Chapter Text
The space of the Arakawa Family office had never been a grand one: the hum of the currency counter on Sawashiro’s desk could have easily been drowned out by the various sounds of the other working family members. It didn’t help the small machine that Ichiban didn’t understand the concept of using his inside voice, chattering with Mitsuo at an unapologetic volume.
Ultimately, whatever they were talking about Sawashiro attempted not to let it distract him. At present, he tried to focus on watching the bills he fed the counter, the rapid speed at which they fluttered out of the machine becoming almost hypnotic.
However, as he banded the remaining stacks and moved to account the family’s earnings for the month, he froze. With his ledger open, Sawashiro’s fingers flexed around the pen in his hands, brows gradually furrowing together as he looked the numbers over. For a moment, he considered the possibility he had made a mistake, placing the end of the pen on the pages as he guided his eyes to read each line carefully. It was no small amount that appeared to be missing, either: a fair couple million was gone, somehow having slipped right under Sawashiro’s sharp radar.
Flipping through a plethora of pages and reading each line carefully, he eventually found the reason for the inadequate sum: amongst the sea of names, one appeared to stand out to him. In truth, he couldn’t remember writing it down- but he did remember Ichiban was the one to approach him about this client.
“Ichi.” Whenever Sawashiro spoke, he seemed capable of putting the entire world at a standstill, the small commotion of the workplace quick to silence itself.
“S’up, captain?”
Looking up through his short eyelashes, Sawashiro’s frown worsened as he looked at Ichiban who, in turn, stared at him with a relaxed smile on his face. “Come here.”
Sharing a momentary glance with Mitsuo, Ichiban rose to his feet and walked over to stand beside Sawashiro, curious eyes stealing glances at the open ledger. “Do you got a new job for me?”
“I want to talk to you about an old one, actually-” Lifting the ledger off the table, he turned it to face Ichiban, pointing at the troublesome name on the page. “Explain to me what happened to this.”
Bending forward to read the sketchy penmanship, Ichiban squinted hard at the name before his eyebrows rose to his hairline, his mouth quick to fall open in recognition. “Oh- that loan!”
“Right. So where is it? You lent this out months ago. If you collected it beforehand, it should be here now…” Surveying the desk, Sawashiro subconsciously double checked the various stacks in front of him. “...Not unless you decided to pocket everything.”
When Sawashiro looked at him from the corner of his eye, Ichiban quickly lost his carefree appearance and adopted something more offended. “Hey, don’t think so low of me to think I’d do something like that! You’re always expecting the worst from me—”
“It’s because you demonstrate nothing but the worst. Now what happened?” Sawashiro already had a short temper, and Ichiban’s insistence to talk around the issue wasn’t helping either of them.
Ichiban stared at Sawashiro, seemingly studying his neutral face- though it surely wouldn’t remain as such for long. “When I went to collect the money… she wasn’t doing any better than when I checked on her last time, so I gave her an extension.”
Already, Sawashiro felt one of his canines biting into the inside of his mouth, nodding at Ichiban’s recount of the situation to try and hiding how his jaw began to clench. “And this was when?”
“About a month ago, I guess.”
“You 'guess?'” Snapping the ledger shut, Sawashiro threw it onto his desk before rising from his seat, resulting in Ichiban beginning to back away from him. Stubbornly enough, he still looked at him with those large, bold eyes. “We’re not a charity, Ichi: you can’t just give out money and not collect it later!”
“I know that! I wasn’t just handing out money for the fun of it—”
“So what were you doing then? If you wanted to fuck around with some woman, you go to a brothel for that and spend your own money, not the family’s!” That in particular seemed to spark something in Ichiban, his bushy eyebrows quick to furrow together as his eyes widened at the accusation.
“I said that’s not what I was doing! Would it kill you to have sympathy for someone for once!? She’s in a rough spot, and she’s been trying to get better—”
“‘Trying’ doesn’t mean anything if we’re short millions, Ichi!” Seizing him by the wrist, Sawashiro dragged him to the front of his desk as he opened his ledger to the offending page one more time. He could feel Ichiban thrash against him, attempting to rip his arm free from Sawashiro’s iron hold. To his misfortune, such hold was too strong against Ichiban’s bony wrist, ultimately becoming helpless as he was dragged along.
Along the description box, there was an address haphazardly jotted down, and with a quick glance at it Sawashiro was certain of where to go. The other Arakawa Family members were quick to step to the side as Sawashiro stomped by them, throwing open the door and making his way to the building's exit. “She shouldn't have taken out a loan if she couldn't pay it back: if you’ve forgotten what we do as yakuza, then I’ll be happy to remind you.”
—---
Sawashiro never had the chance to go fishing when he was growing up, but if Ichiban’s persistent writhing was anything like wrangling a fish out of water, then he was glad he never took part in the hobby. The apartment complex Sawashiro had written down was a decent drive taking the highway, but ultimately nothing too far from Kamurocho. In terms of appearances, it wasn’t anything hard to look at either, but certainly wouldn’t be the first place he’d think to live. It was a rather tall building, white walls speckled with bits of rust and other impossible stains. Some doors appeared skewed and old, while others more fresh than their neighbors, though upon closer inspection the hinges on such doors appeared worn and tampered with.
Despite the relatively short trip, Ichiban was still attempting to talk Sawashiro out of taking matters into his own hands- or at least slip through such hands and try to stop him another way. Hopelessly, he struggled both against Sawashiro’s grip, and against the frigid wind the autumn air brought to them.
Ultimately, such efforts were in vain by the time the pair reached the target floor, Sawashiro throwing Ichiban in front of him and onto the ground. “Take me to her room. When she answers, I’ll take over from there.”
From the floor, Ichiban could only glare pitifully at Sawashiro as he rose, dusting off his suit and dragging his feet along the metal floor. Behind him, Sawashiro walked more confidently until they reached the very end of the cramped hallway. Between the wall of the complex and Sawashiro himself, Ichiban looked frustrated, rapping his knuckles against the steel door and hanging his head. “Hello? It’s Kasuga- I wanted to check on you.”
Silence responded to Ichiban as he cast Sawashiro a concerned look before trying the door again. “...Hey, are you alright?”
For a moment, Sawashiro anticipated his personal concerns to be true- that this woman had taken advantage of Ichiban’s generosity and skipped town the second she had the chance. Though as the door creaked ajar- its rusted hinges whining in the rowdy air- Sawashiro lunged forward to wedge his fingers in-between the crack, shoving Ichiban to the side and wrenching it all the way open.
Nearly tearing the door off its hinges, Sawashiro was presented with the thorn of his morning: it came in the form of a petite woman, dressed in monotonous, conservative clothing. In truth, she appeared slightly taller than the average girl, yet she was still puny under Sawashiro’s towering frame. Large, doe-like eyes stared up at him startled, her voluminous, short brown hair doing little to hide her shocked expression as she stood frozen in the doorway.
Her jaw hung open, light-pink lips parted as she struggled with what to say to the new man in front of her. Unexpectedly however, Sawashiro, similarly, found himself frozen. His grip on the door lessened, now engrossed in the details of the woman’s face in front of him. It wasn’t that she was anything especially pretty to look at that had him immobile. Instead, it was the sense she looked uncomfortably familiar, yet he couldn’t exactly place where he could have seen her from. There was an unidentifiable pang in his chest as he looked at her- a steady pain in the back of his mind as he tried painfully to remember who exactly she was.
“...Can I help you?” She almost seemed to whisper the question, her modest voice just barely audible over the wind outside. Sawashiro must have been standing there long enough to stir up confusion in her opposed to the fear from beforehand. Swallowing, Sawashiro looked over his shoulder to Ichiban, he himself visibly confused at the display in front of him.
“Stay out here, this won’t be long,” he instructed before strong-arming his way into the apartment. If the woman wanted to object to his invasion or had any complaints, she kept it to herself as Sawashiro nearly slammed the door behind him. Continuing to face the wall, Sawashiro relaxed his palm against it, eyes staring hard at the floor. There wasn’t any discernible reason for him to feel so stumped: he had intentions to remind Ichiban the yakuza way of handling troublesome clients, yet in a turn of events he himself seemed to forget what that entailed.
“Do you work with Kasuga-kun?” Snapping to face her, the woman jumped back at Sawashiro’s sudden movement, though despite her defensive stance she appeared willing to talk to him. Perhaps because of Ichiban’s dopey nature, she assumed Sawashiro would be just as kind as he was- an idea that might have been true if only due to his own confusion. Beginning to wring her hands together, the woman idly picked at her cuticles as she looked to the tile floor, an awkward smile pulling at her lips. “...I hope you weren’t going to give me another extension.”
At the mention of such extension, Sawashiro was grounded in reality again, reminded of the whole reason he was even in her apartment in the first place. Removing himself from the door, he attempted to stand up straighter, fixing his posture. “No, I’m not. My partner did you a disservice by thinking we were that generous.”
But instead of confusion or even worry, she just nodded. Her hands fell to her side, though she never let her head droop despite the hopeless look on her face. “...So then that means I’m out of time.”
Walking away from him, the woman casually made her way to her kitchen, opening a cupboard before looking at Sawashiro. “Do you prefer tea or coffee?”
Had this been anyone else, Sawashiro might have scoffed if not felt outright insulted. No, instead something felt familiar about the cadence she used, an odd, relaxed feeling coming over him.
“...Coffee.” He found himself toeing off his shoes, making his way into the heart of the small apartment without any second thoughts. There only sat a small, round table while the futon was folded, neatly tucked away in a corner by the closet. As a whole, the apartment was incredibly barren and only seemed to possess the essentials, yet it maintained a quiet, domestic atmosphere to it.
No other comments were made as the coffee machine murmured while it worked, the tiny room quickly drowning in the pungent aroma of coffee. As he heard the coffee machine sputter, Sawashiro brought his hands to rest on the table, at a loss of exactly where he should look or what he should do. He wouldn’t be able to proceed with the collection as he had planned- not when he had such an unbearable itch crawling all over him.
Placing his mug on the table, the woman sat across from him, an apologetic look on her face. “I don’t have any creamer, so I hope it’s okay if you drink it like that.”
“Don’t worry about it,” he replied on instinct, taking the hot mug and bringing it to his lips. He didn’t take a sip, only letting the hot ceramic press against his skin. “I prefer it this way.”
A hum from her before they were left in quiet once more, taking their time to drink in silence- a temporary one, inevitably.
“...I don’t have the money. I won’t be able to pay you back.” Despite this admission, she remained calm, and for whatever reason Sawashiro couldn’t find himself becoming upset either.
Instead, he found himself uncomfortably curious. “What did you use the money for?”
Placing her mug on the table, the woman let her hands relax against the warm cup, looking outside the window behind Sawashiro.
“...My old job had me transfer here a few months ago, but it wasn’t long before they let me go after that. I only wanted the money to keep myself afloat until I could find stable work, but…” Evidently, the search hadn’t gone well. “It wasn’t as if I wasn’t trying…”
Perhaps she suspected her chatting was unnecessary or that it was ultimately unimportant to Sawashiro- a man there only meant to collect money and leave. Breaking both of their expectations, Sawashiro, similarly, put his mug back on the table. “Do you know what the reason was for your termination?”
Looking at him for the first time since sitting down, the woman appeared caught off guard by the question. “I’d come into work too exhausted to do anything...” Perhaps sensing his follow up question, she shook her head. “Since moving back to Kamurocho, I keep having nightmares whenever I try to go to bed. I tried to just stay awake as much as I could- it’s not like I would’ve gotten a full night of sleep anyway.”
There wasn’t any humor behind her laugh, and if Sawashiro had any idea of what those nightmares were, he was confident in thinking it wasn’t any silly dream one could just brush off the following morning.
Morbid- perhaps inappropriate- curiosity picked at him, and he found his mouth moving before he knew it: “What were they about?”
Did he ask too quickly- should he have asked at all? Selfishly, he only wanted to see if his suspicions were true, though he realized too late that he might have either been wrong, or it might have been a sensitive subject. Again, the woman across from him jumped back at his eagerness, now for the first time staring down at her lap. She was silent for a while, her voice eventually coming through as she muttered her answer.
“...Nothing, I guess. I’d be at a train station when I’d…” Her eyes appeared to glaze over, eyebrow twitching as she attempted to continue. “I’d start to hear crying. I’d always start by walking around trying to find where it came from, but it would just get louder- yet so far at the same time…”
She pressed her lips together hard enough for them to turn white. “Then I’d start running and opening all the lockers I could, but then there would just be more lockers, and it seemed like they would go on forever and—”
“Enough-”
Sawashiro hadn’t realized he was staring off into space until he could pretty much hear the girl yelling, so when he looked back at her he was stunned to find her cheeks glistening with an abundance of tears. Did he ask her to stop for her sake, or his own? It was only then did he realize what that sinking, familiar feeling in his stomach was, and he wasn’t ready to hear such a horrific nightmare anymore- not when he knew he was the reason she had them in the first place. Not when he knew the baby she was dreaming about was their son.
His interruption caused her to halt in an instant, suddenly looking guilty as she stared at the corner behind her. “...I’m sorry. You didn't need to hear all of that.”
Sawashiro had to bite back an apology of his own: it didn't appear she realized who he was yet. It would’ve been better to keep her in the dark and not have her suspect anything. He should instead focus on what he was there to do- on his life now, not what happened back then.
“...The money then- you really won’t be able to pay us back?”
Back on their original topic, she only shook her head. An ache came about when he realized she wasn’t crying anymore- that dealing with the yakuza was apparently less distressing to her than the loss of her child that night. “...I’ve heard of what happens to people who can’t repay their loans. I’m ready to accept that...”
Shuffling away from her table, Sawashiro couldn't discern her intentions as she placed her palms flat on the floor before bowing to him. “...Please sell my organs to make up the difference.”
As her thick hair covered her face, Sawashiro was rendered immobile again at the blunt, dramatic request. She wouldn't let him think on the idea before she spoke again, perhaps aware of his hesitance. “I’m not sure I have much of a future, anyhow. I thought I left all of that behind me years ago, but now I have those nightmares every night. My rent is due in less than a month: if the streets don’t kill me, then… I don't think those nightmares will ever leave me alone at this point. I'm not sure how much longer I can bear to see them.”
It was torture. Without any money or any family to turn to, this girl had seen herself as doomed and alone. Sawashiro had lucked out finding Masato when he did: knowing what happened to his son gave him reasons to work hard for him and persevere through life. As it appeared, this girl seemed to fight on for as long as he did, but now she was at the end of her rope without that motivation; Sawashiro happened upon his son when he couldn’t have cared less as to what happened to him. Meanwhile, his mother was haunted by the memory, never certain of what happened to her baby yet still dying to know the truth.
But that was all in the past- everything was in the past. Sawashiro was able to pull himself together and live life despite it all: this girl wasn’t able to do the same for herself, it was as simple as that. Sawashiro blinked to himself, biting his lip as he shook his head. He was a yakuza now: he couldn’t allow this matter distract him from his responsibilities. “Dying's your solution then?"
When she didn't respond, keeping her head low, he could only scoff. "You’ve watched too many movies…”
She could've pursued a career as a novelist with that kind of an imagination... As absurd as the request was- not to mention how blunt she was about making it- it caused Sawashiro to think: when was the last time the Arakawa Family even had done something so drastic? In recent years, the family's blade began to dull: he was sure Arakawa himself would have given Sawashiro a perplexed look if he approached him with such an idea nowadays.
Picking herself up, the girl tilted her head, prompting Sawashiro to proceed. “...We have schedules too, you know. I’ll decide what happens to you, so don’t tell me what to do when you're in debt to us.”
She fully picked herself up when he spoke again and began to rise, making his way for the door: “I’ll come back in one month. In that time, round up as much money as you can- don't do anything stupid: pawn off whatever you got, you won’t need it when you’re dead. Even if you won’t be able to pay us back in full…”
As he slipped his shoes on, he looked behind him to see the girl still kneeling on the floor. He studied her for a few moments, truly now recognizing the familiar shape of her face despite the amount of years that had gone by: she was without a doubt the same girl from his youth. “...the more money you bring back, the less painful I’ll make your death.”
He refused to give her a chance to respond as he hastily opened the door, quick to shut it behind him as he rejoined Ichiban outside. In truth, he forgot Ichiban brought him to the apartment in the first place, resulting in him meeting his gaze with a start. When Sawashiro came out of the apartment empty handed and thus surprisingly not covered in blood, Ichiban raised an eyebrow. “So... what happened?”
Sawashiro struggled to maintain his typical, icy demeanor, but he’d still try so long as he was in front of Ichiban: it was his duty as his superior to set an example. “Nothing. Forget about this incident- forget about that woman. We’re going back.”
But Ichiban’s ever-so golden heart continued to beat for the girl Sawashiro left behind, such a vague answer doing nothing to dissuade him. “You can’t really expect me to do that-”
“I mean it." Sawashiro typically spoke with an edge to his voice, but there must have been something especially warning about his tone that caused Ichiban to stop in his tracks. "Forget this place even exists and move on- I don’t want you breathing another word of today to me moving forward, understood?”
Sawashiro hated the way Ichiban was looking at him. He didn’t look intimidated or confused- not even agitated as per usual. He gave him some strange, new look- one that made Sawashiro feel pitied. It wasn’t condescension or contempt: if Sawashiro was truthful, it might have tread on lines of true concern not for the girl, but for Sawashiro himself. What made the look worse was that Sawashiro couldn’t even muster up the energy to yell at him for it.
It was making Sawashiro’s stomach twist. It was unbearable to look at, he decided, thundering away from Ichiban as he made his way down the building. For once, Ichiban listened to him: the taxi ride back to Kamurocho, Ichiban didn’t breathe a word of that evening. He didn’t make any snide remarks or even attempt any small talk: he gave Sawashiro peace for the rest of the day, a rare instance Sawashiro was willing to thank Ichiban for down the line.
One month.
—--
Ichiban wasn’t with Sawashiro this time- no one was. The sun barely peeked over the concrete jungle of the horizon, casting the world in a dull, pale-blue hue. While the bulk of the world remained asleep amidst the dawn, Sawashiro ascended the tall apartment complex, his heavy duffel bag thumping against his leg and occasionally clanging against the metal supports of the stairs.
With Ichiban absent this time, the hallway to the girl’s apartment seemed longer and lonelier, his steps echoing in the empty air. Actually reaching her door, he felt himself hesitate and his grip on his bag tighten. He didn’t have time to waste: he eventually knocked on the door, the knocking producing a much quieter sound than he intended.
Unlike before, the girl was quick to open the door, revealing herself in yet another colorless conservative outfit. She wore dull-colored jeans with a cozy-looking turtleneck, the only spot of color being a rose-colored belt: all in all, she looked ready to go out for the day. In the dim light of the early morning, Sawashiro could better see the dark circles under her eyes, and when he looked at her closely, he realized her hair didn’t look out of place either, just a few strands here and there out of place. It all contrasted with each other: her outfit told a story that she was ready for work, yet from how exhausted she appeared, it looked as though she only got home moments ago.
“Good morning, mister…” she paused mid bow, awkwardly raising her head as she struggled with a name.
“-Makoto.” He doubted she remembered his name- he didn’t remember hers, not even when he had it written down back in his ledger. It’s not as though she would need to know his real name anyhow, the fake name sufficing as she gave a polite smile. Honestly, he didn’t have to provide a name at all, yet something compelled him to do so regardless. It was the least he could do, perhaps, whether it was a fake alias or not.
“...Makoto-san.” Reaching behind her, she picked up a modest-sized handbag, its faux, wine-red leather worn from use. Although it was only about the size of her torso, the small thing was rather plump: evidently, the thought of an agonizing death had truly pushed her to work for some extra yen.
Presenting her efforts to Sawashiro, he nudged the bag back to her. “Hold onto it for me.”
“You don’t want to check it?” He shook his head, looking behind her into the apartment. Though it was barren before, it was now nearly devoid of anything, even the table from before being missing from the small living room. At most, he was able to see a piece of paper next to the stove, presumably her apartment key left neatly on top. “Do you have your documents with you?”
“My documents…?” She parroted, turning around to dig into a cabinet by the door until she unearthed a simple manila folder. “There’s only my birth certificate and passport in here plus some old doctor's notes... Why do you need it?”
“That’s none of your business,” Sawashiro said flatly, snatching it out of her hand before tucking it under his arm. “Let’s go.”
The descent was uncomfortably quiet, though what was there to be said? Nothing as the two reached the dump truck Sawashiro pulled up to the complex in, nodding for the girl to get in the passenger side. As she climbed in, Sawashiro handed her the bag alongside her folder. “Here.”
She hesitated: was she truly meant to hold onto the tools that would kill her? It seemed cruel- though that was the way of the yakuza. If she was prepared to have her organs sold on the black market, she shouldn’t have been surprised to have to do something as relatively simple as hold the heinous bag.
Once everything was in her hands, Sawashiro walked around before climbing in himself, starting the engine and pulling away from the parking lot onto the highway. Even at the early hour they were driving at, the roads still possessed a stray car or two. It made the drive feel less lonely- though not any less awkward.
Their destination would take a modest amount of time. In such time, Sawashiro found himself looking over at his passenger: though he had a month to process this reality, he could still hardly believe the girl sitting next to him was even there. Her appearance had hardly changed since he last saw her, though with his spotty memory it was hard to gauge if he even remembered the first time he saw her. Compared to when she was first handed the bag, she seemed to accept the object in her arms, almost hugging it as she sat slouched in her seat.
She looked tired- not that Sawashiro could blame her. “Did you sleep last night?”
At his question, she slowly moved her head to face him. “It doesn’t matter if I did, does it?”
Did she think he'd hurt her if she said no? “Don’t ignore the question, just answer it. I'm just asking.”
When he was more forward, she eventually shook her head, starting to rest her cheek on the bag. “...I couldn’t. Sorry.”
An unsurprising answer, and Sawashiro felt guilty knowing he expected such a response. He flexed his grip on the wheel of the truck, sighing through his nose. “...You had a kid once, didn’t you?”
His ‘guess’ appalled her, seemingly giving her body enough energy to jolt up in her seat. How did you know? Her eyes wanted to ask the question, though she seemed too tired to actually vocalize it. “It’s just a guess. I thought back to that dream you had… it only made sense to come to that conclusion with how specific it was.”
Was there a need to defend his statement? Was the justification necessary? To himself, he at least wanted to give an excuse as to how he knew. As for the girl, she slumped in her seat again, nodding solemnly. “...I was a teenager. My boyfriend and I were just barely getting by on our own- we couldn’t afford to take care of a baby, so…”
“He made you get rid of it.” Finishing her thought, she looked at him from under her fluffy bangs, quietly confirming the truth. Sawashiro’s knuckles whitened around the wheel, clenching his jaw shut as he fought to keep his eyes on the road. Pressing his lips together, he took in a deep breath, biting his lip as he breathed out.
“...I went back to get it, but by the time we got back to the locker, a man was already there trying to break it open.” Looking at her lap, she let go of the bag, bringing her hands up in front of her while her fingers flexed around an imaginary object. “I could’ve opened it myself- I could’ve told him he had the wrong locker and help both of us. But…”
When she started to sniffle, Sawashiro forced himself to look away from the road for a second, watching as the girl covered her face and began to weep. Though he turned his attention back to the road, it was impossible for him to ignore the girl’s quiet sobbing, the sound encouraging him to dig his nail into the side of his finger. Still, he had a reason for this questioning, and with another deep breath he continued to pour salt into the wound.
“What did you think of the man who found… your baby?” Drying her eyes, the girl’s voice still shook from her sorrow.
“...I felt bad for him. He didn’t even know he took someone else’s baby- you could tell he really wanted to get to his own.” She rubbed the back of her sleeve against her nose. “...I hope he took care of my baby like it really was his. I don’t know who he was, but… I could tell he’d do anything for his child.”
Sniffling one more time, she picked her head up to look at the road ahead. Dawn still plagued the sky, keeping it trapped in that faded cerulean. “I just wish I could know what happened to them after that night… I don't even know if he made it to the hospital on time...”
A painful wish, but now it was Sawashiro’s turn to speak: her aching wouldn't be for nought. “...Kamurocho isn’t too big of a city. Word gets around quickly if you know where to go for information.”
Intrigued, the girl looked at him, just barely wiping away the last of her tears. He refused to meet her gaze, however. “...All you want is to know what happened to your son, right?”
She paused at the question, and for every second she didn’t respond, Sawashiro could feel his heart pound against his chest. Fortunately, she eventually nodded. “I haven’t stopped thinking of him since that night. When I got back to the city... everywhere I went just reminded me of it all.”
Taking a turn on the highway, a sign welcoming drivers to Yokohama came into view. With that, Sawashiro took one hand off the wheel to reach into his inner breast pocket, feeling for a small paper envelope inside. Wordlessly, he handed it out for the girl to take, her doing so with some reluctance.
As he could hear the adhesive of the envelope tear, Sawashiro adjusted himself in his seat, placing his hand back on the wheel, apprehension making his limbs tingle. “...I heard of a man who rescued a baby from a locker once. Tracking him down wasn’t as easy, but...”
Sawashiro had lied plenty of times before, and he would continue to do so for the rest of his life for the sake of those around him. When the girl pulled the photograph out of the envelope, she was silent, simply admiring the polaroid in hand. Peeking over, Sawashiro joined her in looking at the picture.
It depicted a smart-looking teenager, his clean bowl cut punctuating the neat school uniform he wore. In the picture, it was clear to see he was in a wheelchair, though such a detail didn’t distract either of them from the proud smile he wore on his face as he held his diploma open, the tube case for it resting neatly in his lap.
“...It’s a bit of an old photo, but it was the only one the father had on hand.” The girl seemed to be half listening, her thumb brushing over the details of his face. “He started to attend a college in Osaka some years back, so he hasn’t been able to get a recent picture."
In truth, this was the best photo Sawashiro was able to provide from his collection: every other picture either had Arakawa or himself in it- the latter fact only making him spiral in his guilt as he decided to continue shielding the truth. Not to mention, if Sawashiro had shown her a picture of Masato as of late- dressed to the nines in black apparel and sporting gothic makeup- he wasn’t sure she wouldn’t have a heart attack at his jarring appearance.
If not that, then while she wasn’t able to watch him grow up and graduate high school- a privilege Sawashiro had and continued to have- she at least deserved to keep a photo commemorating the moment.
“Do you know what his name is?” Sawashiro paused, breath catching in his throat. His neck seemed to be made of concrete as he shook it, casting the photograph another glance before staring ahead.
“I neglected to ask.”
“Ah… that’s okay.” Fondly, she continued to look at the photograph, holding it close to her chest. “This is more than enough… I’m happy to know he’s doing fine.”
Though as she said so, her eyebrows pinched together, pulling the picture away from herself to look at it again. “...Did he get into an accident?”
When Sawashiro hummed, she pointed at the wheelchair below Masato. It was inevitable she’d ask- how could she not? Sawashiro only wondered if he should tell her the truth...
“His father said... due to the circumstances of his birth, his organs were damaged.” A short and sweet explanation, yet it made Sawashiro try to blink his discomfort away.
As the truck drove under a bridge, the faint smile on the girls lips were taken away in a flash, now replaced by a guilty frown. Nodding, she held the photo to her chest again. When the truck escaped the dark of the tunnel, the pair were met with the sky having become a lighter blue, though all Sawashiro could focus on was the girl’s murmuring to the photo: apologies meant for a son who couldn’t receive them, yet if he strained his ear, he could easily hear her compliment him, telling him how proud she was.
They were well into the heart of Ijincho and almost at their destination, yet the girl still found the time to ask one more question: "Are you sure this is him?"
"I told you, word gets around quickly in Kamurocho: it's not often you hear about a baby surviving being put in a locker- not when the locker was practically destroyed in the process." His response hung in the air, the low rumbling of the truck filling the silence. Sawashiro looked at the picture one more time before at the girl, her own gaze looking curiously at him. "...He has the same nose as you."
He didn't look at her anymore- he didn't need to. When the truck began to slow down alongside an apartment complex, the girl looked out the window before back at Sawashiro. “This is a bit public, isn’t it?”
Undoubtedly, she must have been imaging a dingy warehouse on the farthest corner of the city. Sawashiro didn’t acknowledge the question as he parked the truck, reaching over to open her door and nodding for her to leave. “Go to the man at the front desk. Just tell him the Arakawa Family dropped you off: he’ll help you settle in after that.”
As she was effectively being kicked out of the truck and not having her kidneys harvested for international buyers, she could only look at him befuddled. “But I thought—“
“Everyone we dispose of ends up in this town. I’ve done just as you wanted, as far as I'm concerned.” He could still feel her eyes on him, practically digging their way into the side of his skull. “...Did you hear me? I said move.”
“I did hear you, that’s why I want to know why—“
“I don’t need a reason, so just get out!” Even if he raised his voice, the girl appeared stubborn enough to stay in place. “...You should’ve never gone back to Kamurocho- not when you didn’t do anything wrong. So start over here- and don't go messing with the yakuza again... Consider that paying your debt back.”
The girl looked down at the bag in her arms again, and when she appeared to remember the bag of money with her, everything steadily seemed to fall into place. With another look of the photograph in her hands, she gave him a nod before unbuckling her seat belt and exiting the truck.
Moving to close the door, the girl caught him by the window, presenting him a cautious look. When she didn't see him move to chase after her, she mustered up a weak smile. “Thank you, Makoto-san.”
“You can thank me by staying away from Kamurocho and moving on… If I even catch a whisper of you in town, I really will kill you.” A terrible threat- one that made the girl’s smile broaden.
When he knew all of her things were out of the truck, he began to drive off, making the trip back to Kamurocho. Though he was destined to be bounded by his guilt, there was no justifiable reason why she had to be dragged down with him. He would have to put in more effort for the next couple of months to put the family's finances back in the green, though he was sure Ichiban would be more than happy to help him in that endeavor.