhood the heavy feeling returned heavier the pitying stares he received from the neighbours weren't helping either. He scoffed as he reached his house, closing the door behind him and sinking into the darkness.
The only light visible was from the couch, when he went to check he found messages and videos his friends had sent him throughout the day. Involuntarily, he cracked a small smile before the screen lit up with a different notification.
A call from his mother.
The smile dropped immediately replaced by a scowl as he dropped the phone.
He didn't answer the call. Just.. let it ring while he stared at it, the contact name, the number, like he was hoping that this was some sick joke the universe created.
He's been doing that a lot today. Staring.. at anything, at everything. It was like his mind numbed in a way that was incomprehensible to him. Is this what grief was? When people talked about grief it was always anguish or frustration but this felt hollow.
And suddenly while in that room with the low, continuous ringing of his phone, he remenisces again. Remembering the way his father used to fill the room with his neverending energy.
How he took up every space of the room and let his presence linger.
Ranmaru used to love it. Used to revel in the warmth his father left.
But now it just seemed wrong.
It felt wrong to be in any room in this house without his father here.
Grief was an odd thing, he didn't think it'd feel this.. heavy, this.. suffocating. He was drowning in emotions that by the end of it, he felt nothing.