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kulemiwrites · 2 months ago

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Masato Aizawa | Cardinal

[Art commission by @fabylp]

Genre: Grief/Angst Rating: Gen Word count: 6.6K Character(s): Masato Aizawa, Yu Morinaga, Enzo Ruiz (OC), mentions of Maria da Silva, Sayori Morinaga, & Misaki Morinaga (OCs)

Warning: This fic is heavily centered around mourning the loss of a parent after supporting them through illness and angst/anger that comes with questioning faith/religion. I understand these are not topics that everyone can handle. So, I am mentioning it clearly to prevent causing any unintentional harm.

Note: This story was built upon years worth of headcanons I've come up with for Aizawa. It is pre-canon. There are details that, if you're not familiar with me and my Aizawa shenanigans, it may confuse you, such as; him being half-Brazilian, his Catholic upbringing, his first language being Portuguese. If you aren't a fan of people taking liberties like that, please steer clear of this fic! Thank you! <3

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It's Aizawa's first birthday since his mother's passing and he faces pushback about how he'd like to spend it.

[All purple dialogue represents dialogue spoken in BR-Portuguese.]

May 10, 2009 Aizawa Residence

The image was as clear as the blue sky she’d been admiring through the window, sitting in the usual chair and sipping the usual morning coffee. No other words could describe her expression better than ‘perfectly content’- there in her white dress bathed in warm sunlight and the occasional shadow when a bird would pass by. The sheen of her salt and pepper side braid only added to how much healthier she appeared– happier. She lowered the mug from her lips, turning to him with a sweet smile and beckoned him to join her.

Cautious, he stepped forward, worried that sudden movement would send this perfect illusion away before he was ready. Following her index finger, he spotted a red bird hovering at the window as if to observe them, the same way they’d been observing it. She opened her mouth to laugh but no sound would follow.

Unlike his mother, he’d never been any good with birds. His descriptions of them didn’t go any further than simple descriptors of size, shape and color, but there was something familiar about this bird that tugged at his heart and once it flew away, he felt almost overcome with a sense of grief.

When he turned his attention back to her, the sunlight that kissed her tan skin shone ever bright, nearly blinding him until he was forced to take a step back. Masato did his best to shield his vision from the beaming rays, desperate to see more of her peaceful state just a while longer but the moment his vision cleared, the chair was empty.

“Ma…” he felt himself saying.

And as if she was aware of the need for just a second more with her, the words, “Happy birthday, my dear, sweet Marcos.” were heard so crisp and clear.

Warmth caressed the side of his face while a harsh pang tugged at his chest and the conflict of those sensations forced him to jolt awake.

Masato quickly snatched the damp pillow he’d been resting his head on and hugged it taut against his slick chest, sliding back to rest against the cool wall. Unsure of why he felt so startled to begin with, he fought to regulate his breathing and squeezed his eyes to alleviate the tightness behind them. Sweat had been trickling down the sides of his face and back, he’d even felt it between his thighs.

Warm light peeked through the blinds he never bothered to close and cast a spotlight on the disarray that was his room: empty bottles, dresser drawers half opened with his clothes hanging out, an overflowing trash bin and a similarly overflowing laundry hamper. Thanks to him sweating through his sheets, he’d have no choice but to at least do some laundry today.

Though, truthfully, he still wasn’t sure if he could manage it.

Why did he feel this way? Shouldn’t he have been thrilled to have a dream like that on today of all days? Why did he wake up feeling as though he’d just had an awful nightmare?

Tears stung his eyes but refused to fall and it frustrated him. Who the hell was he holding back for? He’s never had anything against crying. In fact, he was of the belief that it did good for the soul! Who’s ever reached their full potential by constantly holding everything in?

At least… That’s what he’s always preached to other people.

He was a bit of a hypocrite in that way.

If someone else needed to cry because they were still in mourning– who cared? The body needs what it needs. But, when it was himself? Wasn’t 11 months and 17 days more than enough time to get over the loss of a loved one?

Should he have been over this by now?

Gotten used to it at least?

His gaze drifted to the grey sweatshorts hanging on a hook that he nailed into the wall next to his mother’s favorite rosary. They were the final gift she’d given him before she sadly passed away just 13 days after his 28th. Each time he looked at them, he was reminded of her hiding them whenever he’d appear before expected. Those memories made him smile, considering toward the end, she could barely even recognize him as her son most days.

She remembered his birthday, though.

It was bittersweet. He was so proud of her for getting up and tackling a project every day. He’d deluded himself into believing that it was progress, proof that her condition could indeed improve despite what the doctors had to say about it.

He’d gotten it honest– she was a fighter!

However, she never did get to finish the shorts.

Despite her embarrassment, she presented the gift to him in tears- ashamed that she ‘couldn’t even do that much on her own’. He reminded her that they’d live together forever and so, she could take as much time as she needed because the fact that she wanted to make him anything despite the pain was enough of a gift to last him 100 birthdays. She hated the pity though. It made her break down and the harder she broke down, the further it broke his heart.

He could practically still feel her frail body shuddering in his embrace as he attempted to calmly console her, fighting back his own wail because he knew that no matter how much pain he’d been feeling, it was nothing compared to what she went through day in and day out. He kissed the top of his mother’s head, her hair brittle even against his lips as he muttered in her native tongue how grateful he was for her efforts and he swore to treasure them no matter what.

Masato could even recall the final prayer he’d offered that day verbatim: ‘Dear God, if you love my Ma as much as she loves you, you’ll be kinder to her. Take away her pain. Please, just take it away– even if you have to give it to me instead...’

Then, just 13 days later, she was gone.

For so long, he was downright furious! He wasn’t sure where to direct his anger but he knew that no matter what, God– if the bastard even existed in the first place, was now on his shitlist.

After his mother was cremated, he lit his belly with a few shots of cachaça to help numb the guilt about what he was going to do next. For the entirety of the taxi ride, he begged his mother’s forgiveness and understanding. He hoped that if she tried her best, she’d be able to acknowledge how much more painful it would’ve been to sit around their lonely house, twiddling his thumbs while he felt so much aimless rage.

Staggering his way along that narrow alley and down those rickety stairs to visit that old haunt was his way of preventing himself from doing something far more stupid and misguided.

At least, that was the excuse he’d given himself.

Though, the heat settled solely on his right cheek as he passed over his crumbled notes to gain entry into The Fray, made him wonder if that was his mother slapping him once again for this foolishness– that time from the afterlife.

It would have suited him right. Hell, he didn’t even have enough respect to wait until dust began to settle on her fucking urn before brazenly defying her.

It was anyone’s guess how he managed to remember exactly where to find the place after 8 years. How the place managed to survive for that long was another mystery considering the lifespan of spots like that and with a name like ‘The Fray’, he sometimes wondered if they were daring the cops to bust them.

Perhaps they would have, if not for the funny part, that some of the most prolific competitors and betting men were corrupt lawmen themselves.

It was there that he wound up running into a face he never could have forgotten, the man that may have very well saved his life in an alleyway when he was sideswiped and jumped by 5 disgruntled opponents– Yu Morinaga.

8 years prior, Morinaga had only been a croupier but a lot could change in that amount of time. The business, if one could even call it that, certainly had changed hands a number of times before the key landed in his hands and he had a different way of doing things.

A way that made men like Masato, horrible for his bottom line and he wasn’t afraid to do anything about it.

He must have been watching him since he staggered in, taking more shots than he clearly needed and rampaging through a freestyle tournament. After his fourth win, it was clear to anyone with an eye that he was out for blood and Morinaga wasn’t having it.

In hindsight, it was kind of hilarious knowing that he’d somehow gotten his ass handed to him by a man nearly half his body weight but the guy dealt a sobering uppercut. Then, had the civility to offer him a round of drinks afterwards– under the condition that he spent the remainder of operating hours as a spectator and maybe talked about what the hell his problem was.

Morinaga’s idea of a truce confounded him. At first, he assumed it was simply to protect his bottom line but after finding himself effortlessly opening up to the man, he realized that he was once again protecting him in a way.

That time, protecting him from himself.

And… It felt good, talking about himself, talking about his mother, talking about his rage– how unfair life could be, how cruel ‘God’ was, and all to a man who had no dog in the fight. His gut assured him that Morinaga simply wanted to understand him. It had been a while since he met anyone with intentions like that.

Masato left The Fray that night with a new outlook on the loss of his mother and a new respect for the quiet man that used to take his money, barely offering him much of a second glance.

Initially, Morinaga’s words– “If I believed in a God, and I asked for what you asked for, I’d wonder if that was their way of offering mercy. Sure, you may be hurting but she’s not anymore... Isn’t that what you wanted?” –made him furious!

The idea that his mother’s death was an example of God’s so-called ‘grace’ and ‘mercy’ was enough to boil his blood. Wasn’t He who caused her to suffer for so long in the first place?

On the ride home that night, using what little clarity he had left to mull it over and he came to the conclusion that- God or no God, she was at peace.

Free of seizures. Free of pain. Free of frustration and confusion. Free of guilt.

Finally, she was free of it all.

Wait, was that what his dream meant? Did she want him to see how pain-free she was? Is that what they mean when they say that the departed are in a better place? Not about Heaven, Hell or Purgatory- just free of the burdens that life slings their way, burdens like illness?

Although he went to bed the night prior wishing he could wake up to her singing the birthday song in the silly way that she used to, or spend the evening listening to their favorite music and dancing, or eating their favorite food and getting tipsy, or waving off her annoying questions about finally getting himself a new girlfriend and imagining her first grandchild before he ‘gets too old’, he knew that that version of his mother was nothing more than a fond memory. Even if she had been alive, she would have been too weak to celebrate in a way that she would’ve liked to.

So, he’d let her have her peace. Even if that meant that their only time together would be bound to the dream realm, he’d learn to accept it.

Masato swiped at the tear rolling down his cheek more aggressively than he intended and managed to force a small smile, recalling how beautiful and healthy she appeared.

Yeah, as long as he’d get to see her just like that, he could accept it…

Tossing his sweat-soiled pillow onto the pile of clothes nearest the wall, he finally swung his long, thick legs over the side of the bed and allowed himself a deep side body stretch before checking the digital clock on his crowded nightstand, perhaps even messier than the floor.

8:56, ughh. Couldn’t he have slept in as a birthday gift to himself at least?

Bzzzzzzz. Bzzzzzzz. Bzzzzzzz.

The cell vibrated so aggressively that had he left it unanswered, it would have dropped off the edge. Even so, it was curious to think that he’s slept through that same sound numerous times. When he flipped it open, he didn’t even bother to check the caller ID.

“Marcos!”

“...Yeah?”

No one ever called him by his birth name beside his mother or his Brazilian friends, but for a moment, he couldn’t tell who he’d just spoken to.

“Mornin’! Happy birthday, man– 29 now, huh?”

He blamed the lingering drowsiness that dulled his ability to immediately register the rasp of the male's voice as none other than Enzo Ruiz, a former coworker and friend.

“Shit, morning– yeah, 29. You remembered?” he asked, somewhat coy.

Enzo had always been a great friend to Masato, one of his closest and they knew each other almost as well as they’d known themselves, which was why it was a shock to hear from him so early. He might have been a good friend, but he was horrible with important dates. Masato could recall at least 2 instances of having to remind the man of his own wedding anniversary. If people ever wanted Enzo to show up to anything, it was a better practice to invite him the day of, rather than days in advance.

“Ha! Nah, I had my girl put it in my memo so I could make sure I wished you a happy birthday, man!”

Masato chuckled at the thoughtfulness but responded with, “Augh! What’s up with this sweet shit?”

“Buttering ya up so I can ask for a 50% cut of all monetary gifts you get today.”

“Ah ha, yeah. That’s more like it.”

“Whatcha up to?” he began, his reception choppy, leading Masato to press the phone closer to his ear. “Nah, let me guess… You're still in your dusties curled up in the bed like a fat cat, huh?”

He smiled, leaning back onto the bed, supporting himself using his palm.

Well, he was partially right.

“You installing creep cameras in people’s houses now, man? Look if you need a gig, I could talk to someone to hook you up, ya know?”

“Ha, as if anyone would wanna creep on you– much less me! You’re not my type, big boy.”

They continued their banter, each joke proving to be more crude than the last until Enzo let out a long, thoughtful sigh.

“29.. Can’t believe you were just 20 when we met�� baby-faced and a mean mug! Never seen anything like it.”

“No, I was about 19, then. You guys lied that I was 20 so I could go out drinking with you.”

“Hell, bro. You were close enough! What happens in a year that magically makes you man, huh? Wait– don’t answer that.” Enzo laughed.

“Somehow, I got hitched to the worst senpai there is.” Masato shook his head.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah! Listen, it’s been 10 years. Let’s celebrate! We can round up the guys and do whatever you want– the night’s on me. Whattaya up for?”

Now it was his turn for a long sigh. He anticipated that an invitation or two would extend themselves at some point but he never got around to scripting what the answer would be when they had. Knowing Enzo, he wanted to go out, get wasted and try, then fail to encourage him to end the night at some dank love hotel with the first girl to catch his eye, despite him being fully aware that that wasn’t his style.

And while none of that really appealed to him, he did know for certain that staying home alone all day wasn’t a better option.

“I wanna fight.” he said, the words tumbling out before he could give them any real thought and the silence to follow was a real long and heavy one.

It was Enzo who introduced Masato to The Fray a few months after his 20th and since then, he’s expressed his regret in doing so an innumerable amount of times. Not once has it ever really registered.

They were younger and dumber and they could afford to constantly be on the prowl for shit to stick their grungy noses into but Enzo, was more or less a changed man now. He sort of had to be. He was a husband now, a father of two. It was far easier to explain himself after getting shitfaced for a pal’s birthday than it would’ve been trying to explain why he returned home with a black eye and a fat lip.

He didn’t even trust himself to spectate anymore.

“Marcos, man… Ya gotta know when to sit your ass down.” he said, sounding less like a friend and more like an elder brother who was really getting tired of repeating himself.

“I take it you’re not comin’?”

“You knew that before ya even asked!” he spat, “Why do you even want to go tonight? Seems to me like ya just wanna burn off some steam.”

“I can go alone.” Masato interrupted. “Spare me the lecture.”

He knew what was coming next but even so, that didn’t stop his teeth from grinding.

“...Will he even let you fight like this?”

Now his teeth were fully bared, “What the fuck do you mean ‘let’ me? I can do whatever I want.”

“Arentcha the one always bitchin’ that he doesn’t even let ya fight if he ‘suspects’ ya got the wrong intentions?”

He clenched his jaws, gaze burning a hole through the wall as he fought against the urge to snap his phone in half.

Ever since Enzo decided to ‘clean up his act’, he’d been trying time and again to set him straight too. He wasn’t so blockheaded that he couldn’t at least see where the man was coming from but at times like this, it took everything out of him not to tell him to shut the fuck up and mind his own business.

It was just as Enzo said though. Morinaga did scrutinize him more than any other fighter on the roster. He can’t accurately recall the number of times he issued a 24hr banishment simply because he suspected him to be in the ring with a cloudy head. Even when Masato swore he was wrong, it didn’t matter.

That old man was damn near impossible to reason with.

“‘Dead men don’t make money.’” he quoted before hissing out a curse, “I’ve never come close to killing anyone in that fucking ring.”

“I beg to differ, kid. I think you're forgetting a veeeery important detail–” Enzo said, “I’ve seen you in action… Maybe you should sit this one out. Maybe you should stay far, far away from that place at least until next month or somethin’?”

There was yet another lengthy silence between them because that was the last thing that he wanted to hear.

“It’s my birthday, right?” he said in a haughty tone. “This is my business.”

Enzo let out a breath, long and airy before responding. “Listen, bro, you’re right. You’re a grown ass man. So, I can’t tell you which way to go but as your friend, I want you to sit the fuck down and take it easy. At least for today… Think about her. Do you really wanna break your mother’s heart like this?”

Masato’s eyes began to sting and though he felt a nasty curse burning the tip of his tongue, he couldn’t bring himself to speak through the constricting sensation in his throat.

When the line remained silent, Enzo spoke again, fully resigned to the notion that he couldn’t sway him. “Alright, well... Unless you’re down to hit up a bar or club or something, I guess you can count me out… If ya change your mind, and I really hope ya do, I’m just a buzz away. I’m keeping the day clear for ya, alright?”

Still, Masato couldn’t bring himself to speak and to that, Enzo wished him a happy birthday once more before ending the call.

Slapping the phone shut, he threw himself back onto the bed and tossed it, not caring which way the damned thing went. He hoped that wherever it fell, it was on something that would muffle the sound because he’d lost interest in taking any other calls.

The towel that had been covering Masato’s face as he rested his head back against the rim of the tub had grown too cool to enjoy and the water itself was well on its way too. He filled a small bucket then dumped the lukewarm water over his head before dropping it to the floor, then used his hands to wipe what he could from his face.

How long had he been lounging in the tub?

An hour, maybe two?

From the deep pruning of his fingers, it was clear that no matter the approximation, it was clearly long enough. Even so, he couldn’t bring himself to get out. In fact, he was beginning to find the idea of running a fresh bath and maybe even napping there very attractive.

He was reaching a pruny hand for the plug when he heard a loud thump, thump, thump that startled the hell out of him.

There weren’t any plans to have guests over and he couldn’t imagine who would just pop up at his place unannounced like this. The only person who would, had no need to knock as he’d given him a spare key.

Perhaps it was a salesman, and if that were the case, he definitely had no interest in answering.

The thump, thump, thump rapped again and this time it sounded slightly more aggressive. Frowning, he finally unplugged the tub and pulled himself before toddling over to retrieve the towel from the warming rack.

He secured the towel around his waist then stomped to the front door to investigate, completely disregarding the amount of water he and his bare feet were tracking through the hall. Through the peephole, he spotted Morinaga gearing up for another harsh round of knocks and sighed, contemplating if he even wanted to open it then swiftly caved in.

Flicking the latch, he yanked the door open but the man on the other side of it appeared completely unphased.

“Huh... That explains what took you so long,” He said, eyes quickly running over Masato’s state of dress, or lack thereof. “I don’t suppose you mind if I let myself in, do you?”

Without allowing the opportunity for him to respond, he pushed past him with ease. Sighing, Masato resigned himself to lock the door behind him.

“Guess not...” he mumbled.

Morinaga had been carrying something large inside of a thin red cloth but from the way it’d been tied, Masato had no clue what it could’ve been or why he brought it in. He clenched the towel, noting how low it’d been hanging around his waist then worked toward securing it a little higher to avoid an awkward moment.

“What’s in the box?” he asked, twisting the towel so that the slit was placed in a less compromising position.

“A little something from my home to yours.”

“I’ll just take it here, then.” He said, reaching toward the man who simply took a step back.

“I’m afraid you won’t be getting rid of me that easily…” Morinaga smiled faintly. “It’s probably best that you open this in the kitchen.”

He couldn’t fight the frown tugging at his lips. Why the hell didn’t he just hand it over at the door? “Alright..”

Ignoring Masato’s sigh, Morinaga turned toward the kitchen, leading himself through the house as if he owned the place. He always did. Just as he reached the hall, he slowly turned back to face Masato,“Though, I do hope you prefer to open your birthday presents in something more decent than a flimsy, wet towel…”

Pushing yet another sharp breath through his flared nostril, the younger man agreed.

When he met Morinaga in the kitchen, he'd been sitting at the dining table cross legged, flipping through an old picture book that hadn’t been moved since Maria passed.

“You really did look like a punk before getting yourself a decent haircut.” he said, sizing him up again and was clearly unimpressed with the white tee and old blue jeans Masato had changed into. “If only we could do something about that wardrobe...”

“I’m home, Morinaga-san.” Masato groaned as he cleared the table, annoyed at the prospect of having to hear another lecture about getting himself proper shirts, shoes and slacks. “There’s no rule in your imaginary handbook that says I can’t look like a slob in the comfort of my own home, is there?”

“Page 78, section 13B…” He responded sarcastically, the corner of his lip curling as he flipped to another page, “I must say…It would've been hard to imagine you were ever such a cheerful child if I didn’t have the proof right here in my hands.”

Without another word, Masato snatched the photobook from him to which he responded by raising his hands as if to say ‘ok, ok’.

After returning the photo book to its rightful place on the counter, he finally joined Morinaga at the dining table, and was immediately taken with the birdhouse through the window as he recalled the blurry version of it from his dream. When Morinaga suggested that he open the gift, there was a delay in him shifting his attention.

“...Didn’t peg you as the gift-giving type.” he mumbled, noting how neatly the red fabric had been tied, likely for easier transport.

“And you’d be correct.” he chuckled in that small, quiet way he often did. “It’s not from me… This is from the girls.”

“The–” He was filled with an excitement that he hadn’t felt all day, “Really?”

He simply nodded, eyes lifting at the corners.

Some time after Morinaga unofficially took him under his wing, he made the risky decision to introduce him to his family– his wife and two daughters, Misaki and Sayori, ages 9 and 25, respectively. He’d never spent much time around the wife as she’d been fairly distant, not just to him but their family too.

However, the girls were taken with him almost immediately and the feeling was certainly mutual. Misaki had become the little sister he always wished he had. Not once has he ever hesitated to protect that little girl when Morinaga wasn’t around to do so himself.

As for Sayori, the pair were fast friends, which was impressive considering she’d been the one Morinaga warned him about– ‘Sayori doesn’t like anyone’. Hah! The woman latched onto him without even putting up a fight. It was hard to imagine that there were ever any doubts they’d get along.

Not delaying a second further, Masato tugged at the knot and once it unraveled, each corner fell to reveal a clear cake carrier.

“Morinaga-san, did they– they made this?”

“They did.” he answered, opening his wallet in search of the folded sheets of paper that he’d been storing there and slid them across the table. “There’s also this.”

Finding it hard to control the smile splitting his lips, he quickly popped open the carrier and lifted the lid, exposing a beautiful cake with a white buttercream frosting and strawberries with whipped cream to top it off.

“They made this?” he asked again. This time it was less a question of whether or not Morinaga’s daughters were capable of making something so lovely but, more so his way of expressing his bewilderment that they’d ever go to such trouble for him.

Morinaga loosened the red tie around his neck and began to roll up the cuffs of his white dress shirt, “Well, aren’t you going to read the notes?”

“What do they say?”

“I’m not sure. I was hoping you’d tell me.” he chuckled, “They made me swear not to read them... I kept my word.”

Morinaga had always been something of a softie when it came to his kids but the way his features softened as he looked down at the cake hinted at something that he’d only heard the man say once after a drink too many. He was proud to have raised daughters as kind hearted as they were, in spite of himself and their mother.

Masato often wondered if the love they both had for their respective families, regardless of how differently they looked, was what led them to look after each other the way that they did– protecting one another so that they could carry on protecting their homes…

At least, that’s what he used to think, when he had a home to protect.

He shook the thought away and immediately reached for the notes. The first he opened was written in a purple glittery ink, lavished with dozens of hearts and stars, complete with a drawing of himself and the Morinaga family dog, Benji. That alone was enough to get a chuckle out of him.

TOP SECRET

Dear Uncle Masayan,

Happy birthday from Misaki! Me and Sayori worked really, really, REALLY hard on this cake to make sure you don't feel sad today! It’s got all your favorites! Cream and strawberry and chocolate and more cream! My sister says that you’re gonna get sick from how sweet the cream is, but that’s just because she doesn’t understand how much we like sweets! This cake is Misaki-approved!!!! So, I know you’re gonna love it!

P.s. I asked daddy if I could also go to deliver the cake to you because I really, really, REALLY wanted to see the look on your face when you had the first bite! But, Sayori said she thinks you will have your head up your ass today. So, you’ll have to come see us when you feel better! Feel better fast! AND don’t have your head up your ass, okay?

Happy birthday!!!!

Misaki <3

Masato couldn’t stop himself from laughing and it stirred Morinaga’s curiosity but the moment he reached for the note, Masato folded it and slipped it into his pocket.

“No can do, Morinaga-san. Mii-chan says it’s top secret. So, I guess I gotta keep this one between us.” he said, patting his pocket.

“Oh, whatever.” he spat, a smile still creasing his eyes as he lifted himself out of his seat. “I’ll grab the knife.”

The second note came from Sayori.

Hey, you asshat. Don’t you go doing anything stupid or I’ll have my dad punch you. Then, I’ll punch you…

Ok, fine. Don’t stop reading. I’ll be serious, alright?

You know how much I hate the sappy stuff but, I kinda wish we could’ve spent the day together– Misaki, you, me and dad.

You’ll get more birthdays though, right? We’ve got plenty of time. Well… I don’t know how to close this note… So, I’ll just say that I hope when you have a slice of this cake, you’ll be reminded of us and how much we care about you and stuff… And hopefully that alone is enough to keep you out of trouble, at least for today.

That is, unless Mii-chan’s icing kills you…

Happy birthday, Masa. Check in with us soon?

Sayori

“And I take it I can’t read that one either?” Morinaga asked, not really expecting a response.

“Isn’t it bad enough I’ve apparently gotta share my birthday cake with you?” he barked, eyeing the plates that had been laid out for them. “You gotta read my notes too?”

“Your only child is showing.”

“My what?”

“You’re selfish…” he said, slicing a large cut of cake to serve to the younger man. “In a way that only an only child knows how to be.”

Masato refolded the note and slipped it into his pocket as well, making a mental note not to wash his jeans before he emptied them as he narrowed his eyes, thinking of a snarky retort. Then, simply sighed and picked up his fork when he couldn’t summon one.

“So,” Morinaga said, now cutting his own much thinner slice. “The plan for today is…”

The men stared at each other in silence. Masato knew that when he phrased his questions that way, trailing off without actually asking anything, it meant that he already knew the answer and was testing him to see if he’d be stupid enough to say it aloud.

“I’m…” he began, forcing a forkful of cake into his mouth, finally averting his glare as if he was a teenager again conceding to a stand-off with his stepfather. “going to The Fray.”

The man scoffed, “To do what?”

He scowled, speaking though his mouth was full. “To fight, obviously...”

“Good luck with that.” he smirked, resting his chin on his hand as he leaned onto the table. “You’ve been blacklisted for the next two weeks.”

“Two weeks?!”

“I’ve told you, Aizawa. I refuse to allow you to sort out your shit using my ring. You’re nearly 30 years old. Stop acting like an unruly teenager because you don’t know how to grieve. Be an adult for once and learn how to control yourself.”

“Oh, fuck y– You know what? That’s bullshit!”

“Oh?” He said, sarcasm deep within his furrowed brows. “Shall we run back the incident that occured on January 12th?”

He should have predicted that Morinaga would use that against him. Him going overboard in the ring that night and dislocating the shoulder of one of The Fray’s top competitors had nothing to do with the fact that it was his mom’s first birthday since her passing! The guy was an asshole and they’d had it out for each other for months! Had Morinaga stopped for once to hear him out instead of acting like some brilliant sage that knew it all, he’d have known that the guy had it coming.

He ground his teeth, gripping his fork so tightly he swore it began to bend.

“Whatever.” he managed, shooting him a dirty look before stabbing at the slice that his mouth had grown too dry to enjoy anymore. “When are you leaving anyway?”

“Once I receive the call that the final bout has concluded, I’ll be out of your hair.”

“The hell?” he practically growled. “That’s not gonna be ‘til like 3 in the morning! No way. That’s too long. I’m already tired of seeing your snobby mug.”

Morinaga folded both arms on the table, expression hard, “Then, I guess you'll just have to force me out… Maybe then, I can give you the fight you’ve been itching for all day?”

Once more, the pair engaged in a silent staredown and again it was Masato who broke the silence, “Nice to know I have an option, right?”

“Sure. When you’re ready for a nap, I’ll be happy to oblige.” The other man winked, rising from his seat. “Until then, I guess I’ll sort out what sort of dinner is appropriate for a toddler on their 30th birthday.”

“Twenty-nine.” he corrected, clicking his tongue as his deep set eyes followed the man to the other side of the kitchen. “So, what? You’re just gonna babysit me?”

“Unfortunate, isn’t it?” Morinaga said, tugging open the refrigerator door. “Twenty-nine, and you can’t even be trusted to behave…Pitiful, really.”

Masato wanted him to catch the nasty snarl on his lip but the other man was too busy rifling through his fridge to notice and even if he had, he likely wouldn’t have cared very much. He was perpetually unphased by him. The guy seemed more moved by the mackerel he retrieved from the freezer than anything.

“Well, I suppose if you’re going to act like an insolent child, it’s only fitting that I treat you as such.” he finished, clearly amused with himself.

Just when Masato parted his lips to finally hurl the string of expletives that had been building up since he announced his impromptu sleepover, a dark shadow flew past him, catching his attention. Furrowing his brows, he turned to follow it to the window and there he spotted a round bodied bird with red feathers landing on the roof of the birdhouse.

The shadow must have caught Morinaga’s attention as well because shortly after it landed, positioning itself to face the window, he let out an odd sound of surprise and walked back over to the dining table.

“Would you look at that…”

Masato was relieved to know that he’d seen it too or else he might have wondered if this was yet another dream.

“Pretty little thing.” Morinaga mumbled, “Have you seen it around here before?”

He’d begun to tell him about the dream but trailed off just after the words, ‘I think’, not sure if he’d sound insane if he told him that he was certain he’d seen that exact same bird in a dream just this morning.

“I’ll bet it’s someone’s pet.” the older man continued on. “It’s not often you’ll see a cardinal out and about like that.”

The cardinal commanded his full attention and all he could think was, what were the odds of someone’s pet bird going missing the same morning he dreamt of his mother pointing at one through this very window?

“In some cultures, they say that seeing one of those means that a loved one is looking over you in the next life.” Morinaga told him, and it wasn’t uncommon for the man to hurl random trivia at him but this time he seemed to be saying something without actually saying it.

He turned to check Morinaga’s expression to double check that he wasn’t teasing him but the small smile on his face and the light tap on his shoulder before walking away reminded him just who he’d been talking to.

A joke like that, on a day like today, would’ve been much too far for a man that held such deep reverence for the deceased.

He practiced suspending his disbelief and imagined a world where it wasn’t silly to think that his late mother was visiting him on his first birthday without her in the form of a beautiful, tiny red bird. The thought alone was enough to both bring a smile to his face and a tear to his eye. Maneuvering his chair so that he could comfortably sit and watch the birdhouse, he reached for the cake that remained on his plate until the image of his mother sipping from a mug crossed his mind and it was then that he decided precisely how he’d spend his birthday.

“Since you plan on being a pain in my side all day, I guess I’ve got no choice but to put on some coffee.” he called over his shoulder to Morinaga who didn’t skip a beat in response to his banter.

“Ah, deciding to play the role of the gracious host all of a sudden? Honestly… I thought I’d have to make it myself.”

He feigned annoyance as he made his way over to the cupboard to retrieve a couple of mugs.

Though his original plans for today were thwarted, Masato was content with spending the day doing what his mother loved, having coffee and admiring the watching the birds. Whether his mother had come to visit in the form of a cardinal, or simply watched over him from elsewhere, he hoped that she saw that he wasn’t alone and that no matter how they showed it– he had people who cared for him.

He was confident that someday he’d find his peace just as she found hers.

#aizawa masato #masato aizawa #yu morinaga #morinaga yu #yakuza 5 #yakuza fanfic #yakuza fanart #HAPPY BIRTHDAY MASA!!!!!!!!#im not entirely sure how to categorize the genre of this thing :/

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