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The mailbox was a weather-beaten powder blue, with the name ISSHIKI scrawled across the side in clumsy permanent marker, large letters that grew quickly more cramped as the writer ran out of room. The house beyond it was small, with a quaint little flowerbed leading up to the front door. Inexplicable Halloween bats hung from the gutters, and a gnome with a Santa hat waved a candy cane from the corner of the porch. It was July. Goro had to stop and stare for a moment, knuckles white around the strap of his duffel bag as vertigo swept over him.
The remarkably fuel-inefficient rideshare that had brought him here peeled away from the curb and out of sight, and he stifled a cough in his wilting shirtsleeve. There was no car in the driveway, and when he rang the doorbell, no one answered. He checked his phone again. The email from Sakura said 3 PM, just like it had the last twenty times he checked it to precisely calibrate his arrival. The clock flashed a vindictive 3:07.
He breathed out, then folded himself neatly into a sitting position on the front stoop, tucking his duffel bag by his feet and pulling up Twitter. The old data plan on his phone had been paid three months in advance, and he’d been through its privacy agreements with a fine-toothed comb, so he felt no remorse in using it. Still, he couldn’t resist checking over his home screen and settings again, just to be safe. No app, no location sharing. The tiny patch of blue tape was still in place over the camera. It was fine.
The Santa gnome was staring at him.
Goro scrolled aimlessly through Twitter, too busy ignoring the tremor in his hands to absorb any of it. The porch was in the shade, but the heat rolled off the blacktop driveway like a sticky cloud. After ten minutes, he was sweating. After twenty, the sickened flutter in his chest, which had been constant for the last week, evolved into general nausea. After thirty, he put his phone away, rested his forehead on his knees, and stared blankly at his shoes. Two minutes after this, of course, was when his phone chimed at him.
hi!!! mom ran over time at work, so she just got here to pick me up, and she totally forgot to let you know we’d be late. sorry abt that, she does this sometimes!
I assume this is Futaba-san?
ew no just call me Futaba
dw, we’ll be home in like 10
Alright.
wow you text like a grandpa
I am well aware.
Then, a message from a different conversation:
Did you make it there alright?
He turned his phone off and returned his head to his knees. He was too damn tired for this.
At 3:45, a silver minivan as battered as the mailbox careened into the driveway, as close to burning rubber as Goro had ever seen a minivan come. Without even turning off the engine, a woman sprung out of the driver’s side, calling his name and striding briskly up the front walk as quickly as her practical shoes could carry her. Behind her, he saw the indistinct shape of another person inside the car reaching up between the seats to remove the key from the ignition.
Wakaba Isshiki was not a tall woman, but something about her exaggerated body language gave her the impression of significant height. She wore a white lab coat like a strange caricature of a mad scientist, an image only slightly offset by the precise fall of her dark hair.
“I am so sorry! I meant to have us both here in time to meet you, but I got caught up in a discussion at the office and before I knew it, there goes the time! It’s good to finally meet you.” She stuck out a hand to him. Goro blinked up at her, then took it, expecting a handshake. Instead she yanked him to his feet, briskly patted his shoulder, and breezed past him into the house as she trilled something about straightening up.
He stood, bewildered, one hand still hovering in the air. The airy, polite smile he had affixed to his face was frozen in confusion. From the car, he heard a giggle.
“Sorry,” said Futaba Isshiki, sliding out of the minivan and hauling the sliding door shut behind herself. “Like I said, she’s just kinda like that.”
“It’s no problem at all,” Goro demurred. “Your mother seems very lively.”
“Heh. That’s one word for it.”
He had seen photos of both her and her mother, but the grainy image in his text history had not predicted the uncanny sensation of meeting his half-sister in person. On the surface, she looked a great deal like her mother, simply lighter-haired. However, closer examination revealed that she was likely destined to also be several inches shorter than Wakaba, and that the jut of her chin had not come from Wakaba’s heart-shaped face. The shape of her dark eyes was familiar from this very morning in the mirror, as Goro spent an hour meticulously styling his unfamiliar haircut into something he hated slightly less. He bet Futaba Isshiki’s hair was exactly as long as she meant it to be. He bet she’d never hated her own face in her life.
“No, no,” he said with a small laugh. “I actually find it charming. I’m afraid I’m accustomed to the company of rather serious adults, so it’s a relief to meet one so spirited.”
This kind of tone won over most adults, and unnerved most teenagers; with Futaba, it earned him an incredulous snort. “Sure. We’ll see what you’re saying in a week.” She twirled the car keys around one finger (there was a pumpkin keychain on the ring) and traipsed past him into the house. “Come on, we’re letting all the hot air in.”
Goro hefted his duffel bag and followed her inside. He could swear the Santa gnome’s eyes followed him as he did. His phone chimed in his hand.
Akechi
Goro
Gorooooo
Have you been murdered by your uber driver? Blink twice for yes
Calm down.
He lives! Its a miracle
No thanks to Dr. Isshiki. I think she was trying to kill me with heat stroke.
???
She was late.
Ohhhh yeah sorry Wakaba’s like that
Dad complains about it a lot but hes like. Into that. You know how he is.
After a while it’s just funny.
I will take your word for it.
Are you sure I should be here?
Listen Isshikis are out there but they’re good people, give them a chance
I believe you. That’s not what I’m talking about.
Nevermind.
Wait what were you talking about then?
Goro!
After a brief tour of the house, Wakaba showed him to the little upstairs bedroom that would be his home for the next… however long. A year, at maximum; by then he would be eighteen, and would no longer require a custodian. It would be prudent to keep such time limits in mind.
“I’ll give you a bit to settle in,” said Wakaba. “Just holler if you need anything. Oh, and I’ll be making dinner in a few hours! Futaba’ll let you know when, if you’re not down by then.”
Goro flashed her a grateful smile. It perhaps came out more brittle than he would have liked, but no matter. “Thank you, Dr. Isshiki.”
She made a face. “Oh god, please don’t call me that. Wakaba is fine.”
“Then thank you, Wakaba,” he said, inclining his head. She shot him one last salute, then thudded down the stairs. For all it consisted of two people, Goro was rapidly realizing this would not be a quiet household to live alongside.
His duffel bag took only a few minutes to unpack into the drawers, and he collapsed back onto the bed when he was finished. It felt absurd to be so drained after a bit of travel and a twenty-minute conversation, but here he was, wrung out and still vaguely nauseous.
Tell me about the flower shop.
Alright so we’re ignoring it? Cool cool
A lady came in today who did nothing but whine about sunflowers
I mean that literally
She came in, she complained about how sunflowers are “too damn big” to put in any decent bouquet, and she left without buying anything
Or even really looking through things to buy
It was pretty funny tbh even if it was annoying
Hows the place
It’s nice.
They’re nice.
Told you
Again, I believe you. You would hardly have advocated for me to stay with unpleasant people.
It’s just different, is all.
Yeah I bet
You holding up okay?
I’m fine. Just tired.
A knock on the door roused him before he could read the next reply, and he opened it to find himself face to face with an ambulatory heap of blankets.
“Mom said you might want some of these,” said the pile, voice muffled as it lurched its impressive bulk past him into the bedroom. “I didn’t know how many so I just grabbed a bunch.”
“I’m sure this will be more than sufficient, thank you,” said Goro. “Does the house get very cold at night?” He just barely kept himself from adding an incredulous in July? to the end of the sentence.
“Nah,” said the pile. It toppled forward onto the bed, at last revealing Futaba beneath. She shook off the last of the blankets from her head and grinned at him. “I just like to sleep on piles of them sometimes, since they’re squishy. I wasn’t sure if you liked that too, but hey, you have the option now! You’re welcome.”
“Thank you. I appreciate the thought.” For lack of anything better to do, Goro reached for the topmost blanket and began folding it. He had more than enough space left in the dresser; his own belongings barely overflowed the drawers on the nightstand.
“So like. What’s your whole deal?”
He should have known better than to hope she’d just leave. Goro very carefully did not show the wave of preemptive exhaustion that swept through him at the thought of entertaining a fourteen year old for the next three hours, busying himself instead with shaking out a particularly soft blanket. It had little Featherman helmets on it. Without thinking too hard about it, he folded that one loosely and left it out on top of the dresser.
“My deal?” he asked.
“Like why you’re here and stuff. Mom wouldn’t tell me very much.”
Well, maybe that was for a reason, he did not say.
It’s none of your fucking business, he almost did say.
“What did she tell you?” he asked instead.
“Just that something bad happened and you didn’t have anywhere else.” She tilted her head to the side like a curious bird. “I’m mostly confused why you’re with us, you know? Like, I didn’t know you existed until two days ago. It’s not bad or anything, I just don’t get it.”
“I’m afraid it’s not really my story to tell. You should ask your mother.”
“Bullshit it’s not your story.”
“Does your mother know you use that language?”
“Taught me everything I know,” she said proudly. Huh. He should have figured that one, actually. “Come on, just a little bit? I’ll find it all out eventually, you might as well tell me now. I’ll be cool about it, promise.”
Somehow he doubted that she could ‘be cool’ about a never-before-seen sibling from a father she’d never met or known by name. In any case, he wasn’t about to go over Wakaba’s head in genealogical revelations; if Futaba did not know their relation by now, it was because she deliberately had not been told. Still, she made a valid point in regards to his circumstances. She deserved at least some answers.
“Your mother knows of me through Sojiro Sakura,” he said at last. “Sakura-san in turn knew my father, and is now leading the investigation that, in all likelihood and good fortune, will send him to prison. Due to the extraordinarily unfortunate timing of the allegations, my own apartment’s lease ran up while my father could not renew it, and as I am still technically a minor, it was decided that I was in need of a temporary guardian. Your mother had a spare bedroom, and said as much to Sakura. Thus, here I am.”
Of course, this was nowhere near the full story, and not even technically true at points; his father had not been unable to renew the lease, but rather unwilling, exercising what power was left to him from state custody to pursue that most consistent of his desires: to remind Goro of own helplessness. More than that, it entirely omitted Wakaba’s own history with Goro’s father, the fact that she’d been the one to direct Sakura’s attention toward Shido for investigation purposes over a year ago, and any mention of Akira Sakura’s involvement. Goro had no idea whether Akira had mentioned him by name to Futaba in any of their potential-step-sibling bonding times, and did not feel like drawing her attention to the connection if they had.
“Huh,” said Futaba after a long moment processing the story. “It’s cool that you know Sojiro. Sorry to hear your dad’s going to jail, though?”
“Don’t be,” said Goro. He resumed folding the blankets, having paused while speaking. It wasn’t a very satisfying task when he wanted this badly to break something, but it was better than nothing. “He deserves it.”
“Still, he’s your dad, right?”
Now that was a thought. Shido would not have hit Goro for calling him Dad–he very rarely resorted to physical violence, believing it beneath him–but Goro had no doubt there would have been consequences nonetheless.
“No,” he said shortly. Then, “My apologies, but I would rather not say anything further on the subject.”
She heaved a gusty sigh and flung herself backwards flat on the bed. Goro did not allow his shoulders to tense. “God, you even talk like that. I thought you were maybe just a weird texter, but nope! That’s just what you sound like.”
“I live to serve,” Goro said, closing the dresser drawer on the last of the blankets. It slammed shut louder than he’d like. “You, meanwhile, could stand to acquaint yourself with a shift button.”
“Hey, I don’t even abbreviate ‘u’ and ‘r,’ what more do you want from me?” She turned her head, then reached out to retrieve something lying on the bedspread. “Your phone’s blowing up, by the way. What’s with the tape? And who’s Dumbass?”
“Put that down.”
Futaba froze. Goro stopped breathing, every muscle in his body immediately winding up. She had it, it wasn’t safe, he’d started putting real things on his calendar again, thank god he hadn’t gotten around to changing his contact names yet–
She was still holding it.
“Put it down,” he said again, his own voice reaching his ears as though underwater.
She put it back facedown on the bedspread, slowly and carefully. Eyes wide, she looked at him like he was some– some spooked animal, or dangerous, or– or something . As soon as she’d retracted her hand, Goro darted forward and scooped the phone off the bed, briefly checking the lock screen for what she had seen (a harmless text from Akira, something stupid about getting enough sleep. The tape was still secure over the camera) and shoving it into his own pocket.
This wasn’t rational. He knew it wasn’t. That didn’t stop his skin from crawling, his fingers twitching with the need to comb through the home screen again for odd apps, wipe his text history, delete Akira’s contact.
His breath was still coming too fast. Calm the fuck down.
“Sorry,” said Futaba. “I didn’t– I’m sorry.”
Breathe. No, breathe slower. Relax your forehead. Smile pretty.
“It’s alright,” he said. He didn't quite manage his usual bland pleasantness, betrayed by the waver in his voice, but it was better than nothing. “In fact, I’m the one who should apologize for my outburst. I am a guest in your home, after all. Please forgive my rudeness.”
Futaba stared at him. Was she offended? Had this ruined things so soon? He shouldn’t be so surprised; it’s him, after all. Still, she was… family, whether she knew it or not, and he’d had so few of them in his life. He’d hoped to at least know her a little before she inevitably wanted nothing more to do with him.
“What? That’s not–” Her mouth opened and closed a few times uselessly. “You don’t need to apologize. I took it, it’s my fault, okay? I won’t touch it again.”
“That’s really not–”
“I’m serious,” Futaba said, firmer this time. “I won’t touch it. Promise. Okay?”
Goro blinked, swallowed, looked down. “Okay. Thank you.”
They hovered where they were, tense and uncomfortable, looking anywhere but at each other. His hands were shaking again. It felt like they never stopped these days. Damn it.
“Are you a hug person?”
He looked up sharply in surprise. “What?”
“My guess is no, but hey, I’ve been wrong before. So how ‘bout it? Hugs, yay or nay?” When he didn’t answer the question, still staring at her, she flushed a bit and crossed her arms, turning her nose up in the air. “I dunno, this just feels like a hug moment or something.”
Goro had been hugged exactly twice in the last year, both times by Akira, both times in considerable distress. He had never considered himself a tactile person, hadn’t even considered touch as something he may be lacking. And yet he found himself wishing he had it in him to say yes.
He didn’t, of course. He felt far too raw, and knew Futaba far too little. But he tucked the idea away for later examination. It seemed like the kind of thing that Shido would disapprove of, after all. That meant it must be worth considering.
“Alright,” said Futaba when he shook his head. “How about a blanket hug?”
A blanket hug, it turned out, meant Futaba nudging him to sit on the bed, retrieving the Featherman blanket from the dresser, and draping it around his shoulders, pulling it snug but being careful to not actually touch him.
“I’ve got sensory problems sometimes,” she said as she fussed with its placement, “so my mom does this when I don’t want a real hug. It’s not too hot or anything, right?”
It was a bit warm, actually, but Goro wasn’t about to say so. They sat beside each other on the edge of the bed, four feet between them, facing the same direction in silence.
“Sorry again,” said Futaba after a while. “I just sorta barge into places and stuff sometimes. You can tell me to go away if you need to.”
Goro shook his head. “Don’t apologize. I know a phone is an… unusual trigger. I just– I value my privacy, in that area in particular. As long as you understand that, there’s no harm done.”
“Okay.” She fiddled with the edge of the bedspread. “Am I allowed to ask about the contact name? Not ‘cause it’s bad, just ‘cause it’s kinda funny? It’s okay if you don’t want to tell me though.”
Akira is labeled in Goro’ phone as Dumbass because Goro was still at the height of his post-arrest electronic surveillance paranoia when Akira forcibly grabbed his phone and keyed in his own contact information. Goro had loudly lost his mind about it, but had already been too dumb and infatuated to make himself delete the contact, and so had settled for renaming it.
“I have a friend who is very stupid, and very important to me,” he said to Futaba. “He’s called Dumbass because he’s a dumbass, and because that way anyone looking at my text history won’t know his name unless they have time to investigate thoroughly.”
“Huh. Does that mean your other friends are all named stuff like Asshole, Shithead, and Motherfucker?”
That startled a laugh out of him, and Futaba beamed proudly. “I don’t have any other friends, unfortunately, but I’ll be sure to keep that in mind if I ever acquire some.”
“What, seriously?” Futaba turned fully to face him, tucking her legs up under her on the bed. “You’re like, aggressively polite, how do you not have other weirdo nerd friends?”
Aggressively polite. What an apt description. Akira had once described Goro’ manners as the pointiest pointed delivery they’d ever heard. “I’ve historically been too busy for extended socialization, certainly too busy to maintain more than one close relationship.”
“You mean your raw animal magnetism isn’t enough to make you friends with everyone?”
Goro choked on his own spit.
“My what?”
Futaba flashed him a shit-eating grin. “My mom says that to Sojiro sometimes. He chokes exactly the same way.”
“I’m not certain that phrase means what you think it means.”
“Well, it gets a reaction, so whatever!” She leaned back on her hands, humming thoughtfully. “I call Shithead.”
“What?”
“Once we’re friends and you can put me on your phone! I call Shithead as my contact name.”
“You seem awfully certain we’ll become friends,” said Goro before he could catch himself and soften the sentence. Futaba, however, seemed unperturbed–smug, even.
“I’ll wear you down, don’t worry. You’ve got a blanket hug already, that’s like halfway to a real one!”
A petty, cruel part of Goro wanted to take that as his cue to shrug the blanket off. Another part wanted to just put her contact in now and be done with it.
“I’ll hold you to it,” he said instead, and took Futaba’s answering smile as a promise. Was this what it was like to have siblings? Even this one glimpse opened up such a well of wanting within him that it hurt.
When the moment passed, Futaba slid off the edge of the bed, stretched, and traipsed toward the door. “Alright, come on,” she called over her shoulder. “Let’s help Mom with dinner. You can bring the blanket if you want, but be careful! If it gets stuff on it, you’re doing the stain scrubbing.” Then she was gone, clattering down the stairs as loudly as her mother.
Goro didn’t bring the blanket, instead folding it carefully at the end of the bed and taking a few moments to steady himself before following. He felt unsteady and overwarm, raw in a way that was somehow different than usual, but… good. He felt good.
It had been a long time since he felt good.
Without thinking, he pulled out his phone to check the backlog from Akira. Most of it was meaningless, a brief acknowledgement of his last message before devolving into the usual rambling commentary. Toward the end, however, was something more serious.
Sojiro said to tell you to check your email
Spoilers: all good news, case is set to proceed
Isshikis are approved too
There’ll be an inspection at some point but it’s just a formality, and anyway if they did put you somewhere else it wouldn’t be with him and also would be for less than a year
You’re out, Goro.
Goro had to close his eyes for a moment. He pushed out a shaky breath, curling one fist as the choking lightness in his chest swelled like a balloon.
You alright?
Thank you.
I mean that sincerely, Akira.
I owe you more than I can express or repay.
Spot me a coffee and we’ll call it even.
To his own horror, Goro felt his eyes welling up. He blinked rapidly to try and clear them, but his vision only grew blurrier, terrible relief burning in his throat like a sunlamp.
I will never understand you.
As long as that means you keep coming back to try ;)
A strangled, not-quite-laugh forced itself out of his throat. He started to type a response, but was interrupted by another message.
Wait shit was that too much
I maybe should not be flirting in this moment huh
Feel free to ignore that
Unless you want to not ignore it
WOW I really wish you could unsend texts
Be advised that I am screenshotting this conversation for posterity.
:((((((
Goro how could you do this to me
Easily and without remorse.
I am not uninterested.
I just need some time.
Oh absolutely
Take all the time you need
I’m serious. I’m not going anywhere
I mean, you just made my heart basically stop beating, so like. I’m set for a while.
“I am not uninterested” jfc you’re ridiculous why do I like you so much
It’s my raw animal magnetism.
>:O
What?? Who taught you those words???
Goro!!!!!!
Goro stifled a laugh, turned off his phone, and went down to join the Isshikis.