Archive of Our Own ^beta

Thinking about it, Takuto found it was almost a small miracle that he was here. 

Rumors has been going around Tokyo that a certain man was visiting the city, and those rumors were proven true when the North Maiden had approached him, telling him that the man she only knew as “Head” had invited her to his hotel room. She had been unsure whether to go, all the things she had found out about him in hindsight making her hesitant, and so she had, a little reluctantly, asked Takuto to talk to him.
The boy had been skeptical himself whether this was a good idea or not, and neither Sugata nor Wako had really been able to help. It was something he had to decide for himself, they had both said. And after a sleepless night and a day of trying to keep rogue Cybodies from destroying the city, he had determined it was time to hunt down his father’s traces once again. 
If anything, he wanted know why this man had appeared almost at the same time as the Cybody rampage had started.

To his surprise, Head had actually opened the door when Takuto had knocked at his hotel room, and after an awkwardly long moment in which the two men had just stared at each other in silence, his father had simply turned his back on him and returned to a small stool in the middle of the room. Takuto, meanwhile, had taken the fact that his father had not outright slammed the door in his face as a silent invitation and had entered to find a simple, but cozy hotel room, one that was for sure rather expensive.
The view from the panorama windows down onto the illuminated winter nights of Shibuya and beyond was quite gorgeous. How could he even afford accommodation?

“So what do you want?”, Head suddenly began, without looking up from whatever he was doing. And, as if he had managed to read his son’s mind, he added, “I’ve got work to do, you know? Don’t waste my time.”

Takuto stared at his father’s back in surprise for a moment, then he approached the man, wading through a sea of scattered about art supplies, to find him in front of a canvas, brush in hand. Said canvas was quite smaller than what Takuto was used to seeing from him, like all the paintings found seemingly everywhere on Southern Cross Island, as if Head had left deliberate traces wherever Takuto went.
No, the boy was sure, this is not what he had done. He had never cared whether his son was there or not.
He probably preferred that he had never existed.

Peeking over his old man’s shoulders, Takuto saw a canvas that was almost entirely clad in black, with tiny colorful sprinkles all throughout. The lower part of it, however, depicted a structure that looked like the moon, or some other kind of star. Head was in the process of painting over all of this with a fine brush in white and so far, Takuto couldn’t really make out what it was meant to be. Bits of yellow and red were also present, but the boy had never been imaginative enough when it came to arts and other creative processes. 

“I’ve been commissioned, you see”, Head explained without much of an input. He was surprisingly talkative tonight.
“A publisher wants to retranslate some old French children’s book or something like that and they want new illustrations to go with it. No idea what was wrong with the old ones, but I won’t complain.”

“Why are you even here?”, Takuto finally asked.
“What do you mean? It’s none of your business.”
“The Cybodies—“
“—are on the loose, I know. I’ve got a front row seat here after all.”

The redhead swallowed, unsure how to progress. He sighed shortly and had another glimpse out of the window, the visible coldness of winter being replicated here in this room, between the two of them.
It was snowing.

“What?”, Head began and for the first time turned to face his son, an ominous smile on his face. Takuto wasn’t sure, but for a second he thought he could also see hints of bitterness in it.
“You think I have something to do with those rogue Cybodies? That you found the source for what’s going on here? Don’t make me laugh. I only have a regular warrior’s mark, just like you. Maybe you should ask Sugata-kun and his little pet what all of this means.”
Takuto clenched his fist, fighting the urge to punch his father yet again. Sugata had nothing to do with it, everyone knew that. 
But maybe he, too, was innocent this time.

Head glanced at him dismissively, then turned his attention back to his artwork with a sigh.
“You work for the government now, right? You’re basically a superhero, so go out and do your stupid superhero things. Stop wasting everyone’s time.”

The white figure on his canvas was slowly gaining in features. Every stroke of his brush added more to it that made it look less like a blob and more like an actual person. Arms, legs, it was all starting to come together. 
After another little while of silence between the two of them, Head reached for a different, even thinner brush, dipped it into yellow paint and began adding fine details in certain spots. Wouldn’t it make more sense to add shadows?, Takuto wondered. But what did he know about art in the first place.

“So you have nothing to do with this at all”, Takuto concluded with lingering doubt.
“No. I’m just passing through, as they say. Tokyo is very inspirational.”

This time it was Takuto who sighed. He was unsure whether he should believe his father’s words or not, all the things he had heard about him made it really hard to see any truth in what he said. The redhead hated being this judgemental, it went against everything he believed in, but he just couldn’t help it right now. It was maddening.
And to be quite honest, Head’s icy disposition and dismissive tone really didn’t help matters.

“What are you planning to do?”

A shrug.
“What should I do? Are you looking for help? I really have better things to do. And besides, I’m pretty sure our amazing government would shoot me second I try to get into a Cybody. They completely antagonized me like the petty simpletons governments are usually comprised of.”

Takuto couldn’t quite argue with that. He knew the particular segment of the Ministry of Defense he and his friends were working with wasn’t very keen on his father, and he had witnessed many a heated argument about what to do with this man. One side argued that imprisoning him would be of no use, as there was probably no manmade structure on this planet that would be able to withstand a suddenly called on Cybody, or even a Star Sword. Constant surveillance was way too expensive and no guarantee for peace either. The only real solutions ranged from making him give up his marks, be it by force or even without his consciousness, or outright executing him, none of which were any kind of ethical. 

And no matter how much Takuto agreed that Head was still dangerous, he couldn’t support any of those solutions. Ryousuke was cooperating with the ministry as well, checking in on his friend occasionally and providing information from both present and past, but he also made a point to not reveal anything about his whereabouts. Head was way more dangerous if cornered, he argued.

The boy shook his head as he made his way across the room, carefully treading through papers, brushes and pencils scattered about. He plopped down on Head’s bed, which was way too big and luxurious for one man alone, he found.
But of course, he had also heard all the rumors and actual stories about his father’s… well… adventurousness . He shuddered for a second, trying not to think about it, cleared his throat.
On the other side of the room, Head shuffled around with something.

He saw a thin book on the nightstand next to him, which left the boy surprised his father apparently bothered to read. It even sported a few page markers, but from what Takuto could see of the title, it was not something he had really heard of.
Even though it sounded a little familiar, The Prince of the Stars wasn’t ringing any bells at all.

“So why don’t you g – Ow!”
With a small thud, something landed in Takuto’s lap – a notebook of blank papers, pencil attached to its side. He turned to face his father, but the man wasn’t giving him this favor, instead continued to sit over his work without looking up even for a second.
Takuto shortly flipped through the book, tried to see whether there were some of his father’s sketches after all. He had never really cared all that much for his old man’s craft, but what had always fascinated him was the question why everyone had seemed to be so enthralled by his paintings. 
Maybe there was something in here Head wanted him to see. Every single paper was empty, however, the notebook was just white page after white page.

“Draw something”, the purple-haired finally spoke up and demanded.

“...what…?”

“Just draw .”

Takuto sighed and followed his father’s request (which had sounded more like an order) for the sake of peace. After all, he hadn’t come here to get into a shouting match or fistfight with the man, he just wanted answers.
He was for a loss, however, as to why Head demanded this kind of task of him in the first place. Maybe, he thought, he’d get an answer to that if he humored him for a little while, and so he began looking around for what he might be able to draw.

The red-haired had never been any good at any sort of artistic endeavours – art, music, writing, languages, all of that was somewhat foreign to him and his results in more practical school subjects such as physical education had been much better. He was glad his classmates hadn’t known about his father’s “profession”, if it could even be called that, because otherwise they would have surely mocked him for his lack of talent in comparison. Without this knowledge, he was just another guy who was bad at drawing.

His eyes darted around in search for something simple he could try to sketch. The unusual peace between the two of them was almost relaxing, Takuto thought, and he could surely only benefit from keeping it up. At this point he had almost forgotten he had originally come here on the North Maiden’s behalf, but maybe she would also be interested in whatever he could make his father say.
Hell, at this point, he would even be satisfied with a blanket apology. Just… anything.

Lost in thoughts, the boy gazed out of the huge window in front of him, an incredible view right from the bed that would surely make a lot of people jealous.
Snowflakes danced along the night sky, sparkling in the lights of the big city. 
Takuto reached for the pencil and began sketching lines on the book in his lap, trying to bring the silhouettes he saw outside onto paper. 
It was only mildly successful.

But it made him remember the first time it had started to snow here, the first time the tiny, icy flakes had fallen onto him while in the company of his most important people.
Both Wako and Sugata of course knew the concept of snow – but due to their isolation on the island and its climate, neither of them had experienced it in person before. Wako had almost looked like a little child during Christmas, eyes sparkling with excitement and she had been going on and on about how beautiful everything looked as it was coated with a faint layer of white. Even on Sugata’s face a surprisingly wide smile had formed at that time, and no matter whether it had to do with the snow or just Wako’s excitement, this kind of rare big smile had suited him incredibly well. 
A smile also snuck onto Takuto’s face as he was lost in these precious memories.

“You’re not going to get very far if you keep staring into the void like an idiot”, a voice suddenly pulled him out of his mind. 
He flew around to see his father towering over him, glancing at the wobbly lines Takuto had managed to get onto the paper. It wasn’t even really possible to make out any distinct shape, as his hand had stopped producing anything when he had sunk more and more into remembrance. 
“Or at least”, Head continued, “that’s what regular people would say if they saw you dawdling around like that. But I know what’s going on.”

He strutted back to his place in front of the canvas, sporting a smile himself. Once again, it seemed more teasing than genuine.
“As you’re looking for something to draw, you get lost in the world around you. Its beauty, the memories it triggers. Suddenly, this isn’t just a skyline out there, but the silhouette of buzzing life that separates countryside and metropolis. The sun doesn’t merely shine, it perfectly illuminates the prettiest parts of whatever or whoever you’re looking at, making them even more beautiful. That’s how art enhances your view of the world.”

“Is that so…”, Takuto murmured in response. 
He kept staring at the lines on his paper, couldn’t even really remember what exactly he had been trying to draw. So, if all of this was how his father saw his surroundings, didn’t that also mean that he, in some way, did hear the voice of the world after all? Could he see it just like Takuto saw it? 
Whatever the case, if Head was so enamoured by the world around him, there was something Takuto didn’t quite understand.

“Why were you trying to destroy it, then?”

“I wasn’t aiming to destroy anything”, Head retorted and his smile immediately turned into an aggressive frown as he crossed his arms before his chest, glaring at his son.
“In fact, I was trying to regain something. Maybe you remember what I told you back then – I longed for the past. Nothing would have been destroyed at all, just… reset. Everything would have started anew. Sakana-chan, Sora, they would have all returned with me. To me.”

Takuto shook his head. The ramblings his father was going into reminded him way too much of those on the day he had tried to kill everything and everyone. Everyone had thought he had been raving mad at that time, beyond the point of salvation. Maybe they hadn’t been wrong when believing it might still be the case even now.
Takuto had wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt, had come here to let him speak, to let him give answers. He began to doubt he was going to get any useful ones.

“But for all of that”, he argued, “everyone would have had to die, right? We all have seen what Samekh does. Mum, this girl, we all would have been killed in the event. Do you really think this is okay just because you can travel to an earlier point in time where this hasn’t happened?”

Head shrugged.
“Nobody would have noticed, they would have continued just like normal and I could have relived all these wonderful things of the past with the foresight of the future. A perfect situation.”

The red-haired couldn’t believe what he had just heard, wasn’t even able to find a reply at first. He had always carried a tiny bit of hope that his father, the man that had existed for most of his life as nothing more but a shadowy mystery, had found a way to clear his mind and come back to his senses after Samekh’s destruction. 
He remembered a few photographs his grandfather had shown him a long time ago, remembered him speaking quite fondly about his son and his talents. A confident boy with shining eyes had smiled at him from these worn, yellowed pictures. 
Takuto hated how much Head had disappointed the old man. 
And now he was disappointed too, was sure it was impossible to get anything worthwhile out of this guy. His conviction that there was a spark of goodness in every person, that everyone had the right to live the way they want to live, was shaking.

But he didn’t want it to shake.
There had to be a way to make him understand. 

He’d probably never change his ways, Takuto had begun to believe, but he should at least understand how the things he had done had hurt people. Takuto’s mother, the North Maiden, Ryousuke, this other man Takuto had only heard of, they had all been disillusioned by the shattered image of a man they had once trusted. He had used them, they had all just been small steps in his big plan instead of human beings.

“What would Mum say if she knew you used her name to justify your genocide?”

Another shrug.
“Why don’t you go and ask her?”

Takuto almost asked his father in return why he wasn’t visiting her. 
After all, they hadn’t seen each other since Takuto’s conception and if he knew one thing about his mother, it was that while she had appeared steadfast about her decision to leave the island on the outside, it was very much possible she had been heartbroken over whatever had transpired before she had left.
The red-haired only knew very few accounts of her, only head from his grandfather of the time she had suddenly appeared before him, her newborn son in her arms. She had claimed to be unable to take care of her child, though apparently she had never quite revealed why.

But Ikarou had seen right through her, he’d claimed, had noticed her pain that hadn’t come from the baby directly, but more from the fact that the little bundle in her arms would always remind her of the man she had thought she could trust. The man who had made her betray someone dear to her, the man who had betrayed her himself. 
The man who used her as a front for the atrocities he had committed.

But Takuto understood it was useless to ask him at this point. He was sure his father would never go and talk to her, was way too much of a coward. And maybe, his mother would not even want to talk to him.

He looked at his father, who started at him in anticipation for an answer. When no reply came, he growled deeply, picked up another brush and returned his attention to his artwork. His son watched him again for a moment, saw how he began adding what looked to be absolutely tiny spots throughout the block of black, so small it was almost impossible to really see them from where he was standing.
But it seemed like he was using a sort of special paint, as these spots sparkled under the artificial light from above. When his eyes returned to the view outside, he noticed how similarly the snowflakes outside glimmered. By now, it had begun to snow a little more than it had when Takuto had arrived, and the thin flakes reflected the lights around them one by one. In front of what was visible of the night sky between the big city lights, they almost looked like tiny stars.
Just like the stars on his father’s painting.

Art enhances the view on the world, huh…

Maybe this wasn’t even all too wrong. The paintings Takuto had seen all across Southern Cross Island, beautiful landscapes dipped in the shining orange hues of the sunset, had shaped his view on his new surroundings from the first day on. When he had quickly realized that these paintings were no exaggeration and the sunsets in this place were indeed as beautiful as they appeared in painted form, he had given the pictures another look.
As the realization had settled in that the girl depicted on so many of these artworks was supposed to be his mother, he had begun to feel a want to meet the real person, her real self, to see the difference between what was real and how she had been portrayed. It had been the first time in a long while he’d felt that way, had only wanted to see her as a small child, which had ebbed off as he had grown and matured to realize that she might never come back for him.

But now, as Takuto gazed out into the snowy sky, memories of these paintings returned to him and his inner eye superimposed the image of the painted back of his mother over the snowflakes. It left him wondering how she would look in surroundings like those before him. 
Would the white of the snow let her shine as much as the sand beyond her feet on the artworks had? Was she still as radiant and graceful as Head’s paintings had made her out to be?
Maybe it was finally time to find out.

“I think I actually might”, he finally spoke up, not having forgotten his father’s question, “once we’ve cleaned up around here. “

“Good for you.”
His father didn’t move from his work once, dipped his thin brush into the paint again.

“I’m sure I will find her, and then I can ask her. And you know, I think I’ll also ask her to go and visit you.”

Head looked up from his painting, raising an eyebrow. He dipped the brush into a glass full of dirty water, picked up a small cloth and wiped it dry. A moment after, he looked around the room briefly and finally reached for a tube below his feet.
“Good for you.”

When noticing that this appeared to be all his father had to say about this, Takuto began wading through the sea of brushes and paint tubes again, making his way towards the door. He definitely wouldn’t get any sort of coherent answers out of this man, he was sure of that now, but at the very least, he had an idea how to progress with his life. Wako and Sugata would surely like to meet his mother too, he imagined.
He stopped once again, looked at the sparkling snow, his father hunched over his canvas, the image of a lonely man surrounded by the icy shards that fit so well. 

“But you know”, Takuto spoke up again without waiting for Head to react, “I’m also going to teach Mum something – how to properly punch you in the face!”
He raised his fist with a grin.
“Don’t you agree that would make for a really cool picture?”

Predictably, this earned him no reaction from the other man.
It was time to leave.

Before going, curiosity got the better of him and Takuto took a last glance at his father’s artwork. By now, the person on it had taken on a complete form, the picture looked very finished. This boy on it was clad in white with red and golden accents, with blonde hair that looked like it included a few reddish strands. He gazed up into the starry sky, leaning onto a sheathed sword that was as white and golden as his long, floating coat.
Takuto’s brows furrowed.
He saw a tiny, confident smile on the boy’s face. Seemed like he wasn’t actually yearning for the newly created stars, as he had assumed at first, but rather looking over them. Ready to take on anyone who would dare to disturb the galaxy’s harmony.
Beneath his feet, which was actually almost the other side of the tiny planet’s surface, was a small yellow creature running. It almost looked like a mouse, but the slightly pointed ears and very bushy tail easily betrayed that image.

“Who… is this anyway…?”

Head shrugged.
“Just the story’s main character. I didn’t like his old look, so I updated it.

I told you, Tokyo is quite inspirational.”