Chapter Text
Tanaka blinked once. Then twice.
Nope. Still there.
Definitely off his rocker.
"I think he drunk too much last night, young sir,"
Ah, there's Hiashi. He rolls his neck. God, his back aches. He should fine this place—wherever this was. Wait, this is his house. Nevermind.
Tanaka frowns at a hanging portrait of....a moon? He's going to fine whoever put that there.
That's what he thinks, lying.... somewhere. God, his head hurts like a—
Oh wait, the kid's here. Why's the kid here—he's drunk again isn't he? He's still drunk. But he shouldn't curse in front of the kid. The kid will hear him, because he's a hallucination and Tanaka decides his thoughts will be heard.
He doesn't have the will to push the hallucination away though.
Minato stares at him in an uncomfortably expressive way. Tanaka remembers egging the kid on to smile, just once, while bullshitting him that he'll hire him as a model if he's good enough.
Even if he was—and Minato always was good enough—Tanaka never would. The agency's full of of creeps, better keep the kid away from them.
"Dad?" Minato says and wow, Tanaka's definitely keeping himself away from alcohol from now on.
He turns to Hiashi. "The kid called me dad,"
Hiashi frowns. "Yes, sir,"
"I'm crazy,"
"Dad?"
"Look he called me dad again,"
"You're not crazy, sir"
"Good," Tanaka says faintly, because sooner or later, his heart's going to give up on him. So he passes out.
The kid's gone when he wakes up, and Tanaka thinks, thank god. he stares at the moon portrait—whatever.
Why did he drink again?
It's a full moon.
Did he lose a bet? Oh, he's going to fire up the ass of anyone who riled him up.
It's awful, really. It looks like something the kid would—
He closes his eyes. Yep, not going there.
But yeah, Minato liked those things. Cheap things. But pretty and neat.
He takes his cellphone, ignoring his roaring headache and his hand brushes over something. A paper...
He takes it, never taking his eyes off his phone. He turns it on and promptly drops it on his lap.
What the flying—
"Hiashi," he calls weakly. But the butler/driver/friend's not here and that's not quite right. Hiashi's always there. He fixes things Tanaka cannot with a bloody patience he doesn't deserve so he can fix his phone and later he's going to absolutely sue the one who put—
Who put—
Whoever put his lock screen's background into..
A picture of him and Minato. They're..somewhere and Tanaka's getting pretty damn tired of that word. Somewhere.
But no, he peers at it closely, heart hammering in his chest. Destinyland. The kid's throwing a peace sign at the camera while his other hand holds up a stick of cotton candy that he's chewing into. Tanaka himself wears shades. He looks stern and smug, but he's holding the kid close with one arm, and the other hand holds up...a bag. And that's not quite right. Tanaka never holds bags. Unless they're briefcases, sure. But....
And then they're wearing mickey mouse headbands too.
Tanaka closes his phone and presses his hand to his face. Something crumples against it and—oh. It's the paper from the table. There's something written on it.
Going out with friends. Drink tea. Take care, Dad. - Minato.
He thinks his heart just broke and pieced itself together only to explode in a matter of five seconds. Haha, he has a heart?
If this was a prank, oh, someone's going to pay. Because...because...
Because he's Tanaka, he thinks. And this kind of stuff is the kind of shit life throws up him.
Take care, Dad.
He laughs and there's something shaky about it. What kind of drink did he take last night? Ridiculous.
His shaking hand grips the phone again. Sunlight laces through the curtains and he doesn't move for a few minutes because surely, the world will right itself later on.
There is tea on the table though. When he makes himself sit up more properly in the—oh he's in a sofa, he takes cup and his eyes widen.
It's good. Better than alcohol.
Maybe Hiashi finally did as he swore—make him switch.
His eyes flicker to the room, because—instead of gray and black it's—earth tones. Warm curtains. Plants hang on the ceilings and light filters through glass panes. Thank god the TV's modern, then. It's the same one Tanaka bought last year.
Hashio, that bugger. Stop redecorating my home.
Seriously, where is he?
He wants to call. He does, but his stomach cannot handle tea and that photo at the same time so he wanders.
Heh, he wanders in his own home. It's weird, though. Hashio's not that old, but he's certainly too old to change a whole damn penthouse.
It's warm and fluffy and put up with good taste, so plus points.
The taste turns bad real quick when he enters his room.
He stands in the doorway for what seems like hours, teacup shaking in his hold. He stares at the photos decorating the walls. His desk, gone. Replaced by a bed that's wider than Tanaka last saw it and he preferred working in his room. The work distracted him. He can yell at people all day.
He can't speak. It's like he's taking huge, gulping breaths and he stumbles through the room, hands pressing against the wall, almost leaning against it. He takes in the photos, looking far too real to be photoshopped and he chuckles madly.
It's not real. He doesn't smile like that. He never saw the kid smile like that. It's a cruel photo.
March 5th. That's when the kid died. Graduation day.
In the photo, Tanaka stands with the kid, shades off and hugging the kid close as a few camera flashes light them up. The kid's looking at him with surprise, disbelief and utter joy. The teachers are in the back, eyes wide as saucers but that's not the reason why fake—Tanaka looks so damn proud. He's looking at the kid and real—Tanaka's heart constricts at the emotion in it.
He wanted to. Last year, he wanted to get on that damn stage with the kid and he was standing outside the school as the ceremony went on. He chickened out, saying the kid might be embarrassed and what is he, a dad?
The day after, he realized that the kid never made it up the stage.
A month later, Tanaka overworked himself and was cruel to his employees, laughter in his chest because hey, the kid's gone and he was back to how he was before.
It feels like he's failing Minato, so he drowns even more. A man reaches out when he's in a bar and choking in his own drink. *Hashio.
"You couldn't possibly understand," Tanaka had snarled, drunk eyes glaring with fury and grief at the stoic man with the too obvious look of poverty in his clothes, at his unkempt hair.
"I don't," Hashio had said, palms open and coming closer. "But I have a son, and I can't possibly imagine losing him,"
"He's not my son," Tanaka whispered, voice breaking and he's falling off his seat. The media would have a field day if they saw him like this.
"He's not...I,"
"He's not. But he's yours. He's gone, but you'll still keep him with you,"
"Damn brat won't leave me alone," Tanaka chuckled wetly.
Hashio smiled, patting his back. "He cared, so don't fail him now,"
The day after that, Tanaka woke up in his penthouse with a hungover and wild need to know the man's name.
He found him in a week, along with his pride and resolved. He found out the man was struggling to keep the funds up, so he hired him.
Hashio cried and embraced him. Tanaka was uncomfortable with the touch, but it was so long since he'd been hugged too, so he lets it happen.
"Brush your damn hair," he'd complained, and Hashio showed up to every damn work with perfectly combed hair. Tanaka was jealous.
He was jealous of a man that had his son.
Tanaka had every what-ifs in his head. Like what if he had actually been brave, like the kid. Had adopted the kid.
Now he was staring it in the face, along with a dozen pictures. One of them framed adoption papers.
Tanaka drunk in all the sights. All the smiles and sunshine.
Happy Father's Day.
Minato's birthday.
Festivals.
A cut-off message from a letter. Love you, Dad.
Dad. Dad. Dad.
He falls to his knees, grasping his hair.
It feels he's been there forever when he hears the knob turning somewhere and Tanaka's breath hitches when the voice he always heard in his dreams—only in his dreams—call out.
"Dad?"
And Tanaka rushes out the door. He runs and follows the voice. Slow footsteps echo with hurried ones and they both meet in the kitchen.
Minato. Hair a little windblown. A few inches taller than—than..Oh, he's wearing the jacket Tanaka gave him back then. But if it's been a year in this...blessed world...nevermind. He's got a scarf on. That's... that's good. It's cold outside. He never liked...likes the cold, Tanaka noticed. He always noticed, ever since he started to notice and it was never enough. He always wished to have noticed more, like maybe if the kid was sick—
"Are you okay?" Minato asks, hand bringing down his sling bag from his shoulder and into the chair.
"You're here," Tanaka says.
Minato frowns slightly.
"You drank last night—"
"I won't. Never again," Tanaka promises just as Minato finishes—
"—so your head's aching,"
They lapsed into silence. Tanaka's still staring at him.
Oh, wait. That's creepy.
"I—..." He starts. "The tea. I drank it. So it's...gone now,"
Minato nods.
"Where'd you learn how to make that?"
There's an amused look now in those blue eyes. So familiar, Tanaka almost feels faint.
"I worked in a cafe before, remember?"
"And Hashio..?" Wait. Did Minato even know...
"I sent him on a rest day. He's working so hard. As usual,"
Minato shuffles in his feet a little.
"And so are you,"
Tanaka inhales deeply. Because he's never working hard enough. Not enough. He's always been thinking of toppling the ones who wronged him, the ones who dared. Before and after that damn day.
Now Minato's here so Tanaka thinks that maybe...
Yeah, he could go for a hug.
Except the kid's already beat him to it.
"Are you okay?" Minato asks, arms wrapped around him and god, he's alive. Breathing. And Tanaka never wants to let go.
"Heh, kid. You're asking me that?"
Sunlight laces through the curtains, and Tanaka feels like he can finally breathe since..forever.
He smiles.
"Never been better"