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“I really should have cut you off, shouldn’t I?”
Izumi rolls her eyes. “No harm done. I’m not that bad.” She is, somewhat. She and Itaru had gone out together and he’d watched her drink past her usual limit. He wouldn’t call her drunk drunk, but it was enough that he’d had to help her up the dorm stairs.
“I’ll stay with you until you sober up a bit more, yeah?”
She doesn’t answer, kicking her shoes underneath her desk. “God, I’m so dizzy.”
“That does tend to happen when you drink too much.”
“Homare was drunker.” She mock glares at him.
“If you ever get as drunk as he does, I’m leaving you at the bar.”
Izumi positions herself on her bed, sitting up against her headboard. “Are you staying?”
“I said I was, didn’t I?” Something in Itaru’s gut is telling him she shouldn’t be on her own, at least not until she’s had some more time to sober up.
They’ll just chat meaninglessly for half an hour. She won’t talk about whatever’s bothering her, and he won’t pry.
Itaru shuffles next to Izumi on the bed. Up close, her eyes look glassy.
It could be the alcohol. It’s probably the alcohol.
Maybe he should ask anyway.
“Something’s on your mind. Wanna talk about it?”
She stares blankly for a few seconds. Itaru briefly wonders if she didn’t hear. “Sometimes.” Her voice wobbles. “Sometimes, I think there’s going to be a knock on our door and when I answer it, my dad’ll be there.”
Oh.
“Your dad?” Itaru can’t really think of a time Izumi has ever brought Yukio up as a father as opposed to a director. He’s always wondered, but if she didn’t want to talk about it, he certainly wasn’t one to ask.
“It’s so stupid. I know he’s not going to just turn up like that. I know. But sometimes, I imagine it anyway, like I’m still hoping even after all this time…
“When I lived with my mom, I imagined a phone call. I always thought he’d come here first, wherever he was. I still do.
“And- and he’d explain where he’s been, and it’ll make so much sense, and I won’t be able to believe that I didn’t figure it out on my own. Probably. Maybe it’s something really silly. Like, another hidden door and he’s been trapped behind it all this time.” She closes her eyes. “But I know it’s not that. He’s not that kind of missing.”
Itaru almost asks what that means.
“I miss him.” Her voice is tight. “More than anything.”
He’s too lost to respond.
“Sorry, I know I normally don’t get this way when I’m drunk. Maybe it’s because I didn’t sleep properly last night or something.” Maybe you just really needed to talk about it, Itaru thinks.
“It must really hurt.” He say awkwardly.
Izumi nods. “I try not to think about it most of the time and it works but it’s just… it’s been such a long time and I know stuff like this is supposed to get better, but it never really has. I’m all grown up now, but sometimes I still feel like the teenager he left behind, you know?
“It’s like there’s this… giant hole in my chest, and I came all the way here to fix it, but it just won’t go away. Nothing is working. So much has changed, and he’s still not here. I don’t know if I should give up at this point.”
“I’m sorry. It’s not fair. I wish there was a way to at least know where he is.” Itaru says, a little robotically. Izumi doesn’t seem to mind.
“I don’t know what I’ll do if I find out he’s dead. Sometimes I’m so sure that he is. Sometimes I think Yuzo knows he’s dead, and he’s just too afraid to tell me.”
“I hope that’s not true. I think it’s okay to hope for something better than that.” Itaru carefully pulls Izumi closer, allowing her to press her head to his shoulder.
“I want my dad.” She’s crying.
Itaru has seen Izumi cry too many times to count. But never about something so raw and never after saying words you’d normally expect to hear from a lost child.
He holds her close and he listens, because it's the only thing he can do.
“It’s so unfair. I just wish I knew. That’s all I want.” Her breath is shaky. “I’ve given up on wanting to see him again. I know that much is unrealistic by now.
“I miss him.” She says again.
“I know you do. I’m sorry he’s not here.”
“It’s not like it’s your fault.” She sniffs. His shirt is probably wet.
“I know. But someone needs to say it to you. And you deserve him being around.” Itaru chews his lip. “You deserve so much better than what you’ve been given. You understand that, don’t you?”
Izumi doesn’t answer, continuing to cry against his shoulder for a little longer. He pets her hair slowly, still awkward.
“I’m so worried that he wouldn’t be proud of me. He was… brilliant. He lived and breathed theatre. My dad knew exactly what he was doing and it was perfect. And I'm supposed to be like him, but I’m not.”
“Oh, Izumi, of course he’d be proud of you. Whether you’re like him or not, you’re a talented director. Everyone knows that.”
“I wish the stage loved me the way it loved him.”
Izumi sniffles, seemingly starting to sober up.
“I’m sure you wouldn’t have expected it, but I was a really sullen teenager. Like Masumi, a little bit.” She says with a little laugh. “In my late teens, anyway.”
“I really can’t imagine that.”
“I was always overwhelmed. I didn’t have the capacity to unpack or express any of my feelings, so I repressed absolutely everything instead.
“Living with my mother got pretty suffocating in retrospect. I didn’t really notice until after I moved out.”
“Do you keep in touch?”
“Yeah. She just won’t come up and visit. She always tells me not to go to her either; says she doesn’t want to inconvenience me.”
“That doesn’t sound like it makes for a good relationship.”
Izumi shrugs. “Me and her’ll be fine. I think. It looks like she’s getting better.”
“Why don’t you normally talk about this stuff? You know any of us would hear you out.”
“… I can’t convince myself anyone would really want to hear it, I guess.”
“Well, you’ve got it wrong. I want to hear about it. I want to know what’s on your mind.
“If I’d known that you just needed to be asked, I’d have done it a long time ago.”
“Don’t say that. I only just stopped crying.”
They laugh.
“But, really, I mean… I don’t think about it normally. It’s still overwhelming. It’s easier to forget about it. I’m good at that. I just keep thinking that I’ll face it when something happens. And, you know. Nothing ever does happen. It’s been almost ten years and all.
“I guess I kind of came here because I thought it would force something to happen. But I’m still the same as always. Just less overwhelmed.”
“Less Masumi-like?”
The corners of her mouth twitch. “Yeah.”