𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐍𝐄:
Deliberate Aid
⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯
Narumiya Mei, that afternoon, welcomes a wolf and his pup into his home.
Strident wails of an ambulance impale the quiet corner where his building stands tall; Mei imagines what sort of urgency the zooming van would need to attend to so early in the afternoon. A traffic accident, perhaps, or a dying mother. He tries not to think about it, and instead centres his focus on the two figures, standing awkward and fiddly, behind his now opened door.
Las has never looked more like Las: he wears a dark grey shirt with a blue flannel hanging on the blades of his shoulder, and the thin bridge between the two round lenses adorning his face is broken. Mei immediately notices the tape holding them together. He doesn't say anything about it, though, and lets his eyes travel to the small child that stands between them, fingers gripping the door frame, struggling to untie the laces on his shoes as Mei holds the door open for him.
Surendra.
Though Mei has never called him by birth name, still, it is the name that he thinks of every time he sees him. Surendra is much harder to say, so he prefers Ren. Surendra is what Ara would call him, so he prefers Ren.
What an odd, foreign name. It's name that he wouldn't have known existed if he hadn't met Ara.
It was seven years ago that he first heard the name. Mei can picture the scenery so vividly still, clear as the boy that stands before him. She was healthy, but she was lying on a hospital bed. The doctors insisted that she change into a hospital gown the moment she settled in, but she stubbornly kept the loose pair of maternity pants Mei had gotten her a few weeks prior. "Surendra," Ara was speaking in tongues he wasn't familiar with. He tried to repeat her words as his fingers fiddled with a button beside her bed, and she laughed at the mistaken accent. "It's my uncle's name—the one we met in high school, remember? That passed away four months ago. Ah, yes, Uncle Muji, the one who speaks in Nagoya-ben, remember? His full name was Muji Surendra, may he rest in peace—I think there has been no one more kind to me." Mei cuts her off, whining about how kind he is to her. "You're supposed to be kind to me, Mei, but he has every right to throw me out in the dirt, and he chose to be kind, still. I think I'll name my little boy Surendra, what do you think? I was told that it means 'handsome', or 'charming', I think it would fit this little guy, huh?"
Personally, Mei doesn't know about handsome, and he doesn't know about charming.
But he knows about how Ren is growing more and more into the mould that was his mother with each passing day—it takes everything in him to suppress the aching gasp in his throat when he sees Ren turning to place his shoes on the shelf beside the doorway. He then looks at him with stars twinkling in his eyes, head tilted to one side as he politely greets Uncle Mei.
Mei's hand automatically went to the bush of his thick hair—pitch black, wavy in the front yet smooth on the back, looking like a carbon copy of Las' current hairstyle—and grinned down, softly returning the salutation.
Ara had always been tall, though no taller than neither Las nor himself, and for Ren to already be standing over his waist surely is an impressive feat—he hasn't seen many children in his adult life, so he won't know how they are supposed to grow. Ren is the realest boy he has ever known—and he doesn't have to bend to catch his eyes. That must be a feat.
"Thanks a lot, Mei."
As Ren enters the room, Las rests his elbow against the wall and takes his shoes off one by one, in a swift motion, like he's a less refined version of Ren.
Mei smiles and waves his hand as he pushes the door close with his shoulder. "It's not like I have anything better to do."
He welcomes the two in, and Ren's curious steps go pitter-pattering around the vicinity. His hands grip on the straps of his red backpack as he enters the living room, as if he has never been in the apartment before. He quickly peeks in the hallway leading to the bathroom before returning to the living room to drop the bag in the middle of the floor.
Mei pulls his eyes away from his figure and leads Las to his small, dining table. It's a square, wooden furniture that can probably fit three people at most. He doesn't really have anyone that goes over, and three people were all that he ever really needed.
"Want something to drink?"
"Tea would be nice," Las drags a chair out and occupies it with a grin, settling his ankle on one knee. "Water for Ren."
"That's still the only thing he would drink?"
"I can't even get him to drink strawberry milk. He hates anything sweet." Las turns his head to the direction of the living room, making his voice louder as if he was insinuating a certain someone. "Though I wish that he'd drink the herbs I give him. Shipping is expensive these days."
He was referring to some kind of Javanese turmeric, one from his home country that Las swears cured his asthma when he was much younger. Mei knows, however, that asthma doesn't just go away. That it's impossible to get rid of something so inherent. But he kept quiet, as he believed in the power of placebo over anything else.
"Give the kid a break," a clicking sound tinkers in the air as Mei steps to his kitchen, just steps away from the dining table. "He's just like Ara."
"Yeah, but," Las keeps his sight over his shoulder before returning to look at Mei, voice already back to its crooked, underwhelming tone, "she doesn't hate sweet things. She just made herself hate them."
Mei doesn't have a response, his hands are busy pressing hot water down his water dispenser to a small kettle, and from the corner of his eyes, he sees Ren's small head peeking from the doorless frame connecting the kitchen to the living room.
"Can I watch TV?"
"Huh?" Mei stops the water and looks at Ren.
"TV—" Ren reveals most of himself, and his index finger points to the screen hanging on his living room's wall.
Mei laughs. "Sure, buddy. The remote's on the sofa... I think."
Ren scurries from the hall to where the sofa is, murmuring something that Mei cannot hear.
"He's been really into tennis lately, you know." Mei doesn't ask for updates on how Ren is doing, he doesn't ask of his current interest, but the sentence flows out of Las' mouth like a river. "I don't know why, maybe some kids at school introduced him to tennis. He likes this Italian athlete—Fransesca Andreatta. Heard of her?"
Mei sets the kettle on top of the stove and walks around the kitchen island to place a coaster and a green teacup before Las.
"I can't even name a Japanese tennis athlete with a gun to my head," he titters.
Las joins in his laugh. "Maybe you could have known some."
"Maybe," Mei pulls the chair out, the sound of its legs sliding against his wooden floor louder than he intended. "I know enough baseball athletes. Other sports confuse the hell out of me, I can't be bothered to learn about them."
"Whoa," Las scrunches his nose in surprise, glancing at where Ren is. "You can't say things like that, man. You gotta show interest in the kid's interests, you can't dismiss them like that."
Mei raises an eyebrow. "What book are you reading now?"
"It's not about the book I'm reading, Mei," he waves his hands around, "it's about raising Ren properly. I... I don't have Ara's... uh... charisma, and motherly instinct. I gotta learn from other people so that he'd turn out good."
"He is turning out good," Mei chuckles. "What charisma are you talking about? He doesn't care about any of that."
Las shifts in his seat. "Still..."
"It's not all theory, Las. My dad ridiculed me for taking psychology, and I am the best HR this town has ever seen."
He scoffs. "That's because you were on your way to becoming the best pitcher this country has ever seen. He couldn't give two shits even if you chose to drop out of college. Why the hell did you even pick out psychology anyway?"
"I was really going to be the best, huh?" Mei grins, nodding approvingly, leaning his head back as quick snippets of his youth flash before his mind: roars of the crowds echoing throughout the diamond, sweat rolling down his chin, sweet mending of his muscles after his teammates would release him from their deathly grip. "I didn't really have a reason. It sounded fun."
"Fun?" Las doesn't seem like he believed him. "Was it really about following Ara around like a lost puppy?"
He tilts his head, eyebrows furrowed. "Ara took accounting."
"And the economic cluster was right beside psychology."
Mei scoffs. "You're just proving my point. So what if I was following her around? She's the one who got her life together."
Las raises both his arms in defence. "Anyone would've ridiculed you for taking psychology. Miyuki took business management, it made more sense. Plus, he got to see Ara almost everyday. Psychology just didn't make sense."
"Kazuya flunked all his tests!" Mei laughs. "And, it doesn't make sense for an athlete to be taking business management, the same way it doesn't make sense for an athlete to take psychology. What matters most is that I graduated with a 3.7 GPA, and Kazuya didn't graduate at all."
Las squints his eyes, pushes his glasses back to its place, and does not argue. He must know that what Mei said made sense.
It doesn't make sense for an athlete to take business management, the same way it doesn't make sense for an athlete to take psychology, the same way it doesn't make sense for an athlete to lose his leg, the same way it doesn't make sense for a child to lose his mother.
Mei shakes his head.
There is some kind of resentment between them, now that Ara has died. Something that existed before and was banished. Something that has returned from the dark woods. It's easy for Mei, or Las, to complete a u-turn now—to flip what the other has said into something completely different. That is what loss does to you. At least, that is what loss does to them.
To change the subject, Mei coughs to his fist. "What did you want to talk about?"
But this does not help. Instead of letting the atmosphere break and melt, Las stiffens, as if there was a knot tying the invisible wings on his back.
He stutters.
And Mei blinks, because Las does not stutter.
He is proud and meek at the same time. Loud as well as light. And he does not stutter.
Yet, right then, his words come out chopped like scallions in miso soup. He avoids Mei's eyes, he turns his head away, before finally coming to a conclusion on how he would like to organise the jumbled thoughts in his mind.
"Can you let Ren stay with you... just for a month or two?"
Mei blinks, again.
"Las."
He doesn't answer his calls. Instead, he takes his ankle from his knee and bounces his both legs on the floor. This causes the whole table to shake. "It's just... shit."
The silence goes on for a little too long.
"Home hasn't been the safest place for a kid."
"Las," Mei ignores the blistering impatience threatening to spill out his throat. He leans forward, glances at Ren sitting quietly on the floor, and turns to Las yet again. His voice turns to a lowly whisper, almost a threat. "What the hell are you talking about?"
He threw his gaze even further to the floor. "I can't— I don't want to..."
Mei sucks in a deep breath. "Okay... I won't make you tell me."
"Home just... Ren should be somewhere safe, y'know?"
He nods. "Yeah."
"This is my last ditch effort, Mei. I would have not come to you if I wasn't so desperate."
Has he not been displaying his hospitality? Has he said something wrong? So wrong that Las hesitates in turning to him?
"I'm always willing to help you when it comes to Ren," Mei says quietly, his fingers intertwining with each other. "If you can't pay for his school fees, I'll pay. For his uniforms too. Tennis lessons if he wants."
Las stays quiet.
"I know you have some pride as his legal guardian," he continues, twiddling his fingers. "But his well-being is much more important than whatever ego you have in there."
He shakes his head. "I can't just dump a kid on you. I can't just take your focus away from —"
"It's just a secretary job, Las."
"It's better than whatever the hell I have going for myself." His calloused palms rub against his face, pushing the frames of his glasses up to his forehead. "Listen, a kid would just hinder your career. You've got a bright future ahead of you, man. I can't just slow you down like that. I can't do that to you."
"Don't talk about Ren like that."
They deal with things differently. Mei takes in a deep breath, closes his eyes, and lets the fisting hands on his knees melt into a soft grip.
"Right," Las sounds like he was somewhat panicking, both palms against the exhaust of his expression. "You're right. Sorry."
"No," Mei leans against his chair, quickly glancing at the way Ren has his eyes glued on the television. Las follows his suit. "It's fine. Times are hard, for the both of us."
"Three of us." Las lets his gaze linger on Ren a little longer, and Mei watches his thick eyebrows under the thick brim of his round glasses. There is a shadow of a younger Las behind his eyes, an expression Mei didn't know he can still show. When he looks back, Mei's head is already turned, watching steam slip out the kettle on the stove.
"It's gonna be a year soon," Mei mumbles. "I didn't think it's going to be this easy. This quick."
Las only nods.
"I thought the world ended."
A chorus of sighs erupted from their mouths, followed by a chortle of bitter laughs. They seem pathetic. But that's alright. No one else was watching.
"You know," Las then clears his throat. "I was going through Ara's storage unit with Ren the other day, and I actually think some things there are yours."
Mei stays quiet, and he continues.
"There was your high school baseball shirt, some bats..." His voice trails off when he doesn't offer a response.
"Give us... one day to pack? I'll drop him off the day after tomorrow just before I go to work, will you be busy?"
"The day after tomorrow?"
Mei's mind travels to the schedule he had imprinted on the walls of his skull, and is reminded of the meeting that he had six weeks to prepare yet somehow managed to put off until that day.
"I can make time."
notes !
i miss mei