Healing and All That Entails

The days go by in blurs for Senjuro now, but they follow a standard routine, simple enough to complete even when the pit in his stomach feels too deep to dig out of. He wakes up early, letting the rising sun filtering through the curtains be his morning call, and immediately gets up, knowing he'll gain nothing for letting his sadness keep him bound to his bed. It won't hit quite yet, but if he stays for too long there's a chance he won't leave. He'll go to the bathroom, doing the basics to at least look presentable even though he's sure nobody will see him besides his father, and then head to the kitchen.

The cabinets are full as he rifles through them, but he notes that they're low on oil. He'll need to go shopping for more soon, but not today. Surprisingly, there's a full bottle of alcohol, the kind he only gets to cook with on the rare occasion Shinjuro doesn't get to it first. Its been here for two days, still untouched. Senjuro smiles at that, even if his lips feel like lead.

Rice is measured, washed, and set to cook. In a separate pot, he adds chopped tofu to the miso broth he's created. Admittedly, he's a bit tired of having the same breakfast over and over again, but he doesn't have the will to do anything different.

In all honesty, he hates the person he's become in his grief, someone unrecognizable even to himself, but he isn't always like this. Some days are just harder than others, and he knows he should be more gentle with himself. There's still things to smile about, there's still happiness in his life, and he tries to remember that even through the haze of despair.

Kyojuro would want him to smile.

Breakfast is finished quickly and in perfect timing with Shinjuro's own awakening, who noisily opens the door and heads to the bathroom down the hall opposite of the kitchen. Senjuro serves his food on a tray rather than the table next to him, unsure where the man will choose to eat and not wanting to risk guessing. Before Kyojuro died, before his parting words have been left with Shinjuro, he ate solely in his room, making it clear he's not to be bothered ever. These days he'll occasionally come out and eat with Senjuro, though it's usually in silence and never lasts long. Still, it's a vast improvement, and he has to admit it makes him hopeful.

With a breath of hesitation, he takes the tray of arranged food out into the hallway, intending to leave it at his father's door. Instead, he runs straight into Shinjuro, just barely stopping before they can collide and ruin the food in the process. For a moment, they stare at each other in shock, still unsure of how to act around one another, almost like they don't know if they can interact despite being right in front of each other. As always, Senjuro is the first to come to his senses, taking a timid step back.

"Sorry, father," he forces his voice straight, anxiety creeping into the corners of his words, "I didn't hear you coming."

He can hear it now; the berating, the scolding, the harsh words spat solely to hurt. You're not aware enough , they bite. This is why you couldn't make it to Final Selection .

Shinjuro takes the tray from him wordlessly, making Senjuro flinch and look away, but he doesn't do anything. His eyes flicker from his son, down to the meal, then back to Senjuro again, completely unreadable.

He hums then. A deep, powerful sound, but undeniably pleased.

"Thank you, Senjuro."

A gentle gasp escapes Senjuro against his will, snapping his head up in surprise to gape at his father, but Shinjuro has already begun walking back to his room. He stands in frozen awe until the door slides shut, leaving him alone again but with a conflicted warmth in his chest.

He sighs, his shoulders slumping on the exhale. Maybe things are getting better, though he knows healing is a slow process. Kyojuro used to tell him that all the time, and encouraged his patience when it came to their father. Sometimes it feels like a lost cause, sometimes he thinks Kyojuro saw something nobody else could.