Chapter Text
“...I just did the laundry yesterday, so he has a fresh set of pajamas laid out on his dresser.” Arakawa’s long list of specific rules for Masato appeared never ending to Sawashiro, though considering his son’s circumstances, he should have smacked himself for even thinking to complain. It didn't matter he was only staying over for a few hours: every detail mattered, and he was sure every detail Arakawa relayed to him would have its place in time eventually.
“I should be back before it gets too late,” Arakawa continued, checking the silver watch hidden under his suit sleeve. “I can’t imagine the meeting will be awfully long, but if I’m not then Masato must be put to bed by 9:30.”
“Understood.”
When Arakawa peered up, Sawashiro noted the cautious glint in his eye. “Do you? No matter how much he complains, he has to be in bed by then.”
Oddly enough, there was a deathly tone to the warning. To entrust Sawashiro with Masato for the evening all on his own was one thing, but when Arakawa made things so ominous, Sawashiro couldn’t help the urge to swallow the lump in his throat.
“The young master is to be put to bed by 9:30: no if’s, and’s, or but’s.” Being submerged in the yakuza world for the past few years had done a sufficient job in building Sawashiro’s reputation as an unshakeable man. He could only hope that as he stared down into Arakawa’s steely gaze that he wouldn’t catch on to the uncomfortable anxiety Sawashiro was truly feeling beneath his own emotionless stare.
Although Sawashiro had decided to dedicate his life to his son, he had yet the opportunity to spend any meaningful time with him- never mind, in a sense, being given the chance to properly act as his parent for a day. Though as far as anyone was to be concerned, this wasn’t a case of a father bonding with his son: this was a regular caretaker monitoring a child until his real father came back.
Nevertheless, despite the satisfied smile from Arakawa, Sawashiro felt anything but competent as he was due to start his caretaking momentarily. “Well… if there’s anyone that can take care of Masato, I can’t imagine anyone else more capable than yourself.” Sawashiro surely could, but that one person was entrusting him with that responsibility: an awkward irony when he really thought of it.
One more nod good-bye was all Arakawa offered before turning to leave his apartment, shutting the metal door behind him and leaving Sawashiro alone with his duties.
Aforementioned “duties” sitting quietly in the kitchen space behind him, Sawashiro finding himself uncomfortable now that he was by himself. New territory guided only by quick directions, Sawashiro would have to do his best to ensure he didn't make any mistakes. Turning to face Masato, the child sat in his wheelchair, round face already looking agitated: a great start.
“...I’m going to be taking care of you for today-”
“I know that. I have ears you know,” Masato snapped, his big eyes glaring up at Sawashiro from under his fluffy bangs. To see a child scowling so much made Sawashiro’s stomach twist as he awkwardly nodded in agreement. Of course he heard his and Arakawa’s conversation, it happened barely three meters away…
Looking around, Sawashiro idly thought of the verbal list Arakawa left with him. Seeing as the pair were already by the kitchen, Sawashiro moved to shuffle behind Masato, starting to look through the fridge. “You haven’t had lunch yet, right?” Upon doing so, he felt himself stall as he couldn’t find anything premade: almost exclusively ingredients sat inside. “...What do you like?”
“Eggs over rice,” Masato answered simply, turning his chair around to properly face Sawashiro. “Dad always folds the egg before putting it on top.”
Folds the…? Holding the fridge open and staring at Masato with confused eyes, Sawashiro felt out of his element at the new phrase. When he thought of preparing eggs, he couldn't fathom how they would retain their shape well enough to warrant the possibility of folding them, being more partial to cracking the egg straight into the pain and cooking it that way. Regardless, he couldn’t forego his responsibilities: he'd just have to figure it out as he went along.
Looking in the fridge again, he found the eggs and grabbed two before closing the appliance, side stepping to access the small stove provided. However, as he moved, he heard Masato pipe up from the mouth of the kitchen. “Aren’t you going to cook rice first?”
“Right- of course…” How could he forget? It was a significant part of the dish. Looking around aimlessly again, Sawashiro heard Masato sigh before pointing to a cabinet on the ground.
“The rice is in there.” Following the pointed direction, Sawashiro knelt down and opened a tall cabinet built into the counter to reveal a similarly-tall device, the beige tower providing a transparent, plastic window to show off the family’s rice supply. Beneath said window were three buttons, presumably ones that would dispense certain amounts of rice when pushed.
Sawashiro tilted his head at the options: the first was for one and a half cups, the second being three cups, and the third choice being four and a half cups. On the one hand, Masato was only a child: one cup would be enough. On the other hand, he was a child: he might need the extra nutrients from three. But would that be too much? What if his condition also affected his appetite: one cup itself might even be too many…
“Why are you just staring at it?” Masato had started to wheel next to Sawashiro, leaning forward in his seat to reach over and push the button for one cup. “Don’t you know how to read?”
Hearing the grains clatter and collect in the basket, Sawashiro took turns glancing at the newly-filled container and at Masato, the child himself appearing unamused. His inadequate behavior had caused Masato to resort to doing something that should have been so simple by himself: utterly unthinkable when Sawashiro was supposed to be taking care of him right now. As Sawashiro was already kneeling on the floor, he placed his palms on the cold kitchen tile and bowed forward, a shameful feeling quick to burn inside him. “I’m sorry, young master. P-please forgive me—”
“Don’t do that- it’s weird,” Masato interjected quickly before he began to wheel away. “I see people do that all the time for dad and I don't get it… Just make the stuff already.”
Once Masato was back at the entrance of the kitchen, Sawashiro hesitantly rose and retrieved the rice basket, and closed the cabinet. He wasn’t able to explain it, but the despondency in Masato’s voice left an unnerving feeling within him- a feeling he could only try to fend off as he stood up and proceeded with his initial mission.
He didn’t need Masato’s further assistance as he found a pot and began to pour the grains into it, flipping the sink’s handle on and gradually filling the pot. The water seemed to hide the rice entirely, but he was sure it’d be fine- he’d always found the result satisfactory anyhow.
Masato, however, called from the doorway again as he watched Sawashiro move to the stove. “Ew! You’re not going to wash it!? Where did dad even find you?”
“You’re supposed to wash it?” The question came out on instinct with an innocent cadence, and that only seemed to worsen Masato’s disgust.
“Of course you’re supposed to! Dad washes it at least three times before he cooks it; mice could have touched it! And why are you using a pot? We have a cooker!”
Looking at the pot in his hand- and especially at the murky water- Sawashiro, similarly, couldn’t help but feel himself grimace at the realization. An apology danced on the tip of his tongue, but considering the way Masato reacted before, he offered a much simpler
forgive me
this time around. Venturing back into the cabinets, he could only guess what a rice cooker looked like- but again, Masato was soon pointing behind him to the small countertop above the rice dispenser cabinet where, of course, the small rice cooker sat patiently.
Learning how to wash the rice, fortunately, didn’t warrant any outside help from Masato, and seeing as how the rice cooker only had one button, Sawashiro only needed to press that and close the lid before simply having to wait for it to be done. Now for the eggs…
Having cleaned the pot of rice from before, Sawashiro examined it intently- before Masato had something else to say, anyhow. “How come I have to tell you how to do everything; you’re not going to make eggs in that, are you? And if you make eggs now, they’re going to be cold by the time the rice is done.”
“Is it bad to use a pot?” When Sawashiro had lived his life on the streets, he was only able to afford one pot to cook everything in, and it worked efficiently enough for him. Though now that he knew appliances specifically made for rice existed, he was starting to second guess everything he understood about cooking- and what knowledge he had was incredibly limited in the first place.
Apparently that was the last straw for Masato as he began to roll out of the kitchen, frustration at its peak as he let out an agitated grumble. “Just forget it! Why don’t you order food or something- you can do that at least, right!?”
Watching Masato wheel down the hall from the small window offered by the kitchen brought Sawashiro out of his momentary daze, nearly dropping the pot as he chased after him and held onto the kitchen’s door frame. “Wait- young master!”
“The phone’s in the living room. Leave me alone until it’s here!” Opening a door down the hall- presumably to his personal bedroom- Masato entered before slamming it behind him. Again, Sawashiro was left alone, but now the weight of his inadequacy was beginning to crush him.
Backing into the kitchen once more, he felt himself bump against the oven, deciding then was a good time to sit on the floor. The pristine tiles beneath him only reflected back his hopeless expression- an expression that was too unsightly for him to look at for much longer. In that moment, a hollow feeling crept its way into Sawashiro’s chest: Arakawa wasn't there to take the reigns- Arakawa wasn't there to help guide him on how to take care of Masato. Without him, Sawashiro wasn't sure of what to do next. What could he do next...?
...Was he foolish for thinking he was capable of being in Masato’s life again? Evidently, Arakawa had done an exceptional job at taking care of him- perhaps too excellent next to Sawashiro’s standards. No, that wasn’t it: Arakawa had simply proven himself to be a man worthy enough to be called a father- he had intended of being one from the start. If fate did exist, its wicked weaves had crafted things to turn out this way: Sawashiro, by his own admission, had no capabilities of caring for a child. That’s how Masato found himself in Arakawa’s arms in the first place.
But wasn’t it that same excuse that caused Masato’s suffering? Reflecting on that truth, Sawashiro felt himself clench his jaw. He wasn’t a child anymore: he had no rights to fall back onto such immature excuses. Sawashiro had chosen to change the trajectory of his life by joining Arakawa- he had chosen this life just for Masato. Now that he was being given the chance to truly be there for him, death would have been a better option than if he decided to quit right now.
Turning to look at the open cabinet on the floor again, an odd resolve replaced the cavity within him. It was his initial inadequacy that ruined Masato’s life: he would never be unable to fix the damage he caused, but the very least he could do now was try to make his life more bearable. The best way to start doing that was figuring out how to make a decent plate of eggs and rice.
Getting up from the floor and brushing himself off, Sawashiro began to search the cabinet above the fridge. The best way to learn was through reading- surely, if there were books about cooking, they’d be in the place where you’d cook. Soon enough, h is assumptions proved correct: upon sifting through the miscellaneous items and other unrelated texts, Sawashiro was able to procure a modest-sized book with various food items printed on the cover. Flipping it open, he took idle note of the particularly worn pages, having flip to them he found faint remnants of- presumably- cooking batter still pressed into the paper. Turning back to the cover, he read the small table of contents, and after finding the breakfast chapter, went to work.
A strange energy put an extra pep in his step- enough energy for him to ignore the quiet sound of a door opening from down the hall. He was too engrossed in trying to read the pages regarding omelettes and moving to get the appropriate equipment for him to consider the possibility of faint wheeling coming from behind him. When he did think to turn around after some time, he was only met with the open window into the living room, greeted by the phone Masato had mentioned before sitting on the coffee table as it mocked him. He frowned at the small device as he returned to his work, squinting hard against unfamiliar terms and words in front of him, yet far too stubborn by now to give up again.
----------
Sawashiro tried to ignore the smell coming from the pile of burnt and misshapen omelettes beside him and instead focused on carefully folding his latest egg atop the steaming pile of rice in front of him. The pan in his hand felt weighted, though he was sure that was just his wrist proving its exhaustion from the constant mixing, flipping, and egg cracking it had been subjected to for the past hour or so. He was sure he could feel sweat drip down his temple as his hand wobbled, the folded egg barely hanging over the edge as Sawashiro took his spatula and finally dressed the rice with a risky flip.
He couldn’t hold back the heavy sigh of relief that escaped him as he set the pan down with a bang, his face back to looking at the kitchen floor while leaned on his knees and attempted to catch his breath. The floor had lost its clean look- drops of egg and eggshell speckled on the ground. But he was done with the hard part now.
Shakily, Sawashiro straightened up, placing the worn spatula on the edge of the sink beside him. Tired hands picked up the small plate, lifting it up to carefully examine everything and to make sure nothing was out of place. Through his examination, he nearly jumped out of his skin: setting the plate down, he collected the small bundle of chopped scallions he prepared and sprinkled a minute amount on top, only now being satisfied with the results. Regardless of his own feelings, worry still gnawed at him as he opened the kitchen drawer and pulled out a pair of metal chopsticks. Moving out into the hallway, a certain dread- coupled with natural lethargy- had Sawashiro dragging his feet until he reached Masato’s bedroom; mentally preparing himself for the true test of his work with a deep breath, he carefully knocked on the door. “Young master? Your lunch is ready.”
There wasn’t a response to greet him at first, and for a moment Sawashiro began to worry. Did Masumi warn him about Masato locking his room? He couldn’t remember if he was warned about him being allowed to do so or not- if he tried to remember the notes from that morning, he was sure he’d only find instructions on how to make eggs in its place instead.
However, worrying was the least logical thing to do. It was better to assume Masato was just making his way to the door, for the thing would open and reveal the wheel-bound child inside moments later. Compared to when he saw him earlier, Masato looked calmer, though a slight furrow of his brows plagued his otherwise cherub features. “...That’s not takeout.” In contrast to his words, he didn't sound the slightest bit surprised- and to Sawashiro's fortune, nor upset.
“No, it’s… not,” Sawashiro mumbled, his self consciousness over his eggs intensifying. “If you’d like, I could—”
"You kept me waiting long enough. I'll just have that.” As Masato began to emerge from his room Sawashiro stepped to the side, beginning to follow him into the living room as the pair became situated in front of the coffee table. Placing the plate down, Sawashiro waited with baited breath as Masato carefully picked up the provided chopsticks. He eyed the food, undoubtedly in disbelief of what Sawashiro managed to put together in the time allotted: it surely wasn’t masterful presentation, but the golden eggs topped off with small bits of bright-green scallion were undeniably eye-catching.
Cutting into it, Masato brought the portioned pieces of egg and rice to his mouth, gingerly chewing them before swallowing. Masato hadn’t said anything as he repeated the action, continuing to eat in silence- and doing nothing to ease Sawashiro’s anxiety. “...How is it?”
“The rice is too wet" Masato murmured, but his complaint didn't stop him from putting more of it in his mouth. "...’s fine.” So long as Masato was eating with relatively no complaints, Sawashiro was willing to take the small victory as a whole win in his book. Sure, there was plenty of room to improve. But he'd have to be content for now. Having finished the latest bite of his food, Masato turned to him, a confused look making its way onto his face. “...What are you smiling for?”
At the mention of it, the very thing was replaced by a confused frown. Though if he tried, Sawashiro was sure he could still feel the faint memory of such a smile in his cheeks. “I didn’t mean to.”
Masato tilted his head for a moment, soon returning to his food. “You’re weird. I guess that’s why dad likes you.”
Sawashiro was puzzled at the comment, but couldn’t find any reason to look into it: Arakawa liked all of his subordinates, obviously- undoubtedly, it was just another casual jab at his father.
Oddly enough, Arakawa was a frequent subject of irritation for Masato, one that Sawashiro had yet to be able to decipher the root of. Perhaps it was a natural feeling to have growing up- it wasn’t as though he fancied his father either. Yet to compare the two in the slightest, Sawashiro felt himself become sick- which only worsened his confusion as to how Masato seemed to despise a man as caring as Arakawa. With that in mind, Sawashiro could only wonder what Masato thought of him when he was leagues behind Arakawa...
To distract himself, Sawashiro glanced at the antique clock above the box television, the time seemingly having been stolen as it already neared dusk. A second glance outside confirmed as much, the fall daylight already beginning to fade behind the city horizon, the golden hue of the city steadily turning into a dangerous purple. Eyeing the cabinet under the television, Sawashiro began to shuffle towards it and opened it, revealing its contents to be a healthy collection of VHS tapes. “Do you want to watch a movie before bed?”
“'Bed?' It’s only five?” Looking back up at the clock, Sawashiro concentrated on the hands this time- indeed finding it to be a tad earlier than he thought: it shouldn’t have been another four hours until Masato’s bedtime…
“How about two movies then- I can take you back to your room to get dressed for bed after the first one’s over.” Masato just pouted, his eyebrows knitting together. He seemed to hum in consideration before his face relaxed, soon returning to finishing his plate.
"Those movies are boring though!" Taken aback, Sawashiro began to think. He wasn't really sure how else to pass the time that didn't include going out, and he didn't exactly find the idea of leaving Masato by himself while he ran to the video store all that responsible. Eventually, an idea did come- one he was sure Masato wouldn't object to.
"Here: if I fall asleep watching one of these, I'll take us down the street to get a better movie. We can even get a second one while we're at it. Does that sound good?" Admittedly, he felt guilt build up inside him instantaneously. He could only soothe this deceit with the rationale that if he went against Arakawa's request to put Masato to sleep on time, then he could very well be barred from seeing him again. In that, Sawashiro would have to find a way to make it up to Masato later on- for right now, he needed to ensure there was even a later on to get to.
Masato didn't appear to realize the odds against him, his childish pride being something Sawashiro was banking on as he didn't need another second to think of their arrangement. It would be the first time he would see Masato smile at him, surely an image he found himself saving in the back of his mind for safe keeping. “Okay!”
At his eager compliance, Sawashiro was lost at Arakawa’s prior urgency: he showed some resistance at first, but this wouldn't be a hard bet to win. Perhaps it was merely just another small win for the books- he surely wouldn’t think too hard on it as he began to look through the cabinet, taking his time to read the names and trying to unravel what they said despite the fancy fonts used.
Having flipped the back of the cases to read the blurbs, he was discovering at a slow pace that the bulk of Arakawa’s cabinet only consisted of dramas and operas. Was there any chance Masato would like any of these? More importantly, was he sure he wasn't actually going to actually fall asleep during one of them…?
Sawashiro hadn’t seen many movies himself growing up, so he could only go by blind faith as he chose the movie with the most interesting plot. That was all he could hope for as he fumbled with the tape momentarily, eventually figuring out how the player worked and turning the movie on. Seeing everything working as it should, he moved to sit on the sofa behind the coffee table. However, h earing utensils rattle, Sawashiro looked over to Masato, who was in the process of readjusting his chair to face the sofa. “Do you need help?”
“No,” was the curt response. Aligning himself against the couch, Masato scooted to the edge of his chair before readjusting his legs, planting his feet flat on the ground as he leaned towards the couch cushion. Sawashiro was compelled to move from his spot as he watched Masato place his small hand onto the seat, but relaxed once he watched him maneuver the rest of his body until he was safely sat down. After repositioning himself, Masato began to lean towards the table, evidently trying to grab the plate he left behind.
Undeniably, should Sawashiro have let him continue then he would have fallen forward. Moving ahead of him, Sawashiro pulled the tablet just within Masato’s reach, allowing him to still grab the plate and bring it to himself. Despite the minimal gesture, Masato glared at him, beginning to pick at his rice with his chopsticks. “You didn’t have to do that, I could have gotten it myself.”
By technicality, Masato did get it on his own- but it wouldn’t be fair to argue with a child. Not when Sawashiro was sure he only reminded him of his limited mobility- a terrible accident on his end that more-than-justifiably silenced him. To refrain from causing any more trouble Sawashiro simply nodded, muttering one more apology as he sat back down and attempted to immerse himself in the movie.
But whether it was due to how much work he exerted earlier or simply because the movie was proving to be uninteresting, he felt his eyes start to shut before he could even hear the names of any of the characters. Did Masato also find the film uninteresting so far? It was only the beginning, certainly not enough time to judge a film- maybe the couch’s leather material was proving to be more comfortable than he expected.
When he checked on Masato once more, he appeared engrossed with the screen: it was clearly a him issue then, he decided while he fought the intense urge to sleep. But if Masato was content, then it wouldn’t hurt if he rested his eyes for a bit- he just needed to wake up before he was noticed…