Chapter Text
Byakuya Ishigami has no family.
His elderly parents had passed away a few years back from old age; Byakuya had always known they were a bit on the older side since it had taken them a long time before conceiving: they had desired a child for so, so long that, when his mother had finally gotten pregnant, she was already in her forties.
He had been loved, growing up, his parents cherishing him and spoiling him, always being there for him and pushing him to achieve everything he wanted; his family had been close, his father being the one who made him fall in love with the stars, the two of them cuddled up in a small tent in the countryside, rolling around in the grass as they looked up at the Cosmo, while his mother had passed him her passion for teaching, their evenings spent in their small family studio with their noses deep into a thick book, learning about everything they encountered in those yellowish old pages.
When they had passed, five years ago, he had been devastated: they both left him on the same day, their love to one another so deep it had taken his father just a few hours after his mother and leaving their house silent in a way it hadn’t been since his birth, nearly twenty three years earlier.
He had no siblings, no other family and no support.
He was alone.
Or so one might think.
Because, in reality, Byakuya Ishigami has a brother, though not one in the literal sense: they share no blood, yet they share everything else.
They had met when they were young, their rooms sharing a wall in the small apartment unit where Byakuya grew up, they were the same age, went to the same school and shared the same love for the stars; they grew up together, stuck together even through middle school and highschool, complicit and close in the way only childhood friends can be.
Byakuya had teased him when his brother had gotten a crush over one of their classmates in middle school, had cheered on him when he finally got the guts to confess and then had cried at their wedding, a few years later, mic in his hand as he shared funny memories with the other guests.
He had also bawled his eyes out when he had held him just a year later.
So no, Byakuya Ishigami is not alone, his family is small now, yes, smaller than before, but not less loving in any way.
So, when he receives that fatidic phone call, his world completely tilts over.
Now, sitting on an uncomfortable hospital chair, all the man can do is stare at the white wall in front of him, face lost and mind wild.
There had been nothing the paramedic could have done, the doctor had told him a few minutes earlier, a sympathetic hand on his shoulder as she delivered the terrible news to him: his brother, at the wheel, had died on impact while his wife hadn’t survived the trip to hospital.
The incident had been brutal, the small family car hit by a truck, skidding off the road and into a wall, glass shattering everywhere and leaving dark tire marks on the asphalt.
The path to their death.
His stomach lurches; he bows his head, hunching over, and presses his palms to his eyes, taking a deep, shuddering breath; his whole body feels numb, so he just sits there motionless.
The hospital is quiet at this late hour, no other visitors but him in the waiting room, the only people around being just a couple of nurses quickly making their way through the long hallways.
He feels cold. Hollow.
He feels like his soul has shattered into a thousand pieces.
“Excuse me sir, are you Ishigami Byakuya?”
It takes him a couple of seconds to register the voice and a couple of seconds more to realize the question had been directed at him: when he raises his head he sees a nurse right in front of him, her face wrinkly with age but her eyes kind, looking at him with compassion.
He wonders, for a second, how much suffering this woman sees everyday.
He gulps down the lump in his throat and nods at her; her expression softens even more, “I hate to disturb you now sir but there are a couple of questions I have to ask you since you were both victims’ emergency contact: is there any family we can get in touch with?” She asks, her tone quiet but professional, the voice of someone who has mastered to balance her emotions and her profession.
A veil of detachment, an emotional shield, a way to preserve herself in front of all this suffering.
A way to survive.
“...no. Neither of them have any family.” He whispers his answer, “We only have each other… we only had—” his eyes fill with tears, finally, and he let them fall, burning wet trails on his cheeks; he takes a wet, shuddering breath and lowers his head.
A bit passes, the silence deafening.
“I see,” the nurse says gently, “if that is the case, I have to ask you to come back tomorrow to sign some documents, Ishigami-san; please now, go home and rest.” She bows, deep and professional, “My condolences, sir.”
It takes him almost two hours to get to his house: after getting in his car he had completely broken down, letting all those emotions choking him out, tears and sobs and screams wreaking his lungs, knuckles aching from where he had hit the steering wheel, anger and sadness and sorrow blinding his senses and leaving him empty and numb after the outburst.
After locking the front door behind him he had collapsed on the sofa, face sticky with tears and snot, head pulsing in pain and dread filling his mind; the house around him is quiet, the only thing he can hear is his own ragged, wet breathing as a last thought hits him before sleep takes him:
They are gone. Forever.
For the first time in his life, he is completely alone.
“Based on the child's late parents’ will, you are now the boy’s legal guardian, Ishigami-san; given your acceptance and a jury’s confirmation of your suitability to the role, the child will come living with you.” The woman in front of him says, adjusting the small glasses on her nose and tapping the thick bundle of papers in her hands with a finger.
Byakuya’s world tilts for the second time in twenty four hours.
When he had woken up that morning his head had been killing him, his eyes had been puffy and his throat dry, his face still covered in various fluids and his hair a mess; he had taken a shower, letting the scalding water burn his skin, gathering his strength before getting out and dressing up to go back there.
At the hospital he had been forced to talk to so many people, from doctors to lawyers, signing documents and answering questions, numbily walking through halls and hallways in autopilot; when he had been approached by the woman with glasses he hadn’t expected those words to leave her mouth.
In hindsight, he should have known.
After all, his brother had loved him just as much as Byakuya had loved him: if anything were to ever happen to them, all he had left was Byakuya himself.
He knew that.
Still, the notion has his heart aching; how could he have forgotten? How could he not have realized earlier?
Of course the child is going to stay with him: he had seen the boy’s parents meet and fall in love, had been there when they had announced they were expecting, had bawled his eyes out when he had held him for the first time, a few hours after he was born, small and warm and ever so tiny.
He was the boy’s nazuke-oya, for God’s sake.
He had named him:
Senku. A thousand skies.
When he had shared the name with them his brother had smiled, eyes cranking up in a delighted expression, while his wife had teared up, covering her wobbly smile with her hand.
“Thank you, Byak-kun, this name is wonderful,” his brother had said; then, he had grabbed his shoulder with one hand while the other carefully held his wife's, “we knew we chose the right man to be our son’s nazuke-oya.”
At his brother’s side, his wife had been lovingly caressing her big, round belly, smiling up at him with eyes shiny with tears, “With a name like that, I know our little boy will be looked over by the Gods themselves. We knew you’d choose the perfect name for him.”
Byakuya feels his own smile grow fond at the sight of her: despite being technically younger than himself, he had always considered her a bit like an older sister in the long years they have known each other since she was always so kind and considerate, so seeing her gently caressing her belly had made his heart swell with affection.
She had paused then, holding eye contact, before finishing, “As this little one’s mother, I feel it in my soul, Byakuya: the name you chose will protect him for the rest of his life. It will be a blessing.”
Now, towering over the boy’s prone body, those words hunt him:
“We don’t know how the child survived,” the doctor had said, “not only that, he basically doesn’t have a scratch on him; he is perfectly fine, physically, but we are keeping him sedated and under observation to monitor the shock.” She had looked at him then, grabbing Byakuya’s hand in both of hers, sympathetic:
“It was a miracle.”
All Byakuya can do is replay the scene in his head, lungs filled with too many emotions at the sight of that little body sprawled on the hospital bed, looking so small it seems like the covers themselves are swallowing him up, those big, sharp eyes closed in resting, the gentle raising of his chest the only sign the boy is still alive, still with him.
The man grasps the boy’s small, warm hand in his bigger one, gently running his fingers against that soft, delicate skin and holding it carefully, almost afraid of breaking it.
Senku looks so much like him.
When the boy had been born, his sister had sulked after realizing her baby was the carbon copy of her husband, “I carried you in my belly for nine months, so how is it that you look nothing like me.” She had pouted, gently running her fingertip on her little boy’s soft cheek.
They had all laughed at her words, her own smile growing loving and fond at the sight of those tiny fingers grasping at her own.
At her side, her husband had gently run his hand through her hair, still damp after the struggle of birth, looking at his wife and baby with the happiest smile Byakuya had ever seen on his face; then, his brother's eyes had met his own and the love in them only deepened, gratitude and affection clear, "Thank you, Byakuya,” he had said, “I can not wait for Senku to meet you; I know he’ll love you just as much as we do.”
His brother and sister had trusted him with their own son’s life.
His nadzuke-ko’s future has been altered now, his family decimated, their love gone.
Forever.
Byakuya’s fists clench, his heart beating slowly, deeply, his mind leveled for the first time in what felt like years:
He will not allow that.
His family is small now, smaller than he ever thought it would be, but it will not be any less loving.
He will love this boy with every fiber of his being.
He will love him for them.
Senku will only know love, for as long as he lives.
Byakuya swears.
It had taken him almost four months for the adoption to go through.
After all, having a small child unexpectedly come into your life it’s not easy work; don’t get him wrong, Byakuya would have had the boy move in immediately but social services do not work like that: the boy, the house and Byakuya himself had to go through a thorough inspection before they could even consider to allow that.
The man’s apartment had not accounted for a child before and one of the mandatory things he had to be able to provide Senku with was his own room; that’s how Byakuya found himself emptying his studio, a space he had dedicated to his research and studies, getting rid of hours upon hours spent hunched over books and essays for him.
It did not matter: Byakuya would gladly throw everything away if it meant Senku could be happy.
The room was small, barely big enough to fit a bed, a small wardrobe and a few shelves, but it was enough for now.
It had taken the man longer than he had liked to set everything up, his time scarce at first between organizing the funeral and visiting the boy in the hospital, and even more later, due to his teaching schedule and visits to court.
He was also extremely tired.
Organizing the funeral had been one of the hardest things he had ever done: neither his brother nor his wife had any family, nor they had left anything specific written in their will.
He doesn’t blame them: who would ever expect to pass away at just twenty eight years old?
So, he had chosen for them: he had buried them next to his own parents in a secluded part of the cemetery, up on the top of a hill.
The spot his father had picked, many years prior:
“That spot, that spot right there it’s the one I want, son!” His father says, pointing at the hill, “That’s the closest place to the stars, that one! I might be six feet under the ground but don’t think for a second I won’t be looking up at the sky! Just make sure they bury me the right way!” He barks a loud laugh as his wife swats at his arm, scolding her husband for saying such grim things.
The two men laugh, complicit, before Byakuya answers, “Do not worry pa’, I have duly noted it! I’ll make sure to get you the spot you want!”
Now, kneeling in front of his family grave, the memory brings him comfort: he can easily imagine his father and brother discussing stars and galaxies while his mother and sister calmly enjoy the beautiful scenery full of colorful cherry blossom trees, laughing at their respective husbands and their antics.
Just like when they were all together.
Just like before.
He is not a very religious person but he has always believed no one really ever leaves Earth completely, pieces of someone's soul roaming this realm and watching over their loved ones, so he raises his hand, reverently running it over his friends’ tombstone, “You guys,” he pleads, “make sure to look down, from time to time, ok? Because I have no idea of what I’m doing.” He gives a small, wet chuckle, eyes filling up with traitorous tears as his jaw trembles.
“I hope—” his voice breaks and he has to swallow the sudden lump in his throat, “I- I don’t know if I’ll be able to raise him right.” He bows, his forehead touching the cold marble, “But I swear,” he clanches his fists, “that I will do anything in my power to make him happy– to make him feel loved… I just hope–”
He thinks of his old family, of that comfort, that warmth that only a knit tied group gives: he is alone now, the only person in Senku’s life who can give him that, the child’s only form of stability, only support.
Only chance.
“I just hope I'll be enough."
For Senku to be happy, to feel loved and appreciated and seen, not alone, never alone.
Never again.
He hopes he’ll be enough to do so soon.
Contrary to his initial assumption, what actually slowed down the whole process was not him, not the housing situation, but Senku himself; don’t get him wrong, it wasn’t the boy’s fault, obviously, but rather his complicated medical history which took the doctors a long time to cover before allowing them to take any further step.
With a medical record like the boy’s, it’s no wonder it had taken them months to complete the adoption process:
Oculocutaneous albinism is no joke, after all.
Senku had inherited his father’s genetic condition, though he had been luckier than the man: the boy’s father had always had to wear thick glasses ever since Byakuya could remember, his eyesight fastly deteriorating in his younger years before finally stabilizing in his twenties, allowing the man to take a relieved breath; still, the threat of blindness was always close by and the man always dutifully booked his doctor's appointments regardless of the apparent stability.
The boy’s parents had been scared their son could turn out to be visually impaired but the post-partum exams had shown something incredible: Senku had perfect eyesight and even the following check-ups, which were held every three months ever since the boy was born, showed no worsening of the condition; sure, it was almost certain the boy would wear glasses in the future but for now he was safe.
Surprisingly thought, the rare genetic condition had not been what bugged the doctors, but rather one of the boy’s peculiar behaviours:
Senku didn’t speak.
He wouldn’t answer the doctor's questions, nor the social workers’ engaging chats nor would he say anything himself: he just sat there quietly on the hospital bed, or on a small child sized chair, watching TV or messily coloring with some crayons.
The behaviour worried the doctors, who tried exam after exam in order to find out the cause of it: they feared it might be the shock, or a post traumatic reaction or some form of selective mutism caused by the accident; in the end, it had taken Byakuya’s prolonged reassurance and in-depth explanation to ease the doctors worries: it wasn’t a problem that the two years old wasn’t speaking now, because the boy never really did, not even before the accident.
He made noises, of course, from the baby noises he chanted when he was happy and the harsher cries when hungry or distressed in his earlier months of life, to the more pointed, specific mumbles and chirps he did as a toddler; still, Byakuya remembers, even after reaching and surpassing a year of life, Senku had yet to babble anything coherent.
If he wanted something he would point at it, if he craved your attention he would just toddle over and grasp at your clothes with his little hands and if he didn’t like something, be it food or a toy, he would just shove it away, all while giving you the deepest frown a one year old could master.
Senku’s parents had been worried sick:
“There must be something wrong with my baby!” Byakuya’s sister had said, eyes shiny with tears, “He should have started speaking already, but he doesn’t even attempt to! I’ve been going ‘Mama, mama’ in front of him for hours now but he won’t even try to copy me!” She had collapsed on the sofa, crying, while her husband gently ran a hand on her back.
“What does the doctor say?” Byakuya had asked them, kneeling in front of her and squeezing her hand for comfort.
“...we have been to four different ones,” the boy’s father had said, “we had him tested for, well, basically everything: we were afraid he could have some cognitive disorder or some form of autism, but the test only showed the opposite: turns out our boy is smarter than a 15 months old baby should be.”
In their exasperation, they had even consulted a shaman, an old man with thin hair and a very impressive white beard, face wrinkly with age and with long, tapered fingers.
He was quiet, his movement slow and his gaze heavy but so incredibly kind; he had listened to their worries, gently caressing his long beard in a pensive manner and, then, he had stood up, slowly walking towards the boy seated on his mother’s lap: Senku had been playing with a little rattle, a colorful wooden toy Byakuya had gifted him weeks prior, and was currently entranced on the way the little stars inside moved when he played with it.
The shaman hadn’t said a word but he had simply gently pried the toy from the child's grasp, before slowly moving it away from the his reach; Senku had looked up at him then, his big, red eyes confused at his toy being taken away, the tiniest frown on his little face as he observed the culprit of the crime.
After getting the boy’s attention, the elderly man had gently lowered the rattle before quickly moving it away again when Senku had tried to grab it back; he did so again and again until, on his third try, the child had let out a loud, angry whine, wriggling in his mother’s embrace in order to get closer to his objective.
At that, the man had solemnly nodded before giving the toy back to the toddler, who had quickly grasped it from that wrinkled hand and had hugged it to his little chest, sending the annoying stranger the tiniest stink eye Byakuya had ever seen.
“...I see how it is.” The shaman had said as he sat again, the little boy’s family at the edge of their seats as they waited for the man’s verdict:
“There is no need to worry: the boy will speak when he’ll want to.”
The shaman had waved them off then, reassuring them as they confusedly left the inn, “There’s nothing he wants to say now, that’s why he doesn’t talk; one day, when there will be something he'll want to share with the world, he'll speak: you have nothing to worry about.”
In the end, they had to make peace with it: turns out it wasn’t that the boy couldn't speak, he just simply wouldn’t.
And, still, he won’t; after ruling out any possible cause and submitting the boy to any type of exam possible, the doctors finally gave up and decided to give the court a reluctant green light, allowing them to move forward.
He is so glad they did.
Byakuya assumes that interfacing with social services is already tricky on a good day, so you can imagine the absolute hell he is going through right now: between the boy’s unusual behaviour, the fact that Byakuya is not a blood relative and the rare genetic conditions Senku suffers from, it’s a miracle they even managed to conclude the case and finally leave that depressing environment behind.
Especially those nasty looks they kept throwing at the boy at the sight of his, personally, absolutely adorable pale hair and smart, red eyes.
He is not a violent man, not by a long shot, but after having to visit the same office three times because the worker there wouldn't even fucking look at the boy’s charts and making them lose an absured amount of precious time–
Let’s just say his patience had been tested a great lot.
So, after going through every type and form of scrutiny and background checks, which had Byakuya juggling between work, the hospital and looking for old legal documents I was sure I put right here, where the hell did they go— the man’s finally able to finalize the adoption, officially signing the the last paper exactly three months, two weeks and five days after the accident.
And now, standing on the front door of his house, holding a small hand in his bigger one, Byakuya can finally let out a sigh of relief; the door has been locked behind them, the sound severe and final: there was no more time for doubt now, no more hesitating or changing his mind, no coming back.
It was official.
It was for life.
He looks down only to find two tiny red eyes already staring up at him; he smiles, squatting down, “So, Senku, remember what I told you? This is your new home now; I know you have been over already but I think it's better I show you around again, so how about we change our shoes, ok?”
The boy doesn’t say anything at that, he just blinks owlishly before taking a wobbly step forward to sit on the genkan, small fingers dutifully undoing the straps of his tiny red snickers before setting them aside; Byakuya titters at the sight, lowering his head and letting it dangle for a couple of seconds as he collects his thoughts.
Here we go, he thinks, it’s actually happening.
His head snaps back up when a small hand grasps his shirt: Senku’s in front of him, now sans shoes, holding out his jacket to him and nudging Byakuya to stand, clearly prompting the man to put it on the hanger.
Eheh, Byakuya thinks, how cute.
The man chuckles, grabbing the offered article of clothing and raising back up again but not before ruffling the child's soft hair, action that has the boy frowning and raising both his little arms to pat his wild locks down, pressing them against his head and sending Byakuya a tiny stink eye.
The man barks out another amused chuckle at the boy’s reaction, hanging the jacket before reaching down to teasingly pinch the boy’s soft cheek; Senku yelps, clumsily swatting at his palm, his small body still far from being coordinated enough to gracefully manage both actions at the same time: protecting his head from the attacks and shooing the offending hand away.
Byakuya laughs out loud this time, heart swelling at the sight of such adorable display, “Ok, ok, sorry, I’ll stop teasing you now.” He removes his own jacket to hang while simultaneously kicking off his shoes and leaving them hazardly sprawled on the floor; by the child’s little face, he guesses Senku doesn’t agree with his "tidying up” methods.
He chuckles, reaching down for the boy’s hand and finally stepping inside and Byakuya sees Senku eye around curiously, which makes him smile: the boy has been over already many times with his parents before but, since the whole “adoption process” thing started, Byakuya had to do some renovations to make the house suited for the child, like the court ordered; nothing too crazy luckily, just some little changes here and there, but the place is definitely a bit different from the last time the boy was over, something the boy had realized, it seems.
They move and Byakuya shows Senku around: the house is small but the rooms are decently sized, with a living room big enough to fit a two people couch, a spacious kotatsu and a small TV set; in the back, a small kitchenette can be seen peaking out from behind a door while, next to it, an anteroom separates the living area from the sleeping one.
Byakuya’s room fits a bed, a small desk and a wardrobe, while the bathroom is completely covered in white tiles, the small bathtub inside smooth and shiny, sufficiently big to fit both of them comfortably yet small enough to allow them to move around the space freely.
When they step in front of Byakuya’s old study, the man smiles down at the boy, “There we go, Senku: welcome to your new room!”
Senku just stands there, peeking inside curiously for a second– before frowning, confused; the man is about to reassure him when the boy turns his head to look down the hallway and Byakuya’s words die in his mouth as he dumbly stares at the way the child looks around the short corridor, his gaze lingering at every door of the house before looking back again.
The man is about to ask him what’s wrong when realization hits:
This boy’s memory is way too good!
He knows the child had already been to his home before but the man didn't think the boy remembered its layout: no wonder Senku is confused, this room is completely different the last time he was over!
Byakuya squats down to be at the child's eye level, “You are right Senku, this room did not used to look like this, I had it changed a bit for your arrival; check it out, it’s yours now! Do you like it?”
The boy looks at him for a second more before his red eyes leave him for the bedroom, finally taking in the objects laying around: while emptying his late friends’ house, Byakuya had kept some of the things that belonged to the child and he had carefully arranged them around for him.
The smallest comfort, in the boy’s situation.
Senku hesitates only for a moment before finally taking a careful step inside, tiny feet cushioned by the soft, colorful carpet, looking around the small space: there are clothes peeking out from the wardrobe’s overfilled drawers, together with a few toys resting in a woven basket in the corner of the room and a big, bright ceiling light dangling above their heads.
The boy slowly walks to the bed before gently caressing the duvet on top: it’s blue, with big, colorful cartoonish stars drawn all over it and, in the center of it, a small rocket rests on top of a round planet; Senku stops, hand resting on the bedding, looking at it contemplately.
Byakuya, worried by the sudden stillness, steps closer to the boy, observing him.
They both stand there for a while, neither of them moving, and Byakuya feels his heart break at the longing look in the child’s eyes; a few minutes later, when Senku lets out a loud yawn, the man decide to finally call it a night: he helps the boy in his green pajamas, takes him to the bathroom to brush his teeth and then carries him to bed, covering his small, tired body with the rocket-themed duvet.
He squats down, “Alright Senku, remember: I’ll be in the next room, so wake me up if you need anything, ok?” He pats the boy’s head, “I’m gonna leave the door ajar and the bathroom lights on, so you can find it easily if you need to go. Have a good night.” He smiles down at him.
When he goes to stand though, a small hand catches his: Senku’s eyes are suddenly wide open and he is staring at him incessantly; Byakuya lowers back down, “What’s wrong? Do you need something?”
Senku doesn’t say anything, nor does he move: for a long, quiet moment the two of them just look each other, unblinking; then, the boy pulls on his hand, the one he is still grasping with his smaller ones, and brings it it back on top of his head, finally closing his eyes and letting out a soft, tiny exhale.
Byakuya feels a sudden lump in his throat as tears fill his eyes and has to physically cover his own mouth before a sound can disturb the boy; a few minutes later Senku is finally asleep but the man can’t find the force to leave his bedside, gently running his fingers through the short, pale locks.
Byakuya doesn’t know how long he sits there but, by the time he finally leaves the small room and lays in his own bed, the tear marks on his face have already dried up.
Needless to say, sleep doesn't come easily that night.