Thinking about Tetsuji Moriyama losing everything in a year’s time.
The first thing he lost was Kevin. Kevin Day. So horribly like his mother. With her attitude, her heart, her eyes. The only thing that wasn’t her’s was his anger, and that had been what he’d clung to in order to remind himself that he wasn’t her.
He lost him because of Riko. Just like he’d lost her because of Kengo. For a boy who had only met his father a few times, he was disgustingly similar to him.
Maybe it was fate that he’d be the one to take Kevin away from him.
But he had time to accept Kevin had gone. Just like he’d had time to accept that Kayleigh was too.
The sting never really went away though. He’d kept himself an arm’s length away from Kevin all the boy’s life, because he knew that once he let himself hold him he wouldn’t be able to let go.
And then Kengo had gotten sick; had died. And suddenly both the object of his misery and the mastermind behind it were gone. He had resented Kengo, not just because he’d been the one to run the “family business,” but also because he’d taken her away.
Either way, he mourned him. It’s hard not to mourn a man with the same blood as you. To not see his absence, even in places he hadn’t been apart of in life.
But Kengo was gone. And now all that remained was a nephew who’d never grown to care for him and a boy who wanted nothing but to gain a dead man’s approval. Riko was the reminder that the dead never left. He was a reminder that the world would always be marred by Kengo’s presence.
And just like he’d resented Kengo, he resented the man’s son. Until he too was gone.
When Ichirou called for both his and Riko’s presence after the game, he knew what would happen. Only one of them (if they were even that lucky) would be allowed to walk out of there that night.
He hadn’t expected it to be him. He hadn’t expected to watch the boy he’d raised for all those years to be killed in front of him. Maybe he had. Maybe some part of him considered it a possibility. But he had expected it to be him paying for their failure.
Maybe if Riko hadn’t broken his arm it would have been him.
But the strangest part, the hardest part, had been those eyes. Those were not Kengo Moriyama’s eyes. Not with those soft tears glistening at their edges. No, Kengo had never cried like that. Tetsuji didn’t even think he’d ever seen him cry.
Those weren’t his eyes. They were Kayleigh’s. Or Kevin’s, perhaps. Kayleigh had cried like that. So had Kevin, in the early days of his time at the Nest. He’d always cried like that. Perhaps that was one effect of raising Kayleigh’s son beside his nephew. Some part of her ended up within him.
And for an awful, horrible moment, Tetsuji had not seen Riko there. He hadn’t even seen Kevin, or Kayleigh. He’d seen a thousand what-ifs. Versions of a story that had never been allowed to occur.
Because those were Kayleigh’s eyes, on a face just similar enough to be his own.
And, in a moment, they were gone. Taking with it any chance of that solemn version of the story that would never be.
And, as Ichirou had placed that gun into Riko’s hand, Tetsuji Moriyama came to the realization that he would not be dying that night. This was his punishment. His own private hell. A world without any reminder of her. Without her eyes, her smile, her sport.
The only time he’d ever see her again would be in the ringing sound of gunshots that would fill his nightmares.
And he would have to live that version of his life. Because tonight was not the day he’d be allowed to die. And neither would tomorrow, or the day after that, or the day after that.
He had permanently forced her out of his life in his attempt to keep her in it.
And Ichirou, who was just like his father, had ensured it would stay like that for the rest of his days
He had made his bed and now he would lay in it. Just as he should have all those years ago
