#broken compass

He grew up in the city, where trees are scarce and the shift in seasons is marked by nothing much more than a dip or rise in temperature. But he and Motoyo used to be sent to their grandmother’s home in the countryside over the summer holidays when they were younger and their time less occupied by volleyball practice and camps. He’d hate it to bits, moping about the grass stains on his socks, the incessant chirping of cicadas (in hindsight, they remind him of Hinata), longing for his comfortable bed and neat, orderly room back home, even though Motoya would do his best to draw him out of the shell and into the games and fun he’d organise with the neighbourhood kids. 

“C’mon, live a little”, Motoya would always say, a common refrain. 

Kiyoomi tries his best, follows behind his gregarious cousin with a reasonable amount of grumbling, but he truly does not enjoy the rough play and tumble that the other children seem to prefer. 

One summer evening, the heat so stifling it settles on his skin like a scratchy woolen blanket, he’s dragged out of the house by Motoya.  “It’s already dark”, he grouches, but Motoya, used to his cousin’s cantankerous ways, just tugs him along with a steady smile. They walk and walk and walk, wending their way through backyards until they reach an open field where other children are gathered. 

“What are we doing?” he hisses to Motoya, who just shrugs. 

One of the older boys whips a  jar out, a flickering gold light gleaming softly against the clear glass. The other kids ooh and aah as he shakes the jar with a shit eating grin, the light fading in and out, the pathetic creature trapped in a macabre dance. 

Sakusa Kiyoomi is not one to make a scene, but something snaps in him and he stalks forward, grabs the jar away from the boy before he can react, twisting the cap to let the poor creature escape back into the summer skies. 

“Oi!” the boy hisses, taking a threatening step forward. 

Kiyoomi just glares at him, taking advantage of every inch of his already formidable height until the other boy shuffles back and the crowd around them disperses, disappointed that the night is ending without any further excitement. He watches the swirl of gold and amber in the purpling dusk, ends up borrowing books from the library about insects, grimacing until he finds the section on fireflies. 

He reads about how fireflies have special organs in their bellies that absorb oxygen, combining it with luciferin to glow. Each firefly has its unique flashing pattern, designed to communicate with one another, warning predators to stay away, their blood venomous. They’re fierce yet fragile creatures, their existence in the world beautiful yet brief. 

Fireflies should be treasured, admired. 

So when he holds Sachiko for the first time, listens to the sound of her soft warbling cries, the soft shine of her brown eyes, he can only think about the fact that the decades he’ll hopefully get to spend with her is still too short a time,  and he needs to spend every moment treasuring the time he has with her, basking in her glow. 

“Hello firefly”, he breathes. 

She snuffles against his chest. He loses his heart to her light. 

He knows he’s an overprotective dad. For his little firefly, he wears his heart on his sleeve, celebrating whenever she does something new even as he mourns each day passing, texting you with photos of her gummy smile, exclaiming ‘I can’t believe we made this perfect, precious being’, laughing openly when she gurgles, fretting whenever she cries. It’s an easy decision for him to take half a year off work so you can restart your career without worry, even though his boss at the JVA blinks at the unexpected request, but he’s not afraid of walking away from the job - he’s not afraid from walking away from anything but you and Sachiko. 

“She’s too young”, he argues with you when you first bring up childcare. 

He knows that he should get back to his job, that Sachiko will be completely fine in the hands of professionals, that she’ll just toddle happily after Bokuto’s wolfpack of sons, singing songs and drawing pictures and frolicking in the park, watched by doting teachers. But time is a-ticking, and every day that passes is one less day he gets to spend with his little firefly. 

“It’s for her own good”, you reply, softly but firmly. He hates that he knows you’re right. 

She needs to socialise with her peers lest she become sullen and surly like him, and he needs to get back to work so he can squirrel more savings away for her future. 

So he has to let his firefly go, let her share her light and warmth with the world. 

Still, there are tears in his eyes on the first day of preschool when Sachiko runs off ahead, hand in hand with two of Bokuto’s sons. 

You press a soft kiss to the curve of his jaw. “She’s gonna have fun all day, and we’ll see her at home all evening.” 

He’s not even embarrassed that his throat is so tight he can only croak. 

It’s a relief when he picks her up in the evening after work. She runs to him, throwing her little body in his arms, chattering to him about the friends she’s made, the drawings she’s made of her ‘to-san, her ‘ka-san and a dog - cos we should adopt a dog, Kouichi, Kouji and Kousuke just got one last week. He shudders at the chaos a dog would add to the Bokuto household and resolves to send Sachiko over there less for playdates (fat hope, his firefly has turned their trio into a quartet). 

“But I still missed you, ‘to-san!” 

“I miss you too”, he replies, eyes suspiciously wet. “Let’s go home, firefly. Your ‘ka-san’s gonna cook our favourite dinner.”

Sachiko gasps. “Umeboshi fried rice?” 

“Mmhm. Smart girl!” He lifts her up, refusing to let her down the entire walk home. 

So maybe he can’t freeze time, not even for a second. He can’t stop Sachiko from growing up. He has no right to stop her from spreading her wings, from taking flight from their burrow, her absences growing longer and longer. 

But there’s still time for more memories to be made. 

In summer, when the entire family is in need of a respite from Tokyo’s sweltering heat, they spend a week or two back in his grandmother’s home. It’s nice bringing Sachiko to the aquarium where she squeals over colourful fish, picnicking in the mountains with umeboshi onigiris, and visiting the zoo. But the highlight of the trip is when you and Sachiko unearth some ancient camping tent from the attic, identical puppy dog eyes round and pleading for him to agree to a night out under the stars. 

A barbecued dinner later which Bokuto would drool over, they lie down on the camping sheet with bellies full, watching as the sun fades and the night slowly arrives. There’s a flicker of gold at the corner of his eye, and all his effort setting up the campsite pays off when Sachiko sits up abruptly, her face lighting up with a brilliant smile. 

“Look!” 

He drinks in the scene. Sachiko and you, spellbound by the sight of fireflies dancing in dusk, identical expressions of wonder on your faces. 

“What are these?” Sachiko asks, a few minutes later, after sight before her loses its novelty. 

“They’re fireflies, little one”, you reply. 

She blinks, processing your answer. “That’s what ‘to-san calls me too!”

“That’s right”, you say. “Cos’ they’re just like you.” 

Sachiko stares at him. “Why! Am I a little bug?” 

That makes him laugh. “C’mere, firefly”, he says warmly, opening his arms so she can snuggle in. “It’s not cos’ you’re a little bug, silly girl.”

She crinkles her nose up at him. “Then why!” 

“Because”, he boops her nose. “They’re amazing and special and smart and beautiful. Just like you, firefly.”

She’s not at the age where she disavows parental affection which she inevitably will be, which he dreads. So he’s thankful that she chirps a sweet “you’re special too, ‘to-san!”, winding her arms around his neck to pepper his cheeks with kisses. Later, when they get home, you borrow books from the library about fireflies for Sachiko, and he’s absurdly happy when she asks him to read them to her every night before tucking her into bed. 

“Goodnight, firefly”, he says, turning the lights off. 

“Sleep tight”, she mumbles, eyelids already drooping shut. “No bedbugs tonight.”

a/n: hope this little bit of fluff brings some joy to you!

much love, nikki.