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“You were planning to visit my son again and then leave with no word to me, Doctor Mikotoba?”
“Mother!” Kazuma turns towards the woman who has appeared in the dark walkway, spine straightening on reflex like a soldier’s.
Sumire Asogi's appearance is announced by the dim light and smoky scent of a kiseru pipe held loosely in between her fingers long before her gaunt face can be made out in the dark.
Her young son is greeting Yujin Mikotoba in the lantern light before the man begins his journey home for the evening.
“Asogi-san.” Mikotoba clears his throat and fidgets slightly before bowing his head to the woman. “I was unaware you were feeling well enough to greet visitors. I would have seen you sooner.”
“I am,” Sumire says, then turns to her son. “Kazuma.”
“Yes?”
Kazuma is holding books that Sumire does not recognize in his hands. Some are in English. He is studying again, it seems. Any subject he can get his hands on. He is a good son, in all ways that she can hope for— he studies because he must carry the Asogi name to a brighter future than the shadow it lives under now.
The head of the household is dead. His body is stuck now. Buried whole for the foteign soil to eat beneath plants she does not recognize, in a cemetery she cannot pronounce the name of. They cannot bring his body home. They will not exhume him. She will not make the journey if she tries, and then their bodies will both be lost. Kazuma would be alone.
“It’s rather late,” she says, “and I don’t wish to keep the doctor away from his family for long.”
Kazuma nods, then turns to bow to Mikotoba. “Thank you again for visiting, Doctor Mikotoba. Please, get home safe. Goodnight, Mother.”
Then the boy turns and walks briskly into the house.
Sumire waits for Kazuma’s footsteps to disappear from her range of hearing, and Mikotoba patiently waits.
“You are too kindhearted for your own good, Doctor Mikotoba. It is more painful this way, with you avoiding me.”
Mikotoba sighs and shakes his head. “I apologize. But… I don’t agree with you. This is the way things have to be.”
“Tell me why my husband is dead, Doctor,” she says evenly.
Mikotoba's eyes widen with a fear Sumire has not seen in him before, and he squeezes his eyes shut to avoid looking at her.
“You understand the burden of losing a wife. If my pain is a fraction of yours, could you not spare me that much?”
Mikotoba does not speak.
Sumire puts her pipe to her lips. “Kazuma is a smart boy. He has his father's intelligence. He did not believe you when you said that an illness took his father. Nor did I.”
“...Asogi-san, I understand that this must be painful for—”
“What killed him?”
Mikotoba takes a deep breath. Sumire can see the tightness in his shoulders, and how he must be clutching at his own arms beneath his sleeves.
“Kazuma is still so young—”
“Kazuma is a man now,” Sumire says, shaking her head. “He holds the entire clan on his shoulders. What in London could have shaken you so?”
“I cannot tell you.”
Sumire sighs deeply. “Then you are lying to me, and you are lying to my son.”
“...That's—”
“I am not asking you a question, so do not argue with me. I recognize the guilt you carry every time you set foot in my home, Doctor Mikotoba. I understand it must make you uncomfortable to see me these days.”
Mikotoba's already upset expression turns into a frown at the accusation. He looks very tired at this hour. He was very young when Sumire had first met him; still a student with a new wife and a dream of furthering science for the betterment of society. Though he and Sumire are the same age, they no longer look it. A silver stripe mars his hair. He does not meet her sunken eyes anymore. He visits far more often though he is surely busier than when they were young. Perhaps it is not accurate to say that they are not young— but they are a widow and a widower. Young is not what they feel.
“Minister Jigoku has not visited once since he came to pay his respects. He did not look me in the eye when he was here. Kazuma has gone to see him, and has said he seemed well, but he will not set foot in the Asogi home anymore. I wanted to congratulate him on his new government position.” She breathes deeply from the pipe and blows the air out slowly. “I have only my son to remember my husband by, Doctor. Nothing and nobody else remains. Nothing is mine.”
Mikotoba averts his gaze politely from Sumire’s tired, bitter rambling, letting her speak her mind as she has longed to for months.
“What sort of mother have I become?” Sumire asks. “Holding my son back, unable to give him the answers he needs. I will tell you what I think happened. I think my fool of a husband was exactly himself. That sort of a man is not meant to survive in England. That sort of man was bred for dying young. Though I cannot imagine who could have shut your mouths. And at this rate, I wonder if I will ever be able to find the answers.”
“Asogi-san,” Mikotoba says, gently and only after he is certain she is finished. “Please understand that my silence is in the intention of protecting your son. Surely you've… Come to the understanding that there are things one cannot speak of, for the sake of everyone involved.”
“I believe you,” she says pointedly, staring deep into his eyes. “You are not a man who would willingly sully my husband's memory for cheap.”
It should be a kind thing to say— a testament to the doctor's honor— but instead it bites like an accusation of cowardice. An accusation he cannot wholeheartedly deny.
Mikotoba makes sure to say his next words while their gazes are still locked: “I want to do all that I can for Kazuma. Truly.”
She scoffs. “You are not Kazuma's father. Kazuma has no father. He has only me, and this empty house, and Karuma. Goodness knows what happened to the rest of his will. My husband would not have left this world with no words for his son. No matter what illness had taken him.” She shakes her head and purses her lips, then lets out another harsh breath between her teeth that turns into a coughing fit. She coughs into her sleeve repeatedly, an aching, shuddering sound, then catches a deep breath.
“Asogi-san, are you alright?”
“No.”
“If you need—”
“You already know you cannot treat me, Doctor Mikotoba. Do us both a favor, and do not offer. You'll only disappoint yourself.”
Sumire shuts her eyes tight and swallows hard.
Genshin married a stubborn, strong, intelligent woman. It is a brutal act to keep the truth from her.
“One day I hope someone in this world will be able to tell my son the truth. I know it will not be you. But I thank you for your kindness to him in the meantime.”
“I don't mean to overstep, Asogi-san. But for the sake of your husband's memory, the kindness to your son is the least that I can do.”
From what little Mikotoba can see of Sumire’s face in the darkness, she gives him a strange look.
“Did my husband ask you to keep a secret for him?”
Mikotoba raises his eyebrows. “He asked… Something of that nature. Before his death, you understand.”
It is not a complete untruth, and it is likely not the answer she is looking for, but she smiles ruefully.
“Hm. That does sound like him. The bastard. Is your daughter well, Doctor? She's healthy?”
And her interrogation is over.
“She is.”
“She must be waiting for her father to come and bid her a good night. I apologize that my son has taken up so much of your time.”
“Not at all. I'm glad to offer any help I can.”
Sumire nods and brings her pipe to her lips once more, staring blankly at some spot on the ground.
“Then we will be seeing you again, Doctor. Don't be a stranger the next time you come around.”