Work Text:
Touko rapidly blinked her brimming tears away, eyes adjusting to the darkness of the bedroom. Natsume’s screaming had awoken her; it was brief, but visceral. Whenever he went a few nights without terror wresting him from sleep, a flicker of hope crept into her mind. Maybe he’s past it now. Maybe we’ve done enough . But then, a sharp cry of terror or the gasps of stifled sobs would carry through the floorboards, and she’d find herself staring at the ceiling once again.
She turned her head to the side, and through the darkness, she could just make out Shigeru’s open eyes. He glanced back at her with a small, resigned smile, and let them drift closed. Her pulse was still hammering in her ears, too loud for her to try to sleep. The sudden shock of waking in fear didn’t seem like something she’d ever be able to ignore. She could only imagine how it felt to Natsume.
Sighing softly, she shuffled her feet into her slippers and walked to the kitchen. The nightlight was on by the stove, casting a dim glow across the walls. It was just enough to find the switch for the kettle. She stared at the tiny bubbles rising in it, drifting into memory of the first time she spent a night like this.
Natsume had only been with them for a few days at that point. When his screaming split the still night air, she and Shigeru both immediately threw themselves to their feet. They cried “What’s wrong?” and “Takashi?” and “Are you alright?” in an overlapping cacophony, flying up the stairs and throwing open his door without hesitation. He was sitting up against the wall, fingers gripping at his hair as his palms pressed his eyes shut. He jerked upright when they entered, eyes wide as the full moon outside the window.
“I’m sorry,” he half-yelled, voice hoarse. “It was just a bad dream. I didn’t mean to wake you.”
Touko let out the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. “Oh, goodness. I thought you might be hurt,” she said with a tinge of relief, crossing the room to kneel beside him. She reached out a hand to brush away the hair sticking to the sweat on his forehead. She couldn’t be sure, but she thought he flinched at the touch. “Would some tea help you get back to sleep?”
“No, thank you, ma’am,” he mumbled, unable to meet her gaze. “I’m so sorry for the trouble.”
“It’s no trouble,” Shigeru said from the doorway, stifling a yawn. “You just try to get back to sleep.” He nodded as they left, still slumped against his wall.
The next night, his screams woke them again. Once more, they were throwing open his bedroom door before they fully registered their own shock. This time, he was sitting atop his futon, moonlight pooling around him. He was curled in on himself, white-knuckle gripping his arms. His ragged breathing was the only sound once their feet stilled, and his dilated eyes were unfocused with fear.
Touko kneeled beside him again. “Oh, Takashi,” was all she could manage as he frantically scrubbed the tears pooling on his cheeks. He couldn’t look at them.
“I’m so sorry, but please,” he whispered. “Please stop coming. You won’t get a night’s rest otherwise.” His head hung low in the darkness made his already small frame look even more child-like. Touko reached out, softly touching his shoulder, but she pulled it back when he tensed even further.
“If that makes it easier for you…” she said slowly, voice trailing off. “But we’re always just downstairs if you need us.”
“Thank you, ma’am. I’m- I’m so sorry for the trouble,” he responded. He didn’t look up until they left him alone in the dark room once more.
The next night, Touko hadn’t been able to sleep. She lay awake, bracing for the sound of Natsume’s scream echoing through the halls. When it came, every fiber of her muscles burned with the instinct to take the stairs two at a time, but Shigeru stopped her. Instead, she tiptoed up to his bedroom door as softly as she could, and listened. She listened as his labored gasps gave way to quiet sobs. She listened as the sobs faded and even breaths took their place. When he was still and silent, she gently pressed a hand against the paper of the shoji, then tiptoed back away.
Over time, Natsume’s night terrors started to fade, but he still ripped the Fujiwaras from sleep with him every few nights. Sometimes, Touko would lay in bed and strain her ears, tracking the sounds of him tossing and turning upstairs. Other times, she’d give in and creep up the stairs, hand against the shoji as she held her breath to better hear his. But tonight, she stood in the kitchen, eyes unfocused about the boiling kettle.
And then, the sound of quiet footsteps on the floorboards stirred her from her reverie.
She turned to find Natsume standing in the door frame, looking just as shocked to see her. His hair was askew; his eyes were red. The sleeves of his shirt hung down to his fingertips. “Oh,” he mumbled. “I’m sorry, I was just…” His voice faltered as his eyes moved to the kettle. There were already two mugs set out beside it.
Touko smiled and turned to pour the water. “I thought you might want tea.”
“I did,” came the soft reply. He hesitated at the threshold. “Did I wake you?”
“No, I just had a feeling” she answered, setting a mug in front of both their usual places at the table. But Natsume took the seat next to her instead. She caught the tremble in his hands before he wrapped them around the warm ceramic mug, dragging it closer to him across the table.
Steam curled into the air between them. His plea to be ignored from so many months ago ran through Touko’s mind on a loop. It made the silence they sat in now feel like a glass trophy - fragile, but hard won. Her tea half empty, she finally looked over at him through the soft glow of the nightlight. “Do you want to talk about it?”
She was met with more silence. It stretched for long enough that her words faded away, like she hadn’t asked at all. It was worth a try , she thought, before he finally answered.
“It’s just things from the past,” was all he offered.
Touko nodded. There was no good answer to her question, but the one he gave left her searching for words around the lump in her throat. The dull knock of ceramic on the wood table was the only sound left. She watched him wring his fingers on the table and found herself futilely wishing, once again, that she and Shigeru had heard about Natsume a decade earlier. But to her surprise, Natsume continued before she found her voice.
“It’s not only what happened. It’s more like… the fear that it’ll happen again.”
She clung to his whisper, the raw truth he was only barely willing to burden her with. She took his hand and, with all the world’s ferocity and sincerity, promised him, “It won’t.”
The soft morning light trailed through the kitchen windows as Touko called Natsume down for breakfast. When he joined them with a soft smile and “Good morning,” the knot in her throat finally came loose. Sometimes it seemed that for every step forward, they took two steps back - but here he was, eating breakfast with an expression bordering on peaceful.
Every scrape of the dishes, every refill of tea had her back in the moment when he sat next to her. She assumed he had wandered into the kitchen for a drink, or even just a change of scenery to clear his head. But could he have simply wanted to be closer to them in that moment? What if he had found her, hand trailing the shoji?
The thought stayed with her as she saw Shigeru off to work, and as she found Natsume pulling on his shoes near the door later.
She stopped, setting down the laundry basket in her arms. The scent of lavender filled the genkan. “Taking advantage of your day off school, I see? What do you have planned?”
“Just thought I’d take a walk. Maybe grab something from Nanatsuji while I’m out. Is there anything I can get for you?”
“Oh!” Touko clapped her hands together in excitement. “Shigeru just loves their dango. Could you pick some up? Here, let me get you some-”
“No, no, please,” Natsume interrupted, waving his hands nervously. “You’re kind enough to give me an allowance. At least let me give a bit of it back.”
“But-”
“Oh, and, um, Mrs. Fujiwara? Thank you, for… listening, and for being there.” His gaze fell away. Red crept into his cheeks, and something glassy and faraway settled into his eyes.
She stepped forward, gently smiling, and brushed the hair from his eyes. He didn’t flinch this time. “Any time, Takashi. Genuinely.”
A lightness carried Touko through her errands that day. It made her take the long way home, walking the path beside the river to admire the vivid day. Delicate clouds spilled across the sky, and the water sparkled in return. She pulled in deep breaths of the fresh air, humming a bit in between.
When she caught sight of a familiar silhouette sitting by the riverbank, she couldn’t hold back a smile. Natsume’s sandy blond hair was waving in the breeze, his favorite mint-colored jacket draped loosely around him. She walked closer and called down from the path, “Takashi!”
In the time he’d spent with them, Natsume had startled her more than a few times. He had come home with bleeding gashes he wouldn’t explain, disappeared without warning for days on end, and collapsed into unconsciousness on a near-weekly basis. This was the first time he rendered her speechless.
The face that turned to meet hers was unmistakably Natsume - he had the same gentle features, the same golden eyes - but couldn’t have been older than seven or eight. His sleeves hung over his hands, and the legs of his jeans trailed past his feet. His shoes had fallen off entirely and were sitting in the grass nearby next to a Nanatsuji bag. With a small voice, he asked, “Um… How do you know my name?”
Touko’s mind was blank. Half-formed explanations flitted at the edges of her rationality, but all wisped into nothingness before taking shape. Surely, this must be a coincidence. Perhaps the best course of action would be to excuse herself, apologize for the confusion, assure him that he simply reminded her of another Takashi she knew, and let this fade as a surreal memory. Surely she would laugh about it over dinner with Natsume tonight, that she mistook a child for him and they happened to have the same name.
But the expectant silence and tight eyes of the child folded onto the grass pulled words from her against her better judgement. Rationally, it didn’t make sense, yet she had no doubt in her mind as she managed, “You- you live with us, Takashi. I’m Touko Fujiwara.”
“Mrs. Fujiwara…?” He repeated, the name unfamiliar in his mouth. “I’m going to go live with you?”
“That’s right.” She swallowed hard.
“Do you know where I’m supposed to live now , though, ma’am? I don’t remember.” He looked around the riverbank, a visible panic growing on his face. “I don’t think I know where I am.”
Normally, talking to kids came naturally to her. She could put them at ease and keep them smiling with no effort at all. This time, however, the tears biting at the edges of his eyes were just making her heart hammer harder in her ears. Even if this wasn’t Natsume - if it was truly just a bizarre coincidence - he was still a lost child, and she couldn’t just ignore him.
Touko set her shopping bags in the grass and kneeled in front of the boy, carefully keeping an even smile on her face. She set to rolling his pant legs and sleeves into thick cuffs, and tying the far-too-big shoes as tight as the laces would allow. As she swept some blades of grass from his hair, she deftly checked the tag of his jacket. There, in her handwriting, was the name ‘T. Natsume.’ Her heart fell the rest of the way to her feet. There was no denying it.
“You’re supposed to be with us, Takashi; with me and Mr. Fujiwara. I think maybe you’ve forgotten a few things, but that’s alright. I can tell you’re confused and a little worried. Maybe we can go home and talk about it?” She desperately hoped the tremor in her voice went unnoticed.
The fear in the child’s eyes sharpened into something like suspicion. She’d never seen that look on Natsume’s face before. He slowly asked, “Is this some kind of a trick?”
“What? No, Takashi. Why would I be tricking you?”
He averted his eyes, his lips tugging into a small frown as he thought. “Nevermind. We can go,” he agreed with reluctance.
“Good,” Touko said, smiling. She helped the boy to his feet and took his tense hand in hers. They gathered her bags and began walking the once-familiar road. Her pace slowed to match his short strides as warm breezes rustled the grass lining the path.
Natsume let himself be led by her. He was staring off into the thickets they passed, watching the dragonflies flit through the air. She saw a smile cross his face when they passed the field of flowers down the street, and his hand started to relax in hers.
“It’s really pretty here,” he said quietly, eyes still following the vibrant fields. A dandelion sailed past him on the breeze, and he watched it blow away, the small smile still in place.
Touko nodded when he looked up at her. “I think so too. I hope you like it.”
Even through the wall and down the hallway, Touko could feel the heavy presence of the child sitting at the kitchen table. He wasn’t fidgeting or even looking around curiously. He had sat down exactly where she gestured with a quick “Yes ma’am,” and dropped his eyes low. She assured him she’d just be a moment as she stepped into the hallway.
Her husband’s voice answered the other end of the phone she clutched, the muffled sounds of an office behind him. “Hello?”
“Shigeru, it’s me. I need you to come home, alright? Everything is fine. It’s… it’s Takashi. He’s fine too. Don’t panic. I don’t know how to explain this. You just need to come home and see for yourself.” She was nearly whispering.
“Touko, what’s going on?” Shigeru pressed, urgency immediately lacing his words.
“I promise we’re both fine. There’s just really no way I can explain it. You have to come home, OK?”
“OK, I’ll be there as soon as I can.” The handset clicked, and the line went quiet.
She took a deep breath and walked back into the kitchen. Normally, her first instinct was to talk problems through with Shigeru. He always seemed to know what to do, but she couldn’t imagine that even he would have the right words for this frightened, eight-year-old version of their foster son.
Natsume was still at the table, his feet dangling inches above the ground. The juice and dango she had put on the table for him were untouched. “You must be hungry, Takashi,” she attempted. “Why don’t you have a snack?”
He shook his head, hands balled up in his lap. “Thank you, ma’am, but I don’t need anything.”
“Alright then,” Touko said, looking around. She didn’t want to stress the child further, but she also wasn’t exactly prepared to entertain a grade schooler today. “Well then, why don’t we look for something you can wear that fits a little better? I’m sure there’s something in the laundry if you don’t mind helping me.”
Natsume nodded. He softly pushed his chair in and followed her outside. She pulled the clothes off the line, passing them to him to carry (he could manage holding about three things before running inside to set them down). It became something like a game as he ran back and forth from her to the growing pile inside. Her chest tightened as she watched him running past the flowerbeds, soft hair blown from his eyes like wheat bending in the wind. Small footprints trailed behind him through the garden.
With all the laundry inside, they set to looking for something that might fit him. Touko neatly folded each piece she judged to be too big, with Natsume watching carefully. He tried to imitate her folds with a shirt twice his size laid on the ground in front of him but when he picked it up to move it, it fell back into a wrinkled heap.
“I’m sorry. I don’t know how to do it,” he said, brow furrowed.
Touko couldn’t help but smile. “You don’t need to help with this part, but if you want to, I can teach you.”
He nodded. She moved next to him, and he didn’t shrink away. She showed him, step by step, how to bring the seams into two straight lines, where to fold, and where to hold it so it stayed in place. Carefully, he began to copy her movements step-by-step, pouring all his concentration into lining up the sleeves and hems. It took full minutes for him to fold a single shirt, but he beamed once he added it to the pile. She’d help him with the entire pile if it kept that look on his face.
They ultimately found him a soft cotton T-shirt and a pair of basketball shorts to wear. The hem of the shorts nearly reached his ankles, but at least they had a drawstring. The shirt still hung off his tiny frame, too, but Touko tied it in the back so it would stay out of his way.
“There! That looks much more comfortable,” she said when he returned from changing. “Now, I don’t know about you, but I could really use that snack right about now. Does that sound good?”
“Yeah!” He said with enthusiasm, but his face immediately dropped. “I mean, um, yes, ma’am.”
They sat across from each other, sharing the plate of dango, when the sound of the door sliding open flowed into the room. Natsume immediately tensed, dropping his hands back into his lap. Hurried footsteps sounded on the wood, and Shigeru appeared in the doorway.
“What’s going on? I came as fast as-” He stopped short when he saw the boy at the table, sitting with his eyes cast down.
“I know what you’re thinking. I’m not losing it, Shigeru. It’s him. It’s really him.” Touko was insistent, though her husband wasn’t disagreeing. He hadn’t said anything since she ushered him into the hallway and began stumbling through an explanation. “He had the dango he went out for. He had his name in my handwriting on his jacket. And just look at him. Of course it’s him. Who else could it be?”
Shigeru closed and opened his mouth a few times before landing on, “Alright, but, what do we do? Should we bring him to a doctor?”
“And say what? ‘Help, he was a teenager this morning?’ I don’t think that’ll get us very far.”
“So what now?” He sighed, taking off his glasses to wipe the lenses.
Touko rested a hand on the side of her face with a sigh. “I think we just have to see if he goes back to normal. Maybe we can figure out why this happened.”
“We’ve known for a while that Takashi is… different, somehow, right?” Shigeru whispered. “I mean, I saw his cat open the fridge and grab a beer once. I think we have some idea of why this happened.”
She shushed him and pulled him back towards the kitchen. “Come on. He’s waiting.”
The boy at the table jumped at their return, immediately looking away. “Um, excuse me,” he managed. “I’m sorry I bothered you. I can go back, if that’s better.”
“That’s Takashi, alright,” Shigeru sighed under his breath. He sat down next to the child, placing a steady hand on his head. “You’re not bothering us, and you don’t need to go anywhere. I’m Shigeru Fujiwara. Can I have one of those dango?”
Natsume’s eyes widened. “Oh, yes! I’m sorry, sir,” he almost tripped over the words as he moved to push the plate along the table. His elbow bumped the glass of juice sitting in front of him, knocking it to the floor. With a sharp crack, it shattered. The fragments scattered across the wood.
“I’ll pick it up!” Natsume almost shouted, jumping to his feet and folding at the waist. “I’m so sorry. Please forgive me. I’ll clean it.”
“It’s OK, Takashi,” Shigeru assured him, his chair dragging across the floor behind him as he stood. Touko was already grabbing a towel and walking over. “You didn’t do anything wrong. And that glass looks sharp, so let us-”
But the boy had already thrown himself to his knees and was plucking wet shards of glass from the floor. The pieces delicately clinked together in his shaking hands. The edges of a few glistened red where he grabbed them.
“Stop, please, Takashi,” Shigeru said insistently. When Natsume froze, he began gingerly taking the broken pieces from his hands.
“Are you mad at me?” Natsume asked in a small voice.
Shigeru kept his face even as he took the last few shards. Fine drops of blood beaded on them. “Of course not. We just didn’t want you to get hurt.”
“Let me see your fingers,” Touko murmured, picking up Natsume’s hand. “Oh, that looks like it stings.”
“But-” he began. Touko interrupted.
“Takashi, it’s just a spill. You’re more important, so we’re going to take care of you first.”
He didn’t respond. He just stared at the liquid splattered across the floorboards as they wrapped bandages around two of his fingers.
“Do you remember where we put the towels away?” Touko asked gently. He nodded, so she added, “Can you go get one?” Immediately, he leapt to his feet. She had the urge to remind him not to run in the house, like she’d heard so many parents say throughout her lifetime, but she thought better of it.
Watching him leave the room, Shigeru ran a hand through his hair and let out a slow breath. “Well, we officially terrified him. Think he’ll forgive us if we give him the rest of the dango?”
When Natsume hadn’t returned after a few moments, Shigeru stepped into the hall, and found him standing just on the other side of the wall. He stood on his tiptoes with a towel clutched in his arms, his neck craning upwards. He followed the child’s gaze to the frame hanging on the wall. Inside was the picture they had taken together - Shigeru and Touko smiling on either side of Natsume, with the calico cat hanging from his arms.
Natsume hesitated when he saw the near-stranger walk into the hall. “Is this your son?”
“Yes, he is,” Shigeru answered. This small, wide-eyed version of Natsume made his chest ache, but he supposed that wasn’t so different from the boy in the frame.
“Oh,” he murmured, lingering. “He looks like me.”
Shigeru paused, but Natsume walked past him, taking a last look at the frame over his shoulder before stepping back into the kitchen.
“Well, it’s nearly time to start dinner,” Touko said with a glance at the clock. “Do you want to help, Takashi?”
He nodded slowly. “I don’t know how, though.”
“Don’t worry,” Shigeru said, laughing. “I bet you know more than me. The only job I can have in the kitchen is stirring duty, but you look like you’d be great at peeling veggies.”
“Can I try it?” came the response, a hint of optimism creeping in.
Touko lit up as she told him, “Absolutely! Here, I’ll show you how. You’ll be a pro in no time!”
She placed a peeler in one of his hands and a carrot in the other, showing him how to rotate it after each swipe. When the peeler slipped and the tip of the carrot snapped off, his eyes went wide and he immediately turned to them, but Shigeru and Touko were already laughing.
“You’re peeling so fast, the carrot can’t even keep up!” Shigeru said, handing him another. “Think you can do a few more?”
Finally, a smile came onto Natsume’s face as he nodded, and the kitchen soon fell into a comfortable flow. Touko hummed alongside the even rhythm of the kitchen knife as she chopped. The steam rising up from the pot fogged Shigeru’s glasses, and Natsume giggled every time he had to wipe them off. The peeled carrots were the last ingredient added to the pot.
They pulled a small stool over so Natsume could stir a few times, too. “Aw, he’s better than I am. Honey, do I get a new job, or am I fired?” Shigeru asked, making Natsume laugh.
Touko wiped her hands on her apron. The golden evening sun was flooding the kitchen, but her smile was even warmer. “Oh, don’t make me choose! Takashi is just such a great helper, it hardly even seems fair.”
Natsume blinked. “Really?” He asked eagerly.
Touko helped him down as she said, “Absolutely. Now, you go wash up for dinner.”
The curry simmered on the stove. Outside, the crickets had begun to chirp. Beads of condensation rolled down the lid of the rice cooker. Then, the rush of tiny feet filled the room again, and the three of them were sitting at the table, steaming plates filling the room with the scent of curry.
They didn’t have any child-sized chopsticks, so Natsume was a bit clumsy with his. Still, his face lit up when he took a bite. “It’s good!” he exclaimed.
“It is,” Touko agreed, “and I think that’s thanks to your help!”
A genuine smile lit up his face, his eyes wide with joy this time. Touko knew the sight would never leave her.
They weren’t sure what to say to this version of the boy they spent each day with. It felt odd asking questions they already knew the answers to, but it also made them realize just how much they didn’t know about his childhood. They didn’t know he had always loved cats, or that he had never played tag, or that he liked winter more than summer. They didn’t know he had been to seven elementary schools already. But everything they asked, he answered readily. He looked so excited every time they asked a question, and every time they acknowledged the answers he gave.
In many ways, he was still just the same as their Takashi. He was earnest and warm. He was polite and thoughtful, if a little awkward and clumsy. He was shy, but the Takashi they knew was reserved in a different way. This version of him hadn’t yet learned to be distant. If anything, he was an exposed nerve - he pulled back from visceral fear, not from a habit he’d developed to protect himself. How could this be the child so many saw fit to treat so poorly?
The setting sun started to dye the kitchen orange. They finished dinner and shooed the child away from the sink when he offered to help. His eyes were starting to look heavy; each blink was slowing more, but he said he wasn’t tired.
“Maybe you can find a book to read upstairs? The first room on the right has some you might like. I think that will help you wind down for the night,” Touko suggested, drying a plate.
“Yeah! I mean - yes, ma’am. Thank you. I’ll go look!” They nodded and sent him on his way, watching how he clung to the banister and had to lift his feet so high to reach each stair.
The kitchen fell quiet again. The sink ran. Dishes lightly clinked. A few errant bubbles of dish soap floated to the ground.
Touko placed her hands on her heart. Eyes still on the empty staircase, she whispered, “It should have been like this. Sometimes I think he should have been ours from the start, but I know that’s horrible. He had parents, and I’m sure they loved him. But he feels like ours.”
“He is ours,” Shigeru quietly replied, placing a steady hand on her shoulder. “I like to think we found him when he needed us most. But… maybe when he needed us most was a lot longer ago than I thought.”
A few uneven thumps echoed through the ceiling. Then, a muffled voice.
“Did he fall? Maybe he got lost,” Touko fretted. She set down the dishtowel and stepped to the foot of the stairs, Shigeru beside her. She was about to call out when Natsume’s voice echoed down the hall.
“You’re lying.” His words had a frantic edge, the tension of trying and failing to hold his voice steady.
There was a pause. They glanced at each other, faces blank. Then he spoke again, with cracks edging between his words.
“You’re lying. They’re both human, and they’re both really nice!”
Another pause, then he screamed, “No! They’re kind. I know they are. Stop lying to me! Just go away!”
Hard footsteps thudded through the floorboards. He was running. They started up the stairs just as Natsume slid around the corner. His eyes went wide when he saw them, and his socked feet slid out from under him as he tried to skid to a halt. His hands flailed out, looking for purchase, as he started to fall. Touko gasped. Shigeru lunged forward, hooking his arms under the child’s deftly, and breathed a sigh of relief.
But Natsume flinched at the touch, trying to wriggle free. His pupils were dilated and a cold sweat framed his temples. “Please let me go,” he gasped. “Please don’t-”
Shigeru moved to hold the boy’s shoulders still and cut him off. “Take a deep breath,” he said quietly, “and tell us what happened.”
“Takashi,” Touko said softly, voice hardly above a whisper. “Why are you running?”
Natsume’s eyes darted between the two of them, his mouth parted as he gasped in breath. “I saw… outside the window… they said you were… that you were going to…”
“Nothing bad is going to happen to you while you’re here, Takashi. We’d never hurt you.” She knelt down to look the child in the eyes. He held her gaze, eyes still trembling, but the fear starting to fade.
Shigeru let go of his shoulders. “You’re safe. Alright?”
His eyes dropped. His cheeks began to tint with the sharp shame that always seemed to follow his fear. Before he could spiral any further, Touko placed a hand on his head and asked, “Did you find a book that looked good?”
Natsume hesitated as he glanced over his shoulder, down the dark hallway.
“How about we go look together?” Shigeru offered. He nodded, tawny hair slipping in front of his eyes, and the three of them climbed up the stairs together.
“Is this your son’s room?” Natsume asked, uncertainty tinting his voice.
“Yes, it is,” Touko affirmed, leading him inside.
The bookshelf in Natsume’s room was mostly full of assigned readings - classic novels, collections of poetry, and textbooks. The spiral bindings of notebooks full of his handwriting interspersed the collection. A few manga he had picked up on recommendation from friends were also shoved in between the heavier texts, but the trio didn’t get as far as actually picking one. Natsume’s eyelids were fluttering shut, and it looked herculean each time he opened them again.
“You’ve had a busy day,” Touko said thoughtfully. “Do you think you want to rest a little?”
“No, thank you, ma’am. I’m not tired,” he answered, barely stifling a yawn. His eyes flickered to the window and back.
“Oh, well you don’t need to sleep, then,” she conceded. “But maybe you’d like to just lay down and rest for a while? This is your room now, after all.”
He turned in a slow circle, taking in the small desk, the radio, the trees beyond the window with the curtains thrown open. With awe, and a touch of concern, he asked, “But what about your son?”
Neither knew how to answer. “He moves around a lot,” Shigeru landed on, thumbing (a bit confusedly) through a manga with a giant robot on the cover. “And he’d want you to use it. We do, too. So, it’s up to you. We’ll just be reading a bit, if you want to relax for a few minutes.”
In the warm glow of dusk, Natsume laid his head on a small cushion beneath the window. He blinked his eyes open, gazing out the glass panes above him a few times, while Touko and Shigeru pretended to read. But within a few minutes, his chest was slowly rising and falling, his eyes shut at last.
They stood and tiptoed to the door. Touko lingered for a moment, then shut it behind her with a smile.
They had barely made it downstairs when Natsume’s scream shattered the silence.
He had begged them once to stop coming. In this moment, it was unimaginable that they ever listened. They threw the door open, breathlessly calling to him. No one was there.
Hearts in their throats, they rushed inside the room. He said something about the window before. Was something really there? Had someone-?
Then, Touko noticed the closet door, left open just a crack.
She crossed the room slowly this time. She knelt in front of the door, ringed by the last of the dusk light. She could hear a tiny whimper from within, the sound of a muffled sob she knew too well.
She heard it through the floorboards at night. It echoed it in cryptic answers on the other end of a phone line. It squeezed around his words in the vague recountings of the excuses he’d been given from strangers who decided he was too much.
It had always been this child, crying alone in the dark.
She slid the door open.
His eyes met hers. Then, with a tiny gasp, Natsume flung himself into her arms.
Touko caught him easily. He buried his face in her shoulder, his thin frame shaking with silent sobs. “Oh, Takashi,” she whispered, and wrapped her arms around him.
Shigeru knelt beside them, a quivering hand on Touko’s back, steadying himself as much as her. She ran a hand through Natsume’s hair as his tears began to soak into her shoulder. He was still silent, trembling and clutching her. So she said everything she’d been trying to tell him for a year.
“Everything is OK. You’re alright. We’re here. You’re safe. We’ve got you. It’s going to be OK. We’re going to take care of you. We’re never going to let you go.”
He was so small.
They didn’t know how long he cried for. It didn’t matter. It could have been all night, and they’d have stayed, Touko holding him on her lap, promising him they’d still be there when the sun came up.
But slowly, the sobs wracking his body started to slow. His breathing evened out. Touko loosened her arms wrapped around him and chanced a look at his face. He had the faraway look she was used to seeing in Natsume’s eyes.
She kept holding him, humming and rocking and gently stroking his hair, until his red eyes started to droop again. Then she gathered him up in her arms and stood, his head still resting against her shoulder. Gently, she set him down on his futon this time, tucking the blankets around him.
Touko and Shigeru sat beside Natsume, holding his hands, brushing the hair from his eyes. He opened his eyes every few moments, and relief played across his face each time he found them still there.
His breathing calmed again. His eyes were staying shut for longer.
In the fading light, he opened his eyes once more. “I wish I could have been your son,” he whispered. Then his eyes closed, and he fell asleep.
They sat with him as the sun went down. Touko clasped a hand over her mouth to keep from waking him as tears fell down her cheeks. Shigeru couldn’t pull his gaze from the sleeping boy’s face.
When the room was dark, they crept downstairs. They sat in silence, braced for another scream, but it didn’t come.
When their worry got the best of them, they slid his door back open and glanced inside.
They found a teenage Takashi, curled up under the blankets, with his cat snuggled beside him. His eyes were still ringed with red, but he was fast asleep.