MinJae
Darling.
He whispered the word under his breath, and it drifted in the air, drowned by the howling from his daughter.
I have always yearned for a future filled with so much love that I would forget the emptiness of lacking.
I searched high and low in the night for someone that could be a ghost of you. I wanted to have a figment of your existence that I had yet to meet. But no one could fit in my arms, no one could look at me the way you would—the way soulmates should be entranced by their other halves.
Once upon a time, I was alone.
His baby gurgled, sniffling as she gasped for air and he shushed her, kissing tear-stained cheeks, sticky with sweat and saliva.
I was a freak of nature, an outcast in a life that should be meant for love. Without you, I was destined to be Lonely, to die a premature death despite my health and good fortune. Without you, I didn't deserve to live as a broken piece of society.
In this world, I needed you to live.
So without you I—
It was raining, and the outpour was no humble storm.
Rain pelted against the windows; wind rattling the glass—phantom claws over the surface created an eery wail that had him flinching. Each screech and pull of the gates that protected him and his baby led to a rattle in his brain. A pounding in the flesh that covered his skull.
His situation was torture, an overstimulation of senses. Outside him, everything was loud, sharp and bright, the noise shattered him and pumped him with a strange quake in his bones. Inside him, he was a mass of twisting squirming cold—worms that covered a dropping hollow ache that started at his throat. His breath grew faint, his eyes wild.
But beyond the rain and the cries from his child—so difficult to calm, so difficult to please. He heard the clatter of keys, and his heart jumped from his chest; he was eager as he craned his neck to look for her. And for that split second the quiet returned, calm and peaceful. His mind was no longer searching for words to use to create sentences, paragraphs and essays. Instead it focussed on her.
He thought he could smell faintly—like an imprint in the walls, a scene burned into his mind— the sweet scent of apple pie, warm, toasty and crumbly from the oven. The buttery kind of pie, with a crust that crackled when a knife pulled over surface. And apples that had good bite, juicy and bursting full with honey.
His apple pie was warm and perfumed by the lilacs in her hair, always packaged with soft giggles and all his closest friends. But the knock on the door, the phantom jingle of keys did not lead to her entrance.
His home remained just as dark and just as empty. And the crash of thunder the shock of lightning, revealed vacant halls. The mirage of a blurred figure of her height, with long hair and a beautiful smile were mere shadows on the wall. An illusion from his desperation.
He turned to the letter, the pen gripped tighter. His thumb slipped and his fingers were stained blue.
-I am lost. It's been a week since I last saw you. But if we count the days when we've last really, truly met each other it's been a month. You kiss me on the cheek, exhausted as you crawl into bed. I don't remember when was the last time you really looked at me the way you used to with your eyes so brown they are almost gold.
I remember them, and I miss the colour so much I see it sometimes in wood grains, in books, on the walls. When was the last time I've eaten dinner with you? A month and a half. My memory stops even though I know it hasn't been too long. But I don't remember when I've last cuddled in bed with you. Or when we've last had a heart-to-heart talk with our hands laced together.
When did we last have sex? We used to do it every week...It's so bad that I can't remember the smell of you down there—
He cancelled out the word, then coloured the sentences in with scribbles, dark angry ink that tore into the paper. The child in his arms squawked and he whispered a curse, humming a jumpy tune to her.
He couldn't say that in the letter meant for her, but he closed his eyes and tried to remember the smell of her apples in the deepest part of her. He paused, sniffing once again, all his nose could detect was the rank fumes of a soiled diaper.
Rumiko began to scream.
MinJae blinked and looked down at his letter. It was the fifth one he'd tried to write that night. But he got on his feet, aching from overworked muscle at their practices. In his line of work there was always a tour, always another song to sing, another formation to learn. He was busy, too busy to take breaks, to rest properly.
But they said it would be fitting, that this experience would occur when they were just as weakened from the stress of work. It would be best if they could relate to her as they cared for Rumiko on their own. It would make the experience more realistic, more relatable, more Amber.
The concept was strange and worrying, of course it was.
The boys split the workload when they were home. MinJae was good at bathing Rumiko, he made bath times calm and fun. He wasn't in charge of changing her diapers. Sometimes, he rocked her to sleep. He played with her a lot, he held her when she was asleep. But there was a million other things he didn't know how to do.
So when he had to do everything by himself, it was scary.
Most fathers do not understand the workload of being a mother. And this was their miserable, tiny attempt at trying to be better than those pathetic men. Laughter escaped his nose, husky as he cleaned his child slowly. She waved her little arms and he smiled, overusing the wipes just to clean her ass. He used to care about the waste, but today he didn't give a damn.
He was just as wretched as the useless men—a feeble useless being that couldn't see beyond his own pain. He gulped, licked drying lips and then stared blankly into the distance for a moment, thinking about what else he could say.
Before I met you, I begged for god's mercy. For any god to save my soul, and give us our soulmates, give me you. But as time passed, my bed grew bigger with wealth; it became so much wider, so much lonelier, so much colder. It hurt to see my friends gain other halves, to be reminded daily of my inadequacies.
I have so much and yet I have nothing.
But deep down inside I've always assumed, blind to logic, that one day I would have a soulmate. That one day life would slow down, and I too would have children to dote on. I would wake up wrapped in your arms, have breakfast in bed, go for picnics, walks by the beach, brush your hair—things like that.
I made you a dream. I moulded your being in my head, convinced myself that the girl in my mind was going to be you. It had to be you. So when you appeared before me, so real and so unique. I still wanted that fantasy to be real.
I think that's where things started to go wrong.
The bins were overflowing with trash that he'd single generated in just one day. He'll have to throw them out, he glanced at the sky. Alone, the thought of stepping out into the rain drained him. The thought of doing chores exhausted him. A weak smile drifted across his cheek. All he wanted to do was lie down and sleep.
When he was at home, there was always someone to help him, someone to depend on. Oh, he had his share of chores, but it wasn't the same when he had someone to talk to, someone to do it with. Sometimes he could ask for help, he could beg for a break and they might do it.
And now, he was alone. Tasked to care for his daughter and burdened by his anxiety, it was difficult to do anything else except write that letter and apologise.
The nervousness made his hands tremble, and he sat down moving up and down with Rumiko. But his hands continued to shake and so he cracked his knuckles, left leg still shaking. He bounced that leg, then tapped it harder to a constant beat.
Rumiko didn't seem to like it because she took a deep breath and let loose a wail. He gasped and stood—he was holding her too tight— apologies rippling from his lips, smoothing back her hair to wipe away the tears. She hiccupped and he continued to rock her—slowly this time—but his ears continued ringing with the memory of her sound.
Even when she was quiet, her screams couldn't leave his head. It remained, repeating like a bad catchy song that he hated. He shook his head, trying to think of something else. But his mind was full of apology, lines repeated in his head in different formulas.
He went back to the desk, paused over the paper, pen hovering as he bounced Rumiko in the other arm. She began to cry when he tried to focus and he groaned, standing again despite the pain of burning muscles. How many times had he sat and stood, sat and stood? He couldn't count he swore it was hundreds of times. He paced for her, baby in one arm, a pen in the other.
For the past few hours, he was always shaking, always moving, always expending energy, there was no quiet with his child. There was no peace. But he somehow, he could write with his thoughts so loud, so sad and so angry. He was so afraid of losing everything, losing her to this.
My parents love each other, they really do. But I've seen it change, seen it become one-sided and strange. My mother waits on my father, like he's her child, like she's his slave. He waits for her to bring him his meal, waits for her to take cutlery, to clean, to do the laundry, to wash the dishes. When I spill food on the floor, he waits for her to clean it up. He waits for everything as if it's her job.
Everything in the house is her job.
My father blamed my mother's genes when I didn't have a soulmate, it was just an offhand remark, but he called it her defects. He'll say it's all just a bad joke. But it's like all she's meant for is to provide him children and slave away in our house.
I vowed never to be like him, but I fear that he's taught me to wait for her too. I was just as useless as him. I think I still am. I don't do chores unless I'm called to, I whine and complain too much about doing tasks that I should complete automatically.
Even the small things, like keeping the seats down, pulling my socks so that they aren't a ball, lining up my shoes. Everyone reminds me to do them, but I don't, and I forget because it's not important in my head, because someone else would do it. I'm pathetic. I wish I knew that sooner. I should have taken the initiative.
His bottom lip trembled.
I see now that some part of me truly expected you to stay at home forever and raise our child. Some part of me believed it to be your duty and it's a privilege for you that I'm even helping you out the chores. In my head, I think you should be thankful that I help you to raise our child.
The years I've waited, the years I've spent longing for you, I should have learnt to appreciate you. And yet here we are, so broken and so lost again. I hurt you all the time. When did I stop listening to you?
I promised you that I would never hurt you again, I promised to always wait and listen to your truth. You have never lied to me, and once again I did not trust you. I am ashamed, so ashamed that I don't know how to face you again.
He exhaled, shakily hushing his daughter as tears began to slip down his cheeks.
And there are no flowers in my hair, or your hair. There are no flowers at all anywhere. There used to be so much of them that I was frustrated because it ruined my outfits for tour. Can you believe how stupid I was? I can't believe that I was once annoyed by the symbol of our love.
He groaned, the words on the paper ripping at old wounds and unearthing all his mistakes.
I once lashed out at you when you were begging with the truth, so weak that you couldn't stand. I've tried to seduce you when you were sick, instead of getting to know you properly, instead of giving you space. I didn't appreciate you. And I tried to blame it all on you, I didn't listen to you, I forgot all my promises to you.
And now as I dissect my actions with our child in my arms. I realise that I'm just as horrible as my father. I'm just as useless, just as pathetic. I don't want you to think that I deserve a second chance, just because we are soulmates.
Because I don't, but I love you so much. I miss you, I miss you, I miss—
He screamed when warmth dripped from his arm and splattered on the paper. A yelp that escaped his lips—the reaction to sudden change. Rumiko was startled by him, and her large dewy black doe-shaped eyes turned to him, then grew watery with tears.
He lifted the screaming baby, horrified as pee continued to escape her diaper—one that he'd clearly fucked up. He ran to the changing table, sprinted as he held her away from precious furniture and important objects.
He forgot to wait for her to finish, was too damn obsessed with the pee on his arm. He ripped the soiled diaper only for piss to splash all over his shirt. The stench of urine drifting in the air just as rank as his own. His baby gurgled, finally quiet, he stopped her from putting a piss-stained thumb into her mouth.
"Goddamn," he whispered. "You'll drive us all crazy."
"You look just like Sieon and JieMi."
The voice startled him, but it was husky and familiar. In the past it would have brought goosebumps over his skin, made his cheeks warm with a crush, but not now. Ezra stood at the door; arms crossed. MinJae sighed, glancing at him.
There was no denying that MinJae was still a horny bastard, but not once since Rumiko's birth did the thought of fucking Ezra, and just Ezra only to get the edge off ever cross his mind. There was no point without Amber. Without her eager participation, nothing made sense even his dick.
"Just as tired?" he offered, turning to continue with his task.
"They were both soaked in some form of her fluids at the end of it. Piss, vomit, shit you name it." Ezra chuckled as if the whole situation was funny. "You've got milk at the back of your shirt too."
MinJae scoffed, it seemed that Ezra didn't get much of those on him on his day. Lucky bastard. "There's just no time to get clean when she's not happy." He opened his mouth as an idea formed in his head.
He could take a shower now that Ezra was here, give him the baby for a minute?
For a moment, relief pumped through MinJae's veins as his body rejoiced at the idea of blessed clean water and a fresh, laundered shirt. But he swallowed those thoughts down choosing to wipe Rumiko down once again and continue with his care for her. The easy way out was never an option in Amber's life when they were on tour.
Ezra moved to look at the baby, whistling when he noticed the pee pooling at the edge of the changing table. MinJae bit his lips, feeling shame balloon in his chest as he quickened his task to mop it up with tissue. He'd been so certain that he could do a better job, so sure that he would be good at this.
"You could give her a bath and clean up with her," Ezra suggested picking up dirty clothes on the floor, instinctively cleaning up the place without a word.
"You think I haven't done that yet?" MinJae rolled his eyes, powdering the baby's ass. "We've taken three baths today, she started to get mad at the third one. Right, baby?" he fussed over her. "I will wash her hands after I get the diaper on."
"It's too cold for her to take so many baths, Minnie."
"You think I don't know that?" He scowled giving the man a dirty look, but Ezra was too busy making silly faces at the child. She gurgled, staring at him with wide eyes. "Tell that to this poopy monster that has projectile diarrhoea that got all over her hair and back."
"Disgusting. But she's a good girl now." Ezra patted her thighs and she gurgled, oddly quiet and happy. It was so strange to see her intrigued by a new stranger in the room, but he knew now that her 'happiness' wouldn't last long.
"Amber's right, she's polite when there's more people in the house. It's like she's trying to be polite for guests."
"She just likes me," Ezra cooed, and Rumiko stared at him with wide, teary eyes, she stuck out her tongue, a picture of perfection. "Do you miss me?" his voice grew sweeter, the rasp disappearing with the raised pitch. "Yes, you do little baby."
"She liked me twenty-four hours ago, just before Sieon handed her to me." MinJae groaned, cracking the kinks in his back. He picked up the piss-stained letter, holding it out for Ezra. "Can you read this for me? I need it to be perfect."
"Calm down I've had my experience." Ezra turned to look at him, taking the letter. "It was worst when she just started on her medicine, little girl was in pain. But I got the second day when the medicine and her stomach first settled. You should have seen Hikaru on the first."
"We get to rest, Amber didn't." MinJae growled, annoyed by his words. "And everyone was crying."
"He knows that Amber got it tougher. But he's extra quiet now because he thinks he ruined his relationship with her."
"He'll be fine," MinJae said, a soft smile on his lips. He had to be.
"Tell that to yourself," Ezra glanced up from the letter. "You're pretty much begging for her to not break up with you. I'd change the damn words, I'm not liking some of the content, it feels like you could be gas lighting her somewhere. Your tones a tad condescending and accusatory here. And maybe, less flair, it's a letter not literature."
"It's easier to explain when I'm flowery! And it's-I'm scared, okay?"
Ezra looked at him, lips curling into a comforting smile, his voice grew soft. "You didn't fuck up that bad."
"I did." MinJae scooped Rumiko into his arms. "My relationship with her is boring. I'm bored. We're all bored. It's not fun anymore." The silence from Ezra—not the baby of course—was loud and he turned to look at him.
"You fucking asshole," Ezra snorted, shaking his head, the glare he shot his way was acidic. MinJae glanced at the baby then decided that she was way too young to remember the word fuck. "You're bored? You want to have fun? Are you fucking with me? Going to go cheat on her to add some fucking spice? We have a kid—"
"No, for fuck's sake. I'm the boring one. Our relationship is boring for her." MinJae fidgeted, then decided to spill. "One child Ezra. One child was all it took to end our entire honeymoon period. I don't take her on dates, we don't talk like we used to, there's so much space between us. She looks at me like her mind is numb and I'm another task. "
"Then take her on dates, talk to her."
"She's too tired to talk! And I get it, I get it now. I—I want to sleep and take a bath, there's no sex in my brain. And as an introvert, all I want to do is hole up in my room and play games. She's right we were not ready for this baby. We're all too young, stupid and naïve."
"No ones ready for a baby, MinJae," Ezra sighed. "Even old, middle-aged people, they don't have their shit together. Everyone's first kid is the fucking test run. The first real national exam in our entire lives."
"But we can't just fuck through this test, there's too much at stake. Too much being sacrificed." MinJae's eyes grew blurry as he spoke, his nose wet and noisy with tears as he sniffed. "We're losing our love for this child because there's no time—"
"What's more important to you MinJae?"
"Excuse me?"
Ezra sighed, propping a hand on the desk, a hand running through the dark silky strands of his hair, glowing because of the grease. His eyes were rimmed with red and purple, but those orbs were solid, dark and strong. "What's more important to you? Goals? Dreams? Career?" He paused to caress Rumiko's cheek. "Family?"
"If you're going to lecture me about how I'm bad at time management, I don't want it."
"No for God's sake. I know we've worked so hard to be here," Ezra hissed. "There's so much more we can do. But what would you do if you had it all? All our dreams are accomplished, all that fucking money already in the bank."
"Billions? Fans that won't leave because we're a cult?"
"Whatever you want."
"There are robots singing in our place?"
"They're at the tours, the award shows, performing, everything. We can swop out whenever you want. The fame remains constant, we don't need to keep things up."
"There's got to be magic involved, because I want to be able to fly." MinJae chuckled, but Ezra remained serious and solemn.
"Sure, but what if you reached the top, the real top, and you know that there won't be a huge crisis, your money's never going to disappear in a giant scam. There's just no going higher or lower. And don't answer that but what if—you actually appreciated your own mental and physical health. And you actually prioritised your own happiness. What would you do now?"
MinJae exhaled, shaking his head. Then inhaled slowly, giving it serious thought. But his head was full with only one person, and one family. And he opened his eyes to give Ezra a confused look. "I'll go home. I'll be here. Where else would I be?"
Ezra smirked, a snort escaping as he pointed to the baby. "How does this little poopy one make you happy?"
"Oh, fuck you. She'll grow out of it. Besides, I can't have Amber suffering it hurts my heart. I'll definitely be here lightening her load, why work on my dreams when she needs me? I'm happier with my soulmate because she's my family."
"Right," Ezra nodded. "So, I'm going to quit." MinJae blinked, then blinked again as he stared at Ezra. For a moment he didn't understand, his mind so sleep-deprived that he couldn't comprehend the words that Ezra had just said.
"What? But our tour—our fans—" MinJae's voice grew hoarse as he stuttered, his mind turning. "It's not easy to restart once we stop. We—"
"Accomplishments? Trophies? More money?" Ezra grinned. MinJae noticed now that the darkness had lifted from his shoulders and his eyes were bright with something he'd forgotten. Something he should treasure more—happiness. "Why chase all that when you aren't happy?"
Hikaru
He couldn't breathe properly in their home.
The oxygen wedged itself in his throat, too heavy and viscous to forget. Each breath was a desperate gulp, each inhale was a struggle against a phantom being that had its hands around his throat. The heaviness saturated the air, and everything seemed to tumble upon his frame—crushing pressure that robbed his smile.
It wasn't completely his fault, but God, it hurt to know that he had been the catalyst to the reaction. Hikaru's lower lip trembled, and he braced himself against the handles of the buggy.
Unlike the others, his soul had been so much more sensitive and so much more broken. He was the oldest, minutes away from being lonely forever, days away from a broken heart—a few more weeks would ensure his eternal doom and an early death. Hikaru was that close to giving up and thus, he understood hollow and empty the way no one else in the family could.
But now the feeling was back.
The shattered glass, once so heavily coated with love it'd started to mend, was now dry and brittle. He felt it move; a rattling pain that started at his heart and stretched to his chest, radiating until he was frozen and gasping through the pain.
It was a reminder of what he'd once been used to.
The four walls seemed so close, too close; and Rumiko's voice pounded in his temples, a steady thrum that seemed to echo with the words of her mother. He could hear Amber in his head.
I told you so. You should have listened.
His hands moved, clutched tight against his chest so aware of its emptiness that he dug his nails into the flesh and hoped that the pain would feel the hole. But it didn't, why would it without a searing kiss from his lover that would make his soul ache and his pants feel too tight?
Like the degenerate he was, his erection grew too easily, and he fought back a sob.
Idiot.
Amber had been given a choice that night in the streets. She'd looked at him, then at Casper. Sure, his mind rambled on broken and teary. She could have chosen neither of the two, which would have honestly made him feel better.
But she could have chosen both.
And she could have chosen him.
But she left him on the streets that night. And he watched her as she held hands with another man and moved to find a love hotel. He'd stood in the dark for way too long, then made his way back with steps that dragged and lungs that didn't quite work anymore.
He couldn't explain the feeling that had burned in him that night, the hollow ache that had echoed through his voice when he relayed her words to the rest. Then the twisting jealousy and hatred that pricked at the back of his neck, washed by a cool sense of deep unadulterated regret.
His throat had constricted. His body filled with a storm of emotions. For a while it was a balloon of rage, then the fire seemed to collapse back into a deflated skin of wheezing grief. His legs dragged behind him, they didn't seem capable of moving. But they did as he pushed his daughter and stared at her, wondering why she was so difficult for them.
Rumiko was docile outside. Dazzled by the light of the sun and the screech of the outside world, she seemed hypnotized; perhaps she was momentarily much too entertained and mentally stimulated to give a damn about her own needs. Hikaru used that peace to clear his head.
He didn't stray far, he couldn't with his fame. But within the vicinity of their new temporary home, it was safe to at the very least take a tiny little stroll away from the walls of their apartment. So he moved, shoved the stroller past happy families with big bright fucking smiles with the tension of an angry elephant.
He tried not to stare at lovers holding hands. He attempted to ignore the couples that were sneaking kisses, and the babies that giggled and smiled at their parents. He tried desperately to keep his eyes on the plants, bushes and trees.
But the more he focused the more they seemed to look like his soulmate. The sun sparkling through the leaves—her eyes in the dark. The curve of a plant seemed to mirror her form. A petal was the shape of her smile. Even the bushes seemed to remind him of her—parted legs, the cream of her skin, her parted legs—
Hikaru stared at his hands, his body quivered as more tears scooped at the corners of his vision.
He tried not to make eye contact with all that damned happiness that reminded him just how sad he was, and he moved, stomped down the lane with big angry strides. He started a sprint when his child began to gurgle. The beginning of a fit but paused mid step when a voice called from behind him.
"Is that Rumiko?"
He turned, surprised to hear his daughter's name on another's tongue. He stared at the group of older women, each with their own shiny new buggy, some with toddlers in their arms. They didn't seem like new mothers, clearly much older than he was. In fact, some of them could be grandmothers and were well over the age of fifty.
They stood before him to a backdrop of screaming children running about in a playground. He used to look at those kids with joy and hope, but not anymore. Now he ignored them and winced when the screams got too high.
He cleared his throat, pushing his disguise higher up his face. He double checked the mask and then the glasses, ensured that they were in place and hiding his features. He hated having to interact with strangers, his extroversion had always been a mask.
In his current state he wanted nothing to do with them. In fact, he prayed quietly in his mind that they would leave after a minute or two. A greeting could be enough to send these strangers on their way, at the very least he would be polite to those older and wiser than he was.
"Yes?" he asked.
They smiled and giggled, so gleeful and pink that it sent a jolt of discomfort through him. He shifted on his feet, left then right. One had teeth that was just too big, another had nostrils that weren't quite the same size. The other was equipped with a nose that just didn't seem to be in the right place.
Hikaru contemplated lying about Rumiko's sleep schedule just so he could run away.
"You must be Amber's husband?" One sprouted with a sharp cackle that scared Hikaru so much he took a step back. "How is she?"
Hikaru bit his lips, gently rocking the stroller. Rumiko began to protest, demanding milk, hating the heat. They must be the people Amber met during her strolls around the park to clear her head. Were they friends? His gaze swept over their form, the craned neck, the shifting eyes.
"She's on a trip," he stuttered over the word, but it came out hoarse, "with family—"
"Wow a holiday?"
"How lucky!"
"And you're staying at home to care for the child? That's amazing!"
They fawned, buttering him up quickly with a tone that seemed to imply that he was a king doing a peasant's job. It felt that way with the way they seemed to look at him with a glassy dreamy look in their eyes just because he was a handsome father out on the streets.
"You're such a good husband, caring for the baby when the little one's still so young and small."
They smiled at each other, flushed faces growing redder, nostrils flared. Then their eyes darted to him, meandering over skin. He noticed now that his clothes were too thin, and his arms far too exposed. They were acting like his fans when they saw too much skin on a man that worked out to get a body for the magazines.
They didn't have the tact to hide their lust for him on their faces. He tugged at his shirt, pulled the V neck close. His skin pricked with a wash of something cold. He dropped his smile hoping they would get the memo.
"Thank you," he said, "but, I don't deserve any praise. I'm supposed to take care of the baby—"
"Unlike you, your wife's having a lot of trouble with caring for Rumiko," they whispered loudly as if it were a big secret. "She asked us for lots of advice." They laughed, and their words blended into a cacophony. "It's a shame that she didn't put them to proper use!"
"I see..." he whispered, confused by their words. How could they assume that Amber hadn't tried their perfect technique on a monster like Rumiko? But his hesitance seemed to add fuel to their fire.
"We've talked about diapers and weaning," they said. "How much she needs to weigh and eat." One stepped forward, a younger woman with her hands full with a sleeping toddler. "When I told her how much breast milk, I could produce she went completely pale!"
Hikaru's breath hitched.
"She couldn't get Rumiko to sleep for a while. We could hear the child crying all night! That poor dear."
They chuckled, and his eyes blurred as he listened to them speak. Women that merged into a single entity in his mind. Were there three of them or four? He couldn't tell. They stood in a crowd, circling him like predator to prey.
"Your wife's too young, she doesn't understand what to do. She's not prepared. "
Hikaru wanted to say something, but his voice remained caught in his throat.
"Babies stop crying when they're held in their mothers' arms, but not Rumiko. She hates it in her mommy's arms, it's so strange that she does!"
The women giggled, smiling through words that had knives hidden within the sugar. And Hikaru's pacing stopped, his fidgeting slowed. His eyes turned to them, a moment of disbelief sent him careening into an out of body experience. He couldn't belief what he was hearing, what they were implying.
"This little baby seems to like her daddy more than her mommy, doesn't she?"
They were insulting Amber right before his very eyes.
"You could really tell that she's not well prepared. She was asking questions about how much milk I'm producing, how much sleep the baby gets." There was a bark, a disgusting snort from the mothers. "I'm so sorry but clearly, she's not prepared to care for the darling."
Hikaru stiffened.
They continued to speak, tittering to one another with the shake of their head. "Your wife needs more lessons. Did you go for classes? I'm sure with work you couldn't attend...This is such an expensive condominium after all, but what about your wife?"
"Not yet, she needed to recover..."
"Not yet?" The sigh that escaped their lips were condescending and cruel. "You're too kind darling, she should have gone for classes. Children are so difficult to raise."
They shook their heads and it filled Hikaru with a violent rage. The sun flared and he squinted through the light. The women seemed to merge, bodies shifting s they formed a bulky monstrosity. They knelt before the buggy and Hikaru resisted the urge to pull the stroller back and run from the crowd.
"The little one's so skinny, just skin and bones. The dear just looks like she's starving." The women spoke, grubby hands moving to touch Rumiko's cheeks as if he allowed them to. It was as if he gave them the goddamn permission to touch his child with dirty fucking hands. Hikaru's brow twitched, dipping into a frown. "You're so hungry aren't you little one? Mommy's not giving you enough to eat?"
"She's had formula," he said, voice rising a pitch. It was shrill, cold, and icy, dry with his rage.
"Formula? That's not good for the baby, it dampens their growth."
They shook their heads, tone filled with so much criticism that it horrified Hikaru. The words mirrored his relative's, it mirrored the words he'd parroted back to Amber without a second thought.
But how could they say that? How could they act as if they'd seen everything he'd experienced? How could they speak to him like they knew how much he'd suffered for Rumiko.
It was as if they had a say in the matter.
It was as if they were Rumiko's parents; as if they knew what was best for her fucking growth. It was as if they had goddamn PHDs in child rearing, and they had stood by his side, caring for the baby and holding his hand.
The motherfuckers acted like they had watched as Rumiko screamed and cried, acted as if they had carried Rumiko in their arms at 5AM after twelve hours of her nonstop shrieks. They were no doctors, just parents who'd raised a babe or two, and yet they had the audacity to act as if they'd won the fucking Oscar for parenting.
And they smiled at him, oh God, they dared to smile at him and mock his soulmate behind her back. They dared to jab a finger at her and whisper to him their poisonous words. Words that were no doubt their daily fucking gossip murmured under their breaths when Amber walked past their pathways with his screaming daughter. They assumed and they painted a character of stereotype.
He knew they didn't like him too—a man who'd impregnated his soulmate a little too early, and when she was a little too young. But they didn't seem to see him the same way they saw Amber, much too caught up with the fact that he was a bread winner and thus a responsible fucking parent.
The contrast was so jarring it made him shiver. They acted as if they knew everything about his lover, seen blood from her nipples colour her milk pink, the eyebags, the unhealthy weight.
It was as if they had been right by his side when the doctors shook their heads, provided a hundred methods to calm a colic baby, but no guarantee. They talked to him like all babies were born the same, like Rumiko was a normal child, like they were the bad parents, like Amber was a horrible mother.
And yet he was a goddamn saint just because he wheeled the baby out in the sun for a day. He was the messiah just because he was a man. And Amber was the devil just because she was a young, inexperienced mother.
They judged and critiqued his situation as if they were Rumiko's mother and he hated it. He hated it because he'd said those same words to Amber, relayed message after message without even noticing her pain. His jaw was clenched so tight the muscle began to ache. He swelled; the pressure so tight in his throat that finally he exploded.
Hikaru wasn't one to be rude, he'd been raised to keep his anger inside and to always remain calm. But at this point he didn't give a damn about what his dead mother might feel about his stupid manners.
"All of you don't have the right to tell me what to fucking do," he snarled through the waterworks that threatened to begin, teeth snapped and barred with each word. But the heat of his rage seemed to have a magical affect on his tears, drying them quickly before they had the chance to trickle down his cheeks.
"Excuse me!" The women snapped back, clearly startled by his hostility.
In response, his daughter began to cry, struggling to move away from those women. He pulled her free from the pram, holding her close to his chest and away from filthy, bacteria crusted hands that threatened her survival. She sniffled, snot staining his skin, but his chest puffed out with pride when she grew quieter on his body, finding solace in the comfort of his skin.
For once it seemed that his daughter understood him and his need to prove a point. His chest grew warm, his soul humming warm with a fierce need to protect his family.
"We don't need your advice!" His accent bled into his words, no longer giving a damn about appearances. "And we don't need your critique!"
He glared at them, pulling his glasses free to stare them straight in the eye. His height was a clear advantage and he towered over their smaller frames, using his height as an advantage to stare down at them from the tip of his nose.
But they relented, some tiptoeing even, refusing to back down.
"Your daughter is crying every night! You clearly do not know what you are doing!"
"Our daughter is sick!" he answered. "We've been to the doctor's, the professionals, and she will get better! We don't need you to tell us what we already know! And if you don't like the sound of her crying then call the fucking police! I dare you to!"
"How rude!" They spluttered. "We will. We will call the police—"
He growled, a frustrated exhale that startled some. They couldn't possibly think he was that stupid. "The reason why my family chose that fucking apartment is because there's no one staying next door. The entire floor is fucking empty!"
"How can you be so sure, young man—"
"Because we rented out the entire fucking place, you bitch!" he screamed, stepping forward with an angry roar. "And we'll rent out the whole damn block if it means getting all of you out of this building and away from my soulmate!" He screamed, losing his absolute shit at the women as he covered his daughter's ears with his hands to keep her sane.
Hikaru turned to look at his baby right after his outburst, prepared for her screaming fits. But Rumiko smiled, her lips curling as she babbled in his arms. Strangely, his daughter didn't seem to mind the sound of his protest, gurgling quietly in his arms, grabbing his shirt to tug at the seams.
Interesting.
He was ready to leave, but the women continued blocking his path.
"You wouldn't—You—"
He shot them another glare then tried to calm himself down, inhaling and exhaling with closed eyes as he patted his daughter's back in a gentle rhythmic motion. The action was more for his benefit than hers, but she seemed to enjoy it. And it made him feel more like himself.
"There's no way you could have heard Rumiko," he said after a minute of silence in a quieter, nicer voice. They stared at him, startled by the change in his demeanour. "Firstly, I've tested it myself because I didn't want my soulmate to be bothered by our neighbours."
He listed it off for them, bouncing his daughter in his arms.
"Amber's already got enough on her plate, so there's no way I would have left her alone without dealing with noise complaints. Secondly, the only reason why you could have heard Rumiko would be because you're lingering outside our home just to check that she's crying at night. So even if you don't call the police, I will." He took his phone out of the pocket, swiping upwards to key in the number.
"You can't prove it," their faces had gone drastically pale, "you—"
"Hello?" he fibbed, smiling as he spoke in the perfect carefree voice, "I would like to report a stalker—You-what? Oh no, no it's not just one person. I believe there might be five. They've been patrolling my home for the past few weeks; I can show you the CCTV footage—"
The women vanished, dashing away from him before he could ask for their names.
Fucking bitches.
Hikaru watched with a smirk on his lips as they picked up their children, running away as fast as they could with their tails tucked between their legs. It seemed that he had picked up a thing or two from his best friends and could be just as outspoken, vindicative and confident.
Pride swelled in his chest, and he stood motionless for a second as he allowed it to fill him with heroic emotion.
But the upturn of his lips—so damn delighted by a small victory against strangers that dared step forth and provide opinions that could do nothing but wound. That smile was gone the moment their silhouette—the final traces of their shadow— disappeared from the vicinity.
In return what replaced the feelings that ballooned within him was a bone racking coldness that sent a mad shiver across his skin. He held himself briefly, forlorn and horrified by what he didn't know once and what he now knew.
The metaphorical picture of his perfect little family unfurled. Layer by layer it revealed something far ghastlier than what he truly expected.
Hikaru once stood within a glass dome overlooking the storm that ravaged his lover, but now he too had ventured into the wilderness. He'd taken a step into the sand, endured the sun and the wind to find himself with his lungs lashed into shreds, his throat bleeding from the sand, glass gathered and filling his belly.
He understood now.
The suffering.
His Amber had suffered with a monster in her arms, and monsters beyond her door.
He wouldn't call his baby the monster, not really if he considered the wider picture of things and what they as a family were truly afraid of. Contrary to their satanic descriptions of their colic child, it wasn't the child that they all hated. Rumiko was just a baby, and they couldn't hate on her.
What they truly feared was the unknow, the inability to prepare and provide. It was the weight of what they couldn't do and what they couldn't be. The monster was technically their lack of experience, their inadequacies, and that need to understand that nothing was ever their fault. That for Rumiko, nothing they did could ever be right because she would always cry for reasons that they couldn't solve on their own.
There was nothing much they could do for her discomfort. All they could do was bear with her suffering, feed her the medicine that she needed, take her to the doctors. All they could do was try to be better parents.
And as they suffered with the knowledge of what they couldn't do for Rumiko, outside their home were monsters that lurked and judged his soulmate for everything she did. They planted poison in her mind, pumped her full of doubt and self-hatred. He understood now with his hands clasped to his heart, the claustrophobia of the walls inside and out.
There was no escaping the judgement. No escaping the people that assumed what they didn't know and what they hadn't tried.
Couldn't they fucking understand that with a child as colic as their own they would have tried everything in their parental loving power to help her? Couldn't they see how demeaning it was, how degrading it felt for people who hadn't experienced their situation; weren't in their fucking shoes; didn't know a goddamn thing about Rumiko's diagnosis to step in as if they knew better.
They acted as if they could be better; as if they weren't fit to be parents; as if Hikaru wasn't worthy of being Rumiko's father—
The thought lodged itself in his throat. It paralyzed him, burned and radiated into tears that grew wet in his nose and moist in his throat. His head banged against the walls of the elevator, and he leaned heavily against metal walls. Behind the closed eyelids, and through the hot red rage of anger, stood another monster, the third stakeholder in Amber's fucking situation—himself.
He had been one of them. He had been that person to call Amber out for her 'wrongdoings', he had been that person to act as if he knew everything, as if he could be better. He had been that idiot, that prick, that motherfucker that assumed. Hikaru bit his lips and grew pale with weakness.
How immature he had been, how lacking in empathy, how childish he'd acted.
It was no wonder Amber didn't choose him.
Rumiko squealed and immediately his heart rate spiked, pulse thudded hard within the cage of his ribs. He leaned forward, his eyes aching as his hands reached to take her from her stroller. He then pulled her to his chest, sniffing at her diaper. He kissed her cheek, the baby scent of milk wafting in the air, then wrinkled his nose at something much fouler. She needed a diaper change.
Feeling miserable, he brushed the tears from her eyes whispering words to. He just needed someone to talk to. Anyone. Even the baby.
"Oh Rumi," he whispered in Japanese, a language he hoped she'd be able to understand in the future. "Why are you always so sad? Your mommy and daddies are struggling to raise you. It's too difficult baby." The word made his chest hurt. "And your daddy isn't good enough, he can't help your mommy with work." He adjusted her, checking her temperature. "I'm so scared baby. I'm so scared that I can't be enough for your mommy. I'm so scared that I can't take care of you and her properly."
He pressed his forehead against hers as she sniffled, soft and adorable in her little baby suit—thick blue fur laced with cotton. Just for that moment she seemed all knowing, her eyes shimmered, and her hands moved, flapped over him and against his face as if she wanted to comfort him. Her arms were not the chubbiest rings of sweet baby fat but it was enough to squeeze. And her eyes were dewy, wet and adorable as they blinked through eyes that he had no doubt she'd inherited from her mother.
"What do you think little monster?" he murmured. "What should daddy do? Would you like more nannies?"
He swallowed thickly that idea didn't seem the best, not after he'd found out the real reason why Amber had fired the cleaning staff, switched to another that was hopefully not as racist. He groaned. People were so fucking hard to deal with, why couldn't they mind their own goddamn business? Why couldn't they be kind to strangers—people with stories, people with reasons? It made him angry, so angry that he longed to be able to protect Amber forever.
He wished he could stay at home.
"Daddy should try to be at home with you," he whispered, his mind flickering to his own father who'd had to raise him alone once his mother had passed. "Daddy should try his best to stay at home with you. Goddamn," the curse was exhaled, whispered then hushed out for the baby. "Work is too much, but we can't stop working. What if you want to go overseas to study little one? What if we need the money to afford for security? Once I stop working as an idol, it'll be hard for me to get back to it and find a real job—"
Rumiko gurgled.
He blinked, then squinted at the calmness on her face. The sound was more of a burp, but he took it as a response. "Right," he whispered. "I can find a job. With my face I can do something, perhaps model?"
She squealed as he pushed the stroller out of the elevator, heading back home.
"I could work in retail. I'm sure my fans will continue to support me. I could be an influencer. Or a fisherman," his lips pulled into a beam. "Would you like to live by the sea, baby? Would that be fun?" She scrunched her nose and he shushed her, moving into a run towards the door of his home. "Alright baby, no oceans. You're right, I'd make a bad fisherman anyway. I can only catch just enough for a single meal. I can't let you and your mommy grow hungry."
She hiccupped.
"I haven't forgotten about your dirty diaper, baby," he soothed. "We're almost home." He moved to the door, fumbling for the key card. "We're right outside baby." He pushed open the door, wheeling the stroller in with the baby in his arms as he struggled to take off his shoes. "Just got to take off my shoes and then we'll take a nice, clean bath to get rid of all the germs from those disgusting women—" He paused as his eyes noted the extra pair of shoes, haphazardly flung at the corner. Extra pairs of shoes.
But he wasn't interested in the large boots, bigger than his and crusted with mud at the corners, peeling at the tip. His eyes zeroed on the smaller pair. No laces, athletic shoes that were a deep dark blue, so tiny compared to his own.
Amber was home.
A/N: Read 20+ chapters ahead on Patreon: patreon.com/tinyeyecat