DN -- Home
Title: Home
Collection: The Margins
Fandom: Death Note
Character: Shuichi Aizawa
Rating: G
Word Count: 321
Warnings: none
Summary: There's more to a man than his work.
Author's Note: I love how they played it in canon.
HOME
Shuichi Aizawa is home, for the first time in literally weeks.
It stretches his heartstrings almost to snapping to see, at intervals, that his daughter is growing up while his back is turned. There is something truly uncanny about feeling this way-like a traveler rightfully returning, and like a ghost in his own home.
He wraps his arms around his wife from behind and trails her as she bustles quietly around the kitchen, trying to hide the fact that she’s forgotten how to cook for three. She’s so warm. So warm, and kind, and verifiable. The scent of her, of her shampoo and her perfume and her essence, is a thousand times clearer and sharper and lovelier than his fading, scrabbling attempts at remembering it when he’s gone.
His eyelids are weighted, and he follows her clumsily. Eventually she turns partway and gives him a little half-smile.
“Why don’t you sit down for a few minutes while I finish?” she suggests without so much as a sliver of annoyance.
He smiles wearily back, and he kisses her gently, because “Thank you” is not enough, and because “This is why I love you, married you, and want you in my life forever” has too many syllables for this tired man to navigate.
He settles in the armchair in the living room and watches his daughter stack multi-colored blocks bedecked with different kanji. She constructs a perfectly symmetrical tower, and he thinks about architecture and design, about colleges and internships-
He shakes himself. There’s time yet. There’s plenty of time.
When the structure is complete, his daughter collects herself to her feet and goes over to him, leaning on his arm and considering him, her eyes bright and curious.
“Daddy,” she says, “what’s a Kira?”
When his wife comes in to announce that dinner’s ready, she finds her husband holding his daughter to him as though nothing can ever pry them apart.
Collection: The Margins
Fandom: Death Note
Character: Shuichi Aizawa
Rating: G
Word Count: 321
Warnings: none
Summary: There's more to a man than his work.
Author's Note: I love how they played it in canon.
HOME
Shuichi Aizawa is home, for the first time in literally weeks.
It stretches his heartstrings almost to snapping to see, at intervals, that his daughter is growing up while his back is turned. There is something truly uncanny about feeling this way-like a traveler rightfully returning, and like a ghost in his own home.
He wraps his arms around his wife from behind and trails her as she bustles quietly around the kitchen, trying to hide the fact that she’s forgotten how to cook for three. She’s so warm. So warm, and kind, and verifiable. The scent of her, of her shampoo and her perfume and her essence, is a thousand times clearer and sharper and lovelier than his fading, scrabbling attempts at remembering it when he’s gone.
His eyelids are weighted, and he follows her clumsily. Eventually she turns partway and gives him a little half-smile.
“Why don’t you sit down for a few minutes while I finish?” she suggests without so much as a sliver of annoyance.
He smiles wearily back, and he kisses her gently, because “Thank you” is not enough, and because “This is why I love you, married you, and want you in my life forever” has too many syllables for this tired man to navigate.
He settles in the armchair in the living room and watches his daughter stack multi-colored blocks bedecked with different kanji. She constructs a perfectly symmetrical tower, and he thinks about architecture and design, about colleges and internships-
He shakes himself. There’s time yet. There’s plenty of time.
When the structure is complete, his daughter collects herself to her feet and goes over to him, leaning on his arm and considering him, her eyes bright and curious.
“Daddy,” she says, “what’s a Kira?”
When his wife comes in to announce that dinner’s ready, she finds her husband holding his daughter to him as though nothing can ever pry them apart.