Work Text:
‘Mantaro . . .’
Iron filled the air. It was electric. Every step was slow and strained, like wading through thick treacle on a humid day, and – the longer it took to move – the more his heart raced in his chest . . . thud, thud, thud . . . it was audible and rhythmic. He swayed. The adrenaline flooded his veins and his nerves were aflame, as his hands opened and closed with their own consciousness. His was no longer the owner of his body. He was pulled with force.
The palace was silent, with only his heartbeat for sound. It was cold in the bedroom. A draught blew through the balcony doors, catching at the soft silk of the curtains, and they cast shadows over the four-poster bed . . . dancing and fighting and terrible shadows. He fought back tears. They cloyed in his throat and blurred his vision, until the room span and the floor moved beneath his feet, but Mantaro remained in his bed . . . still, silent, scarred . . . no movement of the sheets with his breath, no movement of his restless leg . . .
‘Wake up, son,’ begged Suguru. ‘Wake up!’
Suguru staggered towards the bed. He fell side to side. The room moved and tilted, while nausea bubbled and boiled in the back of his throat . . . it burned with acid, it hurt with every swallow . . . his boy . . . his child . . . Mantaro shrank before him, turning from man into boy into infant. The bed was a cot. The small mobile spun overhead. He reached with a trembling hand to his boy . . . his baby . . . no breath, blue cheeks, still limbs . . . had he choked? Why hadn’t he heard? Why hadn’t he known? He placed a hand on Mantaro’s chest . . .
‘Wake up, please . . .’
He shook at his son, while tears fell down his cheeks. They touched at his lips and stained them red, while drops of blood fell onto the baby mattress with darkening stains, and soon the stains spread and spread and spread . . . he shook violently at Mantaro. The stains bled into one another, until the mattress was nothing but crimson. The blood bubbled and brewed and raised higher, like a rising puddle or a shore at full tide . . . it was rising, rising . . . he yanked his hand away. He clasped it to his chest, where it was cradled tight . . .
The bars of the crib leaked nothing . . . they retained the blood, they retained the small body, and they retained the scent of iron . . . soon it prickled at the corners of Mantaro’s face, then trickled to the corners of his mouth . . . it was enveloping him . . . swallowing him . . . ‘no, no, no’ . . . Mantaro was submerged within the blood. The corpse was but a shadow. Suguru collapsed to his knees and scratched at his head, as he let loose one last scream:
‘Wake up!’
* * *
“Wake up, Suguru!”
Suguru bolted upright.
He panted for breath, as his heart pounded in his chest. The world around him was dark and shadowy, like the remnants of some whole other world, and the visions of his dream were still imprinted on his retinas, dancing about him and merging with the real world. A cold sweat brought the silk sheets close to his skin, even as they coiled and tangled about his waist and legs. Suguru rapidly blinked. In the distance, he could still see the cot . . .
A soft hand pressed itself to his shoulder. It brought a spark of adrenaline through him, as he flinched and shot his head from side to side, and – vision clearing, breathing slowing – Bibimba came into focus before him with a trembling smile deepening the lines about her cheeks. He was . . . home. Suguru let loose a heavy breath. He ran a hand over his mask, while tears pricked at his eyes, and slowly turned his head to the far side of the room, where the cot was now gone and only his trophies stood. The moonlight reflected from each of them.
“Bad dream?” Bibimba asked.
The thick lips of his mask shivered, while water distorted his vision. He threw his arms around her slender shoulders, as he grabbed at the expensive fabric of her negligee in tight fists, and buried his face into the crook of her neck, where the rich aroma of her perfume flooded his senses and drowned out the stench of iron. Bibimba held him close, as her chest vibrated with a hummed tune taught by his mother . . . an old lullaby, his native tongue, a beautiful melody . . . Mantaro would always giggle and laugh at the strange words.
Suguru pulled back. He sniffed, even as she lay down on the sheets. Even after all those years, she still retained a perfect silhouette and thick locks of hair, and – at any other time – he would have been tempted to flirt and touch and tempt her into making love. Instead, Suguru pulled his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around his legs. A tear ran down his cheek, while he cricked his neck and pouted. He turned his head to the side.
“I – I dreamt that our boy was dead,” whispered Suguru.
“That’s not possible.” Bibimba took his hand. “I saw Mantaro with Masaru in the nursery, and both of them were perfectly fine . . . in fact, I may have teased Mantaro about picking a name based on a pun, especially when he gave us such strife over our choice! He just groaned and mumbled ‘sorry’, before thanking me for all we did. It was very touching.”
“So he’s – he’s fine? The dream was so real, my love! He –”
“I know you, Suguru. You won’t be able to rest until you see him breathing with your own eyes, and this isn’t the first time that you’ve had this dream . . . go talk to him. He’ll likely still be awake, as Masaru is due his feed and it’s Mantaro’s turn to tend to him.”
Suguru groaned, as he swung his legs out of bed. The haemorrhoids sent a sharp pain hurtling down his lower spine, while his ankles and knees throbbed from the arthritis, and his eyes – even well-adjusted – were still blurry without his glasses. Old age hit him hard in recent years, but every day brought with it a new blessing: family. The framed photographs in his bedroom no longer showcased ceremonies and awards, but instead his son and daughter-in-law and grandson. Suguru let his eyes linger on Masaru with a soft chuckle.
Bibimba edged a little closer. A few soft kisses were pressed to his back, while her soft hands ran down his sides, and he nearly gave into growing temptation, until she sat behind him to deliver a lingering kiss to his flushed cheek. He half-turned with a frown, as he saw the clock in his peripheral vision. It was two o’clock. Suguru swallowed hard and opened his mouth to apologise for having awoken her, but she pressed her finger to his lips to silence him.
“I’m fine,” chirped Bibimba. “I’ll keep the bed warm for you.”
Tears filled his eyes, as he slid from the sheets. He turned to lean down, where his hands pushed into the mattress and caused it to dip, and – with a lingering kiss – he cherished the warmth of her skin and the softness of her lips. Suguru parted with a smile. He quickly donned a dressing gown, before darting into the hallway just beyond the grand bedroom doors, and raced towards the familiar doors where his soon had grown and lived.
The bedroom was adjacent to the nursery, where Masaru gurgled and giggled in his crib, and Suguru – with a smile – walked towards the partially open doors, where a shaft of bright light drifted through into the hallway beyond. He peeked through the crack, where he caught the faint image of a sleeping Ikemen in a rocking chair. Masaru lay in his arms. The small boy was fascinated by the shine on the armour chest plate, where his tiny hand would slap at the light and gasp when his skin blocked it from sight, only to pull it away with laughter.
Suguru gently clicked closed the door. He returned to the main bedroom, where he knocked against the patterned wood and waited for a response . . . nothing. A cold sweat broke over his skin, as if being doused with cold water, and his body swayed with his head growing lighter and lighter . . . his vision blurred once more . . . only the ticking of a far clock reminded him of the hour. It was normal for Mantaro to sleep at this hour. Suguru placed a trembling hand onto the doorknob, as he forced his breathing to a slow and steady rate.
He waited for several long seconds, before he gently opened the bedroom door. The bedroom was cast in an ethereal glow . . . the balcony doors were open wide, allowing in a vast amount of moonlight and starlight, and the open door to the adjacent nursery let through a great deal of light that cast long shadows. Jacqueline and Mantaro lay side-by-side on the king-sized bed, with the sheets pulled high to protect from the draught of the balcony.
“Mantaro,” whispered Suguru. “You awake, lad?”
The curtains billowed out and danced with the draught. It was a rhythmic and relaxing movement, and the way Jacqueline lay – back to the doors, facing the balcony – made him wonder whether she fell asleep watching them sway as Bibimba once was prone. Mantaro slept with far less elegance. He lay sprawled on his back, with the sheets chaotically tangled around his mid-section, and his pyjamas were erratically buttoned.
Suguru sat on the edge of the mattress. He shook his head and leaned over Mantaro, as a low and heavy sigh escaped from his throat, and – finally – his mind felt at rest . . . peaceful . . . safe . . . he worked at the buttons and redid them in the right order, before combing through the tuft of brown hair and untangling the sheets. Mantaro stirred and murmured. For a second, Suguru was reminded of the nights when Mantaro would crawl into their bed with a muttered ‘Daddy, I had a bad dream’. Tears pricked once more at his eyes.
“Huh?” Mantaro rubbed his face. “Dad?”
“Sorry, son,” laughed Suguru. “I didn’t mean to wake you. I just . . . I had a bad dream.”
“You had a bad dream? Aren’t you like the champion of the galaxy?”
“Even the champion can get scared, son.”
Mantaro mumbled some incoherent complaint. The sleep was wiped away from his eyes, while he struggled to sit cross-legged and hunched forward, and his pyjama top strained over bulging muscles, as his body slowly developed more like his forefathers. Jacqueline stirred beside him, as she pulled the sheets closer to her chin and hummed. Suguru winced. The sleepless nights were still a vivid memory, with moments of rest always stolen whenever Mantaro closed his eyes, and now here he was . . . disturbing their sleep all the more.
“Do you remember when you’d get nightmares?” Suguru smiled. “You were so cute! You would stand in our doorway in your one-piece, clutching the biggest teddy-bear that you’d ever seen in your life, and you would beg to sleep with us. You’d then crawl between us, and we’d both hug and hold and kiss you, and you’d fall asleep in our arms.”
“Yeah, but I was a baby! You’re scared by monsters and stuff?”
“No, I’m not scared by monsters and stuff.” He audibly swallowed. “Do you know the two most terrifying moments of my life, Mantaro? The first was when your mother fell from a balcony during one of my fights . . . I thought I’d lose her, after we spent so many years gradually falling in love, and I held her and saw the most beautiful woman alive, despite her injuries, and I knew – I knew – I couldn’t live my life without her. I couldn’t.”
“I – I know what you mean. Jacqui is my whole world.”
“I feel that, too. The idea of losing your mother was like losing a piece of myself, like someone was cutting into me and taking away the greatest part of me, and the dread and despair were so deep . . . so inhuman . . . I can’t even put it in words. It was like being swallowed by oblivion, and I never thought I’d ever feel that scared again.”
A low draught caught at the nursery door. It swung open a few inches, revealing Masaru cuddling against Ikemen, who – with eyes closed – instinctively bounced the small babe in his arms, as if the role of ‘nanny’ came easy to him during the early hours of the night. He may have just been a helpful guest and uncle, but Masaru would stir every time the bounces stopped and slap with a small hand at the armoured chest to get Ikemen to continue. Suguru chuckled, as he draped an arm around Mantaro and kissed at his head.
“Then I had you, Mantaro,” said Suguru.
Mantaro blushed, before muttering something that sounded like ‘stupid’. It would have brought a play-fight at any other time, as Suguru already aimed to grab Mantaro in a head-lock, but Jacqueline murmured again and her eyelids fluttered as if about to awaken. Mantaro smiled and leaned down to press a kiss to her cheek, while his fingers ran through her red locks of hair, and – as she slowly fell back asleep – he swung around to sit beside Suguru. He planted his feet firmly on the ground, before he nudged his father hard in the side.
“We need to keep it down,” whispered Mantaro. “Jacqueline didn’t sleep at all yesterday, what with Masaru and his fever and . . . did I ever tell you how thankful I am to you for being my pops? I mean . . . I never understood before what it was like to be a parent, so I guess I took it for granted, but since I had Masaru -? I know what it’s like to finally love.”
“He’s your whole world, isn’t he?”
“Yeah. I look at him and I’m just . . . scared! I don’t want to lose him, but I also don’t want to do wrong by him or ruin him or hurt him. I want him to be the happiest guy alive, which is what you must have felt for me, and every day you did everything in your power to keep me safe and happy and healthy, and even when I didn’t appreciate it -? You still were by my side like a shadow. It was selfless. It was good. You’re . . . you’re my hero, Pops.”
Tears pricked once again. Suguru wiped them away, even as his trembling lips betrayed his emotion, and it took every ounce of self-control not to throw his arms around Mantaro, who shuffled where he sat and stared awkwardly at the floor. They sat in silence. It was a comfortable quiet. The sounds of Jacqueline’s soft breaths filled the room, while Masaru occasionally gurgled and squealed, and Suguru dropped a hand onto Mantaro’s shoulder and squeezed, as the swell of love and pride filled his chest. He choked out:
“I dreamt I lost you, Mantaro.”
“Nah, you won’t ever lose me.” Mantaro shrugged. “If anything, we’re closer than ever! I finally understand what it means to be a dad, and I know that because you taught me just how important it is to have a role model and friend and a father figure. You’re pretty great, even if I don’t tell you enough, and Masaru will be lucky to have you, too. I love you, Dad.”
Suguru could hide it no longer. He threw his arms around Mantaro, before squeezing as tight as possible and weeping into the crook of his neck, and – even as Mantaro fought back – he held ever tighter, refusing to let go of the boy that was now a young man. There were scars over Mantaro from battle, while his hair was longer with an attempt at a new style, and his eyes showed the wisdom of a future king, as his life experiences reflected themselves in a growing sense of maturity. Mantaro pushed him back and hissed:
“H-Hey, get off! You’re still so clingy!”
“And you’re still my boy,” laughed Suguru. “My boy!”
He released Mantaro, who finally caught his breath. A low laugh escaped Mantaro, who quickly darted his eyes to Jacqueline, before he jumped from the bed and grabbed at a pillow, and – before Suguru could make react – the pillow was tossed straight at his head. It collided with his face at some force, before it dropped down onto the floor. Suguru huffed and tossed it back, but a sharp ‘don’t’ from Jacqueline prevented an all out pillow fight, as both men lowered their heads and muttered apologies. Suguru soon asked in a bright voice:
“Can I tell you a bedtime story before I go, son?”
“No way, I’m not a baby! But . . . we could go tell Masaru one, if you want?
The tears fell fast and free. Suguru jumped to his feet and gently embraced Mantaro, who – this time – held him back with a soft hold and buried his face against Suguru’s chest, and together they remained locked until Suguru found courage to pull away. It didn’t matter how many years passed them by, as Mantaro would always be his little boy. Suguru sniffed away the tears, before he nudged Mantaro’s chin with a closed fist and exclaimed:
“That sounds perfect, son!”