Work Text:
1
“D-Doctor Kyoutarou?”
“Emu?”
It’s been a little over a week since you gave your number to a hurt, lonely boy who obviously had very little caring at home, and you had honestly thought about it more than you should, overthought it’s just slightly. It isn’t like you, not that you don’t care, but…
There is something about a child who looks up to you that breaks most people’s shells, just a bit, and if that child is so in need of someone kind…
“I’m sorry, is this a bad time?” Emu asks. “I just… I don’t know why I called.”
“It’s alright,” you says. “How has going back to school been.”
“Well, my father moved again, I guess, but…”
2
“I think… I think I want to be a doctor,” Emu says, voice hesitant. “I mean, you guys are the real heroes! You saved me, Doctor Kyoutarou.”
You blink. Process the words a bit more.
It isn’t necessarily a surprise, Emu is always interested in what you speak of on your job. Always asks questions, often insightful, and it’s more than just the general curiosity of a child.
And he’s smart. Incredibly intelligent, if not… always quite sure what to do with kindness, perhaps even his own, you think. But that’s something he can grow out of, after all.
He’s also nine, and he idolizes you and doctor’s assistant a whole, so it could change.
“…That’s a great goal,” you say, because what else do you say to a child with a dream.
“I know it’ll be a lot of work,” he adds. “But I think I can do it!”
“I believe in you,” you reply.
And it’s a phone call, but you can still hear his smile when he says “Thank you, Doctor Kyoutarou.”
3
“I won,” Emu says, excitedly. “Well, obviously. I’m the best.”
You smile, as you listen to the boy go on about his landslide victory in some kind of gaming competition.
“But this one was different,” Emu says. “It had prize money.”
“Oh?”
“It’s not much, but it might be a way to raise money for college?” Emu says. “If I enter more. And it’s definitely enough for this new game I wanted… I’m sorry, I’m just rambling, at this point.”
No. In some ways, you hate it when he’s quiet, more. Like he’s so unused to being heard. He shouldn’t act so used to apologizing for sharing his life and hobbies.
“No, it’s okay,” you says. “Congratulations, Emu. That’s great. And already thinking about college…”
Emu’s shrug is somehow visible through the phone.
“I love playing games,” he says. “But I want to use this life you gave me to help others.”
You think about a complex surgery and a simple presence and smile wider than you want to admit.
4
“C-come over to your house?” Emu asks. “Really? And for new year’s, to spend New Year’s with…”
He trails off, and it’s cute as it is sad how surprised he always is at many gestures of kindness or affection, though this might be a bit more than usual.
“You have been to my house before,” you point out. “And if you won’t be celebrating with your father…”
“I never do,” Emu responds, in an almost angry tone (the other Emu, the one that talks about games in terms of winning and shows his emotions a bit more explicitly, is always just a bit more honest, too).
“You don’t have to decide right away, Emu,” you say. “It’s still over a month away, after all.”
Emu is silent for a moment.
“I… that’d be really nice, Doctor,” he eventually seems to settle upon. “I’d love to.”
5
“This’ll be M’s last competition, so I can’t wait,” Emu says, excitedly. “After that, well… we have to focus on school, this year.”
“I wish I could make it,” you offer. And you have made it to some, over the years. Emu always smiles so brightly when you do. And he deserves someone who believes in him to be where it matters.
“It’s okay,” he replies. “I’ll win this, for sure. It’s a Genm competition, and I’m the best at those. Probably because they’ve made some of my favorite games.”
You smile.
“I’m sure you’ll win,” you say. “Call me and let me know how it goes after, though.”
“Okay, Doctor Kyoutarou,” Emu replies. “I will.”
(He doesn’t, but that’s a story for another day.)
“And not that you need it,” you say. “But good luck.”
-1
“…”
“Hello?” You ask. The phone number is listed as unknown, and you truly do not know why you even answered the phone. An instinct, maybe.
“I—” the voice says, before cutting itself off, and the voice is raw as if it had been screaming. The sound of quiet crying echoes through the phone.
“Are you okay?” You ask. “Do you have the right number?”
Silence, for a long moment, and then…
“I’m sorry,” the voice says, still raw. “I shouldn’t have called.”
“It’s okay,” you say, because how else do you respond to someone calling you, in tears. “What’s your name?”
The mystery person hangs up without another word.