Japanese -English - Thoughts

The doors opened seemlessly, giving way to a high ceiling and golden light. The space beyond was vast, wide, soft light from modern chandeliers spilling softly across polished floors.

Hikari followed in a half pace behind his father, movements times, measured, exactly like he'd been taught. He did not look around immediately. He knew better than to do so.

The space pressed down on him.

Curiosity eventually made him risk a glance around anyway, eyes fleeting, taking care to not linger on anything enough to be noticed. He'd only been to a place like this once before— different rooms, similar arrangements. Ikebana arrangements rested along the wall, delicate and perfect, and Hikari subconsciously found himself committing them to memory, to sketch once he returned home.

He kept his gaze forward, slipping just past the edge of his father's suit, just enough to be able to easily follow him, without looking like he needed him to lead the way.

Like he'd been taught.

"Stay close," his father said quietly, the words meant for ears that were his, and only his.

"Yes." Hikari replied, just as softly.

Around them conversation flowed in careful, even layers. Voices carried, but never rose. People stood in small groups, angled just enough to include or exclude without making it obvious.

People greeted them. Careful nods, practiced indifference.

They did not stop immediately. His father guided him forward with nothing more than pace and expectations, weaving through the crowd as though it parted for him— which, Hikari came to realise, it did.

His father stopped.

Hikari bowed when he was meant to, the exact timing, the careful angle. He repeated the phrases he had practiced a thousand times in front of the mirror, voice steady, expression neutral.

He did not miss the way, some of them looked at him.

Not unkind. Weighing.

Hikari held their gaze just long enough to be polite—no longer—before letting his attention slip.

Past them. Past the conversation.

Japanese -English - Thoughts

The conversation, it seemed, had finally reached him.

Until now, he had existed largely at the edge of it, bowing when required and speaking when prompted. Most of the faces had already begun to blend together.

This one, however, was closer to his own age.

Hikari's eyes lingered on the adult for a while longer. He was tall. A little taller than Takeshi. His hand rested briefly on the smaller boy's shoulder.

Hikari watched it fall away a moment later.

The offered hand lingered between them.

Hikari glanced down at it, then back up at the boy. The hakama was white and light cyan. The colors were difficult to miss amidst the sea of dark fabrics and carefully selected neutrals. Embroidered patterns ran across the fabric, intricate enough to catch the eye without drawing attention to themselves. Archery. An unusual choice for an event like this. Hikari found himself studying them for a moment. They seemed strangely out of place among the floral arrangements and polished floors of the venue.

He didn't accept the hand immediately. Instead, he waited, eyes not shifting from the boy in front of him, to see how his father would respond to the newcomers.

Neither father nor son had seen fit to introduce themselves fully.

The implication of it was not lost on him.

"Mr. Sugasaki." His father's voice rang out, low and rich. "It has been a while."

The words carried the easy familiarity of a man greeting an old acquaintance, but little in his father's expression suggested warmth. Hikari stiffened imperceptibly as Takeshi's hand settled on his head, narrowly managing to keep his surprise from bleeding into his features.

It wouldn't do to have his metamorphmagus bleed out in public.

His father was not someone who normally touched him. Even if he needed to, Hikari would have expected it to be his shoulder or his back. The top of his head felt... unexpectedly intimate.

Or perhaps it was more of a well-calculated, well-timed move.

The latter felt more likely.

Hikari nearly missed the next few words.

The contact was unexpected enough to disrupt the steady rhythm of observation he had settled into throughout the evening.

"Allow me to introduce my son, Hikari."

Right, there was a script to follow.

Hikari slipped back into it with practiced ease.

The movement was practiced. Measured. Perfect. He inclined his head at the appropriate angle, neither too deep nor too shallow. Then his grey eyes found the warm black of the boy before him.

His gaze shifted briefly to the hand still suspended between them.

A beat later, he accepted it.

"Hikari," he said. "It is a pleasure to meet you."

Up close, the archery motifs were even more intricate than they had appeared from a distance.

Hikari found himself studying them for a moment longer than was strictly polite.