The Moon Saw

The dim half-moon peaked over the horizon. It shone its faint light over the empty streets of Kyoto. It beheld a young blond boy staring dumbly at a building’s roof while his white-haired friend tried to get his attention. It saw an ancient man make a phone call on a train. It beheld a middle-aged mountain of a man walking away from a train station towards his home. It saw the black shadow that lingered above him.

James Cain walked down the streets of Kyoto. His shoulders locked back. His eyes were straightforward. His suit was impeccable. His face… creased in a deep frown.

Today had been a bad day. It’d started off well enough. James had gotten the prosecution to drop charges against his client (an act of God in the Japanese legal system). To celebrate his coworkers had invited him out to drinks as they often did. James had been so drunk on the thrill of success that he’d accepted the invitation. It’d been shaping up to be such a good day before they’d made it to the bar.

What his coworkers had presented as a celebratory drink was a mixer. One that James was not permitted to extract himself from. They’d even tried to take off his wedding ring.

James flinched. He’d managed to talk them out of outright robbery. Still, his ring was no shield against the amorous intentions of women who felt their prime slipping away. The atmosphere of the mixer was stifling and desperate. It’d been like watching used car salesman try to cheat each other. It’d taken James two hours and feigning low alcohol tolerance to extricate himself from that debacle. He would not be accepting another invitation from that group again.

Their parting words rang in his ears.

‘Pretend?’ James seethed. He rubbed his plain gold band with his thumb. Who was pretending? And what business was it of theirs? Was it so wrong to remember when you were happy?

James sighed. That thought drowned the anger building up inside him. He just wanted to be home. He wished to forget this evening and everything associated with it. He wanted to see his son. He came in sight of his apartment. It was a blessing that they lived so close to the train station. He looked up with a smile. He saw his son’s light was still on. He knew it would be.

A cloak of shadow briefly caressed James as a shape passed over the moon. He looked up. He scanned the rooftops. His heart raced. He wasn’t scared. He was excited. He was looking for someone. He didn’t know what at first. Then, he realized what he was looking for. When that realization hit, his heart broke.

When James and Hitomi moved to America, to the bad part of St. Louis. She’d make sure her patrol coincided with James going home. Every night she’d always look down at him from the rooftops. He’d look up. She’d wave. He’d smile. It’d been their secret tradition. They’d kept it for 14 years… until she broke it. She broke it the night she could never do it again.

James swallowed bile. He entered his apartment. He didn’t look up. He didn’t see the shadow leap from the building behind him. Nor did he see it tap on his son’s window.

---

Christopher stared at his ceiling in deep contemplation. He wasn’t thinking about some great problem. He was remembering. He was looking through his fractured memories to convince himself this last year wasn’t a lie.

He wasn’t trying to remember his mother, he’d long since abandoned that exercise as futile. He was trying to remember his side of a conversation. He looked through his memories for episodes of talking to an empty room.

Christopher remembered eating breakfast and then suddenly bursting out laughing. He remembered looking at an empty chair and laughing harder. He wondered if his mother made a silly face, or if she’d just looked bewildered. He recalled playing basketball and seeing an empty spot in the bleachers. He remembered feeling happy.

He dove through his memories. There were so many. Every time he sat at a table, it seemed like he was talking to an empty chair. Every time he left for school, he had to stand still in the hall for an eternity.

Christopher focused his mind. He tried to narrow in on those days he’d spend hours in the St. Louis Quirk Gymnasium, playing with quirks he couldn’t recall. He grunted responses to a corner of the room. There was no way to know if that was his mother or a coach he’d also forgotten. He refocused on memories of home; to that ‘charming’ (haunted) brownstone in the middle of downtown.

One memory leaped to the forefront of his mind. Christopher was sitting down to eat. It was corned beef, his favorite. His dad was there, as was the empty chair. His dad talked to the empty chair, something about a case they both found themselves involved with. His dad promised not to hold anything back. The chair must’ve said something because he laughed. Christopher didn’t. He stabbed at his food listlessly. He felt nervous.

---

“Chris?” Dad raised an eyebrow. “Is there something wrong with the food?”

“… wannabeahero.”

“What was that son?”

Christopher swallowed. “I… I want to be a hero.”

“Well, that’s great son--”

James was stricken silent. Christopher looked at the empty chair. Tears welled in the corners of his eyes. Was he about to cry?

“… I want to try.”

After a moment of silence, Christopher was suddenly enraged. He stood. His chair clattered behind him.

“You think I can’t?!”

“Chris!”

Christopher’s rage grew as he stared daggers at the empty chair. It built and built as tense seconds passed before exploding in a sudden declaration that left his own ears ringing.

“THIS ISN’T ABOUT YOU!” Christopher screamed at the empty chair.

“DON’T TALK TO YOUR MOTHER LIKE THAT!”

James stood, his face every bit the shade of crimson his son’s had become. He wound up for a verbal assault only to bite his tongue as someone else seemed to talk.

Christopher found himself listening to a voice he couldn’t hear. In a few moments he wasn’t quite as angry as he’d been, he was… embarrassed. Embarrassed at his own outburst and at those strange unheard words. Unable to process his emotions, Christopher lashed out one last time.

“SHUT UP!” Christopher stormed from the table.

“Christopher Cyrus Cain!” James screamed. It was too late. Christopher was out of the dining room.

The next thing Christopher remembered after his outburst was lying on his bed. He stared at his curtains; the silver light of a full moon leaked through. That light was overwhelmed by a sliver of golden light leaking from the hall as his door opened.

“Go away.”

The door closed. Did she leave? No. He remembered a weight falling upon the foot of his bed. Christopher felt his back prickle with anger. He felt fire rise in his throat. He felt words start to leak out of his mouth. Then… he felt shame. Christopher remembered quieting. He remembered sliding closer to the window. He remembered warmth running across his back and over his shoulder. Then… he just remembered staring at those black curtains.

As he stared at those curtains hearing nothing, Christopher’s feelings bounced from one extreme to the next. Anger, regret, surprise, fear, joy! After an eternity of false silence, Christopher found himself restraining a smile. Then, in answer to an unasked question, he spoke again.

“I’ll try.”

He felt something warm caress his cheek. Then the door opened again. As it closed again, Christopher spoke one last time. A line he said often to the empty air.

“Love you too.”

---

Christopher frowned. He couldn’t decipher that memory. He focused in on a moment. The moment when he lay in bed, staring at the curtains. He felt surprised. What had his mother said to make him feel surprised? Had she confessed to knowing about his Quirk’s drawback? Had she told him of her own struggles? Was she instead confessing some dark truth about hero work? Was there a reason she didn’t want her son to be a hero that had nothing to do with his quirk?

WHY THE HELL COULD HE ONLY REMEMBER FEELINGS?!

Christopher sighed. He couldn’t even remember why he’d wanted to be a hero at that dinner. He wondered if he’d lied when he told his mother ‘THIS ISN’T ABOUT YOU!’ There was no way to know. This trip down memory lane had been an abject failure. He’d hoped to convince himself that his mother didn’t know about his drawback. Now, he was more uncertain than ever.

There was no way to know the answer. Not unless Saraki was able to cure him.

If only he wasn’t so scared of going back to that monster.

Christopher frowned. He was a fool, but not stupid. He didn’t trust Saraki. Saraki was a wild animal, striking from one need to the next, a slave to his impulses. But… he was a genius. That much was plain just from talking to him. What others may dismiss as incurable, Saraki would see as a worthy challenge.

If only Christopher wasn’t terrified of entering the QRS building and never leaving again. If only he could find it in himself to trust Saraki. His mother had. Though Christopher couldn’t escape the suspicion that his mother was a TERRIBLE judge of character--

A chirp at the window stole Christopher’s attention. Christopher looked over. Hitomi was sitting on the window sill. She tapped the glass.

“Where’ve you been?” Christopher questioned. He opened the window. Hitomi fluttered in happily and landed on the foot of his bed like it was her nest.

“CHIRP!”Hitomi squealed as if that would answer Christopher’s inquiry. She spread her arms out wide as if she were describing the fish she almost caught.

Christopher closed the window before the chill air invaded his room. “I don’t speak draconic.” He closed the blinds.

“Chirp,” Hitomi sighed. There was nothing for it. She fell backward. She slammed into the bed with a soft thud. She began to snore. She must’ve had a long night. Christopher drew his knees up to his chin. He poked the dragon’s exposed belly. Hitomi rolled away grumpily.

“Tired?” Christopher teased.

Hitomi chirped an exhausted ‘yes.’ He wondered what she got up to when she disappeared like this. Did Gigan get up to similar shenanigans? Christopher frowned. Now that Inigo knew the truth, maybe he could just ask.

Knock Knock Knock

The gentle raps of his father’s fist at the door drove Christopher to his feet. He paused. He touched his face. What kind of face was he making right now? Did his anxiety show? If he answered the door, would he make his dad worry?

knock

His father knocked again, quieter this time. “Chris?” He whispered. “Are you awake?”

There was something quietly pleading in his father’s voice. Christopher didn’t hesitate. He walked over to the door. He swung the door open. There standing at the threshold, looking unusually sad was his father.“Yeah, sorry, I was just--” Christopher couldn’t help but notice his father’s state. “Are you okay?”

“L-long day.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

James frowned as he considered his son's offer.

The offer felt blasphemous. Christopher had never offered to hear his father’s problems before. Dad was dad. Christopher wasn’t his support, it was the other way around! He almost withdrew the offer with an apology when James smiled. His eyes were sparkling as he accepted his son’s profane gesture.

“I got invited to a… mixer.”

“… oh.”

“It wasn’t by choice,” James grumbled.

“I didn’t mean it like that!”

“No. It’s fine.” James shook his head. Christopher had never heard him even mention another woman in the two years since his wife died. He studied his son. “What about you? You look like Hell.”

“… it was a really long day.”

James looked over Christopher’s shoulder. “Ah.” Christopher followed his father’s gaze. Did he see Hitomi or…? There, still opened, was his mother’s diary. He hadn’t put it away. Shit. What could he say now? What excuse could he give for thinking about his mom out of the blue like this? What lie would his dad believe--

“… do you want an Irish Coffee?

Christopher blinked. “What?”

“Decaf of course.” James smiled sympathetically. Christopher saw it etched in his features. James didn’t need an explanation for why Christopher’d been thinking about his mom today. Dad had been thinking about her too. “We both have work tomorrow.”

Christopher nodded. He felt like a worm.

“I’ll go get a pot started then. Come to the kitchen whenever you’re ready.”

“Thanks.” That was all Christopher could say. With a smile, James closed the door.

Christopher froze. He listened to his dad’s footsteps carry him to the kitchen. He looked at his mom’s diary. He hated lying to his dad, but he couldn’t help it. He lied out of a pernicious instinct born from a long-held secret.

He had lied just in this conversation. He let his dad think they were the same. Let him think he missed his mom in the same way he missed his wife. He let his dad be deceived. And over their late-night coffee, he’d do it again. More lies always came from his lips.

Christopher’s fist squeezed. He was tired of lying to him.

A dragon smiled.

Christopher was tired of lying, but he couldn’t hurt his father with the truth. There was only one thing for it wasn’t there? He had to make the lie real. His only hope for that was to emulate his mother.

An image of Saraki flashed through his mind. He had to be a shit judge of character.