How Could You? (Souyo)

Stepping Stone

Yosuke's POV:

"Thanks, Dad," I smile, taking my seat at the table.

"Hm," he mumbles in response, lifting his chopsticks to his mouth.

Teddie's eyes dart between us.

"What is it?" I scoff.

"I, uh... Saw Narukami earlier," Dad says, wiping his face with a napkin.

"Earlier?"

So... he's not gone?

"Yeah." He clears his throat. "You guys... did patch things up, right?"

I shrug. "Yeah."

He doesn't seem convinced.

"We just had another argument," I sigh. "No big deal."

"You should apologize," he says.

"Dad, I'm not-"

"He seemed sorry, too."

"What?"

"Talking about you... I dunno. There was a sense of guilt in his tone," Dad says. "Not how it usually is."

"What were you fighting over?" Teddie asks.

I don't respond.

"Yosuke," Dad sighs.

"He should be the one apologizing," I snap. "He's the one who wants to leave."

"Leave?" He frowns. "But... I thought he liked it here?"

"It's not enough to satisfy someone like him," I scoff.

"Don't be petty," he mutters. "If he wants to leave, that's on him."

"So, you're taking his side?"

"What do you want me to do?" He says. "It's his decision, at the end of the day."

"What, to leave me?" I yell. "To just... ditch me for something better?"

"I'm sure he would keep in touch—"

"What, like Katsuragi?" I snap.

Dad purses his lips.

"Exactly," I scoff, crossing my arms.

"...Look," he grunts. "He didn't leave after all, alright? He... probably had time to think it over with Adachi-san."

"Adachi?" I ask.

"Uh-huh," Teddie butts in. "He was shopping for groceries with Adachi-baby at Junes!"

The fuck does Adachi want now? Another excuse to slack off?

"Cool," I grumble.

"Yosuke," Dad warns.

"What?" I scoff.

"Don't be upset with him."

"I'm sick and tired of being treated like some sort of... stepping stone for people," I snap.

"You know that's not how he sees you."

"He used me to... Become this amazing, cool guy, and... Now he doesn't need me anymore. Now he wants to go back to where he belongs."

"Stop feeling sorry for yourself," Dad mumbles.

What the fuck...? Doesn't he give a shit about me? About how I feel?

I slide my plate across the table, pushing my chair out.

"Where are you going?" He asks.

"Away," I grunt, heading for the stairs.