What you do
Author: ryosukekoibito
Pairing: none
Rating: G
Warnings: none
Genre: Slice of life
Disclaimer: I don't own anyone from J&A.
Summary: Keito had been thinking about what he wanted to do when he grew up.
A/N: I know I haven't posted in a few weeks, and I'm sorry! My family evacuated hurricane Irma, and so I was without a steady internet connection for quite some time, as well as simply unable to find time to write over the last few weeks. But now I'm back, with a little kumi fic! So yes, this little drabble takes place in my Heisei Kumi AU, a series of mine in which JE is a yakuza group. This AU has gotten rather extensive, so if you haven't read anything from it, you may be slightly confused. If you'd like to read some of the other Heisei Kumi fics, please check out my masterlist! All Heisei Kumi fics have 平成組 next to their titles, to mark them as part of the series. This particular little thing spans from the autumn of 2003 to July 1st of 2011, just a few days before My New Family starts!
“When I grow up I want to do what you do.”
The first time Keito had told his father that he’d been thirteen, and it had been met with total silence, his parents staring at him numbly before his dad ran a hand through his hair, fixing Keito with a long look, and said
“Okay.”
His mother’s reaction was vastly different. She said nothing, dread and disappointment written all over her face. Instead she simply stood up and left the dinner table, the sound of the front door echoing in the silence after her. She didn’t come home that night, and when she showed up the following morning Keito could hear her yelling from his bedroom, hear the frustration in both of his parents’ voices as they fought. They did that sometimes, but this time there was an anger in her tone unlike anything he’d ever heard before. It was his dad’s fault, she said. He was such a bad example for his son, he was a bad parent, a bad father, and now their baby boy wanted to be a yakuza, all because of his miserable life decisions.
They’d fought almost continuously after that, and Keito wished he could take it back, wished he could say he wanted to be a firefighter or a soccer player or something, anything else, but he couldn’t. And even if he could say those things, they wouldn’t be true. He couldn’t lie. Because he did want to do what his dad did, he always had. For as long as he could remember he’d idolized his father, had admired his tattoos and the rough way he spoke. He’d grown up wondering what it would be like to get into fights and have people tremble in fear when he passed them in the streets. He’d always wanted it, but he had never said anything.
He figured it was a life that was far out of his reach. His dad was brave and strong, and fierce. Keito was clumsy, and soft, and sweet. His mother told him all the time that she was so glad he wasn’t like his dad, she told him he was good, that he was a better man than his wild father. Keito knew she meant the words to be compliments, but they always upset him a little. His dad was the best man he knew. He was what Keito wanted to be like. But she wanted him to be a proper gentleman, and Keito wanted her to be happy so he tried for her. Despite that he always relished the moments when he could catch his father alone, and his dad would tell Keito crazy tales of chivalry and bloodshed while he smoked.
Keito had expected this fight to blow over, had waited anxiously for the day that dinners were no longer punctuated with tense silences, and he hadn’t been prepared when after ten long months of fighting his mom filed for a divorce. All he could do was apologize. He apologized to whoever would listen, but both of them told him it wasn’t his fault. They made excuses. They said had a lot of problems; that this was inevitable. He shouldn’t blame himself. He did though, the guilt nauseating. After that there was a court case, both of his parents wanting custody. His mom fought viciously, declaring that there was no way in hell any son of hers would grow up to become a yakuza.
In the end his dad won. Keito didn’t ask how, didn’t really care. His mother left behind no contact information, the last day of the court case the last time he saw her. He cried. She did too, but after that she didn’t come to see him. After it was all over, his dad sat down with him at their little kitchen table and asked if he was serious about wanting to join the Kitagawa Group and become a yakuza. Keito’s heart lept into his throat at the question, everything that had happened since his first confession making the words sting a little. It was frightening, sitting there, looking across the table at his father. But Keito couldn’t lie. He said yes.
They came up with a deal. Keito couldn’t just drop out of school and start coming to gang fights with his father. He would go to high school, and graduate, and then after that, if he hadn’t changed his mind, then his dad would introduce him to his associates from the Kitagawa Group. He was the Kanbu after all, he could pull some strings. But he didn’t have to, his dad would remind him, and sometimes Keito got the feeling that, while he was supportive of Keito’s choice, his dad wished that he’d said something else. He asked his father about it once, asked if he was disappointed in him, but his dad just shook his head, and said
“Fuck no. I just don’t want you to get hurt.” And so Keito graduated from junior high, and went to the local high school, and the topic was brought up less and less as the years passed. Then, in July of his last year of high school his dad came home, his face serious, and he flopped onto the couch across from Keito, fixing him with a look, and asked
“Keito, are you sure you want a yakuza life?” Keito looked up from his math book in surprise, blindsided by the question, and he froze, mind running, making sure. After a long silence he nodded, and his father sighed, nodding back. “Okay.” There was a pause, his dad pulling his cigarettes out of his back pocket, and lighting one, taking a long drag and running a hand through his long hair, before saying “Things have changed. The head of the family has died.” He looked more upset than Keito had seen him in a long time, a grieving in his face that Keito hadn’t seen since his mother had left, three years prior. His dad sighed, smoke coming out of his mouth in a plume as he spoke.
“If you really want to join the group, you can come with me to the funeral. I can introduce you to a small kumi that is run by boys your age. They could take you in.” His tone suddenly got hesitant, and he tacked on hastily “If you want. It’s your choice.” Keito felt his heart leap into his throat as his dad spoke, and he sat up straighter, barely able to believe his father’s words. His dad looked over at him, noticeably upset, a determined glint shining in his eye, the hand holding his cigarette trembling as he asked
“Keito, what do you want to do?” Keito set his math book down, meeting his father’s eyes as he said
“What you do.”