Chapter Text
Houses sound different when there’s nothing inside them. From all the times they’ve moved, it’s something they’re both used to. When Minato shrugs and says, “That’s all there is,” however quiet, there’s nothing to absorb the noise and it reverberates hollowly.
“I like it,” Souji says. Not just to be kind; there’s a kind of charm about the place.
There’s a sliding glass door on the living room wall that makes him think of Dojima’s. When Souji slides his toe into the rectangle of light it spills across the floor, the wood is warm through his sock. Minato watches, his face emotionless.
Souji hooks a cautious finger around his pinky.
“Are you alright?”
Minato nods and pulls his hand away to cross his arms. He gestures to the rectangle of light.
“I always used to lie there Sunday mornings. The TV was…”
He turns and points at the corner.
Imagining Minato, about six or seven, watching Sunday morning cartoons… Souji checks his watch. Nanako’s at school right now, starting her first day of middle school.
“I liked the warmth of the sun,” Minato says vaguely, like he says it as it came to him, and Souji feels himself smile. “Hamuko sat at the table, but I’d sprawl out on the floor and…”
“Like a cat, huh? That’s hard to believe; you’re always complaining about the sun.”
Minato doesn’t smile so Souji lets it drop. The atmosphere isn’t tense, just a little melancholy. Minato’s never been one to make a scene.
Souji wants to kiss his face until he smiles. Instead, he turns and heads for the kitchen. They’ve already been through the whole house, he just wants to give Minato space. You push him and he pushes back twice as hard. Sometimes it’s best to keep your arms open and let him come to you.
The kitchen is average. Long and narrow, separated from the living/dining room by a counter. Like the rest of the house, it smells stale. That thick scent of abandonment. Until he became of age, the house was under the care of an aunt that rented it out. The tenants moved out when the twins were twenty and it’s been empty ever since. Hamuko’s always helped take care of the place but they’ve both been busy lately and it shows.
Souji traces a heart in the thin layer of dust on the counter.
“We don’t have to do this. Our apartment is enough.”
He draws a star. Then a cat. There’s only silence. When Souji looks up, Minato’s rubbing his thumb against the gold band around his third finger. A habit he’s picked up, Souji’s noticed; he’s still not used to wearing jewelry.
“And then what?”
“What do you mean?”
“We can’t –” Minato looks off to the side for a moment, gathering his thoughts. “We can’t stay there forever. Renting’s a waste of money; I’m not making that much tailoring, and you…”
Minato lets the sentence hang.
He’s thinking about the future. Souji wonders since when.
Right now they have no plans. Reckless perhaps, but that’s how the marriage has been so far. The proposal was spur of the moment, the ceremony was just close friends, and their apartment is the cheapest they could find. They’re doing fine.
At least that’s what Souji thought. Minato seems restless lately, always looking for reassurance that Souji’s happy where they are, “Like, in the general sense of things.” Those old anxieties kick in and Souji started thinking that maybe Minato already regrets getting married.
Six months, his brain kept screaming. Six months, six months, they couldn’t even make it six months.
Then came the invitation to see the house Minato inherited when his parents died.
“There’s no point in renting,” he says now, looking down at his ring. “I’m not so stubborn that I’ll ignore the best solution.”
“That’s debatable.”
Minato almost smiles.
“Besides, this place already is half mine,” Souji points out, taking a step towards him. “You didn’t make me sign a prenup.”
The corner of Minato’s mouth quirks. “That’s not how it works.”
“No? Are you sure? Do you know who you’re talking to?”
“I’m sure.”
“Hmm…”
After a long and silent moment, Minato sighs and closes the distance, throwing his arms around Souji’s waist and letting out a breath that warms the crook of his neck. Souji pets the back of his head and closes his eyes, threading Minato’s hair between his fingers.
“Would you really be okay with living here again?”
“It’s not that big of a deal.”
That’s a pretty big lie for someone who left a house empty for years, but Souji stays quiet and keeps playing with his hair. Nothing needs to be said; they both know.
Next time they return, it’s with all the cleaning supplies they own, wearing old clothes and face masks. The last of the summer heat leaves the place muggy and it mixes unpleasantly with the dust and stale air, even with every window open.
A comfortable breeze floats through as they wipe down every surface. In the smaller bedroom, the one that used to be Minato’s, he assures that it could be worse.
“You know how people winterize summer homes and stuff? It’s like that.” One hand on the mop, he pushes his bangs out of his eyes with the other. Souji offers an onigiri he’s snacking on from his spot on the floor and Minato shake his head. “Like, we took care of the place, but… it’s different than if someone was actually living here. Biggest issue was fighting with my neighbours. Empty houses lower property value, so… keep in mind our neighbours probably hate us.”
“I’ll win them over.”
Minato snorts through his mask and goes back to mopping. “We’re gonna have to hire a plumber to make sure everything’s still alright. At the very least, the windows are gonna have to be replaced.”
He points at the window opposite them and Souji follows his finger. It’s in that pause that they hear the rodent inside the wall.
“I guess this place was painted after the accident? For the tenants? That’s sort of sad.”
“What? No?” Minato’s sitting the bathtub, scrubbing the area around the drain with an old toothbrush. With Souji cleaning the connecting powder room, they have to raise their voices a little. “Why?”
“But…”
All the walls are white. Everywhere Souji’s always lived, the walls have always been neutral – as realtors advise with rental properties – but he’d always imagined a home that had a settled family in it would’ve been more colourful, should’ve had marks on the doorframe marking the twins’ growth, something. It was theirs.
“My mom, she…” Through the mirror, Souji can just barely make out Minato scratching behind his ear with his clean hand. He looks thoughtful more than anything else. Maybe a little reminiscent. “My mom decorated the place. She was into that modern minimalist look. White walls and… all our furniture was black. That kind of look, you know?”
Not often does Minato talk about his parents. Souji listens intently but when he goes right back to cleaning there’s no choice but to follow suit, and he sprays more of his vinegar mixture on the mirror, wiping it off with old newspaper.
“All the colour was in the furniture and decorations. Red throw pillows and stuff. Hamuko did want to paint her room orange though. Mom wouldn’t let her.”
More vinegar on the mirror and Souji wipes it off to see his reflection looking a little wan. No matter how tired, he feels good. Even if it comes with a lot to unpack, both literally and less so, they’re making progress on cleaning the place up. It’s nice to accomplish something.
“I’ve… been thinking about painting, though,” Minato says carefully. “Now that you bring it up.”
“Oh yeah? You’d be good at it.”
“Maybe.”
Just from the tone of his voice it’s clear he’s pleased by the praise.
Though Souji does wonder why he wants to paint. Not that they were allowed to, but he never showed an interest in painting their apartment. Maybe he wants to cover up the past. A way of ignoring things until they go away. That’s like him.
The most likely answer is that Souji’s overthinking it – Minato would tell him as much – but he can’t help it. He knows how much Minato’s gone through. He wants to treat him softly. He wants their home to do the same.
Souji looks at Minato through the mirror.
The sleeves of his t-shirt are rolled up and his hair’s a little damp with sweat near his nape. He’s been working hard. Not just lately while they clean, not just against the mental toll of living here again, but for so long now. When Souji first met him, that apathetic boy still reeling from losing his parents never cared enough to work for anything.
“What?”
“What?”
Minato touches his hair, looking for something out of place.
“You’re staring,” he says.
Souji lowers his eyes. “Just thinking about how cute you are. So, what colours are you planning on?”
“Dunno. What colours would you like?”
“Oh –” Souji shakes his head “– I don’t know, I don’t know anything about that. I’ll leave it to you.”
The toothbrush clinks against the porcelain as Minato puts it down. He turns to sit sideways in the tub, draping his legs over the edge, and rests his head against the wall to get a better look into the powder room.
“It’s your house too. Isn’t that what you said?”
Souji shrugs and tosses the damp newspaper into the garbage bag they’ve got sitting in the hall. It misses and tumbles to the floor.
“C’mon. What about that room?” Minato gestures with his chin towards the powder room. “Start with something small.”
It’s not a very big room. The walls and tiles and porcelain are all white. The cabinet’s a light wood – pine, maybe. A design show he once watched told him that vibrant colours can be overpowering and that anything too dark will make a room look smaller. Small rooms should be light colours to brighten them up, make them look bigger.
“A… cream?”
Minato doesn’t say anything. Then he snorts.
“Well, what then?” Souji snaps defensively. “I told you, I don’t know. If you want colour, then wouldn’t the smart thing to be to get that through accessories? The – the soap holder and towels and everything. Plus, the hall would have to go with it too, right? And then the rest of the house? Doesn’t it have to, like… flow? I know that much.”
Minato rolls his eyes to the side with a small, snide smirk. “I guess.”
Souji sucks his teeth. The acoustics of the tiled room make it come out louder than intended.
“Oh?” The grin in Minato’s voice seeps out, languid and teasing. “What’s that for?”
“Nothing. Are you done in there?”
After a pause, Minato pushes himself out of the tub, taking the toothbrush with him, and turns on the water to wash the cleaner down the drain. On his way out through the powder room, he pauses to kiss the back of Souji’s neck.
Their eyes meet in the mirror and Souji almost hunches his shoulders against the way hair tickles and breath warms his skin. A simple kiss and his irritation cools into something softer. All he wants is to lean back until Minato wraps his arms around him, until that chaste kiss turns to teeth and tongue.
Minato places a second, quicker and more playful kiss on his neck and pulls away.
“Don’t overthink so much.”
He slaps Souji’s ass and leaves.
With the furniture set up, the cardboard boxes stacked around the place, their voices don’t echo anymore. With their socks scattered on the floor, the scent of Souji’s potted flowers, the occasional sound of Minato’s sewing machine, the house slowly fills.
Souji’s in the kitchen unpacking a few remaining boxes when Minato comes downstairs, hair damp from his shower and pulling a sweater over his head. Where Souji’s standing, Minato’s father stood in that same spot countless times. The short distance from the stove to the sink should be worn from his footsteps, physical proof of every step he took and meal he prepared for his wife and kids.
Souji traces that same path, stopping to stand up on his tiptoes and place something on the top shelf. Minato looks over his shoulder at the TV. It’s not in the same place it was when he was little. Not that it matters. Neither is the couch or anything else.
“Are you ready?”
Souji’s watching him. Of course his face isn’t showing anything about what he’s thinking. Catching himself, Minato nods and kisses him quickly before announcing that he’s leaving, be back soon with dinner, don’t forget to put in a load of laundry.
That day’s errands take him all over. His ID needs to be renewed, there’s a bill he has to pay, some kind of issue with his inheritance tax – it’s all words. If he’s honest, he barely knows what any of it means; he’s only doing what people tell him to do. Signing everywhere marked with an X without reading a word.
Souji would know. Souji has always looked ahead, always planned for his future. Minato stopped seeing himself having one when he was thirteen.
Now that he’s here, all he can do is pick up the pieces and put one foot in front of the other. Some days are easier than others. Some days only start out that way.
Just outside the government building, hands full of envelopes and flyers about taxes and inheritance, Minato comes to a stop. His heart does too.
“Oh, Arisato. Good afternoon.”
Minato swallows hard and nods. No matter how long it’s been, Souji’s father is the same as the last time they met; the man never changes.
“How funny that we should run into one another.” Seta looks around expectantly. “My son isn’t with you?”
Placing emphasis on their relationship is a nice touch. Minato manages to shake his head, still thrown off. Last they heard Souji’s parents are living in Osaka; it doesn’t make sense that Seta’s here.
Seta regards him for a moment. “Is he at home?”
“Yeah.”
“And where is that?”
The only noise is the cars passing by.
“Since my wife and I are in town for business, we tried dropping by your apartment earlier this week,” Seta says lightly. “Your neighbour said you two moved out. I confess, I’m a little hurt Souji never told us.”
The shock of opening their door to find Souji’s parents on the threshold probably would’ve taken a few years off their lives. Small blessings, Minato tells himself. Though this situation is hardly better, at least Souji’s not here to deal with it.
“He’s probably got his reasons.”
“Surely. I’d just like to know what those reasons are.”
It’s a physical effort not to roll his eyes.
The reasons are their complete lack of emotional support and the disinterest even when Souji got into the school they pushed him toward. The reasons are their impassive faces when Souji smiled and held up his engagement ring, that side-eye they shared, and the uncomfortable silence that followed. The reasons are the fact that you can only chase after someone for so long before you’re exhausted and drained. The reasons are that you grow up and realize your parents aren’t the be-all and end-all. The reasons are that Souji’s learning to stand up for himself and find his own way.
What was supposed to happen was a careful and quiet parting. The already distant relationship the Setas have with their son was supposed to die a quiet death.
This meeting is a coincidence, so maybe Seta’s just rolling with it and being polite, but…
Minato shifts his weight from leg to leg. He doesn’t know. What he should do or what he should say – he doesn’t have a clue. Whether it’s bills and taxes or just having a simple conversation, he’s always, always, always out of his element.
“May I ask where you’re staying now? Call me overprotective but I’d like to know where my son is.”
“If Souji wanted you to know, he’d tell you.”
It slips out. Seta doesn’t seem particularly bothered; he doesn’t miss a beat.
“I wonder.”
Minato frowns. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Only that he seems to have a lot going on in his life. So much so that he’s incapable of staying in school and earning his degree.”
This again.
The last time Souji spoke with his parents it was to let them know he was dropping out. Figures that they’re still hung up on it.
If Minato is half the husband Souji deserves, he should be able to think of something to say. Something about the stress school placed Souji under – but that trails into how it’s mostly their fault, that they taught Souji his only worth is in what he produces. A good husband would be able to defend him or something – anything – but aside from a series of expletives and visions of violence, Minato’s brain is in a haze.
“He’s… he does have a lot going on,” he somehow manages. “Souji’s always been hardworking.”
His voice comes out less confidently than he might’ve liked. It doesn’t help that Seta checks his watch like he can’t be bothered to continue this anymore. Just a minute of this is infuriating enough; that Souji managed years of it and still came out a kind and empathetic person is nothing short of a miracle.
“Clearly. Anyways,” Seta sighs; he’s already stepping around Minato and removing himself from the conversation, “I have things to do and I’m sure you do as well. Tell him to call us, if he can find the time.”
The papers in Minato’s hand crinkle as his fingers curl into fists. Conversations like minefields, all manners and carefully chosen words – as much as he wants to beat this guy at his own game, he knows he can’t. Breaking the board is easier.
“Fuck off.”
The mask cracks and brief surprise crosses Seta’s face. That’s something, at least.
“You talk pretty big for someone whose own son doesn’t wanna have anything to do with you.” Even against the anger, Minato’s voice stays monotonous and disinterested. If there’s one thing he’s good at, it’s letting people know how little he cares about them. “Learn to take a hint. It’s pathetic.”
Seta tilts his head and looks down his nose with a look that clearly says it’s both literal and less so. The action suddenly makes it very clear where Souji got his height from.
“And you speak with an awful lot of confidence. How lucky my son is to find someone so… protective. Though I do admire that kind of boldness, I can only wonder if it comes from a sense of guilt.”
“What’re you talking about?”
“A degree from a well-respected school, a promising career, and now his own parents. Just what else are you going to get in the way of?”
“That’s not –”
The words stop coming and Minato clenches his jaw. Seta finally spoke directly and it buried the blade deeper than any disinterest and veiled meaning, or perhaps hitting that much harder because of them.
“Take care, Arisato.”
Seta turns on his heel, leaving Minato staring after him, the words he’s feared for a long time echoing in his head.
Underneath their blankets, Souji lays on his stomach, propped up on his elbows. He opens his mouth like he wants to say something, pauses, and then closes it.
“Sorry,” Minato mumbles. “I was gonna tell you as soon as I got back, it’s just… you were in a good mood. Didn’t wanna ruin it.”
“No, don’t worry about that. So… he didn’t say anything to you, did he?”
Minato shakes his head. Omissions aren’t lies. Souji has enough to worry about and there’s nothing worth mentioning about Minato getting his precious feelings hurt. Souji knows they met and that’s more than enough.
Somewhere in the distance an ambulance’s siren blares. In that small room the noise is muffled and the air is still. All around them is the scent of their body wash and toothpaste, the laundry detergent on their sheets and pajamas. A square of light moves over the ceiling from the headlights of a passing car.
When it comes to Souji’s parents, Minato never knows what to say. The vindictive part of him hates them for not cherishing what they have while they still have it. Envy is the last word he wants to put to it, even if he knows that plays a hand. A small hand. Outright insulting them, however good it feels, only ever gets uncomfortable laughter out of Souji if not outright silence. He’s still attached and torn and neither of them knows how to react to it.
“I more or less expected this when they found out I dropped out.” Souji smiles a little. “Kind of puts a wrench in their plan where I get successful and take care of them in their old age.”
Under the blankets, Minato shifts his legs and toys with his waistband.
“Sometimes I wonder if I’m being dramatic,” Souji says quietly. “Avoiding them like this, it’s childish. They were never intentionally cruel to me, they were just… never anything, and I’m tired. But I’m sure people with worse relationships hang on.”
“You don’t owe them anything.”
“They provided for me.”
“After choosing to have you. That was their responsibility.”
They’ve been over this. They probably will again.
Souji rearranges his arms and the blankets slip from his shoulders, so Minato hitches them back up, brushing his fingers against Souji’s cheek before letting his hand drop. Another car passes by. Souji rests his chin on his hand with a thoughtful look. There’s a bit of a glint in his eye, a sign of a smile threatening to show itself.
“I can’t believe you told my dad to fuck off.”
Minato smirks proudly.
Then Souji smiles for real. It crinkles his nose as he whispers something about Minato being funny and leans in for a kiss. One turns to several, each softer and slower than the last. Fingers curl in hair and breath is shared until they unravel, only gazing through their eyelashes and exhaling mint on each other’s lips. With a sigh and whispered words of love, Souji rests his head on the pillow and closes his eyes.
Another car passes, some teenagers down the road call to one another, and time moves, measured in the heartbeats Minato can feel pressing against his chest. Again, he strokes Souji’s cheek with the back of his fingers. An arm slips around his waist.
Eventually Souji’s breathing slows, his shoulder blades slowly rising and falling under Minato’s hand, and his usual snoring starts. Minato stares at the ceiling. He’s tired too, but not the kind that ends with sleep.
Very carefully, he slides out of Souji’s hold and gets to his feet.
This room used to belong to his parents. From there, the one on the left used to be Hamuko’s, which is now something of a workshop, with his sewing machine and Souji’s figures. The room on the right was his. That’s where he heads, slowly and carefully and entirely on memory, not needing to feel his way through the darkness.
Most of the room is taken up by shelves full of books, whether it’s novels belonging to both of them, Souji’s books on languages, or Minato’s art guides. Under the window stands his desk and the old office chair that creaks under his weight.
After scribbling warmups of circles and lines on a scrap piece of paper, he pulls the last thing he was working on towards himself and picks up where he left off. It’s nothing special; just a portrait inspired by someone he saw on the train. It keeps his hands busy and his mind focused on things like anatomy and technique. More than anything, he seems to draw people a lot. When he was at his worst, drawing people was a connection without real attachment, a way to imagine closeness without commitment. That fondness always stuck with him.
Not that he ever does anything with them. Souji has encouraged him to sell his work online but he’s never gotten around to it. Sometimes it feels like spinning his wheels but it’s fine for now. He never did have big aspirations of being an artist so there’s nothing to be disappointed by.
Through the thin walls, he can hear Souji snoring. He’s not especially loud but there’s no other sounds to muffle it. There’s something reminiscent about it. Used to be that he could hear his father’s snoring through these same walls.
Everything feels circular. Everything, even the small things, always comes back to the past.
He keeps thinking about Souji’s father too, somewhere in the back of his mind, too unfocused to be given words and quiet enough to be drowned out by pencil strokes. About the things he said, about Souji dropping out, about how it happened the semester after they got married. About how, yeah, it had been a long time coming but what if? There are doubts. There might always be these doubts about his place in the world and if it’s okay for him to still be here and the simple but consuming guilt of existing. Of continuing to exist.
Only when he hears the floorboards squeak does Minato realize the snoring stopped. Souji’s standing in the doorway. Half his bangs are sticking up on end. He did pass out face-down.
“Come back to bed,” Souji pouts.
“I will in a bit.”
He slumps against the doorframe, grinding his fingers into his eyes. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. You’re the one that should go back to bed; you look awful.”
“But…” A pause while he stifles a yawn. “But it’s such a big bed and… I’m all alone…”
Minato snorts. No doubt Souji plans to stand in the doorway until he gets his way. He’s like that.
Leaving the hair half-rendered, Minato gets to his feet. Souji holds out a hand for him to take.
Stupid. As if they’re walking some long distance instead of down a ten foot hall.
Minato laces their fingers together and squeezes.
“You gave in pretty easy,” Souji teases. However bloodshot his eyes are, there’s a little mischievous light in them. “Thought I’d have to drag you back to bed.”
“Can’t win against such a compelling argument.”
This time, they lie with Minato’s head resting on Souji’s chest, curled in his arms, and this time he can hear his heartbeat instead of feel it. Souji tries to massage gentle circles into his back but eventually they slow to a stop and again, he’s out cold. Sleep for Minato still feels a long way off but in the meantime, there are worse places to find himself.