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“ Shit .”
“Language, Saizo. The kids can hear you.”
Saizo sends a glare at Kaze from the corner of his eye. “He’s not awake yet, any - ” he starts, but stops when little Midori coos at him and reaches out. “...She’s way too young to understand.”
“You’d be surprised,” Kaze mutters, but drops the subject as he situates Midori in her high chair. “I’m guessing Asugi’s fever hasn’t gone down yet?”
“No, and we’re out of f- of Tylenol.” He cuts himself off at the last second and manages to gently close the cabinet door instead of slamming it. “Thanks for keeping an eye on Asugi, by the way.”
“Of course. I love spending time with my nephew. ...Although I thought you were going to wear something a little nicer out to - ”
“It’s just going to be a few minutes, the pharmacy’s not that far away,” Saizo says, slipping into his raincoat and opening the door. “I’ll try to be back before Asugi wakes up.”
“But what abou - ”
Saizo only realizes Kaze started to say something after the door closes. Guilt flickers to the forefront of his mind for just a moment before he remembers Asugi’s tiny, flushed face peeking out of a cocoon of blankets, his body heaving with weak coughs.
I’ll apologize when I get back.
He wraps his raincoat around himself as tightly as he can, then opens his umbrella and twirls it until the hole in the top is behind him before setting off down the street, away from the duplex and towards the pharmacy.
A feeling tugs at his mind and laces itself through his thoughts, like mist curling up from the shower. The feeling he’s forgetting something.
He dismisses it, bowing his head, too focused to notice or apologize to the person he bumps into.
______________
“Ah - hey, sorry, are...you…”
Ryoma trails off, watching the other man’s hunched form disappear around the corner he’d just turned. He wrinkles his nose and purses his lips in response. Not even an apology. Rude.
With a shake of his head, Ryoma scoops up his small bouquet and continues down the road, counting in his head until - ah . There it is.
In spite of himself, he feels his heart lift a little, manifesting as a small spring in his step when he climbs the stairs. He takes a moment to admire the herbs growing in the pots and the wind chime tinkling in the gentle breeze before knocking on the door.
Maybe this time will be different .
“Just a minute!” The voice is muffled, almost inaudible through the worn wood and faded, chipping paint. Ryoma waits, hears the bumping and shuffling before the door swings open inward.
He is not sure what he expected, but a green-haired man in a wifebeater and jeans cradling a fussy infant in his arms was not it.
Seconds pass before Ryoma realizes what he’s doing, and clears his throat. “Hi, I - I’m Ryoma,” he says. “You’re Saizo?”
The man stops hushing the little girl for a moment, his brows furrowing. “Ryoma?”
“Yeah...uh, sorry, this is the Igasato residence, right? I’ve only been in this part of town a few times.”
“Oh! Ryo - shhh , Midori - Ryoma. You must be his date. I’m Kaze, his brother.”
He can’t even answer the door? Ryoma’s smile doesn’t fade, but something inside of him drops. “Is...is Saizo still getting ready? I can wait. It’s really no trouble.”
Kaze’s face falls, one of his hands coming up to comb through the girl’s hair. “I’m sorry, you just missed him. He had to step out for a moment. If you want to come in…”
There’s no point , Ryoma thinks, bitterness turning sour in his belly. How this one found out before their date he’s not sure.
He’s not even sure why he’s trying to date again anymore.
“You know what, it’s fine.” the cheer in his voice sounds almost genuine, with how many times he’s had to say it. “I’ll just - leave these here for him.”
“I’m sure he’s not going to be more than - ”
“It’s okay. Really. Tell him I wish him the best of - ”
“Uncle Kaze?”
A tiny voice pipes up behind Kaze and devolves into dry, hacking coughs. When Kaze turns, Ryoma catches sight of a small boy, a blanket draped over him like an oversized wizard’s cape, his face red and eyes glazed with fever.
“Oh, Asugi,” Kaze says, Ryoma forgotten as he walks over and kneels in front of the boy. “What’s the matter? Why are you out of bed?”
“Thirsty,” Asugi rasps, coughing into his tiny fist. He’s so small, Ryoma realizes. Maybe four or five years old. Something in his chest tightens. “Where’s Daddy?”
“He had to go get some medicine for you, Asugi. He’ll be right back.”
Oh .
Everything clicks into place - the quick walk and narrowed eyes, the expression that locked out everything else in the world. How often had he seen that look in his own father’s eyes when he or his siblings were sick as children?
How often had he, himself, worn that look?
“But I want Daddy,” Asugi says, his face crumpling as tears spring into his eyes. “I - I had a bad dream w-where he was gone - ”
“It’s okay. I actually ran into your dad on the way here.”
Kaze and Asugi both look up at him as Ryoma crosses the threshold, crouching down so that he’s eye-level with the boy. “He was in a big hurry - he said he had to pick something up for his favorite son. And he asked me to ask you to keep an eye on things while he’s out, because he’s depending on you to help hold down the fort.”
He catches the way little Asugi’s eyes widen. “Really?” he says, his voice a soft whisper.
“That’s right.”
Asugi frowns again, shifting from foot to foot. “O-okay,” he says, his face settling into a little frown of determination.
“I can help you, if you want.” Ryoma offers his fist to Asugi with a chuckle, keeping his hand a safe distance away. “Deal?”
Asugi’s eyes flick between Ryoma’s face and fist. Ryoma’s encouraging smile seems to finally win out when Asugi reaches out with one of his own hands, bumping it against Ryoma’s. “Deal.”
He scurries off faster than Ryoma can blink, plopping down in front of the television and reaching beneath to pull something out. There’s an energy in his movement, an exuberance that shines through even if he’s a little sluggish.
He’s just like -
“Do you want me to…” Kaze says, and Ryoma turns to find Kaze holding one hand out, the other arm cradling the toddler. Kaze nods to the bouquet in his hands before Ryoma realizes what he’s offering.
“O-oh, that’d be great. Are you sure you can - ”
“It’s fine,” Kaze says, smiling wide and jostling Midori, earning himself a giggle. “I’ve had to carry more stuff than this with her. You go ahead and help him watch the house.”
“Mister!”
With a snicker of his own, Ryoma lets go of the bouquet and makes his way over to the faded black couch, mindful of the rip on the leftmost cushion. He turns his full attention to Asugi as the boy pulls out a purple cube, covered in scratches and dents. He handles it like it’s the most precious thing he owns as he sorts through the four or five games he has.
“What’cha got there?” he asks, as Asugi picks one out and opens the console.
“ Super Smash Bros. Melee ,” he says, frowning a little as he sniffles and makes his way over to the couch. “I haven’t gotten to play yet, though. It’s - it’s too hard.”
“Too hard?” Ryoma puts on his most indignant face, leaning against his knee for emphasis.
“Yeah. I can’t figure out all the moves - the computer keeps beating me even though I punch and kick the bad guys as fast as I can.” Asugi’s frown deepens. “Daddy promised to help me but he keeps getting too busy or too tired. So he can’t.”
Asugi’s face crumples like he just watched Littlefoot’s mom die in The Land Before Time . And something in his gut tells him that if this ends in tears, the kid’s uncle will not so much kick him out as make sure he crawls out.
“Did I tell you I’m a pro at this game?” Ryoma asks instead, leaning down and plucking a controller from the carpet.
Asugi stares at him, wide-eyed, tears forgotten for just a moment. “Really?” he says.
“Really really. Got all the secret characters in a week, too.” He winks at the kid, holding out a controller. “I can give you some tips, if you’d like.”
Asugi’s face brightens for a minute. Then his lips pull into a sly smile, as though he’s thought of something very clever. “You’re a grown-up, though,” Asugi says. “You’re not interested in this stuff.”
Oh. Really. Ryoma feels a smirk tug at his lips. “Betcha a chocolate bar that I can beat the adventure mode in thirty minutes and net you a secret character.”
He watches that smug little smile widen at the prospect of sweets. “Okay. Get ready to lose a chocolate bar.”
Ryoma snorts, leaning forward and pressing the on button. “We’ll see, kid.”
_______________
Stupid fucking rain.
Stupid checkout lines. Stupid cashier running his credit card through the scanner wrong twice. Stupid manager making him out to be the unreasonable one.
He shakes the umbrella out before walking inside, scuffing his feet on the Welcome mat. “Kaze?” he shouts, peeking into their dining-room-slash-kitchen. “I’m ho - where’d you get those?”
Kaze looks up from the bowlful of babyfood he’s trying to get into Midori’s mouth, frowning in puzzlement until Saizo points at the flowers in the vase. “Oh. Ryoma brought them.”
“Ryoma?” Saizo frowns, trying to figure just where he’s heard that -
It hits him like a tidal wave.
The blind date .
“Oh, ffffffffff - fudge ,” Saizo says when Kaze shoots him a sharp glance. “The date, I forgot.”
He leans against the doorframe and rubs his eyelids, allowing himself a moment of self-pity. His date. His one chance to prove to his brother and friends that he hasn’t totally let his live devolve into work, Asugi, eat, sleep. And he’s blown it. Didn’t even have the decency to -
“Do that again!”
Saizo’s eyes snap open at Asugi’s thin, raspy voice. It’s the happiest he’s heard his son while he’s been sick.
Kaze smiles, only flinching a little when Midor throws a handful of orange guck at his cheek. “They’re still in the living room playing video games,” he says, turning back to Midori and scraping a glob off her cheek with the spoon.
Wait. They ?
And now that he’s actually paying attention, he hears it - a deep, rich chuckle, smoother than the beers he and Kaze indulge in on rare summer nights sometimes.
He backtracks to the living room and stops short at what he sees.
Asugi’s swaddled in a nest of blankets and pillows, clutching a tiny purple controller in his hands. A tall man with wild, spiky hair sits next to him, watching as Marth walks across the screen towards Captain Falcon.
“I got the bat, Mister Ryoma!”
“Good, good. Now, you want to put your fingers on this button - no, don’t press - and this one and...that one. Okay, on the count of three try pressing them all at the same time again. One, two... three! ”
Asugi squeezes his hand. Captain Falcon goes sailing off the screen and crashes into something.
Asugi cheers, and Ryoma has to lean back as he thrusts his hands, and the controller, into the air. “I did it, Mister Ryoma! I did a Super Smash!”
“Good job!” Ryoma offers his hand in a high-five, only moving it out of the way once or twice before he lets Asugi hit it. “Okay, lets try again, and this time I’ll fight back. Bet you another chocolate bar that I’ll beat you.”
“Teaching my son to handle his problems through gambling and punching people in the face, I see.” The words slip out before Saizo can stop them, his tone dry as he crosses his arms.
Asugi whirls around, dropping the controller and clawing his way out of the little nest, the fringe of an afghan still clinging to his pajama pants. “Daddy!” he cries, his arms reaching over the sofa’s back to wrap around Saizo’s waist. “I have so many things I want to show you when we play together, like super smashes and invincibility stars and, and, and - ”
“Calm down, son. One thing at a time.” His hand comes up to ruffle his son’s fine hair, fingernails scratching against his tiny scalp and making him giggle. “Maybe work on getting better first. Why is Uncle Kaze letting you watch that bright screen with your headache?”
“Oh, ah - sorry. That was my idea.”
Saizo looks up, opening his mouth to reply.
...oh.
Oh, no .
His date - Ryoma, he thinks, that’s it - smiles at him in reply, chestnut eyes glinting in the low light. The crimson polo shirt he’s wearing does nothing to hide his broad shoulders and thick biceps. He wears that messy hair with the same pride a lion wears its mane.
He’s hot , Saizo realizes, and swallows.
“...uh, I didn’t mean - ” Ryoma starts
“No, it’s - it’s fine.” Smooth, Saizo thinks, homing his face doesn’t look as red as it feels as Ryoma crooks an eyebrow at him and gives him an amused smile. “I’ve been meaning to - I’ve been busy, but I - ” Saizo swallows and scratches Asugi’s scalp again, lets his son wriggle away with a whine. “Sorry.”
That smirk. That fucking smirk, more amused than smug. He knows what he’s doing and it pisses Saizo off and turns him on at the same time. “Take your time.”
“What I mean,” he says, narrowing his eyes, “is that I’m sorry I wasn’t here to receive you. And that I didn’t let you know ahead of time I had to cancel.”
Ryoma holds his hand up, shaking his head. “Don’t worry about it. If it had been mine I probably would have done the same thing.”
Saizo’s breath catches in his throat. “You’re…”
“Yeah. My son’s a little bit older than yours.”
“You’re a daddy too?” Asugi’s attention goes from Saizo’s shirt back to Ryoma, giving Saizo a second to tuck it back into his jeans. And smooth his hair back when Ryoma looks away.
“That’s right. His name’s Shiro.”
“Can I meet him?” Asugi asks, and gives Ryoma his best puppy-dog eyes as he clasps his hands together so tightly his knuckles turn white. “Please please please please pleeeeeaaaaseeee?”
Ryoma laughs. It’s a rich, hearty sound, warm like a spoonful of chili on a cold, rainy day. Saizo takes a minute to deal with the things it does to his heartbeat while Ryoma ruffles Asugi’s hair. “When you’re better. Why don’t we practice more in the meantime? Shiro’s a pro at this game, but you’ll be getting tips from the king .”
Ryoma’s face falls, and he looks up at Saizo. “Oh, but..that is, if I can…”
Saizo takes another moment to compose himself. “It’s your immune system,” he says, congratulating himself for not stuttering once. “I’ll...go put some coffee on for us. Get some juice for Asugi. I’ll call for takeout.” Pause. “Uh. If you want.”
Ryoma’s smile should not do the things it’s doing to him right now. “That actually sounds really nice. We can go somewhere fancier next time.”
Next time . The word rattles around in Saizo’s head. It feels so empty, empty enough that he doesn’t immediately react when Ryoma offers his hand.
“It’s nice to meet you, Saizo,” Ryoma says, his tone composed and warm.
Slowly, Saizo reaches out and takes it. Ryoma’s palm is warm with the promise of a gentle evening, with a Post-It note with his phone number on it and plans for coffee later in the week.
“It’s nice to meet you too.”
And in spite of himself, Saizo smiles.
_______________
“Hey.”
“Hm?”
“Just wondering...when did you know I was ‘The One’?”
“...Let’s just call it a hunch.”