What You've Done (Shizune) (sort of)

What You've Done


He's angry. Of course he is, he's angry a lot. There are so many things to be upset about, these days.

The company is going through a rough patch, the economy is still sagging. For the first time in ten years, he's had to cut corners, to scrimp and save. And that's scary. That's frightening. It hurts his pride, it makes him look like a man that can't provide for his family. It makes him look weak, like a failure.

He screams and shouts, but she doesn't back down one inch, she's right there with him. Because she's angry too.

And he knows she has every right to be.

Finally, their fury ends, their rage boils down to something quiet. He broods, she simmers. And both of them hurt.

He turns to stare out the window, it's beginning to snow, winter has come.

“When?”

She stares at his back, hands trembling at her sides. One is a fist but it shouldn't be, it should be holding his hand, and she wants to. She doesn't want to be fighting and shouting, she wants to be breaking down. But she can't do that, she can't afford to do that, not after this. Not like this.

“Yesterday.”

He doesn't respond. The grounds are so beautiful, when they're covered in soft white snow. It's one of the things he loves the most about living here. In the strained silence, he thinks back to the other things he loves. The things that matter the most to him.

It's funny, how you forget about those sometimes.

“And you didn't say anyth--”

“How was I supposed to say anything when you didn't come home from the bar until 3 in the morning?” She cries, why won't he turn around? Why won't he look at her?

She wants him to turn around, in her mind she pleads for him to just sit down so they can talk, so they can figure out how many pieces of their lives they still have, and how to put them back together.

But he doesn't, he can't. He's closed up, and she's not even that hurt. Of course she hurts, it tears her apart inside, but more than anything she's scared. The letter that she holds in her other hand scares her more than anything else in the world. More than anything has in her entire life, and much more than the fact that he's been unfaithful.

She came here to show it to him, not to scream at him. Because there are more important things than the two of them, there are things that matter more than some back alley tryst, two weeks ago.

Please, she begs in silence. Please, just turn around and see my face.

“I didn't know her.” He says, still staring out the window.

“I don't care.”

“I don't even know her name.”

“Do you think that makes me--”

“No.” He growls, grimacing at the window. No, he didn't mean it like that. His left hand is opening and closing on reflex, searching for something to occupy it. Usually, he has her hand for that.

Will he still have it, after today? Will he still have her?

The snow keeps falling.

“That's not what I meant.” He sounds weak. He looks weak, struggling like this, and that makes him upset. But this is what a man does, he owes up to his mistakes. A man doesn't take the easy way out, he doesn't run away from the things he's done.

He was weak before, that night at the bar. He gave in to pressures and desires and fears, and--he glares, both hands balling into fists--and now he'll answer for that.

With one final deep breath, he whirls around, ready to face her anger, ready to face her judgment. Because it was his mistake, his weakness that--

Why isn't she glaring?

Why is--

Why is she crying?

And she's holding something too, why didn't he notice before? It looks like a letter, an envelope of some kind. Has she had it this whole time?

He opens his mouth to speak but a door opens on the other side of the room. The woman spins around, wiping her eyes. A little girl stands there, saying nothing, just watching them with an intense, curious gaze.

The man's jaw clenches, but his wife breaks into a smile that's nowhere near convincing. She sets the letter down on the desk before her hands spring into motion.

[Shizune, dear, what is it? Are you cold?]

The girl nods, still watching them. She has to squint to read her mother's signing though, she'll probably need glasses soon, but she's so young. The woman steps towards her.

[Come with me, we'll turn the heat up and find you a sweater. We can check on your brother too, while we're at it.]

She reaches for her daughter's hand and the little girl accepts, glancing back at the man next to the window one more time before she disappears from view.

Her mother returns several minutes later to find the letter sitting on the desk, next to a bottle of scotch. Both have been opened. His hands are shaking now but he hasn't had a single drink, he doesn't want the bottle to hold, it's cold, it's just so cold.

The heat is on, now, the house is beginning to warm up. But he's shivering, he's not angry anymore. He's scared. Getting angry can't fix what's in that letter, getting angry can't fix--

She takes quick, confident strides towards him, first things first. No one could be married to Jigoro Hakamichi and lack the nerve to do what needs to be done. When she reaches him, she pulls one hand back, the quiet rush of the heater is joined by the slap of skin on skin.

His face hurts, but he's not angry anymore. And neither is she. Her hand hurts, and that letter, that letter says...

His hands are cold, even as he holds her in his arms. She's crying now, she's not angry, even though she should be. She's hurt, but more than anything else, she's scared, and so is he. For her, for himself, for their children.

“Mayoi...” he breathes, unable to think, unable to do anything else. He feels weak and helpless again, but he can't find the tiniest spark of rage. There's just this chilling dread, there's just his wife, sobbing into his chest.

“Shh.” She pleads. Words won't do anything for either of them, now.

Outside, the snowflakes continue tumbling down to join the earth.





“What You've Done” is a song by NumberNin6, based off “I Don't Feel It Anymore” by William Fitzsimmon.