Natsuko holds her son's hand tightly as they climb the stairs to heartbreak.

Parachutes

Today Natsuko walks with Yamato.

Today Natsuko walks with Yamato passed all the streets she wants him to remember, so when he is an adult with children – despite what disquieting detachment he may feel as he grows up – he will recall the parting journey with his mother, how they held hands and had one perfect day together while Hiroaki packed his life into suitcases back at the apartment.

Today they enter the candy store together for the last time. She doesn't know that Yamato will latter associate sweets with the last day he didn't say goodnight to his brother in person – the last day he laughed as his mother groaned over the candies she shouldn't eat but still filled a plastic bag with caramels; he dislikes the taste of sweets for a long time.

Today they sit on the bench by the beach and watch people. They talk normally for the last time in what will be years. He tells her about school and she tells him about little things like how she found him sitting upright for the first time, yelped in happiness, and how he shook for moments afterward. Tells him how she loves the sound of his harmonica, how talented he is, how Takeru loves him and she appreciates him for loving his brother, too. She does not mean for it to sound like a goodbye. But when Yamato remembers this perfect day, he wonders how he did not comprehend the signs.

They end up at the park. She pushes him on the swings, pushes him into the sun. She hopes that he will recall the warmth. It will be distant in his memories, but still affectionate. She hopes their laughter still replays years later, when he thinks of his childhood. The creak of the swingset still echoes along with her heartbeat even after Yamato jumps off and they walk hand-in-hand back home.

She holds on tightly as they climb the stairs to heartbreak.

She holds on tightly as they climb the stairs to heartbreak. The door's moan as it opens speaks for her. Yamato squeezes her hand for a second; then Hiroaki appears from their bedroom, his expression guilty as he watches their son glance at the suitcases, at the tangible goodbye to their family.

Today Yamato looks at both of his parents and knows that they can't decide how this departure will begin. He squeezes Natsuko's hand one last time, comforted that he had a perfect day.

Maybe it was because of this that Yamato said in his most solid voice that he wanted to live with his father, and he packed his things, too, and always looked back.

One day, Yamato refuses to visit his mother, after she made arrangements to meet with him after school. His determination stretches to the resolve of staying home. He does not hate her – far from it – but he doesn't want to ruin that perfect day that has been on his mind for four years. He remembers with vivid detail the shape of the caramels, the pitch of the swingset creaks. He knows the suitcases still sleep under Hiroaki's bed, having been abandoned after their one time of usage. Yamato does not want to have another perfect day. It would be immoral if he mixed the two distinct lifetimes together.

When Hiroaki comes home from work, kicking off his shoes, rubbing his eyes, sighing, he finds Yamato sitting at the table. Reading. But sitting at the table. At home. He demands in his most calm voice what he thinks he's doing. Yamato does not look up when he replies with a short but logical explanation.

Hiroaki pauses, then tells his son to go spend time with his mother.

Yamato reiterates that he's reading.

Frustration briefly boils in Hiroaki's throat, which then simmers to a strange unhappiness that is somehow familiar, and thus comforting. He remembers the seven year old who descended the stairs bravely.

"Yamato," he starts; Yamato's eyes flicker up to him in surprise, for he has never heard his father sound so solemn. "Go see your mother. She misses you."

Hiroaki wants to say more but he senses the fight in Yamato sedate. He'll talk about it with him later, he decides, as Yamato softly closes his book and pauses by the door to lace up his shoes.

One day Natsuko will poise her hands on Yamato's shoulders as a reassurance of his decisions. He will have Hiroaki's old bags packed with his own things beside the door, this time without the disfigured feelings of betrayal and final goodbyes. He says that he'll call her once he's settled into his college life; she remembers the boy who packed his things so neatly, the boy who returned her hug so fiercely in front of the bench at his school, and does not doubt his promise.

He has grown a good head taller than she; she's been with him as he's matured into a young man with ideas about love and images of dreams and she hears the swingset creak again, this time as the door clicks shut behind Yamato, carrying her thoughts. She moves to the window and sees Hiroaki descending the stairs with Yamato's suitcases, sees Yamato thanking his father.

Today Natsuko holds her son's hand as they climb the stairs to confront heartbreak together. She knows their footsteps will leave residual pains they will all have to live through again. But the sun falls into the living room as the door slides open, as Yamato squeezes her hand, as rue crosses Hiroaki's face, as heartbreak introduces itself. Takeru wakes up from his nap and, catching sight of everyone he loves in the same room, laughs with glee. Takeru feels the sun's warmth as he waves goodbye to half of the family, blissfully unaware, twenty-four minutes later. Yamato descends the stairs courageously beside his father, who steadies him as he struggles with the weight of his bags, journeying away from heartbreak.

Notes: Yamato's family has always fascinated me; I hoped I sparked an interest in you too, reader. Please review and tell me what you thought.