(no subject)
Fandom: Persona 4
Characters: Adachi Tohru, Dojima Family
Rating: G
Warnings: Also for Adachi week, day 7 - "Family." Continues from the (on how to breathe) universe; an epilogue of sorts.
“Happy birthday, Adachi-san.”
He doesn’t know why, but Souji always calls, has always called ever since dialing his uncle’s number could get him through to Adachi. It is very likely sheer politeness, perhaps something Dojima told him to do, perhaps some kind of goody-two-shoes sense of a guilty conscience for running someone’s ruined life to the ground faster than he was already doing it himself. Adachi always finds it odd to hear, and years upon years don’t make it any less stranger.
He shuffles the phone receiver to his other ear, wedging it between face and shoulder so that he can squeeze mint For-Sensitive-Teeth toothpaste onto his toothbrush. This one is a dark, navy blue - a different one than that first one, now, because frequent use had frayed its bristles to a soft, useless mush. This one was bought for him alone.
“…Thanks, kid,” Adachi answers, frowning to himself in the mirror. Cold water runs over the top of the plastic cup he uses to rinse his mouth, and he shuts off the tab by jamming down on it with the butt of his palm. “Go ahead, then.”
“If you do anything to my uncle-“
“Bye.” Adachi sticks his toothbrush in his mouth, the head brushing up against his molars, and dropping the phone to his free hand, hangs up. The morning of this particularly February first starts out minty fresh. Souji always calls, every year.
“Happy birthday, Adachi-san.” Nanako’s voice comes sweetly across the line, but it’s distracted. She inherited her mother’s good grace and temper, her gentle understanding, and everything that makes a person beautiful, but like her father, she has the tendency of relapsing into workaholism. Dojima calls her often, and Adachi secretly revels in watching him grapple with the irony of gathering up enough courage to tell his daughter to live a little, sometimes, even if Dojima always tries to hide the conversation behind his palm.
“Thanks, Nanako-chan.” The shuffling of papers on the other end pauses for a second, and she’s much too polite to comment, but Adachi knows she still holds a bit of personal distaste for him (more for the years-old runaway stint than anything else, because grievances to her family rank amongst the highest of sins in the world). The familiarity of the term still makes her pause, he knows, which is exactly why he does it. “You coming to dinner tonight?”
“Oh, I don’t think so,” Nanako says, sounding honestly so apologetic that Adachi doesn’t have the heart to tell her that already knew the answer before asking. “There’s this report that’s due on the desk early Monday morning, and the other people on the team have really been slacking off. It’s a rush job, I don’t think I’ll be able to see Daddy until the middle of next week!” The shuffling of papers increases in volume. “Oh,” she adds, in afterthought, because there is no one who knows her father’s overprotective tendencies better than her, “But tell him I’m okay.”
Adachi laughs under his breath, watching the water boil for instant coffee. He can hear the slow shuffle of weight lugging itself to the bathroom upstairs, the echo of running water. “When he comes downstairs,” he promises, and though he doesn’t always keep his promises these days, he at least remembers that he should be making an effort to (small steps). Nanako excuses herself and hangs up, and Adachi lowers the phone to the dining table just in time to turn off the stove before the pot boils over.
“Oh, thanks.” Dojima makes a beeline for the mug of coffee, still wiping the moisture off the bottom right side of his face with a towel. Adachi steps out of the way; it didn’t take him years to learn that standing between the man and his cup was a dangerous thing - he knew that before he even went to jail. He leans against the kitchen counter beside Adachi, just watching morning settle in over the quiet rooftops, not a rain cloud in sight. It looks an awful lot like Nothing Happening, but Adachi is older and wiser now; he can tell the subtle, almost negligible, gargantuan difference.
It is a Saturday, and Dojima has thankfully learned (with the expected grudging reluctance of an old dog forced to learn new tricks), to take weekends as weekends and not Friday Extended. Age is catching up with him - his hair is a dark, ashy gray, and he needs glasses to read the newspaper. His beer tolerance is…just as bad as it was when he was younger, but not all things change with time, just the large majority of them.
Adachi can feel himself changing, also. He is growing older and slower, all the time, until at one point, he realized with a gradual crescendo into epiphany, that he had slowed enough to the point where the turtle-speed pace of Nowheresville-Turned-Inaba was somehow surprisingly perfect (like many things, sometimes the best fits are the ones you grow into). “Ah,” Adachi says, breaking the silence, “Nanako-chan said she won’t be by until midweek, but she’s okay.”
“Hn,” Dojima answers, with a sigh, but his daughter is as stubborn as he is. “What’s today?” he asks, still in the process of waking up. He combs a lazy hand through his short hair.
“February first,” Adachi answers, turning his cup in his hands, until the warmth seeps through the glass, into his hands. It is cold outside; he can feel the slight drop in temperature whenever he walks close to the windows or the door. Despite that, he blows into the surface of the dark liquid, cooling it down.
Dojima looks up, starting. He is not old enough to forget things yet (and no longer young enough to be busy enough not to remember them), and he turns to look at Adachi’s profile incredulously, before the look fades to sheepishness, and then awkwardness. Dojima hasn’t exactly grown with grace, probably because he never had any excess of it to begin with. Adachi grins into his cup, and he waits for something barely audible. “Happy birthday, Adachi,” Dojima grumbles, half-covering his mouth with his fingers.
“Thanks,” Adachi says, and it is not the best, but it’s a good day today.
Characters: Adachi Tohru, Dojima Family
Rating: G
Warnings: Also for Adachi week, day 7 - "Family." Continues from the (on how to breathe) universe; an epilogue of sorts.
“Happy birthday, Adachi-san.”
He doesn’t know why, but Souji always calls, has always called ever since dialing his uncle’s number could get him through to Adachi. It is very likely sheer politeness, perhaps something Dojima told him to do, perhaps some kind of goody-two-shoes sense of a guilty conscience for running someone’s ruined life to the ground faster than he was already doing it himself. Adachi always finds it odd to hear, and years upon years don’t make it any less stranger.
He shuffles the phone receiver to his other ear, wedging it between face and shoulder so that he can squeeze mint For-Sensitive-Teeth toothpaste onto his toothbrush. This one is a dark, navy blue - a different one than that first one, now, because frequent use had frayed its bristles to a soft, useless mush. This one was bought for him alone.
“…Thanks, kid,” Adachi answers, frowning to himself in the mirror. Cold water runs over the top of the plastic cup he uses to rinse his mouth, and he shuts off the tab by jamming down on it with the butt of his palm. “Go ahead, then.”
“If you do anything to my uncle-“
“Bye.” Adachi sticks his toothbrush in his mouth, the head brushing up against his molars, and dropping the phone to his free hand, hangs up. The morning of this particularly February first starts out minty fresh. Souji always calls, every year.
“Happy birthday, Adachi-san.” Nanako’s voice comes sweetly across the line, but it’s distracted. She inherited her mother’s good grace and temper, her gentle understanding, and everything that makes a person beautiful, but like her father, she has the tendency of relapsing into workaholism. Dojima calls her often, and Adachi secretly revels in watching him grapple with the irony of gathering up enough courage to tell his daughter to live a little, sometimes, even if Dojima always tries to hide the conversation behind his palm.
“Thanks, Nanako-chan.” The shuffling of papers on the other end pauses for a second, and she’s much too polite to comment, but Adachi knows she still holds a bit of personal distaste for him (more for the years-old runaway stint than anything else, because grievances to her family rank amongst the highest of sins in the world). The familiarity of the term still makes her pause, he knows, which is exactly why he does it. “You coming to dinner tonight?”
“Oh, I don’t think so,” Nanako says, sounding honestly so apologetic that Adachi doesn’t have the heart to tell her that already knew the answer before asking. “There’s this report that’s due on the desk early Monday morning, and the other people on the team have really been slacking off. It’s a rush job, I don’t think I’ll be able to see Daddy until the middle of next week!” The shuffling of papers increases in volume. “Oh,” she adds, in afterthought, because there is no one who knows her father’s overprotective tendencies better than her, “But tell him I’m okay.”
Adachi laughs under his breath, watching the water boil for instant coffee. He can hear the slow shuffle of weight lugging itself to the bathroom upstairs, the echo of running water. “When he comes downstairs,” he promises, and though he doesn’t always keep his promises these days, he at least remembers that he should be making an effort to (small steps). Nanako excuses herself and hangs up, and Adachi lowers the phone to the dining table just in time to turn off the stove before the pot boils over.
“Oh, thanks.” Dojima makes a beeline for the mug of coffee, still wiping the moisture off the bottom right side of his face with a towel. Adachi steps out of the way; it didn’t take him years to learn that standing between the man and his cup was a dangerous thing - he knew that before he even went to jail. He leans against the kitchen counter beside Adachi, just watching morning settle in over the quiet rooftops, not a rain cloud in sight. It looks an awful lot like Nothing Happening, but Adachi is older and wiser now; he can tell the subtle, almost negligible, gargantuan difference.
It is a Saturday, and Dojima has thankfully learned (with the expected grudging reluctance of an old dog forced to learn new tricks), to take weekends as weekends and not Friday Extended. Age is catching up with him - his hair is a dark, ashy gray, and he needs glasses to read the newspaper. His beer tolerance is…just as bad as it was when he was younger, but not all things change with time, just the large majority of them.
Adachi can feel himself changing, also. He is growing older and slower, all the time, until at one point, he realized with a gradual crescendo into epiphany, that he had slowed enough to the point where the turtle-speed pace of Nowheresville-Turned-Inaba was somehow surprisingly perfect (like many things, sometimes the best fits are the ones you grow into). “Ah,” Adachi says, breaking the silence, “Nanako-chan said she won’t be by until midweek, but she’s okay.”
“Hn,” Dojima answers, with a sigh, but his daughter is as stubborn as he is. “What’s today?” he asks, still in the process of waking up. He combs a lazy hand through his short hair.
“February first,” Adachi answers, turning his cup in his hands, until the warmth seeps through the glass, into his hands. It is cold outside; he can feel the slight drop in temperature whenever he walks close to the windows or the door. Despite that, he blows into the surface of the dark liquid, cooling it down.
Dojima looks up, starting. He is not old enough to forget things yet (and no longer young enough to be busy enough not to remember them), and he turns to look at Adachi’s profile incredulously, before the look fades to sheepishness, and then awkwardness. Dojima hasn’t exactly grown with grace, probably because he never had any excess of it to begin with. Adachi grins into his cup, and he waits for something barely audible. “Happy birthday, Adachi,” Dojima grumbles, half-covering his mouth with his fingers.
“Thanks,” Adachi says, and it is not the best, but it’s a good day today.