Work Text:
Warm.
Everything is warm.
Warmer than the burn still fresh on his arm.
If he stands still enough the snow will melt around him, he’s sure. There had always been an ember – some spark – of hope that was buried beneath the cold grief that consumed him. It had kept him all these years, when he thought the ice he’d put in his fathers’ heart would never thaw. That flame had grown slowly, then fanned bright after he met Azu-chan. Now it did not flicker; it cast no shadows at all. White-hot and glowing, there was no doubt now; he was forgiven and he could forgive and the darkness that had swallowed him had been banished.
“Goodnight Taku-chan,” Azu lingers a moment at her door, her slender hand slipping reluctantly from his grasp. He doesn’t want to let go either. Except that he does. Because his father is waiting for him. His father is waiting to welcome him home and Takuro had never quite believed that he would ever know this happiness.
“Stay warm, Azu-chan.” Can she feel it radiating from him? The way the warmth radiates from him, she must. He smiles; he can’t help it, and he doesn’t try to hold back. “Until, tomorrow.”
Her smile back isn’t as timid as it once was. It reminds him of the first time they met, and is completely new on her too. He likes it. One day, he resolves in that moment, his heart full to bursting, he won’t walk her home, but welcome her there.
He’s alone again in the snow. But he is warm.
The journey back to the Forest Clock is quicker. His feet flying over the snow, following the tracks he and Azusa had made together, tracing their steps back to his father. The bell announces his arrival, but his father isn’t behind the counter; he is sat in from of the furnace. He’s pulled up a chair to sit close, a second, empty, seat arranged beside him.
“Welcome back Takuro.”
And even if it isn’t quite true yet, his heart chooses his words. “I’m home.”
They talk for hours. Careful, considering, tempered at first. Each word and phrase picked to avoid misunderstanding, to make clear their feelings. His father is different, Takuro can see it already, from the father he had never really known and the man who had coldly cut ties with him. Was this the man his mother had loved? Not the stranger who worked a thousand miles away and rarely called while Taku was awake. But this man who spoke gently? Who laughed softly?
He remembers his mother, and thinks it must be so.
They complete the last of the closing tasks together, Taku more a hindrance because he has to keep asking how things are done, or wait to be shown, but his father doesn’t get impatient. He guides Takuro in each job, he never asks him to do something that might strain his injured arm though; Taku takes note of that too.
He sleeps on the futon his father makes for him: The best night sleep he’s had in years, and wakes the next morning to the sound of the bell announcing the first customers. When he arrives down the stairs, and emerges at the counter, half a dozen eyes fix on him.
“This is Takuro.” His dad says, and there is a hint of pride in his voice that Takuro has never heard before. “My son.” There would have been silence, but his father is already introducing him to the regular customers, and then he’s answering questions and being teased and welcomed without reservation. A part of him regrets waiting so long to reach out to his father now, and yet, if it hadn’t happened this way, would his happiness be so vast?
Then Azu-chan comes out of the kitchen, still tying her apron and his vision is filled only with her. “Good morning, Master, Takuro-kun.” She nods, her eyes catching his so he feels he might never look away.
Until someone clears their throat loudly and his father reminds him to move out from behind the counter. “Go, sit Takuro.” He says. “I’m sure Azu-chan will be happy to take your breakfast order.”
There’s a chorus if quiet hoots and whispered taunts from the middle-aged customers that made up their audience, and his father’s eyes are sparkling, but he adds nothing to the commentary. The blush creeping up his cheeks doesn’t stop him from following his father’s instruction. No, he’s never going turn away from this light, he decides.