早くママに会いたいよ

He could always tell that he was home when he heard music playing. Softly, distantly, as if from another world, yet it drew him to safety in the wake of what felt like another nightmare in a wave of many. Groggy, he sat up slowly, and the world tipped around him, slowly spinning and blurring into focus. He groaned quietly and rubbed at his eyes in an attempt to wrestle himself free from that restless sleep, then in a blur of motion he was up from his bed and wandering down the hallway, toward the sound.

It floated through the house, beckoning him as if gently touching a finger to his chin and guiding him forward, as a lover might brush their fingers there before a soft, indulgent kiss. He felt so disoriented from whatever dream he’d been having that his feet seemed to barely touch the floor at all as he meandered to the kitchen, where a woman stood in front of the stove, humming along with the music playing from an old radio.

So many mornings in his younger years had begun like this, and yet this one felt different. Real, but not quite. The world around him felt faded, and it blurred at the edges as if being viewed through a fisheye lens. It didn’t matter; he continued forward, and the woman turned to greet him with a warm, gentle smile on her face.

“There you are,” she chided him gently, a quiet laugh following the words, and she reached up to pat his cheek, her eyes aglow with motherly love. It caused his chest to tighten and feel warm all at once, and with a scoff he reached to brush her fingers away. “Breakfast is nearly ready, won’t you join your brother at the table? Your father’s already left for work. Silly thing, you’ve slept in so late.”

“Sorry, mama,” he mumbled sleepily, and though the woman shook her head at him, she said nothing else, merely returning to her work finishing breakfast. He moved forward to the table, where his brother sat with a plate and a glass of milk already in front of him, clearly waiting to make some kind of witty remark.  “Ne, don’t say it,” Atsushi grumbled at the older boy, reaching for a chair and pulling it away from the table enough so that he could drop down onto it, and the world shifted around him once more after that.

Before his eyes, his mother appeared to age another handful of years, and the hair which had been tied back into a messy bun faded from a soft dark brown color to the same brown but with streaks of gray. His brother was gone from the picture, plate and glass sitting there empty at the table, though Atsushi himself was the same. His mother gave him that same gentle smile as she crossed the room to bring him what appeared to be dinner, then seated herself across from him at the table where her own meal awaited.

“Tell me what’s on your mind, Atsushi,” she said to him after a moment, her expression as patient as ever. “The wedding is soon, ne? Surely you must have some thoughts about that.” The room blurred around them as Atsushi processed the question. The wedding? Wasn’t he home in Gunma? If his mother was still alive, then surely this was before he’d left for Tokyo, wasn’t it? He couldn’t remember being married this young...

“I don’t understand,” he answered quietly, and his field of vision became hyperfocused on her features as if he’d narrowed his eyes and furrowed his brow. “What do you mean, the wedding? Mama, we’re still at home...”

The woman’s expression softened, becoming almost sympathetic, and ignoring the meal set out before them reached forward and took his hand. The touch felt warm but it also felt distant, though he wrapped his fingers around hers and willed himself to hold on as tightly as he could. She said nothing, but the look in her eyes spoke more loudly than any words could. Oh. It all made sense now. Emotion overwhelmed him, and his voice felt distant as he spoke again.

“I think you would like him. He’s...” Softly, the woman’s thumb brushed over the back of his hand, patiently offering encouragement. He and his fiance had been together for well over a year now, and still he found himself struggling to find the right word. What could he say about the younger man that this seemingly omniscient version of his mother wouldn’t already know? There were words he’d longed to say to her in the years since her passing, but now... He felt as young as he appeared now, and small despite his size, and afraid. But why? Why was he afraid? It rooted itself deep into the pit of his stomach, and only grew as the room around them began to fade.

Mama, don’t go. Please don’t go.

Desperately he wanted to open his mouth to plead with her, but he found himself incapable of uttering the words as that fading world claimed her and he was left holding thin air in his hand. He stared at it, focused on it, as his own body began to reflect his age, and surely he could wake up now, couldn’t he, if he finally felt the way a man in his early fifties would feel, and looked the way that a man in his early fifties should look?

In another blur of motion, he was upright, moving away from the kitchen and down the hallway, back to his bedroom where posters depicting an array of artists of the moment; Bowie with a microphone stand in his hands, belting out a note which was frozen in time in that image, Siouxshie and her Banshees and her fiery red hair. A record player beside the bed, with records stacked beside of it, a few of the albums sticking out of their sleeves. Cigarettes with their embers crushed into a nearby ashtray, clothes scattered about on the floor. What was this? He hadn’t lived in this room for decades, though when he reached out to touch the navy blue quilt which covered the mattress, the fabric of it felt real.

He moved to sit down upon it, feeling deep within him the urge to curl up and wait for his mother to come find him and comfort him; he wanted to shut his eyes and steel himself when he heard the heavy footsteps of his father’s boots coming down the hall. Shadows moved on the wall outside of the bedroom, and voices began to rise in pitch as a male voice angrily demanded dinner. An angry female voice rose in anger. Make your own dinner, you drunk, she shouted at him, and Atsushi grimaced as he heard a resounding smack.

It was then that the tears flowed. Why? What was the point of reliving this? He didn’t understand. He sat there in stillness with his eyes closed, though he could still perfectly envision the room. Lights off, door closed enough that his father wouldn’t come storming in when he was finished yelling at his mother, record player quiet, cigarettes crushed to nothing in the ashtray. He pressed his hands to his ears, shaking his head, willing it all away.

Time felt as though it flowed slowly and drifted away all too quickly, and again he felt a gentle touch at his cheeks. His mother had come to comfort him after all. He opened his eyes and a demure figure stood before him, though he couldn’t make out much else in the dim light.

Sakutan, a soft voice whispered to him. Fingers brushed at his cheeks, pushing hair away, wiping away tears. Sakutan....

He pressed his hands firmly atop the ones at either side of his face, curled his fingers tight around the ones touching him so gently. Don’t cry, Atsushi, just open your eyes. He couldn’t tell if it was his mother’s voice anymore, or if it was someone else’s.

Sakutan. Wake up, ne, why are you crying?

Open your eyes, it’s just a bad dream....

It’s okay, Sakutan, I’m right here with you. Please, Sakutan, just wake up for me, ne? Please...

Taking a breath, he opened his eyes; vainly, he’d hoped that the scenery around him would be different, but he felt trapped here in this moment in which his father had shown his true colors as an abusive alcoholic and he was doomed to become just like him. He’d avoided relationships for a while because of that, hadn’t he? He’d ended marriages when his wives had started questioning him, trying to control him, making him feel trapped as he had been in this room that night when his father had struck his mother where he could hear it for the first time.

She stood before him now, her eyes sad but her expression insistent, her weathered fingers brushing at the blurry spots in his vision which he assumed were his tears. “Don’t be afraid, Atsushi,” she whispered to him, leaning forward to touch her lips to his foreheard in an affectionate kiss. Arms wrapped around his shoulders, pulling him in close, his arms encircling the demure form in front of him in return. Gently, fingers brushed through his hair, and again he felt the touch of that gentle kiss. “Don’t be afraid,” was spoken in a whisper against his hairline, and though his fingers curled at her back and he clung to her, desperate for her not to go, she faded away as the dream finally came to its end.

He knew now whose voice it was which had been calling to him.

“Hajime...”

The younger man had pressed himself close to him, holding him as that figure had been holding him in his dream, and his long fingers were now the ones tenderly brushing at his face. “I’m right here, Sakutan,” he said to him, his tone gentle, and brushed the backs of his fingers along Atsushi’s cheek. “You looked like you were having a nightmare. Are you all right...?”

Atsushi lifted a hand to return the favor of gentle touches; he skimmed his fingertips along the younger man’s cheek, thumb brushing at the corner of his bottom lip. “I’m all right now, my sweet boy,” he answered him, trying a small smile, and though the younger man didn’t seem convinced, he didn’t press the issue further. “Why don’t we just lie here together a while, though, hm? I’d like to just hold you like this for a while, if that’s all right.”

Hajime answered with a nod, shifting forward to press a gentle kiss against Atsushi’s forehead, those nimble fingers nudging away strands of black hair. Atsushi’s eyes closed as he relished in that moment of gentle affection, one which was repeated a few more times along his hairline, each press of lips grounding him more firmly in what he knew was reality. “You can tell me about the dream you were having, if you wanted to,” the younger man said after a moment, but Atsushi shook his head in reply.

“Not tonight, my love,” he answered him, adjusting his hold on the other man so that he could bring him closer, ignoring the way it made his chest sting to feel his love’s frown against his skin. “Another night, ne,” he promised him, tucking a kiss against warm skin and burying his face there against him at the crook of his neck. He closed his eyes, arms tightening around the younger man as he breathed him in. He wasn’t sure when he would be able to touch upon the things which had plagued him; they’d only briefly talked about their respective childhoods, and Atsushi’s default was to delicately skirt around his .That was a door which he simply didn’t open anymore, if only to hold at bay the darkness of the memories which waited for him at the other side.