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Overhead, leaves whistled. A sharp, light breeze tussled Takumi’s hair. He blinked quickly, sniffed, then wiped his nose along his sleeve.
“Don’t tell me you’re getting sick,” Bunta murmured. The smell of cigarettes and stale water clung to his sweatshirt. Next to him, Takumi huffed. He rubbed his nose again.
“It’s cold, Dad.”
“I know.”
“I wanna go home.”
“I know. We’re gonna cross the street now. Hold my hand.”
Still scrubbing his nose along the rough fabric of his sleeve, Takumi extended his other hand to his side. Bunta’s hand closed around his, huge and coarse, and the sharp bite of autumn softened at his touch.
They shuffled across the mountain pass as street lights flickered to life. The dense foliage swayed in the wind, and a lone bird sang.
“Are you gonna take a long time?” Takumi wondered. He trained his eyes on the floor, trying to synchronize his steps with Bunta’s. The movement made him dizzy.
“No. You didn’t forget your coloring book, right?”
Disturbed by the possibility, Takumi paused. He reached a hand behind his back to pat the underside of his backpack, then relaxed when he felt a familiar weight.
“I have it,” Takumi confirmed. The wind blew again. Takumi shivered, and Bunta’s hand tightened around his.
“I promise I won’t take long.”
“Okay.”
“We’ll get ice cream after.”
“Okay.”
“And Yuichi is here too.”
Takumi paused, eyes still trained on the floor. There was a hole in one of his sneakers. “Really?”
“Yeah. He wants to watch the race too, though. So don’t bother him too much.”
Takumi smiled to himself and glanced upwards. He met Bunta’s gaze, and a moment of silence settled as they studied each other.
Bunta sniffed.
“Are you cold?” Takumi asked. His voice was small, sober and severe. Unimpressed by Bunta’s silence, he paused and pulled a pack of tissues from his pocket. “You can use these. Don’t get sick, okay?”
Bunta took an obligatory tissue and glanced to the side, pinching back a smile.
His four year old son’s motherly tendencies were certainly odd, but he wouldn’t trade it for the world.
“Thanks.”
“Are you sure you’re not cold?”
“No. Not really.”
“Do you need my jacket?”
Bunta didn’t respond. He studied the baby-turned-toddler-turned-child in his shadow: the red spots on his cheeks, the veins in his palms, the dry skin around his mouth. The sunset painted a golden slash across Takumi’s face, turning his eyes into a thousand shades of yellow and brown. Feathery lashes curling up and out. Fraying, second hand clothes turned his shadow into an ill-fitting splatter, and his third-hand shoes peeled at the edges.
And there was Bunta. A twenty-eight year old man, freshly shaven and freshly widowed, with his four year old son offering to keep him warm.
One last race, he promised himself. One last race, and we move on.
“Thanks,” Bunta finally said, “but I don’t want you getting sick. You can keep it.”
Takumi appraised Bunta through his little golden lashes, eyebrows scrunched into a caricature of suspicion.
Adorable, really.
“I mean it.”
Takumi pushed out his lower lip. His eyebrows scrunched together, and the pale skin between them crumpled. “Okay.”
Cloth shuffled as Takumi pulled his jacket back on. Bunta helped him with the zipper, then pulled the hood over his head. He had just started fiddling with Takumi’s shirt sleeve, which had gotten swallowed up somewhere in the jacket, when they heard a voice behind them.
“Fujiwara! Hey!”
Both of them turned to the voice. Takumi blinked blankly at the approaching figure, and Bunta let out a disbelieving grunt.
“Yuichi?”
“The one and only!”
Takumi stared, then traded a bewildered look with his dad. Bemused, Bunta straightened his back and crossed his arms.
“What’s up with the bleached hair? And…well. Everything else?”
“Oh! Well, you know. Thought I’d give a different look a try.”
Bunta nodded, taking in Yuichi’s creased Nikes, black compression jacket and bleached, greased, spiked hair. His eyebrows had been filled in. A pair of sunglasses sat atop his head as he squinted against the setting sun.
“At this point you should know that no girls come to these things,” Bunta reflected. Beside him, Takumi giggled and Yuichi reddened.
“Shut up,” Yuchi hissed, already reddening. “Anyway. Kogashiwa’s here. You ready?”
Bunta glanced at the cooling sky. His exhale ribboned in front of him as he nodded.
“Sure. Can you keep Takumi with you? He already knows not to cause trouble."
Yuichi smiled. “Yeah, sure. How are you, kiddo?”
Takumi stared through his lashes, then fiddled with the hem of his shirt.
“Quiet as ever,” Yuichi chuffed, scooping Takumi up and settling the boy on his hip. He didn’t fit as well as he used to, and Yuichi grunted under the unexpected weight. “Geez! You’ve gotten way heavier! What is your dad feeding you?”
In lieu of responding, Takumi rested his head against Yuichi’s collarbone. A warm heat thrummed beneath his skin. Takumi exhaled. Yuichi’s laugh vibrated around him as a hand pressed against his back.
“Planning to head to the track?” Yuichi asked. A muffled response came from nearby, and the world began to move. Takumi idly ran his fingers along the fabric of Yuichi’s collar as the conversation waxed and waned around him. He yawned as he felt himself being carried away.
“I’ve got some good news for you,” Yuichi chirped, pinching Takumi’s side as he did. He let out a sleepy giggle as Yuichi continued. “Kogashiwa’s son is here too. Do you know Kogashiwa? Probably not, honestly. Do you even know what this race is for? Knowing your dad, he probably didn’t tell you. Well, anyway. There’s a boy here that’s about your age. Isn’t that exciting? What was his name again? I think it was…”
. X .
“Kai. I’m five and a half! What’s your name?”
Takumi blinked up from his coloring book.
Oh. So there really was another boy here.
Far away, tires screeched and crowds roared. The streetlights overhead cast a chemical glow on the metal bleachers. In the next row, Yuichi pumped his fist and shouted something into the walkie-talkie, having completely forgotten about the two children he was supposed to be supervising.
“Well?” the boy–Kai–insisted. He placed his hands on his hips. “What’s your name?”
Intimidated, Takumi looked down at his coloring page.
“Takumi.”
“How old are you?”
Takumi held up four shy fingers.
“Nice to meet you, Takumi,” Kai smiled. He extended his hand. After a moment of deliberation, Takumi shook it. It was warm and sticky. The bones of his hand pressed into each other from the strength of Kai’s grip, and a muscle twinged as Takumi drew it back into his lap.
“What are you doing here?” Takumi questioned. He vaguely remembered Yuichi mentioning another boy, but not much more.
Kai’s chest swelled with pride. Takumi noted the other boy’s jacket: clean, with all of the threads in place. It looked glossy. “My dad is racing tonight. He’s gonna win.”
“Oh.”
There was a beat of silence as Kai waited for an appropriate follow-up compliment. Oblivious, Takumi returned to his coloring book, diligently coloring Batman’s cape in neon green.
“What are you doing here?” Kai asked, tapping Takumi’s shoulder.
“I dunno.”
“Huh? What do you mean, you don’t know? Why are you here, then?”
Takumi shrugged. “My dad brings me here on Fridays. I have to stay with Uncle Yuichi. We get ice cream after.”
At Kai’s confused look, Takumi pointed a finger towards Yuichi. He hadn’t moved from the front row of the bleachers, fist swinging wildly through the air as he gesticulated into his walkie-talkie. Takumi noted that he had finally put on his sunglasses: a difficult decision to understand, considering that the sun had already set.
“Oh. That guy?” Kai asked.
“Yeah.”
Yuichi shouted, sneezed, and almost toppled off the bleachers. Behind him, Kai and Takumi watched him in silence, eyebrows furrowing with the same severe look they would give a stray ant or strange spot of mold.
“Anyway,” Kai continued, “does your dad race?”
Race? Takumi thought back to their infrequent games of tag, which he always won. He chewed the tip of his crayon. “Sometimes. He’s not very good.”
Kai beamed. “That’s okay! If he keeps practicing he can get really good. Maybe even as good as my dad.”
“Oh. Is your dad fast?”
“Yup.”
Takumi imagined his dad and Kai’s–who, having no mental reference of, looked a lot like a salaryman–sprinting down a mountain. It was a silly image. Takumi giggled, then covered his mouth when he remembered he had company.
“You laugh weird. Do you like bugs?” Kai said, inviting himself to sit next to Takumi. He gave a calculating look at Takumi’s Batman coloring page.
Suddenly shy, Takumi held the book to his chest. “Um. I dunno. They’re cool, I guess. Do you like them?”
The other boy had turned away to fish for something in his pocket. Unsure if he had been heard, Takumi repeated himself. His voice faltered when Kai cupped something hairy and alive under his nose.
“I found this under the bleachers! Isn’t it cool?”
Kai separated his fingers just enough for a dozen tiny eyeballs to fixate on Takumi.
“Oh,” Takumi said, leaning closer. “That's a big spider.”
“I know, right? Isn't it cool? Do you wanna hold it?”
Takumi watched the creature for a moment longer. “It looks fluffy.”
“It is! Hold her–she’s super nice! Her name is Penny.”
Penny. That was a cute name. It looked cute. Maybe it was soft. Takumi extended his hands, and Kai moved to deposit Penny between them.
Takumi flinched, blinked, and the spider was gone.
“Where did it go?” Kai wailed. Takumi, unsettled by the urgency in Kai’s voice, put down his coloring materials and squinted against the bleachers.
“She’ll come back,” Takumi insisted, increasingly uncomfortable with how upset Kai looked. The older boy softened under Takumi’s unfounded confidence, then nodded as Takumi repeated himself.
“She’ll come back. Sit down. You’ll get a cold.”
Kai nodded as he drew his knees to his chest. He sniffed, then smiled when Takumi offered him a tissue.
“Do you like superheroes?” Kai asked, pointing to the forgotten coloring book splayed across Takumi’s lap.
“Yeah. Iron Man is my favorite.”
Kai grinned. “Me too! I read the comics every week. They’re so good.”
“Wait, really? I do too!” Takumi grinned. He flinched at the unexpected loudness of his own voice, then tucked his hands back into his lap. “Uh. What other superheroes do you like?”
Kai listed off a series of titles on his fingers. Beside him, Takumi ruffled through his coloring book and pulled out the last page. He winced as the edge came out jagged, then extended the paper to Kai.
“Huh?”
“Iron Man,” Takumi explained. “You can color him, too. If you want.”
“For me?”
“Mhm.”
“Oh,” Kai murmured, cheeks dimpling as he smiled. He flattened his bangs back with the palm of his hand as he held the paper in front of him. “Isn't Iron Man your favorite too? Don’t you want to color him?”
Takumi rubbed his nose on his sleeve as he considered the proposition. “Well. Yeah. But I have other ones.”
Above them, a street light flickered. A moth-shaped shadow flitted through the artificial light. Takumi sneezed, then scrubbed his nose on the corner of his jacket.
“Let’s color him together,” Kai decided. “You can do the red parts, and I can do the golden parts, because golden is my favorite color.”
Takumi blinked at his half-finished Batman coloring page. Batman, splendorous in his neon green cape and violet suit, returned Takumi's thoughtful look.
“Okay,” Takumi mumbled. He thumbed his nose and gave Kai a careful smile. “That sounds fun.”
Cloth shuffled as the boys oriented themselves around the poorly-torn coloring page. Kai laid on his belly, propped up on his elbows as he carefully filled in the golden portions of Iron Man’s suit. Takumi laid on his side and colored the mask and legs, yawning in apology when Kai instructed him to keep the colors within the lines.
Wax smeared across the paper and under their nails. The breeze dulled to a soft hush. Around them, the togue grew loud, then quiet, then warm with the sound of idling engines and goodbyes. Takumi yawned, then sneezed. Somewhere along the way, his eyelids had grown heavy.
“Are you cold?” Kai mumbled. His face was wrinkled with concern and, embarrassed, Takumi shook his head.
“I’m fine.”
“You’re cold,” Kai concluded. The older boy sat up and unzipped his jacket, pulling his arm out of one sleeve and offering it to Takumi. “We can share. Look–it’s big.”
Takumi eyed the glossy, fleece-lined jacket with an emotion he couldn’t place.
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah. Put your arm here! We can both fit.”
The breeze picked up again, scattering hair across their foreheads and the swell of their button noses. Kai sneezed, and Takumi laughed at the perturbed expression on his face.
“Alright, if you're sure.”
Takumi slid his arm into the unoccupied sleeve, then tucked himself into Kai’s side. The breeze deadened. A milky warmth cloyed the air between them, and Takumi exhaled leisurely.
“Are you sleepy?” Kai asked. The pace of his crayon scratching against the paper slowed to a drawl.
“Yeah.”
“Me too.”
“Sleep, then,” Takumi yawned, pillowing his head on Kai’s shoulder. After a quiet moment, the movement of crayon on paper stopped, and the breathing beside him settled into rhythm.
Two bleacher rows down, Yuichi let out a blood-curdling screech.
"What the hell?! Is that a tarantula?"
. X .
“That was…”
Ken Kogashiwa rested his hands on his knees, breathing heavily. Bunta laughed and smacked his shoulder, knocking him off balance and threatening to tip him into the asphalt. They laughed as they walked across the empty parking lot, eyes minty from the breeze and blood sharp with adrenaline.
“That was…” Bunta picked up Ken’s sentence where it had stopped, but found himself unable to finish it. Above them, the sky glittered, and the smoky aftertaste of gasoline diffused through the air. “Want a cigarette?”
“I’m good, thanks. Gotta drive the kiddo home.”
Bunta inhaled guiltily. “How is he, by the way?”
“Good. Can’t stop talking. It’s the cutest thing.”
“Mm.”
“How is yours?”
Smoke flared out of Bunta’s nostrils. The word lonely came to mind, but he dismissed it with a wave of his hand.
“He’s fine. Supposed to be with Yuichi…where is he?”
As if summoned by the mention of his name, a silhouette waved to them from the bleachers. Bunta and Ken braced themselves for a loud, overly-enthusiastic greeting. None came. Instead, Yuichi hurried his way to them, bleached hair greasy after a night of sweating and shouting.
Before either of them could say anything, Yuichi drew a finger to his lips. “Shh. You gotta see this.”
“Is something wrong?” Ken asked. The languid warmth from earlier was gone, and for the first time, Bunta noticed Ken’s crisp tie and polo.
Designer, too.
He picked at the fraying edges of his sweatshirt, suddenly aware of the holes in his socks.
“No, no; everything’s fine. Just…just follow me. I hope you have a camera with you!”
Yuichi grinned, hurrying ahead and pulling the others along with the sheer force of his excitement. He pointed to a soft silhouette on the bleachers. The streetlight above spasmed, then cast an artificial warmth on the scene before them.
Bunta’s heart stuttered. Beside him, Ken let out a quiet exhale.
Their sons sat together in a warm lump, cheeks pressed up against each other and breaths synchronized. Drool trickled from the corner of Kai’s mouth. Takumi’s head was buried under Kai’s arm, hand forming a half-fist around an abandoned crayon. The pages of his cheap coloring book fluttered from the wind, and Bunta noted the patchwork coloring of the Iron Man coloring page they had both drooled on.
A huge, shiny jacket covered them both.
Designer, too.
Ken let out a soft huff.
“Your son is adorable,” he said.
Bunta’s eyebrows shot into his forehead. Unsure what to do with the words offered to him, he ran a hand down his face and watched Takumi’s slow exhales.
“Yours is kind,” Bunta finally replied.
Next to him, Ken smiled.
“You said this was your last race, right?” Yuichi asked.
Ken gave him a wide-eyed look as Bunta nodded. He took a final, half-hearted draw of his cigarette, then ground it out underfoot.
“Where are you gonna go after this?” Ken asked gently.
“Not sure.”
“Why not come by sometime?” Ken offered. “I’m sure Kai would appreciate having a friend around.”
No music played, but Bunta couldn’t shake the melody in the back of his mind. Takumi, alone in the park. Takumi, watching cartoons in an empty, unlit living room. Takumi, quiet and serious, with empty hands and thrifted pajamas.
Takumi hiccuped in his sleep, then nestled further into Kai’s jacket. The other boy snored peacefully. Strands of black hair stuck to his cheek, plastered with sweat and slobber, and the air around them was warm.
“Sure,” Bunta finally responded. “I think that would be good for him.”