Death Note Fan Fiction ❯ PITCH ❯ The Patriarch ( Chapter 25 )
[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]
By: selena281 
Anime/Manga: Death Note Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Psychological / Romance / Angst / Drama / Comedy | Type: Yaoi | Uploaded On: 05.22.2011 | Pages: 5 | Words: 7.9K | Visits: 257 | Status: Work In Progress
Anime/Manga: Death Note Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Psychological / Romance / Angst / Drama / Comedy | Type: Yaoi | Uploaded On: 05.22.2011 | Pages: 5 | Words: 7.9K | Visits: 257 | Status: Work In Progress
PITCH
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Light x L
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Part 24
L is a reclusive detective who takes his job seriously. Too seriously, in fact. Once he takes note of how neglected and stagnant his life truly is, he decides to make some changes. Challenges arise through an unanticipated meeting. AU
A/N: Vacations are wondrous things. Why must they go by so fast though?
Disclaimer: (See part 1 for full disclaimer.)
Pitch: (def.)
A substance commonly utilized to bind materials in construction... Tar pitch appears solid, and can be shattered with a hard impact, but it is actually fluid. Pitch flows at room temperature, but extremely slowly. To attain maximum fluidity, to be used, it must be exposed to heat.
Minds are like pitch. To reveal their full potential, they must be exposed to environs that apply stress. They must be challenged.
Part 24: (The Patriarch)
Soichiro was having a rough morning. Not that he hadn't had rough mornings before, but this one came with a hefty dose of questions.
He looked over at his wife who was calmly eating breakfast. "Sachiko?"
"Yes, dear?"
He looked back at the table's additional occupant. "Correct me if I am wrong, but didn't we cease having a son that would sit here casually eating breakfast with us quite some years ago?"
Raito looked up, a sly cant to his eyes, seemingly toying with which way to respond.
It put Soichiro on edge. He never knew quite what to expect from his predictably unpredictable son. Just now, he was maintaining the visage of a wholesome, perfect-haired, good son. It had been a personal matter of irritation for him that Raito had honed that look to be so convincing when it was a total lie. The rotten kid could amount to so much if he would just apply himself properly. It was as if he revelled in doing the exact opposite of what his father wanted. At every turn. Was it spiteful? He honestly didn't know.
"Pass the syrup?" his recalcitrant son asked pleasantly, as if his being here was perfectly normal. He met his son's gaze, and while those eyes were largely the same as always, russet colored and challenging, there was something a little different. Raito smiled infuriatingly, and Soichiro thrust the syrup at him.
Really, whatever had possessed Raito to stay over last night? It had been quite a shock to wake up, come into the kitchen for coffee, and find his wife and son speaking over the coffee pot.
Apparently he wasn't supposed to inquire as to the details. The second he'd opened his mouth, his wife had shot him a warning glance.
He'd promptly closed it again. This many years of marriage would teach anyone to heed such looks or suffer the consequences.
"Are you going to work today?" he asked now, still impatient to get some vague clue as to what was going on. And it seemed that Raito was aware that Sachiko was not going to allow Soichiro to question him as he'd like. Hence his subtle vengeance this morning, acting like nothing was wrong and taunting his father with his smug attitude.
Raito leisurely cut a small triangle out of his pancakes, drizzled syrup upon just that bit and put it in his mouth. He chewed slowly and eventually shrugged, dragging out every movement until Soichiro thought even the stabilizing force of his second cup of coffee was not going to keep him from throttling the boy.
"Raito, answer your father verbally, dear."
"Yes, mum." He answered her aloud to be even more dismissive of his father before turning to him. Soichiro felt a vein in his temple throb in vexation. "I don't know yet, I'm thinking of quitting."
Soichiro said nothing, opting instead to finish his cup of coffee while Raito resumed his strange, time-consuming treatment of his pancakes - cutting out each small bit and putting syrup on that alone before eating it and repeating the process. Soichiro abandoned the thought of putting syrup on his as his son seemed to be monopolizing it quite intentionally. Quitting? Said so nonchalantly, he wasn't sure if Raito was serious.
He gave his son an assessing look, and he received one much like it.
"Actually, father, I would like to talk to you about something later." Raito, eyes not moving from his, put the syrup down in front of him and drew back. He'd dropped the confrontational air that typically seeped through everything he said and did in the presence of his father.
A peace offering?
Soichiro took the syrup, trying to keep surprise off of his face as he poured it on his cooling pancakes. "Alright." Raito had never asked to speak with him like this, not since he was was much younger. At around the age of 9 he'd become quite reserved and withdrawn from him, though he was still mostly the same with his mother. What could he possibly which to speak about?
Soichiro methodically cut his pancakes with a pensive frown on his face, then took a bite, chewing idly. He felt both encouraged that Raito was seeking him out, and wary as this sort of behaviour was pretty unprecedented. In fact, they had been on rocky ground since before Raito graduated from high school. It pained him that he did not have a good situation, but typically his son was so backhanded and snotty in his presence that he often felt inspired with anger. Why couldn't his son be more accommodating? He was so gifted, intelligent, and motivated... possessed of many traits that any father could be proud of, but he was disallowed that due to his son's attitude.
He spared a glance at the flesh of his flesh and thought again how much of a stranger his son was to him. That mind was a steel trap when it came to exposing any personal details. He was churlish with how closely he kept such things and rebuffed any attempts made to breach that barrier. And why was it so? Soichiro knew the boy was not that way with his wife - he'd seen Raito be accommodating, forthright, personable. Not to mention, he had remained in contact with her while he was abroad, though communications could be infrequent. It had irked him that while this went on, he was ignored as if he did not exist.
Soichiro had learned a special brand of frustration and irritation in dealing with his son. No matter what he did, Raito was determined to snub him, twist his intentions, and be generally difficult. He had no idea why this had come to pass.
So now he wants to talk, does he?
Soichiro wondered what topic of conversation could possibly be so important as to make his son suddenly act like a civil human being towards him. He chewed through his pancakes at a steady pace, his visage stern. He supposed he should try to shelve his irritation in favor of the curiosity this development had also inspired. If his recalcitrant son was making a gesture, he might as well try to receive it in a positive fashion.
Unfortunately, it would have to wait until evening. Raito may be able to skip and make light of his sketchy job, but Soichiro had real duties and obligations that could not be set aside.
---
Raito figured the talk with his father would have to wait until evening, the only thing he was unsure of was what the hour might be. He couldn't help feeling irked over the years at how his father had always put his job first, often at the expense of his mother and family. And it wasn't necessary. Not at all. It was a choice, just like everything else. And with how seriously the older man took his work, the extra time spent on his career took a toll on him. Physically, mentally, and emotionally. For being the center of the family, as his father fancied himself, his absence only served to put pressure on his mother, who held the family together in truth. Not to mention, his father's health had started to slip. At this rate, he was going to put himself in an early grave, leaving his wife to pick up the pieces yet again.
Was it any wonder that he felt antagonistic over that at least? Personal differences aside, Raito resented him for this.
His father could be so overwhelmingly blind.
He wondered sometimes why his mother loved him.
And she did. He knew it. It was obvious in a plethora of ways, but most of all in the way that she supported him no matter what and defended him even from her well-meaning son.
Raito sighed.
He just wished her to be happy and wondered if that was even possible, things being what they were.
It was weird being at home again, he thought as he washed some dishes he'd dirtied. He glanced at the pan on the stove, making sure nothing was cooking too quickly, and resumed his task. Being at home, while comforting in some ways, was equally disturbing with how quickly old problems cropped up. He remembered now the things that bothered him so frequently while living under this roof. Years had passed and yet nothing had changed. It was like stepping backwards into the past, finding himself a student once more, unable to change anything with his own two hands no matter how badly he wished to. How debilitating it was...
He'd wanted to talk sense into his father, show him how he was hurting his mother with neglect, though she would never show him such a thing. Raito could see it, could sometimes see the sadness tingeing her smile. It bugged him, and yet he could do nothing. Nothing but watch. And he did not wish to be privy to such things.
His father would not listen to him, even if he were to speak to him frankly. For what would a child know that he did not? Raito swore that he was not a full person in his father's eyes. He was an object. A son. A son with certain qualities, the ones that were always praised. He was a son who would follow in his footsteps. A son that was denied free will.
And Raito did not want to follow in those footsteps. He did not want to be the man his father was - blind.
So he rebelled. He rebelled at all costs, hurting the mother he wished to protect, forging his own path in the world and wondering if he wasn't inadvertently being more like his father with his obstinance.
It was kind of funny how life could turn out - looping in upon itself. A twisted, farcical little play in which the puppets all struggled against the strings that moved them inevitably along their predetermined paths.
The other thing that was funny, in an ironic sort of way, was the very notion of family. Raito cared about his mother, albeit in a somewhat detached fashion, but his father and sister... well, he should feel something for them since they were of his blood, but he found that he could not conjure much of anything for them. They'd shared this house with him, but they were strangers. His sister looked up to him, but she knew nothing about him. His father also knew nothing. Every day for so many years, they had gathered at the kitchen table to take meals, but what did that amount to? Did it connect them? Did it inspire closeness? Or was it a duty that all families held to because it was expected?
Lawliet's family was not a family at all, not by blood, and yet there was a bond between the detective and the older man, Watari. Even the woman, Celia, seemed warm and caring towards him, as if she would gladly be a mother to him, were that possible. And she had only been around for a short time from what Raito had gathered.
Was blood more important in a family, or was depth of feeling?
Raito frowned into the dishwater. He'd never stopped to consider it before. He didn't give 'family' much thought. It was only in comparing his home life with that of Lawliet's that he really started to wonder. As usual, with his family, he felt tied down, obligated. He loved his freedom too much to bear this proximity indefinitely, and moving from it had been good for him. It was strange that he felt compelled to spend time here now. Maybe it was just that he did not wish to return home, but his mind was eased a little by being here, incongruous though that was.
Did Lawliet feel that way about his 'family'? Raito did not know the details, but he knew Watari was not the detective's father - he was too old to be. What was Lawliet's background? His origin? How had he come to meet Watari? What had happened to his mother and father? The impression he got was that Watari had taken Lawliet under his wing at a young age.
He scrubbed distractedly at a mixing bowl. That was insensitive of me to say that his family was not 'real'. Yet I thought nothing of it at the time. Looking back, revisting the words exchanged, Raito realized how much his comment must've bothered the dark-haired man. Only he hadn't been listening - he was too focused on other things and he had deemed family to be of little consequence overall because he felt it to be so.
Yet one more thing I have to apologize for, if I am ever given the chance.
Raito felt a frown firmly inter itself upon his face, and that sinking feeling in his chest started acting up again.
Over and over again he berated himself for allowing something to happen that was so destructive to their relationship. Why did I have to take him to that motel? If only I hadn't...
(And if it hadn't been that, wouldn't it have been something else?)
It was all fine and well to know what to avoid in hindsight, but to see things for what they were before they came to pass... Well, he was only human, was he not? He couldn't predict the future.
The problem was that he was often moved to react to the detective in certain ways. Jealousy, anger, possessiveness. These were commonly vying for the top position whenever things got heated. When in Lawliet's vicinity, he was possessed with desire and the desire to control. He wanted hold of the detective's mind, spirit and flesh. He wanted, always, to crush those lips to his. He wanted to cow that stubborn streak with his own willfulness.
Agitation slipped into his body, making him restless.
He missed having that slight frame beneath his hands, the collarbones that felt as fragile as a bird's bones. He missed the intoxicating taste of that sarcastic mouth, the quality of his breaths, and those eyes that could bore through his smoke and mirrors like twin stars. Raito sagged against the sink, resting on his forearms and bowing his head sightlessly.
I miss you, Lawliet.
Truly.
The unspoken words twisted in his chest.
Once more he entertained the idea of seeking the detective at his home and pleading his case, apologizing, anything to turn the tide. But it was only a flight of fancy. He could no more do that than he could breathe underwater. Lawliet had lain down the rules after all. He mustn't break them, no matter how tempted he may be.
His fists clenched uselessly and he grit his teeth. He was so powerless like this!
Pain and anger oscillated in him fast enough to make him feel sick.
"Raito?" his mother's voice drifted into the kitchen, preceding the sound of the front door closing.
He walled off his emotions as he straightened, sealing them rapidly until he had a moment to deal with them. "Yes, mother?"
"I thought I heard something in here," she commented pleasantly, poking her head in the kitchen. "Are you cooking?" she asked in surprise, delight marking her face.
"I thought it was the least I could do while staying here. You don't mind, do you?"
She beamed at him, and came over to squeeze him in a quick hug and to kiss his cheek. "Not in the least. It's wonderful to come home to a meal I didn't cook."
"It should be decent, at least," he said, dismissive of his skill.
"Don't be so modest, dear," she chided warmly, "it doesn't suit you." She left the room briefly to set down her bag. "It smells wonderful. Did you go to the store as well? We were running out of a lot of things lately...I can't imagine what you might've been able to make with what was left."
"I picked up a few items."
"You're such a sweet boy."
He offered her a smile. It was only difficult because he couldn't get his mind off of Lawliet. "It's about ready. You can set it to low just to keep it warm until you are ready to eat."
Her expression dimmed and she eyed his face. "Is something wrong? You don't look well."
He cursed his flawed act. It used to be that he could fool her just like anyone else when he really needed to. He was slipping. He couldn't focus. "I thought I might lie down a while. My head's been hurting me." He couldn't focus because all he could see was dark, accusing eyes, and the distancing words he'd received on his phone.
"Would you like to eat with me before you go?"
Can't focus, can't focus, can't focus. He couldn't even think of an appropriate response to alleviate her suspicions, so he waved off the suggestion with an attempted smile. "No, thank you, go ahead without me. I'll have some later." Food. I'm hardly hungry.
Raito retreated to his room and threw himself face-down upon the bed.
Why can't I get you out of my head? Stop tormenting me!
Even as he ran apologies through his head at the phantom Lawliet that was haunting him, he found himself wanting to enclose that spectre in the cage of his arms. He wanted to crush that pale body beneath his, trap slender wrists in a bone-cracking grip and violate his soft, reluctant mouth. He wanted those soulful dark eyes to quit looking at him like this, accusing him, distancing him. He wanted to force them closed with distraction as he took that body forcefully and he wanted to see the strain of pleasure staining his face as he speared into the core of him.
It had been so long now, an eternity since he'd felt the silken heat of delicate skin beneath his hands. So long ago that thighs had trembled against his inquisitive fingertips and quickened breaths had echoed in his ears with their sweet cadence.
Did Lawliet not feel this same fire that burned him up daily? Was he not plagued by this desperation?
Raito clenched his eyes shut even tighter as the desire that had no outlet fizzled up his spine, his hands fisting in the sheets.
I just want to feel you.
Taste you.
His whole body throbbed as he dwelt upon those sentiments, his mind already trying to supply images to accompany them. He tried to disown them but he was becoming too weak to continue fighting it. He'd been trying to avoid ravishing Lawliet in his head, but...
Desire pulsed in him, growing in the space between his hips and the bed, begging to be resolved. He bit his lip as he tried to force it down, but all he was seeing on the inside of his eyelids was the beckoning face of the object of his desire. Remembering flashes of pale, bare skin, of a head tilted back in passion, of the sound of Lawliet's voice as he cried out, was twisting his mind inside out. His hips moved against the mattress reflexively, ignoring his decree that his body would not succumb to something like this. His hand moved to betray him as well.
His body ached and was beginning to flush hot. He couldn't keep the images from coming, nor his breath from coming faster. It was with absolute frustration that he lost the battle after all this time. He bit through his lip, tasting blood.
The Lawliet in his head writhed against him. Gasped. Welcomed him inside his fevered body as their lips crashed together. Parted thighs trembled as he drove inside that vulnerable, wanton part of his companion. Desire sharpened and raked him repeatedly with every damning thrust, killing him slowly. Desire was the hot, steely flesh in his palm and he handled Lawliet roughly as he drove into him, wanting and needing to hear him cry out despite himself, pleasure and pain blurring.
He couldn't stop himself.
He didn't want to.
Lawliet's body bowed to his, stretching impossibly as orgasm drew his frame taut and forced a groan from his panting mouth.
Raito smothered his own sound of completion into the pillow his face was buried in, his limbs shaking as waves of pleasure rocked wildly through his body. He despised the weakness this portrayed - that he had lost to himself this fully.
Panting, his breath came fast as he turned his face from the pillow to suck air into his lungs.
He closed his eyes, tired of fighting. It was a losing battle, was it not?
---
Raito's father arrived home around 10:00 p.m. His mother had decided to go to bed already, in case he was home even later. Raito, of course, waited up. He also insisted that they put the food away. It bothered him, the thought of keeping his father's serving warm as if he were only a few minutes late from the office when it was likely he wouldn't be home for hours. He assured his mother he would take care of things when his father came home, and encouraged her to get the extra rest while she could.
Raito was waiting in the darkened living room, slouching in one of the leather chairs, brooding.
It was more than just Lawliet that was the focus of his thoughts.
His eyes marked his father in the doorway, bending to remove his shoes, and Raito felt that familiar, antagonistic feeling shade his thoughts. "Good evening, father," he said from the darkness.
Soichiro straightened and looked in his general direction. It was obvious he was blinded and could not see him in turn. "I'm sorry I'm late; something unexpected came up."
"Yes, there always is something, isn't there? It isn't all that unexpected." It rankled him, the petty excuse, when his father had been doing this for years. How often had his mother heard these very same words over and over? How many times had she waited up for him, even on into the late night? How many times had he chosen his work over her?
"Did you still want to talk?" his father asked in a slightly gruff tone that betrayed his discomfort.
Raito rose from his seat and strode into the light with grace, purpose, and narrowed eyes. "I do." Though the topic of conversation would not be quite what he'd had in mind when he originally made the request. He took a seat at the kitchen table. It was dim here, too, but the light over the stove created enough illumination for them to see by.
---
Soichiro regarded his son, the set expression on his face and the tensed jaw. His articulate hands were folded on the tabletop in front of him, his posture a mimicry of relaxation. Strange that Raito's demeanor was like this now - it was so different from this morning when he'd asked to talk.
He estimated this to be something that was going to be rather tense, and thought it prudent to make a quick stop into the kitchen for a libation.
"Wine, father?" Raito's voice carried after him, though the tones were soft, and it sounded vaguely... disapproving.
He stuck his head back around the door and looked at the boy, dissecting him as he said, "Did you want some as well?" This was where Raito always refused. Always. And with the air of challenge about him. So it was with great surprise that he witnessed his son looking up at him with unreadable eyes as he instead answered, "Yes."
Soichiro frowned as he got out two glasses. He would have thought that response would make him feel happy or relieved. But it didn't. Not in the least. He uncorked the bottle of red wine, a Syrah with notes of black currant and toffee. It was a good vintage and had come with a hefty price tag. It was certainly not your everyday tablewine, but then his son wanting to speak with him was not a common thing either. Especially when he had consented to sharing a drink with him as well - something he'd always, until now, refused to do. He was unable to think of this as a waste of a good bottle. It was a special occasion, in a way.
He set his jaw as he re-entered the room, vaguely aware that he was slipping into interrogation mode. It made his posture ramrod straight and business-like, and his gaze stern. It wasn't the first time he'd reacted to Raito's demeanor like this, and it wouldn't be the last. He did think however, that it illustrated the disconnect between them. But there was nothing to be done about that now. This was just the way things were. They approached each other with their full guard enabled, and distrust lingering in the air.
He poured Raito a half glass of the wine, knowing now what he had always suspected - that his son did in fact drink, just not in his presence. Another ploy to irk him, it seemed, but for what purpose? Raito had always made a point of disdainfully refusing his offers and making it seem as if having a drink was something to be viewed with utmost scorn. Yet his detective friend had been absolved of such judgement and even been encouraged to drink. What sort of sense did that make? There was no other way to see it but as something of a personal vendetta his son held against him.
Raito waited until Soichiro had filled his own glass before tipping his upward in an informal toast. He took a long drink from it before rolling the stem in his fingers consideringly. "Did it ever occur to you to consider mother as you dismiss your health daily with such indulgences?"
There was a sharpness to his tone, that barely veiled disapproval he loved to whip out when he thought no one would catch him at it.
"I always consider your mother," he responded gruffly, bristling at his son's brass accusation.
"Really? So if you die prematurely, leaving her alone, that would have been well thought out and acceptable to you?"
He opened his mouth to respond but Raito was pressing on.
"And when you come home late, or don't come home at all, is that also something that has been carefully weighed in your mind? It is with careful deliberation that you put your work before her and everything else?"
Soichiro made himself drink his wine before answering. Just for the extra time to consider his words. If he spoke on impulse, as he usually did, it was going to get ugly. Raito had a god-given talent for incensing him. "You speak as if you know everything, son." His tone was stony. "Surely you are not so conceited and close-minded to believe that of yourself."
Raito leaned back in his chair, an imperious look on his face as he held the glass up like a prop in his languid hand. His eyes were sharp and acidic. "I believe that living in this house for as long as I have would have made me privy to the truth, as well as to your blind disregard for those things you deem of little import."
"I suppose it doesn't surprise me all that much that you would choose to pick a fight with me while staying under my roof. Such things as courtesy never stopped you before."
A muscle in Raito's jaw twitched. "Then how auspicious it was for me to make my own way in the world, removing that blight from your pristine image."
Soichiro glared at his child. "I never thought of you as a blight, or a bad reflection upon me. Surely you know that?"
"How would I?" Raito bit back. "I never did what you wanted from the moment I left this house and I know how that sat with you over the years."
"I was proud of you once. Now all I see is this spiteful face of yours, and I don't understand why you have to be like this. Was your intention tonight to pick a fight with me? That was not how it seemed this morning."
Raito laughed mirthlessly. "You say that to me, and yet color me the instigator? That's rich, father, even for you."
Soichiro had never known such agitation before being gifted with a son. Truly. It was its own sort of punishment. Ironic that he had so wished for a son, believing things would play out in the way he imagined. Despite his anger, though, it did pain him that this acerbic stranger was his flesh and blood, that they could not find a place in which they could lay down arms. He tried to be a good father, he really did try, but his temper often got the better of him. Nothing he ever did seemed to go right where his son was concerned. He could warn him of shark-infested waters and Raito would blithely jump in, just because he was advised not to.
He took a deep breath, centering himself as he sometimes had to do in interrogations to keep his head and reactions in check. This was his son, and he was the father. It was his duty to withstand some of the backlash and take it in stride. It was very hard to do, this being such a close, personal matter. But perhaps if he allowed Raito to vent some of his ire, they could move past this stage and progress.
It was a very strange look indeed that Raito gave him when he held the bottle of wine aloft in a gesture of filling his son's glass. Yet he grudgingly brought it close to be filled, almost compulsively, as if he weren't giving the action as much thought as he was the motivation behind it.
Soichiro drank, encouraging his son to do the same through unspoken means, though he nearly slipped up by commanding Raito to drink his wine. Contrary as his son was, he would do the opposite of any demand placed upon him. And it was only through frustration that Soichiro kept ordering him to do this or that. His son's motivations baffled him, as did some of the choices he made, and it would all be so much easier if he could give out an instruction and have it followed, as it would be by any of his men at the station. But with Raito, he was not a Commander in Chief, he was a father not respected enough to be obeyed. The truth of it hurt, and he wished that just once, Raito could try to give him the deference he deserved.
Amazingly enough, Raito drank from his cup. Being given a choice, it seemed like he was less prone to be obstinate.
"What happens between your mother and I is between us," Soichiro said in what he hoped was not a grating tone. "I don't expect you to understand how complicated certain things can become between two people or how different it can look from within the relationship as opposed to without. But I appreciate your concern, and I will... make an effort to decrease my consumption of such things." He indicated the wine. "I have been meaning to for a while now, I just never seemed to find the right time."
His son viewed him warily. Concessions were a first. He was likely trying to adjust.
"And what of work?" Raito asked him.
"I admit that I have a problem letting other people handle things that I feel would be accomplished better in my own hands. In some ways, it is an admirable trait for someone in a position of authority... but as you pointed out, it also has its drawbacks. Your mother fears that overwork is dragging my health down as well as making me drink more, and she is probably right."
Raito was wearing a blank expression that Soichiro supposed might actually be a cover for surprise. They'd certainly never spoken like this before.
"Enough about me. You had something else you wished to speak of."
The brunet drained his glass and set it upon the table. "You'll remember this morning how I mentioned not going in to work?"
Soichiro nodded, feeling it best not to offer commentary. He still felt that his son's chosen career path was futile and a dead end, not to mention unscrupulous. He knew though that he could not force those truths into his son's thick skull. He'd tried countless times and all it did was cause more bad blood between them.
"Well," Raito continued off-handedly, "I actually am considering quitting."
Soichiro blinked. "You what?" Had he heard that right? But Raito had vehemently defended his career choice for years!
Ruddy amber eyes, nearly the same color as his wife's stared back at him unflinchingly. Calmly. Affirming the words he'd heard with their steadfast regard. Was this a test of some sort? If he congratulated Raito, would he fail the test and set them back to square one? "And if you do terminate your employment, where will you go next?"
Something shifted in Raito's eyes and he did not look altogether unpleased. In fact, he looked a bit more open and forgiving. "I've thought of pursuing law from a different angle. And what I wanted to ask you was where you thought I might be able to do that if I considered law enforcement."
Soichiro's jaw literally dropped.
"Don't get your hopes up," Raito warned him, his look sharpening though a sulk lingered about his mouth. "I'm just seeing what my options are, and thought it worthwhile to at least consider what you've been harping on about for all this time."
"Your first step would have to be the police academy, regardless of which area interested you."
"I thought as much."
"The time it took you would be a minor setback; since you already studied law, you will be ahead of the other graduates as soon as you complete their regimen."
Raito nodded, taking in the information, but his expression promised nothing.
"It wouldn't be with my department, but I could put in a good word for you were you to go through with this. I think you would find placement quickly, though you would still have to spend some time ascending the ranks."
"And if I pursued that, are there any positions that would afford me autonomy?"
"Yes, but they are highly competitive."
"Hmn," the brunet mused. "Well, I do like a challenge."
"Raito, what caused this..." he fumbled for words, for the right phrasing so as to not offend.
"My sudden interest in alternate career opportunities?"
Soichiro nodded.
"I told you, I am not committed to anything yet. I just want to see what else is out there. Perhaps something will appeal to me more than what I do now. It would be foolish not to investigate such things." He smiled somewhat ruefully. "Not to mention, the constant dinner meetings are rather banal."
---
Misa checked her watch impatiently for the third time. She couldn't understand why Raito hadn't called her back. She'd told him it was important. It was unusual not to be able to reach him and it irritated her.
"Daddy!" she shrieked up at the second floor, stomping her foot upon the bottom step of the wooden staircase as she clutched the railing with one hand for balance. It made a somewhat satisfying racket. "Where is Raito??"
"Pumpkin, Daddy is working," the Chairman called back as if through gritted teeth.
He sounded like he was busy.
She didn't care. Her brows drew together as she considered his response. Then she leaned further forward upon the railing as if to better be heard as she summoned all the air in her lungs to call back, "But I haven't been able to reach him ALL DAY!"
A long suffering sigh could be heard from the first room at the top of the stairs. "Did it occur to you that he might be tied up with work?"
She clutched her phone tightly in her hand and gathered her short, voluminous skirt in her hands as she raced up the stairs, a monumentally petulant frown riding her dainty features. "Daddy-!" She burst into the Chairman's study to argue with him. "He always calls me back," she informed him in the tone of a spoiled princess, her stance demanding that this be dealt with now.
"Darling," he said through gritted teeth, "What can I do to take your mind off of this?" He really did have better things to do. Sometimes he wished he could lock her out of the house. She could be the absolute worst for his concentration.
"MAKE HIM CALL ME."
Chairman Amane breathed a deep sigh as he took off his reading spectacles and rubbed the bridge of his nose. In truth, Raito had been scarce the last few days, but with Misa breathing down his neck, he couldn't really blame the boy. Besides, he was probably stealing off to dally with that detective, whom all these young men were incomprehensibly preoccupied with, while he still could. That was a shocker. Raito was the last person he would have guessed to be that type. Aiber as well. It made no sense. Kids these days. They'd be put to better slinging slop buckets for all that they actually used the brains between their ears.
"Precious, why don't you just go pay him a visit then? He doesn't appear to be at the office." Sorry, m'boy, and good luck. He might feel a touch bad for the brunet, but he certainly was not going to sacrifice his peace and calm because of it. Best to get Misa off the premises.
Raito was going to lead a long and miserable life at the hands of his little girl. He might as well start getting used to it.
He replaced his spectacles and resumed shuffling through paperwork, already dismissing her presence in his head.
"You're right... I could just pop by and see him."
He could hear the smile starting to shine through her words as she spoke. He couldn't care less - he had things to take care of. "Uh huh," he said distractedly. "Why don't you go do that now, muffin?"
"Ok, Daddy, I will," she sang, bouncing over to give him a quick hug, her head already filling with plans. "Buh bye!"
Soichiro was having a rough morning. Not that he hadn't had rough mornings before, but this one came with a hefty dose of questions.
He looked over at his wife who was calmly eating breakfast. "Sachiko?"
"Yes, dear?"
He looked back at the table's additional occupant. "Correct me if I am wrong, but didn't we cease having a son that would sit here casually eating breakfast with us quite some years ago?"
Raito looked up, a sly cant to his eyes, seemingly toying with which way to respond.
It put Soichiro on edge. He never knew quite what to expect from his predictably unpredictable son. Just now, he was maintaining the visage of a wholesome, perfect-haired, good son. It had been a personal matter of irritation for him that Raito had honed that look to be so convincing when it was a total lie. The rotten kid could amount to so much if he would just apply himself properly. It was as if he revelled in doing the exact opposite of what his father wanted. At every turn. Was it spiteful? He honestly didn't know.
"Pass the syrup?" his recalcitrant son asked pleasantly, as if his being here was perfectly normal. He met his son's gaze, and while those eyes were largely the same as always, russet colored and challenging, there was something a little different. Raito smiled infuriatingly, and Soichiro thrust the syrup at him.
Really, whatever had possessed Raito to stay over last night? It had been quite a shock to wake up, come into the kitchen for coffee, and find his wife and son speaking over the coffee pot.
Apparently he wasn't supposed to inquire as to the details. The second he'd opened his mouth, his wife had shot him a warning glance.
He'd promptly closed it again. This many years of marriage would teach anyone to heed such looks or suffer the consequences.
"Are you going to work today?" he asked now, still impatient to get some vague clue as to what was going on. And it seemed that Raito was aware that Sachiko was not going to allow Soichiro to question him as he'd like. Hence his subtle vengeance this morning, acting like nothing was wrong and taunting his father with his smug attitude.
Raito leisurely cut a small triangle out of his pancakes, drizzled syrup upon just that bit and put it in his mouth. He chewed slowly and eventually shrugged, dragging out every movement until Soichiro thought even the stabilizing force of his second cup of coffee was not going to keep him from throttling the boy.
"Raito, answer your father verbally, dear."
"Yes, mum." He answered her aloud to be even more dismissive of his father before turning to him. Soichiro felt a vein in his temple throb in vexation. "I don't know yet, I'm thinking of quitting."
Soichiro said nothing, opting instead to finish his cup of coffee while Raito resumed his strange, time-consuming treatment of his pancakes - cutting out each small bit and putting syrup on that alone before eating it and repeating the process. Soichiro abandoned the thought of putting syrup on his as his son seemed to be monopolizing it quite intentionally. Quitting? Said so nonchalantly, he wasn't sure if Raito was serious.
He gave his son an assessing look, and he received one much like it.
"Actually, father, I would like to talk to you about something later." Raito, eyes not moving from his, put the syrup down in front of him and drew back. He'd dropped the confrontational air that typically seeped through everything he said and did in the presence of his father.
A peace offering?
Soichiro took the syrup, trying to keep surprise off of his face as he poured it on his cooling pancakes. "Alright." Raito had never asked to speak with him like this, not since he was was much younger. At around the age of 9 he'd become quite reserved and withdrawn from him, though he was still mostly the same with his mother. What could he possibly which to speak about?
Soichiro methodically cut his pancakes with a pensive frown on his face, then took a bite, chewing idly. He felt both encouraged that Raito was seeking him out, and wary as this sort of behaviour was pretty unprecedented. In fact, they had been on rocky ground since before Raito graduated from high school. It pained him that he did not have a good situation, but typically his son was so backhanded and snotty in his presence that he often felt inspired with anger. Why couldn't his son be more accommodating? He was so gifted, intelligent, and motivated... possessed of many traits that any father could be proud of, but he was disallowed that due to his son's attitude.
He spared a glance at the flesh of his flesh and thought again how much of a stranger his son was to him. That mind was a steel trap when it came to exposing any personal details. He was churlish with how closely he kept such things and rebuffed any attempts made to breach that barrier. And why was it so? Soichiro knew the boy was not that way with his wife - he'd seen Raito be accommodating, forthright, personable. Not to mention, he had remained in contact with her while he was abroad, though communications could be infrequent. It had irked him that while this went on, he was ignored as if he did not exist.
Soichiro had learned a special brand of frustration and irritation in dealing with his son. No matter what he did, Raito was determined to snub him, twist his intentions, and be generally difficult. He had no idea why this had come to pass.
So now he wants to talk, does he?
Soichiro wondered what topic of conversation could possibly be so important as to make his son suddenly act like a civil human being towards him. He chewed through his pancakes at a steady pace, his visage stern. He supposed he should try to shelve his irritation in favor of the curiosity this development had also inspired. If his recalcitrant son was making a gesture, he might as well try to receive it in a positive fashion.
Unfortunately, it would have to wait until evening. Raito may be able to skip and make light of his sketchy job, but Soichiro had real duties and obligations that could not be set aside.
---
Raito figured the talk with his father would have to wait until evening, the only thing he was unsure of was what the hour might be. He couldn't help feeling irked over the years at how his father had always put his job first, often at the expense of his mother and family. And it wasn't necessary. Not at all. It was a choice, just like everything else. And with how seriously the older man took his work, the extra time spent on his career took a toll on him. Physically, mentally, and emotionally. For being the center of the family, as his father fancied himself, his absence only served to put pressure on his mother, who held the family together in truth. Not to mention, his father's health had started to slip. At this rate, he was going to put himself in an early grave, leaving his wife to pick up the pieces yet again.
Was it any wonder that he felt antagonistic over that at least? Personal differences aside, Raito resented him for this.
His father could be so overwhelmingly blind.
He wondered sometimes why his mother loved him.
And she did. He knew it. It was obvious in a plethora of ways, but most of all in the way that she supported him no matter what and defended him even from her well-meaning son.
Raito sighed.
He just wished her to be happy and wondered if that was even possible, things being what they were.
It was weird being at home again, he thought as he washed some dishes he'd dirtied. He glanced at the pan on the stove, making sure nothing was cooking too quickly, and resumed his task. Being at home, while comforting in some ways, was equally disturbing with how quickly old problems cropped up. He remembered now the things that bothered him so frequently while living under this roof. Years had passed and yet nothing had changed. It was like stepping backwards into the past, finding himself a student once more, unable to change anything with his own two hands no matter how badly he wished to. How debilitating it was...
He'd wanted to talk sense into his father, show him how he was hurting his mother with neglect, though she would never show him such a thing. Raito could see it, could sometimes see the sadness tingeing her smile. It bugged him, and yet he could do nothing. Nothing but watch. And he did not wish to be privy to such things.
His father would not listen to him, even if he were to speak to him frankly. For what would a child know that he did not? Raito swore that he was not a full person in his father's eyes. He was an object. A son. A son with certain qualities, the ones that were always praised. He was a son who would follow in his footsteps. A son that was denied free will.
And Raito did not want to follow in those footsteps. He did not want to be the man his father was - blind.
So he rebelled. He rebelled at all costs, hurting the mother he wished to protect, forging his own path in the world and wondering if he wasn't inadvertently being more like his father with his obstinance.
It was kind of funny how life could turn out - looping in upon itself. A twisted, farcical little play in which the puppets all struggled against the strings that moved them inevitably along their predetermined paths.
The other thing that was funny, in an ironic sort of way, was the very notion of family. Raito cared about his mother, albeit in a somewhat detached fashion, but his father and sister... well, he should feel something for them since they were of his blood, but he found that he could not conjure much of anything for them. They'd shared this house with him, but they were strangers. His sister looked up to him, but she knew nothing about him. His father also knew nothing. Every day for so many years, they had gathered at the kitchen table to take meals, but what did that amount to? Did it connect them? Did it inspire closeness? Or was it a duty that all families held to because it was expected?
Lawliet's family was not a family at all, not by blood, and yet there was a bond between the detective and the older man, Watari. Even the woman, Celia, seemed warm and caring towards him, as if she would gladly be a mother to him, were that possible. And she had only been around for a short time from what Raito had gathered.
Was blood more important in a family, or was depth of feeling?
Raito frowned into the dishwater. He'd never stopped to consider it before. He didn't give 'family' much thought. It was only in comparing his home life with that of Lawliet's that he really started to wonder. As usual, with his family, he felt tied down, obligated. He loved his freedom too much to bear this proximity indefinitely, and moving from it had been good for him. It was strange that he felt compelled to spend time here now. Maybe it was just that he did not wish to return home, but his mind was eased a little by being here, incongruous though that was.
Did Lawliet feel that way about his 'family'? Raito did not know the details, but he knew Watari was not the detective's father - he was too old to be. What was Lawliet's background? His origin? How had he come to meet Watari? What had happened to his mother and father? The impression he got was that Watari had taken Lawliet under his wing at a young age.
He scrubbed distractedly at a mixing bowl. That was insensitive of me to say that his family was not 'real'. Yet I thought nothing of it at the time. Looking back, revisting the words exchanged, Raito realized how much his comment must've bothered the dark-haired man. Only he hadn't been listening - he was too focused on other things and he had deemed family to be of little consequence overall because he felt it to be so.
Yet one more thing I have to apologize for, if I am ever given the chance.
Raito felt a frown firmly inter itself upon his face, and that sinking feeling in his chest started acting up again.
Over and over again he berated himself for allowing something to happen that was so destructive to their relationship. Why did I have to take him to that motel? If only I hadn't...
(And if it hadn't been that, wouldn't it have been something else?)
It was all fine and well to know what to avoid in hindsight, but to see things for what they were before they came to pass... Well, he was only human, was he not? He couldn't predict the future.
The problem was that he was often moved to react to the detective in certain ways. Jealousy, anger, possessiveness. These were commonly vying for the top position whenever things got heated. When in Lawliet's vicinity, he was possessed with desire and the desire to control. He wanted hold of the detective's mind, spirit and flesh. He wanted, always, to crush those lips to his. He wanted to cow that stubborn streak with his own willfulness.
Agitation slipped into his body, making him restless.
He missed having that slight frame beneath his hands, the collarbones that felt as fragile as a bird's bones. He missed the intoxicating taste of that sarcastic mouth, the quality of his breaths, and those eyes that could bore through his smoke and mirrors like twin stars. Raito sagged against the sink, resting on his forearms and bowing his head sightlessly.
I miss you, Lawliet.
Truly.
The unspoken words twisted in his chest.
Once more he entertained the idea of seeking the detective at his home and pleading his case, apologizing, anything to turn the tide. But it was only a flight of fancy. He could no more do that than he could breathe underwater. Lawliet had lain down the rules after all. He mustn't break them, no matter how tempted he may be.
His fists clenched uselessly and he grit his teeth. He was so powerless like this!
Pain and anger oscillated in him fast enough to make him feel sick.
"Raito?" his mother's voice drifted into the kitchen, preceding the sound of the front door closing.
He walled off his emotions as he straightened, sealing them rapidly until he had a moment to deal with them. "Yes, mother?"
"I thought I heard something in here," she commented pleasantly, poking her head in the kitchen. "Are you cooking?" she asked in surprise, delight marking her face.
"I thought it was the least I could do while staying here. You don't mind, do you?"
She beamed at him, and came over to squeeze him in a quick hug and to kiss his cheek. "Not in the least. It's wonderful to come home to a meal I didn't cook."
"It should be decent, at least," he said, dismissive of his skill.
"Don't be so modest, dear," she chided warmly, "it doesn't suit you." She left the room briefly to set down her bag. "It smells wonderful. Did you go to the store as well? We were running out of a lot of things lately...I can't imagine what you might've been able to make with what was left."
"I picked up a few items."
"You're such a sweet boy."
He offered her a smile. It was only difficult because he couldn't get his mind off of Lawliet. "It's about ready. You can set it to low just to keep it warm until you are ready to eat."
Her expression dimmed and she eyed his face. "Is something wrong? You don't look well."
He cursed his flawed act. It used to be that he could fool her just like anyone else when he really needed to. He was slipping. He couldn't focus. "I thought I might lie down a while. My head's been hurting me." He couldn't focus because all he could see was dark, accusing eyes, and the distancing words he'd received on his phone.
"Would you like to eat with me before you go?"
Can't focus, can't focus, can't focus. He couldn't even think of an appropriate response to alleviate her suspicions, so he waved off the suggestion with an attempted smile. "No, thank you, go ahead without me. I'll have some later." Food. I'm hardly hungry.
Raito retreated to his room and threw himself face-down upon the bed.
Why can't I get you out of my head? Stop tormenting me!
Even as he ran apologies through his head at the phantom Lawliet that was haunting him, he found himself wanting to enclose that spectre in the cage of his arms. He wanted to crush that pale body beneath his, trap slender wrists in a bone-cracking grip and violate his soft, reluctant mouth. He wanted those soulful dark eyes to quit looking at him like this, accusing him, distancing him. He wanted to force them closed with distraction as he took that body forcefully and he wanted to see the strain of pleasure staining his face as he speared into the core of him.
It had been so long now, an eternity since he'd felt the silken heat of delicate skin beneath his hands. So long ago that thighs had trembled against his inquisitive fingertips and quickened breaths had echoed in his ears with their sweet cadence.
Did Lawliet not feel this same fire that burned him up daily? Was he not plagued by this desperation?
Raito clenched his eyes shut even tighter as the desire that had no outlet fizzled up his spine, his hands fisting in the sheets.
I just want to feel you.
Taste you.
His whole body throbbed as he dwelt upon those sentiments, his mind already trying to supply images to accompany them. He tried to disown them but he was becoming too weak to continue fighting it. He'd been trying to avoid ravishing Lawliet in his head, but...
Desire pulsed in him, growing in the space between his hips and the bed, begging to be resolved. He bit his lip as he tried to force it down, but all he was seeing on the inside of his eyelids was the beckoning face of the object of his desire. Remembering flashes of pale, bare skin, of a head tilted back in passion, of the sound of Lawliet's voice as he cried out, was twisting his mind inside out. His hips moved against the mattress reflexively, ignoring his decree that his body would not succumb to something like this. His hand moved to betray him as well.
His body ached and was beginning to flush hot. He couldn't keep the images from coming, nor his breath from coming faster. It was with absolute frustration that he lost the battle after all this time. He bit through his lip, tasting blood.
The Lawliet in his head writhed against him. Gasped. Welcomed him inside his fevered body as their lips crashed together. Parted thighs trembled as he drove inside that vulnerable, wanton part of his companion. Desire sharpened and raked him repeatedly with every damning thrust, killing him slowly. Desire was the hot, steely flesh in his palm and he handled Lawliet roughly as he drove into him, wanting and needing to hear him cry out despite himself, pleasure and pain blurring.
He couldn't stop himself.
He didn't want to.
Lawliet's body bowed to his, stretching impossibly as orgasm drew his frame taut and forced a groan from his panting mouth.
Raito smothered his own sound of completion into the pillow his face was buried in, his limbs shaking as waves of pleasure rocked wildly through his body. He despised the weakness this portrayed - that he had lost to himself this fully.
Panting, his breath came fast as he turned his face from the pillow to suck air into his lungs.
He closed his eyes, tired of fighting. It was a losing battle, was it not?
---
Raito's father arrived home around 10:00 p.m. His mother had decided to go to bed already, in case he was home even later. Raito, of course, waited up. He also insisted that they put the food away. It bothered him, the thought of keeping his father's serving warm as if he were only a few minutes late from the office when it was likely he wouldn't be home for hours. He assured his mother he would take care of things when his father came home, and encouraged her to get the extra rest while she could.
Raito was waiting in the darkened living room, slouching in one of the leather chairs, brooding.
It was more than just Lawliet that was the focus of his thoughts.
His eyes marked his father in the doorway, bending to remove his shoes, and Raito felt that familiar, antagonistic feeling shade his thoughts. "Good evening, father," he said from the darkness.
Soichiro straightened and looked in his general direction. It was obvious he was blinded and could not see him in turn. "I'm sorry I'm late; something unexpected came up."
"Yes, there always is something, isn't there? It isn't all that unexpected." It rankled him, the petty excuse, when his father had been doing this for years. How often had his mother heard these very same words over and over? How many times had she waited up for him, even on into the late night? How many times had he chosen his work over her?
"Did you still want to talk?" his father asked in a slightly gruff tone that betrayed his discomfort.
Raito rose from his seat and strode into the light with grace, purpose, and narrowed eyes. "I do." Though the topic of conversation would not be quite what he'd had in mind when he originally made the request. He took a seat at the kitchen table. It was dim here, too, but the light over the stove created enough illumination for them to see by.
---
Soichiro regarded his son, the set expression on his face and the tensed jaw. His articulate hands were folded on the tabletop in front of him, his posture a mimicry of relaxation. Strange that Raito's demeanor was like this now - it was so different from this morning when he'd asked to talk.
He estimated this to be something that was going to be rather tense, and thought it prudent to make a quick stop into the kitchen for a libation.
"Wine, father?" Raito's voice carried after him, though the tones were soft, and it sounded vaguely... disapproving.
He stuck his head back around the door and looked at the boy, dissecting him as he said, "Did you want some as well?" This was where Raito always refused. Always. And with the air of challenge about him. So it was with great surprise that he witnessed his son looking up at him with unreadable eyes as he instead answered, "Yes."
Soichiro frowned as he got out two glasses. He would have thought that response would make him feel happy or relieved. But it didn't. Not in the least. He uncorked the bottle of red wine, a Syrah with notes of black currant and toffee. It was a good vintage and had come with a hefty price tag. It was certainly not your everyday tablewine, but then his son wanting to speak with him was not a common thing either. Especially when he had consented to sharing a drink with him as well - something he'd always, until now, refused to do. He was unable to think of this as a waste of a good bottle. It was a special occasion, in a way.
He set his jaw as he re-entered the room, vaguely aware that he was slipping into interrogation mode. It made his posture ramrod straight and business-like, and his gaze stern. It wasn't the first time he'd reacted to Raito's demeanor like this, and it wouldn't be the last. He did think however, that it illustrated the disconnect between them. But there was nothing to be done about that now. This was just the way things were. They approached each other with their full guard enabled, and distrust lingering in the air.
He poured Raito a half glass of the wine, knowing now what he had always suspected - that his son did in fact drink, just not in his presence. Another ploy to irk him, it seemed, but for what purpose? Raito had always made a point of disdainfully refusing his offers and making it seem as if having a drink was something to be viewed with utmost scorn. Yet his detective friend had been absolved of such judgement and even been encouraged to drink. What sort of sense did that make? There was no other way to see it but as something of a personal vendetta his son held against him.
Raito waited until Soichiro had filled his own glass before tipping his upward in an informal toast. He took a long drink from it before rolling the stem in his fingers consideringly. "Did it ever occur to you to consider mother as you dismiss your health daily with such indulgences?"
There was a sharpness to his tone, that barely veiled disapproval he loved to whip out when he thought no one would catch him at it.
"I always consider your mother," he responded gruffly, bristling at his son's brass accusation.
"Really? So if you die prematurely, leaving her alone, that would have been well thought out and acceptable to you?"
He opened his mouth to respond but Raito was pressing on.
"And when you come home late, or don't come home at all, is that also something that has been carefully weighed in your mind? It is with careful deliberation that you put your work before her and everything else?"
Soichiro made himself drink his wine before answering. Just for the extra time to consider his words. If he spoke on impulse, as he usually did, it was going to get ugly. Raito had a god-given talent for incensing him. "You speak as if you know everything, son." His tone was stony. "Surely you are not so conceited and close-minded to believe that of yourself."
Raito leaned back in his chair, an imperious look on his face as he held the glass up like a prop in his languid hand. His eyes were sharp and acidic. "I believe that living in this house for as long as I have would have made me privy to the truth, as well as to your blind disregard for those things you deem of little import."
"I suppose it doesn't surprise me all that much that you would choose to pick a fight with me while staying under my roof. Such things as courtesy never stopped you before."
A muscle in Raito's jaw twitched. "Then how auspicious it was for me to make my own way in the world, removing that blight from your pristine image."
Soichiro glared at his child. "I never thought of you as a blight, or a bad reflection upon me. Surely you know that?"
"How would I?" Raito bit back. "I never did what you wanted from the moment I left this house and I know how that sat with you over the years."
"I was proud of you once. Now all I see is this spiteful face of yours, and I don't understand why you have to be like this. Was your intention tonight to pick a fight with me? That was not how it seemed this morning."
Raito laughed mirthlessly. "You say that to me, and yet color me the instigator? That's rich, father, even for you."
Soichiro had never known such agitation before being gifted with a son. Truly. It was its own sort of punishment. Ironic that he had so wished for a son, believing things would play out in the way he imagined. Despite his anger, though, it did pain him that this acerbic stranger was his flesh and blood, that they could not find a place in which they could lay down arms. He tried to be a good father, he really did try, but his temper often got the better of him. Nothing he ever did seemed to go right where his son was concerned. He could warn him of shark-infested waters and Raito would blithely jump in, just because he was advised not to.
He took a deep breath, centering himself as he sometimes had to do in interrogations to keep his head and reactions in check. This was his son, and he was the father. It was his duty to withstand some of the backlash and take it in stride. It was very hard to do, this being such a close, personal matter. But perhaps if he allowed Raito to vent some of his ire, they could move past this stage and progress.
It was a very strange look indeed that Raito gave him when he held the bottle of wine aloft in a gesture of filling his son's glass. Yet he grudgingly brought it close to be filled, almost compulsively, as if he weren't giving the action as much thought as he was the motivation behind it.
Soichiro drank, encouraging his son to do the same through unspoken means, though he nearly slipped up by commanding Raito to drink his wine. Contrary as his son was, he would do the opposite of any demand placed upon him. And it was only through frustration that Soichiro kept ordering him to do this or that. His son's motivations baffled him, as did some of the choices he made, and it would all be so much easier if he could give out an instruction and have it followed, as it would be by any of his men at the station. But with Raito, he was not a Commander in Chief, he was a father not respected enough to be obeyed. The truth of it hurt, and he wished that just once, Raito could try to give him the deference he deserved.
Amazingly enough, Raito drank from his cup. Being given a choice, it seemed like he was less prone to be obstinate.
"What happens between your mother and I is between us," Soichiro said in what he hoped was not a grating tone. "I don't expect you to understand how complicated certain things can become between two people or how different it can look from within the relationship as opposed to without. But I appreciate your concern, and I will... make an effort to decrease my consumption of such things." He indicated the wine. "I have been meaning to for a while now, I just never seemed to find the right time."
His son viewed him warily. Concessions were a first. He was likely trying to adjust.
"And what of work?" Raito asked him.
"I admit that I have a problem letting other people handle things that I feel would be accomplished better in my own hands. In some ways, it is an admirable trait for someone in a position of authority... but as you pointed out, it also has its drawbacks. Your mother fears that overwork is dragging my health down as well as making me drink more, and she is probably right."
Raito was wearing a blank expression that Soichiro supposed might actually be a cover for surprise. They'd certainly never spoken like this before.
"Enough about me. You had something else you wished to speak of."
The brunet drained his glass and set it upon the table. "You'll remember this morning how I mentioned not going in to work?"
Soichiro nodded, feeling it best not to offer commentary. He still felt that his son's chosen career path was futile and a dead end, not to mention unscrupulous. He knew though that he could not force those truths into his son's thick skull. He'd tried countless times and all it did was cause more bad blood between them.
"Well," Raito continued off-handedly, "I actually am considering quitting."
Soichiro blinked. "You what?" Had he heard that right? But Raito had vehemently defended his career choice for years!
Ruddy amber eyes, nearly the same color as his wife's stared back at him unflinchingly. Calmly. Affirming the words he'd heard with their steadfast regard. Was this a test of some sort? If he congratulated Raito, would he fail the test and set them back to square one? "And if you do terminate your employment, where will you go next?"
Something shifted in Raito's eyes and he did not look altogether unpleased. In fact, he looked a bit more open and forgiving. "I've thought of pursuing law from a different angle. And what I wanted to ask you was where you thought I might be able to do that if I considered law enforcement."
Soichiro's jaw literally dropped.
"Don't get your hopes up," Raito warned him, his look sharpening though a sulk lingered about his mouth. "I'm just seeing what my options are, and thought it worthwhile to at least consider what you've been harping on about for all this time."
"Your first step would have to be the police academy, regardless of which area interested you."
"I thought as much."
"The time it took you would be a minor setback; since you already studied law, you will be ahead of the other graduates as soon as you complete their regimen."
Raito nodded, taking in the information, but his expression promised nothing.
"It wouldn't be with my department, but I could put in a good word for you were you to go through with this. I think you would find placement quickly, though you would still have to spend some time ascending the ranks."
"And if I pursued that, are there any positions that would afford me autonomy?"
"Yes, but they are highly competitive."
"Hmn," the brunet mused. "Well, I do like a challenge."
"Raito, what caused this..." he fumbled for words, for the right phrasing so as to not offend.
"My sudden interest in alternate career opportunities?"
Soichiro nodded.
"I told you, I am not committed to anything yet. I just want to see what else is out there. Perhaps something will appeal to me more than what I do now. It would be foolish not to investigate such things." He smiled somewhat ruefully. "Not to mention, the constant dinner meetings are rather banal."
---
Misa checked her watch impatiently for the third time. She couldn't understand why Raito hadn't called her back. She'd told him it was important. It was unusual not to be able to reach him and it irritated her.
"Daddy!" she shrieked up at the second floor, stomping her foot upon the bottom step of the wooden staircase as she clutched the railing with one hand for balance. It made a somewhat satisfying racket. "Where is Raito??"
"Pumpkin, Daddy is working," the Chairman called back as if through gritted teeth.
He sounded like he was busy.
She didn't care. Her brows drew together as she considered his response. Then she leaned further forward upon the railing as if to better be heard as she summoned all the air in her lungs to call back, "But I haven't been able to reach him ALL DAY!"
A long suffering sigh could be heard from the first room at the top of the stairs. "Did it occur to you that he might be tied up with work?"
She clutched her phone tightly in her hand and gathered her short, voluminous skirt in her hands as she raced up the stairs, a monumentally petulant frown riding her dainty features. "Daddy-!" She burst into the Chairman's study to argue with him. "He always calls me back," she informed him in the tone of a spoiled princess, her stance demanding that this be dealt with now.
"Darling," he said through gritted teeth, "What can I do to take your mind off of this?" He really did have better things to do. Sometimes he wished he could lock her out of the house. She could be the absolute worst for his concentration.
"MAKE HIM CALL ME."
Chairman Amane breathed a deep sigh as he took off his reading spectacles and rubbed the bridge of his nose. In truth, Raito had been scarce the last few days, but with Misa breathing down his neck, he couldn't really blame the boy. Besides, he was probably stealing off to dally with that detective, whom all these young men were incomprehensibly preoccupied with, while he still could. That was a shocker. Raito was the last person he would have guessed to be that type. Aiber as well. It made no sense. Kids these days. They'd be put to better slinging slop buckets for all that they actually used the brains between their ears.
"Precious, why don't you just go pay him a visit then? He doesn't appear to be at the office." Sorry, m'boy, and good luck. He might feel a touch bad for the brunet, but he certainly was not going to sacrifice his peace and calm because of it. Best to get Misa off the premises.
Raito was going to lead a long and miserable life at the hands of his little girl. He might as well start getting used to it.
He replaced his spectacles and resumed shuffling through paperwork, already dismissing her presence in his head.
"You're right... I could just pop by and see him."
He could hear the smile starting to shine through her words as she spoke. He couldn't care less - he had things to take care of. "Uh huh," he said distractedly. "Why don't you go do that now, muffin?"
"Ok, Daddy, I will," she sang, bouncing over to give him a quick hug, her head already filling with plans. "Buh bye!"
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TBC
A/N 2: I wrote a good half of this in the wee hours of the morning, stopping at 4am or so. Interesting sometimes what gets written when you are drifting in and out of sleep. Haha phantom!L pr0n. I guess that officially makes me weird. Pft.