Chapter Text
“Shit, shit, shit!” Yosuke stared down at the floor in horror, where the shards of a broken glass now littered the Dojimas’ kitchen. “Dammit! Why do I screw everything up?”
He dropped to his knees and started sweeping the glass into a pile, jerking his hand back with a hiss when he cut it. “Great. Typical Yosuke; always making things worse.” Picking up the glass didn’t seem like a good idea, so he climbed back to his feet and went in search of the broom.
His hand was bleeding freely, so he wrapped it up in the hem of his T-shirt to keep from spilling blood anywhere. Returning to the kitchen with the broom, he could only be thankful that Ryotaro and Nanako weren’t home. He’d be able to clean this up and hide the evidence...though replacing the glass would be a little trickier. Maybe he could just find a similar one at Junes and they wouldn’t notice the difference?
Not that he was ever that lucky. Maybe they wouldn’t notice that one was missing right away, and he’d have time to find a replacement. The glasses were an older style, so maybe he could find them somewhere online.
He swept the glass up and started to deposit it in the trash can, when he realized anyone would be able to see the evidence if he did that. Yosuke stood in the kitchen, staring around bleakly, until his eyes landed on the roll of paper towels on the table. He set the dustpan down, his injured hand still wrapped up in his T-shirt, and tore off a few of the towels. Not too many, or someone might notice they were missing, but two or three should be okay.
With the glass wrapped up in the paper towels, he gingerly pushed it down to the bottom of the trash can. The Dojimas didn’t do a lot of cooking, so it was mostly empty packaging and coffee grounds in the garbage. Still, he managed to get something gross on his arm, and hurriedly smeared it off on the side of his shirt.
What next? Put the broom away. Change clothes—this shirt had blood on the hem and garbage juice on the side. Bandage his hand.
He hurried to the upstairs bathroom and peeled his shirt off in front of the sink, sticking his injured hand under the tap and twisting the cold water on. At least it was just a couple of gashes on his fingers and palm, nothing he couldn’t cover up. The shirt was another matter...but he could sneak it off to the laundromat and wash it himself. And if the blood didn’t come out, well, it was just a shirt.
Yu, ever the responsible big brother, had kept the first aid kit well stocked when he lived here. Yosuke rummaged through it, finding a length of gauze to wrap around the palm of his hand and a couple of small bandages for his fingers. With that taken care of, he made sure the rest of himself was clean of blood and garbage juice, before hurrying back to the guest room for a clean shirt. He shoved the dirty one into his backpack, burying it under his textbooks.
Right. Now he just had to make one last sweep of the kitchen, to clear any other evidence away, then find an excuse for his bandaged hand.
He heard the front door swing open, which scattered all his thoughts about covering up his crime. Yosuke clutched his injured hand to his chest and backed up to the desk, his heart suddenly in his throat. What if those were special collector’s glasses or something? What if they’d belonged to Nanako’s mom? What if they were worth more than his useless ass, and he’d finally done enough for Dojima to kick him out.
“What the hell?” Dojima’s voice carried up from the kitchen, and Yosuke winced. “Hey, Yosuke, are you home?”
No, he thought frantically. He wasn’t home...he didn’t have a home. Not really. Maybe he should go back to his dad’s place. With his mom finally gone, things would probably settle down. It’d be safer if the two of them weren’t fighting all the time, right?
There were footsteps coming up the stairs, and Yosuke took in a few slow breaths and schooled his features into a friendly smile. He waited until Dojima knocked on the guest room door, then crossed the room to pull it open.
“Hey, Dojima-san. Is everything okay?”
Dojima’s eyes instantly locked on his bandaged hand. “Saw some blood on the kitchen floor. You okay?”
“Oh, that.” Yosuke laughed, tucking his hand behind his back, though he could tell Dojima wasn’t buying it. “I was just...y’know...playing with knives?”
“Playing with knives.” Dojima’s voice was flat with disbelief. Yosuke shrugged, one hand creeping up to the back of his neck out of embarrassment.
“Maybe just one knife?” he suggested. Dojima’s eyes narrowed, and he hurried to complete the lie. “I saw this knife trick on TV and thought maybe I could do it, but it didn’t turn out too well. I thought I cleaned it all up, um...sorry.”
“Uh-huh.” He could tell Dojima still didn’t believe him, but the man finally sighed and rested one hand on Yosuke’s shoulder. “Maybe no more playing with knives,” he said gently.
“Yeah, okay,” Yosuke nodded. “I can do that. No more knives.” His eyes were starting to sting, but he blinked furiously to keep the tears back and kept his smile plastered on his face. He wasn’t going to break down over this. Not over breaking the stupid glass, and not over Dojima accepting his terrible lie.
Dojima nodded and turned away, hesitating for a moment. “You know you can always come to me if something’s wrong, he said, turning back to face Yosuke. “Whatever you’re dealing with. I’ll hear you out, and do my best to help you. All right?”
“I know that, Dojima-san,” Yosuke replied. “And really, it was just an accident.”
The man nodded again and finally walked away. Yosuke waited until he was out of sight, then sagged against the door frame in relief.
He didn’t stop to consider that there hadn’t been a knife in sight when Dojima came home...or that he’d left the broom and dust pan in the middle of the kitchen.