Work Text:
Storms in Yokohama were never as brutal as this one.
Constant rain, harsh winds, drastic drops of temperature as soon as the sun goes down. Fukuzawa doesn’t mind it, however; he’s always preferred the cold over Japan’s humid summers.
His only grievance with the weather is that it’s been making arguments with his son, Chuuya, more frequent.
“Is that all you’re wearing?” Fukuzawa asks, glancing at his son over the rim of his cup of tea.
As a detective, it’s not often that he gets days off; which is why he made sure to plan an entire day for him and his son to bond when the opportunity presented itself.
Chuuya freezes at the bottom of the stairs and looks down at himself. He’s wearing jeans, a red sweatshirt and a black denim jacket on top. Both of them know that’s not going to do much against the harsh temperature.
“It’s not that cold,” Chuuya argues, weakly. “And aren’t we going to be indoors most of the day anyway? Why does it matter?”
Fukuzawa could say that it matters because Chuuya gets cold easily, and once he gets cold, he gets grumpy, but nevermind that. He knows better than to insist; that would only make his son shed his jacket too, if only to prove a point.
“Suit yourself,” he shrugs. He sips on the rest of his tea and stands from the couch. “Ready to go, then?”
“Uh, just one sec.”
Chuuya pulls his phone out of his pocket, and Fukuzawa takes the small window of opportunity to wash his cup before they head out.
He doesn’t have to ask to know that his son is texting that boyfriend of his, Dazai. He’s a peculiar kid, but not one that Fukuzawa is necessarily against. If anything, he’s glad that Chuuya found someone who brings out the most childish parts of him; he’s always been so serious for his age.
Similarly, he’s glad that a teenager as evidently lonely as Dazai crossed paths with someone as fiercely loyal and protective as Chuuya. They work well together, in Fukuzawa’s opinion.
When he makes it back to the living room, Chuuya has a tiny smile on his face as he ties up his combat boots.
He lets Chuuya walk out first, and on his way out of the door, he grabs an umbrella from the closet by the genkan. He gets the feeling that today will be rainy.
As they’re walking to the train station, the loud chirping of birds catches their attention.
Both of them look up as birds fly above their heads. Thousands of birds, all headed in one direction, chirping loudly. It’s not the most unusual sight, but it’s more or less uncommon at this time of day.
“A storm?” Chuuya asks, curiously.
Fukuzawa nods. “This is why you should’ve brought another jacket.”
Chuuya rolls his eyes and turns around with a huff, stomping down the road and towards the train station.
He watches his son go with a smile.
Chuuya likes museums; an enthusiasm of his that Fukuzawa is quite proud of, because he invested a lot of time taking his son to art exhibits in an effort to show him how to appreciate human expression.
Yokohama Museum of Art, located by the Tokyo Bay, is Fukuzawa’s personal favorite. Changing exhibitions, a lovely scenery, less tourists than can be found in other museums.
It’s a perfect place for some father-son bonding time, in his opinion. Not like the setting is the issue in their, admittedly, distant relationship.
Fukuzawa works odd hours, he knows. He doesn’t spend a lot of time at home, and whenever he is home, he’s locked in his office, going over reports or listening to interrogations or whatever else he couldn’t manage to do at the precinct.
Chuuya’s never given him any grief about it, but it’s taken a toll on their relationship.
He observes his son as he puts their umbrella in a holder and wipes his shoes as best as he can on the mat at the entrance.
It only just started raining, but it’s clear that it won’t be stopping any time soon. The sky is completely gray, covered in dark clouds. Fukuzawa tries not to feel too upset about that fact. He’d been hoping to take Chuuya to Cosmo World.
Maybe some other day.
The two of them make their way inside the museum, and so begins a very silent journey.
Fukuzawa would usually be thrilled that his companion is respectful of the space they’re in, but Chuuya is never this quiet. His son is the chatty type, someone who could befriend anyone at the drop of a hat.
And that tells him that his son is as unsure on how to approach him as he is.
He should break the ice. He’s the adult. He’s the one who should be setting positive examples, isn’t that right?
He clears his throat, and Chuuya turns to him curiously. “How’s school?”
“I’m on vacation,” Chuuya replies, with a wince. “Classes don’t start for another month.”
“I knew that,” Fukuzawa tries, weakly. Then he freezes. “Where do you go everyday, then?”
Chuuya frowns. “I go see Osamu. I told you before.”
“I see.” Is all Fukuzawa can reply, as shame bubbles up his stomach. He can’t, for the life of him, remember Chuuya telling him about that before. When would he have even told him? During dinner? That’s hardly an ideal time, Fukuzawa is always reviewing paperwork during dinner.
…So he could have easily missed Chuuya telling him about his plans for vacation.
Chuuya, the kindest kid he’s ever known, must read the guilt in his face, and he hurries to add: “But that was so long ago, honestly, you couldn’t have-”
Fukuzawa shakes his head. Chuuya shuts his mouth close, pressing his lips together so tight they turn white.
“Listen, son-”
The ground beneath Fukuzawa shakes. Instinctively, he reaches for Chuuya and pulls him close, thinking this could be an earthquake.
Except that the motion stops as soon as it started, and Fukuzawa would think he imagined it if not for the visible fear of everyone in the room. Couples hugging each other, parents carrying their children, friends sticking close to each other.
“What was that?” Chuuya asks, voice thick.
He tries to think of the possibilities.
It wasn’t an earthquake, because it didn’t even last a second, and he’s experienced enough earthquakes before to recognize the motion; that wasn’t it. On the other hand, if the ground shook, for only a brief moment, like an explosive went off somewhere underneath them-
“It could be an attack,” he says. He scans the room for the nearest window, then glances at Chuuya. “Come on. Stay behind me.”
Making sure that Chuuya is staying close behind, Fukuzawa makes his way to the window.
He glances out to the bay, and his jaw falls open.
Where he should get a view of the street, the trees and the smaller buildings on the other side, even through the thicker rain; all he can see is water. The sea, wild and unrelenting, reclaiming the land and taking with itself cars, bicycles, benches; and that’s only what he can see.
He doesn’t even want to imagine what lies underneath the surface, or how many people have died already.
The movement they felt earlier must’ve been the sea crashing against the building, trying to take it down in its wake. They’re lucky that the museum hasn’t collapsed yet, but if the water level doesn’t go down quick-
“Dad?” Chuuya calls, nervously. “What is it?”
Fukuzawa doesn’t have a concrete answer. It’s a flood, that much is for sure, but what caused it? The rain? Unlikely, as it wasn’t nearly heavy enough to overflow the bay. A tsunami is off the table, as well as a hurricane.
Though he supposes that the cause hardly matters when the consequence is already here.
“...It’s the sea.”
Chuuya seems lost. He tries to get a look outside the window, and against better judgement, Fukuzawa lets him.
Freckled cheeks grow pale.
“Holy shit. Shit!” Chuuya steps away from the window, pulls out his phone from his pocket and quickly makes a call. Fukuzawa can easily guess who he’s trying to reach; and he can also tell that, unfortunately, the person on the other end is not answering.
“I’m sure he’s-”
Chuuya pulls the phone away from his ear, wide eyed and shaky. “Fuck. Dad, we have to find Osamu.”
Fukuzawa doesn’t like saying ‘no’ to his son. Chuuya’s never been demanding, and his rare requests were always perfectly rational, so he never had any trouble with giving in.
Not this time.
Even if the city wasn’t underwater, it would be dangerous to step out there under the heavy rain. If it had been raining as heavily before, they would’ve never left the house in the first place.
(Whether they would’ve been safer at home, on ground level, is another story.)
Fukuzawa knows that his son is aware of the danger too, but well, love mixed with desperation has the power of making all logic fly out the window.
“We can’t go out there,” he says, slowly, in an attempt to make sure that Chuuya understands the severity of the situation.
He has no such luck.
Chuuya frowns, like Fukuzawa just said the most outrageous thing ever. “He’s alone out there! Last time we spoke he told me he was on his way home, he could be on the street! Fuck, he could be on the train!”
For Chuuya’s sake, he hopes that Dazai wasn’t in a train station underground.
“How would we even reach him?” Fukuzawa asks, in an attempt to appeal to his son’s most rational side.
No such luck.
Instead, Chuuya glances out the window, and he gasps: “A boat! We could take a boat!”
Fukuzawa follows the blue eyed gaze, and he sees it: a tiny boat, seemingly intact –mast and all– slowly floating on the water like nothing happened. It must’ve survived whatever pushed the ocean onto the land and glided to the museum.
Maybe it was good luck that they were so close to the bay when the flood came.
Despite that, Fukuzawa still has his reservations. They don’t know where, exactly, Dazai is, or if he’s alive. There’s no guarantee that the boat is completely intact, either; it could crumble underneath them at any second, especially if the rain lasts.
He tries to convey this to Chuuya: “It’s dangerous. We don’t know-”
“We have to try!” Chuuya insists, earning some glances in their direction. “We have a way to get to where he is-”
“We don’t know where he is.”
“I do!” claims Chuuya. Fukuzawa sighs, and his son flushes. “...Well, I have an idea of where he could be. I know the route he takes home every day, and I know which places he stops by sometimes. He’s farther from the sea than we were, so he must’ve heard the water and the chaos before it reached him, and he must’ve found a safe place to wait it out.”
“...You can’t be sure of any of that.”
“I can! I am!” Chuuya insists. “Please, dad. We have to try.”
Fukuzawa knows better than to rely on luck, or ‘what if’s, or hypotheticals. If there’s anything his line of work has taught him, it’s that he needs hard proof that something happened –or will happen– before he can act.
But looking at Chuuya’s face, he can tell that he believes his words to be the absolute truth.
A rescue mission isn’t exactly what he had in mind when he planned to spend the day bonding with his son, but he’ll take what he can get while the world is ending.
Getting on the boat isn’t as easy of a task as Fukuzawa had hoped.
Although the water level continues rising, it’s still not enough to reach the rooftop of the museum, where Chuuya and him are now, waiting for the boat to get closer; close enough to jump directly onto it, or swim towards it.
“You still remember how to swim?” Fukuzawa asks, raising his voice so he can be heard above the rain.
Chuuya huffs. “Of course I remember. I’m not a child.”
“Just making sure,” Fukuzawa replies, with a shrug. He glances down at the water. By now, he guesses it’s beginning to reach the third level of the museum. The current is slowing down, but it’s still strong, and if they can’t swim fast enough…
“What’s the plan?”
Fukuzawa turns to Chuuya and gestures for him to get closer. The boat is only a few meters away, approaching rapidly.
“We’re jumping,” Fukuzawa says, as he gets rid of his jacket and his scarf. All that fabric would only slow him down. “And then, we’re swimming as fast as we can. You’ll probably make it before I do.”
“I don’t-”
“When you do, I’ll need you to find something to throw at me. There must be a rope in there. If there isn’t, or if I can’t reach-”
“You will reach that goddamn boat,” Chuuya cuts him off, taking off his jacket too. “Let’s go, then.”
Fukuzawa nods, even if he isn’t as confident in his abilities as his son. He trusts that, if he drowns or is dragged away by the current, Chuuya will quickly learn how to use the tiller to guide the boat to wherever he thinks Dazai is, and the two of them will be safe.
That’s all he wants.
“On the count of three, ready?” he asks, and waits for Chuuya’s nod before he starts. “One, two, three!”
They jump.
In reality, they must’ve only fallen a couple of meters before they hit the water.
To Fukuzawa, it feels like he falls down several kilometers. It feels, for an instant, like he’d keep falling forever and never reach the water.
Then, he breaks the water surface, and he can’t keep wondering just how long the fall was.
The current is relentless. Every time he tries to jump to the surface for a gasp of air, the water pushes him back down, like it’s trying to make him reach the bottom.
He feels the sea drag him down, like invisible hands are pulling at him to stop him from swimming, or breathing, or at the very least keep himself afloat.
Underneath the water, he can’t hear anything but the noise of the sea, deafening and overwhelming. But there are little, distant sounds; sounds that almost resemble Chuuya’s voice, if he pays enough attention.
“Dad!”
Fukuzawa hears his son call for him, loud and clear. He wills his limbs to fight against the suffocating sea.
He gathers all the strength of his muscles and all of his energy into every move of his arms and legs towards the vague outline of a boat that he can see above the surface.
An object falls on the surface, long and thin. A rope.
Fukuzawa reaches out to it, and his hand is batted away by the current. In frustration, and as a last resort, he kicks his legs to push himself upwards, closer to the surface where his salvation is.
His hand finally manages to capture the rope, and he pulls with all his strength to get his face out of the water.
He gasps for air as soon as his face is free.
“Dad!” Fukuzawa blinks quickly, fighting the cloudiness that the water in his eyes caused. “Take my hand!”
When he manages to focus his vision, he sees him: Chuuya, safe and sound inside the boat, reaching out to him as far as he can without tilting the boat sideways or falling to the water himself.
Fukuzawa pulls himself closer to the boat with the help of the rope, and once he’s close enough, he holds Chuuya’s hand.
Chuuya holds onto his arm with both of his hands, but Fukuzawa is not a small man; he knows that if his son tries to pull him into the boat, it’s more likely that both of them will be sucked into the sea.
With his free hand, he holds onto the edge of the boat.
“Let go of me!”
“What?!”
“I got this! Let go of me!”
“No!”
“Trust me! Let go!”
Chuuya shakes his head, evidently not happy with the idea. Fukuzawa glances at his own hand that’s holding onto the boat, and when Chuuya follows his line of sight, he nods.
Chuuya lets go of Fukuzawa.
As fast as he can with the sea against him, the man holds onto the boat with both hands and pulls himself closer and closer, until he can throw a leg above the edge and jump into the boat. Into safety.
He lays on his back, coughing out all the water that he swallowed or breathed by accident, all while Chuuya kneels by his side with his hands lingering around his body, like he’s unsure of how to help. The look on his eyes is one that Fukuzawa wishes to never see again: pure desperation.
“Are you okay?” he asks, in a small voice barely audible above the rain.
Fukuzawa takes a deep breath before he can answer.
“I am.” He sits up, and Chuuya continues to stare at him in disbelief. “You did well, son.”
As soon as the words are out of his mouth, Chuuya wraps him up in a hug so tight that it’s almost as difficult to breathe as it was when he was underwater.
He can feel the way Chuuya’s body shakes as he sobs; he’s trying not to make any noise, probably not to worry him, but it’s a little too late for that. Fukuzawa always worries.
Rather than calling Chuuya out, Fukuzawa wraps his own arms around his son and hugs him close.
They’re okay. Both of them are.
With a little luck, so is Dazai, and this whole journey won’t be all in vain.
Thunder, loud and reverberating makes Chuuya jump away from the hug and glance around wildly, like they could be struck by lightning if they’re not careful.
It’s not a fully irrational fear, Fukuzawa has to admit.
He stands from the floor and walks up to the tiller. He tests it, turning it this way and another. The sails move along with it, so it seems to be functional.
“Where to?” he asks. He just hopes that they don’t have to go too far.
“You know LaLaport?”
For a second, Fukuzawa doesn’t recognize the name. It doesn’t sound like a real place, let alone a place that he would know or frequent, but if he digs deep into his memory-
“A shopping mall?” One that’s on the other side of Yokohama, at that.
Unfortunately, Chuuya nods. “Osamu’s best friend works there. Sometimes he stops by to annoy him. It has four floors, and I’m sure that Osamu managed to make his way to the very top. He’s okay.”
Presuming that Chuuya is right and that’s where Dazai really was when Yokohama went underwater.
A big if, but they’re already on the boat. May as well see this to the end.
“Alright.”
He directs the boat with the tiller, and he sits down. Chuuya takes a seat next to him.
Fukuzawa takes the moment to study their surroundings. Most of the buildings –aside from the skyscrapers– are completely submerged underwater. He takes comfort in the fact that the sea doesn’t seem plagued by remains of buildings, but why would it matter if an office or a museum remains standing if all the people inside are dead?
In the sky, the clouds continue to threaten the city with endless rain. Not a single ray of sunshine sneaks in through the thick rain clouds.
It’s a strange position that he finds himself in. If he didn’t know better, it would be easy to think that he’s just lost in the sea with his son; not that the sea found itself lost.
He sighs. When he turns to Chuuya, he sees that his son is also taking it all in.
Chuuya, his greatest accomplishment. A kind, smart, loyal and brave kid. He took the very best parts of Fukuzawa and only improved them, making them shine. If there’s still hope for him to have a future, there’s not a doubt in his mind that Chuuya will go on to do great things for the world.
Unlike Fukuzawa, who spent days upon days locked in offices and interrogation rooms, seeking out justice; or so he told himself every time he texted Chuuya to let him know that he wouldn’t be home for the night.
It was always a big case, always a breakthrough, always justice, always the greater good.
Now, staring at the endless sea and the desolated remains of Yokohama, it seems so meaningless. Everything that matters, everything that should’ve mattered, is on this boat with him.
“Chuuya,” he starts, without meaning to. When blue eyes turn to him, he finds himself pinned in place. What did he mean to say, again? “I’m sorry.”
“What for?”
“I didn’t know you were on vacation before,” he says. “And I didn’t know that you went to see Dazai every day. Those are simple things I should know about.”
Chuuya, his sweet, forgiving son, shakes his head. “It’s okay. I know you have a lot on your plate.”
“You’re my number one priority,” Fukuzawa replies. “At least, you should’ve been. I just-” he pauses, thinking about his next words carefully. “When you were younger, I dedicated myself to my work because I had to keep a roof above your head; there wasn’t a thing I did without you in my mind.
But along the way, I lost sight of it. I forgot that you were the reason why I put so much effort into my career in the first place. It became all about the satisfaction of solving cases, and putting people behind bars, when it should’ve been about you, and for that I’m sorry.”
He stares at Chuuya, hoping that his face shows how deep his regret goes, how much he wishes that he could turn back time and do it right for a change.
Chuuya, in return, smiles at him. “You don’t have to apologize for having a passion, dad,” he says. “Yeah, I would’ve liked to spend more time with you, but I never resented you for your job.”
“Chuuya, that’s not the point.”
“The point is that you’re sorry, and I forgive you,” Chuuya insists, scooting closer to Fukuzawa so he can hug him. “You can’t turn back time, so there’s no point in stressing about it. Besides, we have the perfect chance to spend time together right here.”
That’s one way to look at a flood…
“How did you end up being so smart, uh?”
“That’s all my dad.”
“No,” Fukuzawa replies, with a shake of his head. “I’d say that’s all you.”
The rain quiets down at some point along their journey, and the sea goes dormant, no longer being driven by a wild current.
The motions of the boat knock Chuuya to sleep at some point, and Fukuzawa watches over him in awe. He didn’t notice before how long that red hair of his had gotten, or how many freckles peppered his nose and cheeks.
Chuuya grew so much, and Fukuzawa missed nearly all of it.
At least the water came to wash away his pointless wish of climbing up the ranks of his precinct, and now he can focus on his small, but treasured, family.
When they approach their destination –or what Fukuzawa thinks is their destination–, he wakes Chuuya up.
“What?” he asks, groggily rubbing his eyes as he sits up.
Fukuzawa points in the direction of the mall. It’s hard to see now that the sun has gone down, but he hopes that Chuuya can recognize the silhouette. “Is that it?”
All tiredness vanishes from Chuuya’s face. “That’s it!”
Fukuzawa directs the boat towards the mall. As they slowly glide through the water towards their destination, he keeps an eye on his son. He looks like he would be jumping with joy if they were on more stable terrain.
Nothing beats being young and in love, he supposes.
He only hopes that they didn’t make it all the way across Yokohama for nothing. He doesn’t know how he would even begin helping Chuuya deal with such a loss.
They make their way towards the terrace. The water is close enough to it that they will only have to jump from the boat and onto the mall without a lot of issues, luckily. Fukuzawa had enough action for one day when he almost got dragged away by the current.
Fukuzawa is the first to jump, and then, he takes Chuuya’s hand to help him up. He insisted on jumping too, but both of them knew that he’s too short for that.
“Are you okay?” Fukuzawa asks, once both of them are safe and stable on their feet.
Chuuya nods. “Yeah. Let’s find Osamu.”
The two of them begin making their way inside.
Understandably, the terrace is completely deserted. It was raining up until a couple of hours ago, and even if it wasn’t, Fukuzawa can’t imagine that standing outside and seeing your city be swallowed by the sea was very appealing for the mall’s visitors.
They walk into the mall, which, contrary to the outside, is completely crowded.
Hallways are full of people, chatting or pacing or making desperate phone calls. Fukuzawa has to admit that as far as the end of the world goes, this doesn’t seem like the most unpleasant place to go.
All the lights are out, but the place is still warmer than the outside, and should they get hungry, cold, or thirsty, there are several stores here with something to offer. If the water doesn’t rise too much, this could be a good place for them to wait until rescuers come.
(Assuming that there’s any help on the way.)
“Chuuya!”
Fukuzawa turns to the voice, and so does his son.
He’s a little far away, almost on the opposite end of the hall, but Fukuzawa sees him: a tall teenager with dark, messy hair. He’s waving at them –or Chuuya, more accurately– with a lot of enthusiasm. He’s hitting the people around him, as a matter of fact, but he doesn’t pay them any mind.
“Osamu!” Chuuya calls. Then, he makes a run for it. Fukuzawa is taken aback for a second before he follows. He’s not interested in letting his son out of his sight.
Chuuya’s smaller size is an advantage for him in this instance. He’s able to bend and sneak in between couples, groups of people, stands outside of stores. Fukuzawa is a little slower on his way to Dazai; he has to push people away and keep mumbling apologies.
He’s still a few meters away when Chuuya makes it to Dazai and jumps into his arms.
“You dumbass!” Chuuya shrieks, with his arms tight around his boyfriend. “You scared the shit out of me!”
Dazai returns the embrace with just as much strength. “Sorry, slug.”
Fukuzawa, at last, reaches the couple of teenagers. He feels like his whole body turns into water thanks to the overwhelming relief that crashes over him seeing his son hug the person he loves after the hell of a journey they embarked on.
It was all worth it, as all things involving his son are.
He would do it all over again if it meant seeing Chuuya so happy and relieved that there are tears flowing down his cheeks.
When the teenagers break their embrace, Fukuzawa looks away. He thinks that he owes them what little privacy they can be offered in a place like this.
Before he can fully look away, however, his eyes meet Chuuya’s. His son mouths two simple words: “Thank you.”
That’s enough for Fukuzawa.