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The early morning cool still lingered, and a soft breeze brushed Haru’s hair from his face like a gentle caress. The troubled boy took no notice, however, as feet moved woodenly along the path to Makoto’s house, arms wrapped too tightly around his middle. It was a habit he had developed as a child whenever he needed comfort or grounding, and after 17 years he still hadn’t grown out of it. Usually it wasn’t needed on account that Makoto was always around, but today was different. Haru had stayed in bed this morning, making the excuse of feeling sick when Makoto came to get him for school. Just now he couldn't stay in the house any longer, and his socked feet steadily gathered dirt as they moved toward his destination.
His thoughts wandered, foggy and despairing. The image of an unopened letter lying in his trashcan at home stung his mind, and he tried in vain to push it away. A sharp pain twisted its way through Haru’s chest, causing him to shudder weakly, too emotionally drained to react any further.
In defeat he allowed his thoughts to drift aimlessly, unconscious of time passing until he realized his feet had stopped. He had been staring dumbly at the Tachibana’s doorstep for who knows how long, and with a shaky breath he reached up to ring the doorbell. In the back of his mind he knew that the three children were already gone and the parents might not even be home, but his finger moved without his control, pressing the button two, than three times.
There was no response and Haru’s breathing began to quicken, heart jumping with panic. His dormant fears rose to life, feral things that clattered about in the cage where he had locked them. He breathed out and leaned forward, resting his upper body limply against the door. What should he do? What was happening?
Forcing his rational thought to kick in, Haru wiped his sweaty hands on his pants and walked around the side of the house, stepping over one of the twin’s bicycles and opening the gate to the back garden. A quick sweep of his gaze revealed Mr. Tachibana sitting on a bench next to a gap in the fence, surrounded by tools. He had been humming a happy tune when the click of the gate latch made him look up. When he saw Haru his face lit up in a smile much like his son’s and he waved the boy over, eyes twinkling with happiness. Whatever was squeezing Haru’s insides uncoiled, just a little.
“Haruka! Good morning,” Mr. Tachibana greeted, “It’s so good to see you.” Haru moved forward, wanting to respond but finding his throat too dry to do so. A strange expression crossed Mr. Tachibana’s face when he saw Haru’s state, but a second later it was gone. The man reached over and patted the bench with one hand.
“If you have a few minutes, I could use some help with this fence!” he said warmly, and Haru came over to sit beside the older man, moving a few tools aside to make room.
“Hold this post while I nail the boards together, please,” Makoto's father said, and Haru complied silently. For some time they both worked side by side, Mr. Tachibana keeping up pleasant chatter about this and that in a calm, reassuring tone. Haru was mostly silent, only offering a few words here and there and not missing how Makoto’s father kept glancing at him thoughtfully.
Haru knew the older man was observant, he obviously recognized something was wrong but didn't press. Still, Haru sat silently, letting himself be distracted for a while. He savored the few moments of peace that came with holding a handful of nails for Mr. Tachibana’s easy reach, the man’s calloused fingertips brushing Haru’s palm whenever he took one. Once, he accidentally knocked over a bucket and yelped loudly, the action so Makoto-like that Haru couldn't stifle a smile. With both of them working together it didn’t take long before the repairs were finished, and Mr. Tachibana sat back with a satisfied sigh. Nodding his approval, he clapped Haru on the shoulder.
“Thanks you for the help. It looks good, son!”
Haru’s breath left his lungs as if someone had flipped a switch, that single word crashing around in his mind. The events of the morning he had been trying to forget rushed back and he gasped, squeezing his eyes shut. For a moment he sat, unaware he had begun crying until there were larger hands on his trembling ones, scooping the remaining nails out of his tear-splattered palms.
“Haruka,” Mr. Tachibana murmured gently, “Please tell me what’s wrong.” The tender voice washed over Haru, but he pulled his hands away, wrapping them around his middle instead. Breath hitching, Haru opened his eyes again but directed them at his lap, unable to meet the older man’s gaze. Tears flowed down his face, and the pain spread through his chest felt like he was being cut open, bleeding out onto the family flowerbeds. He felt Mr. Tachibana shift a bit and lean forward with his arms resting on his knees, waiting patiently for Haru. After what seemed like ages, Haru hiccuped slightly and rubbed a sleeve across his eyes.
“I...don’t know where my parents are,” he mumbled, words catching in his throat. “Last I heard they were in Singapore, b-but the letter I sent came back saying they had moved, and they never answer their calls and…” the words were spilling out in a rush now and Haru couldn’t stop them, no matter how much he was shaking. “I just...it’s been so long! ”
When he closed his eyes the same scene was burned on his eyelids - his parents picking up bags and walking down the steps, their voices jumbled and faces blurry. The scene had been often repeated during his young life, but the last time had been quite a while ago, and as time went by the most he could recall was a broken image and his own thoughts of wait, why, where. When Haru spoke again, his voice was quiet.
“Sometimes I forget what they look like. I always go to find a picture but…they’re really gone, out there somewhere and they’re not coming back-” He broke off into a sob and Mr. Tachibana reached over and gripped his knee tightly. Haru stared at the point of contact, transfixed as his own tears dripped onto the man’s arm, making dark spots on the pale yellow shirt. The realization came to him slowly, spreading through his mind like the dark tears on fabric.
“I just wanted them to want me,” Haru admitted softly, head bowed, and this time Mr. Tachibana’s arms wrapped around him, pulling him close till Haru’s head was on his shoulder. His strong arms grasped Haru tightly and it was different from Makoto’s hugs, but comforting in its own way. He felt small and sheltered by a fatherly care, something he didn’t know he was missing until now. Haru curled a little more into himself and cried silently, the tight embrace nearly taking his breath away, but filling in the fractures in his heart. Between sniffles he continued speaking, somehow compelled to share what was on his mind.
“I never knew why they d-didn’t...want me,” he started, “But today when I was walking I accidentally bumped into someone they c-called me worthless. Then I c-couldn't stop thinking about it because it all makes s-sense and-”
“Stop,” Mr. Tachibana demanded, fatherly instincts kicking in as he pulled back and grasped Haru’s face in his hands, just like Haru had seen him do with the twins when he wanted them to pay attention. “Stop, Haruka. I’m going to tell you something and I want you to listen.” Haru nodded but still didn't meet his eyes.
“I know you were too little to remember meeting Makoto, but I remember. And I remember meeting you.” He brushed Haru’s damp cheeks with his thumbs. “Makoto wasn’t born yet and you were barely a week old. Mrs. Tachibana and I went to your house to bring food and a gift. At some point someone handed you to me and...I was just in awe." He paused with another rub to Haru' cheek and then continued.
"The women were fussing over me cause I didn’t know how to hold a baby,” he chuckled, “but you were so tiny and perfect. I remember thinking I would be the happiest man alive if I could have a son like you.”
Haru’s mouth fell open a bit, and slowly he brought his wide eyes up, meeting the kind gaze of Makoto’s father for the first time. His brown eyes were suspiciously shiny, but he was smiling widely, displaying small, happy wrinkles. Haru said no words, he didn't have any. How could he even begin to express what this meant to him? He was sure he couldn't, at least not now, so he just stared as the older man continued talking.
“Once Makoto was born, I was so thrilled to have him, and even more so when you two became so close. All these years I’ve still been able to watch you grow up. Maybe not in the exact role I selfishly wanted, but it was something.” He dropped his hands to Haruka’s shoulders and shook them slightly. “How could I not want the best son anyone could ever have? Cause that’s you, do you believe that? I believe that.” Mr Tachibana pulled back and patted his dusty pants awkwardly.
Fresh tears spilled down Haru’s cheeks and he rubbed at them roughly. He was ashamed of crying in front of the man, but he didn’t seem to mind. In fact, Mr. Tachibana was pulling off his glasses and wiping his own eyes. Recovering sufficiently, he turned to Haru with a gleam in his eye.
“What’s today, Haruka?” He asked. Haru looked away, recalling the first words Makoto said to him that morning.
“My birthday,” he replied in a whisper. He never usually liked attention for this sort of thing, but right now it was something that he craved. He didn't have long to wonder why the man was asking before he was being pulled to his feet.
“That’s right!” Mr. Tachibana cried, “and that means I have to sing happy birthday before your noisy little friends get here for the party later.”
Haru’s eyes blew wide as a playful arm hooked around his neck and a hand tickled his side. Mr. Tachibana laughed freely and something warm bloomed inside Haru.
"Hey!” Haru yelped with a smile, “Dad, stop!”
As soon as he realized what he said, Haru froze, startled at the word that had fallen so naturally from his lips. Worried, he held his breath for the reaction, but Mr. Tachibana just squeezed him tighter, hopping side to to side and dragging Haru along like he was one of the twins. Haru blushed, wondering if this is how children felt when being embarrassed by their parents, but he didn’t really mind. He simply accepted it, enjoying the warm feeling it filled him with.
“Happy biiiiirthday dear Harukaaaaa,” the man sang loudly off-key, huge smile splitting his face. The resting doves in the ginkgo tree flew off startled, and Haru relaxed, laughing through his protests, arms flailing as he was clumsily pranced around the yard.
"Happy birthdaaaay to youuuuuu!”