Work Text:
It’s a regular Tuesday night when the police show up.
Shinji is bone-tired from a twelve-hour day shift, and he’s eternally grateful that Hideaki usually has the day off when he gets home in the morning so he can either make food before Shinji gets home or has some sort of leftovers that he always heats up for him. Their routine is good, comfortable. They’ll both be home tomorrow until Shinji leaves for his night shift, too, which happens every third day or so. He wouldn’t change a thing, honestly.
But that choice isn’t up to him for much longer.
He’s finishing up the dishes when the doorbell rings, and he frowns, glancing at the time. Almost 9:30 at night, which is late for either of them to begin hosting anyone.
Somewhere down the hall, Hideaki calls to see if he can get it, so he dries his hands and wanders over to the door, opening it blearily to two officers in full uniform.
“Good evening. Is a Toujou Hideaki-san here?”
Shinji half-wonders if he’s dreaming, then mentally goes through the past week or so in his brain, idly entertaining the fact that either he or Hideaki may have accidentally committed a felony. “Uh,” he starts, deciding it’s probably best to be truthful. “That would be my housemate, yes.”
“We have some extremely urgent news for him that cannot wait,” the second officer says gravely. “May we come in?”
“Yes,” Shinji says hurriedly, stepping aside to usher them into the living room. “I’ll go get him.”
Hideaki is already coming out of his room as Shinji turns down the hall, adjusting his glasses as he closes his door. “Who is it?” he asks, but Shinji shrugs helplessly.
“The… police. They wanted to talk to you. Something you need to tell me?” The joke falls a bit flat as he registers Hideaki’s look of alarm.
“No, oh my god. I have no idea what they would be here for.” He shuffles past Shinji urgently, and Shinji’s left to follow him into the living room.
“I’m Toujou,” he declares, gesturing to one of the couches. “Please, have a seat. Is something wrong, officers?”
The two officers wait until everyone is sitting down, Shinji and Hideaki next to each other on the smaller couch, before exchanging a look.
“Toujou-san, this is hard news to break,” the first one says carefully. “Yesterday, your brother and his wife were involved in a large collision incident outside of Edogawa-ku with multiple vehicles, with their infant in the backseat. Your brother was killed and the mother was admitted to the emergency room in critical condition in a coma without clear knowledge right now of surviving condition.” He pauses as Hideaki gasps, and Shinji feels something stab at his chest as well, resisting the urge to reach for him. “It was a miracle that the infant did not sustain much injury at all. We’re not sure how close you were to the family, but you are listed as the closest relative of the child, with your parents second.”
Hideaki looks stricken. He takes a deep breath, holds it, lets it out. “We were occasionally in contact,” he says, his voice hollow. “Where is… Where is their child?”
“That’s what we wanted to talk to you about,” the second officer says. “Generally in this situation, the child would be taken in by relatives as interim or foster parents, and there’s a strong case for full legal custody if you so choose. If your home is deemed unfit for a child according to the social worker in charge of this case, then arrangements can be made for transferring the child to live with your parents or introduce the child into the government foster system, though there is no guarantee that—“
“No,” Hideaki says, already shaking his head. Shinji can tell he’s stopping himself from trembling, and his heart pangs further. “I will take responsibility for her. I don’t want her in the system, and unfortunately my father has chronic illness and my mother is his primary caretaker, so I don’t think it would be a good idea to send her there.”
“I see.” The first officer nods. “She’s currently being monitored at the closest hospital to the scene of the incident, and there will be a few formalities and paperwork, but we can have the social worker in charge bring her here and do routine inspection tomorrow. Does that work for you?”
“Yes. I will be home all of tomorrow.”
Hideaki looks calm for the most part, but his hands are balled into tight fists. Shinji can’t imagine what he must be feeling. He’s no doubt seen many similar incidents as a first responder himself, and Shinji’s also seen and treated the aftermath in the ER. To have that happen to his own family…
He gives in, reaching over to place his hand over Hideaki’s tightly curled fist. Hideaki looks up at him with watery eyes behind his glasses, and Shinji feels that protective urge well up again.
“Officers, is there anything else we need to know?” he asks, turning back to them.
“You know as much as we do right now,” the second officer says, catching the hint. “I’m deeply sorry for your loss, and please expect the social worker tomorrow.” He stands, motioning the other one up with him. “We’ll show ourselves out. Have a good night.”
Shinji bites back a remark about how their night can’t be good with this bombshell dropped upon them, and simply nods as they shut the front door behind them, turning to more important matters.
“Hey,” he says, trying to sound gentle as he shifts to face Hideaki and squeezes his hand. “Talk to me.”
Hideaki tries to form words, but the shapes his mouth makes are soundless. Shinji reaches out with his free hand to gently pluck the glasses from his face and set them on the coffee table, and Hideaki’s face crumples completely as a sob wracks his body, turning his face into Shinji’s collarbone.
“That was a lot,” Shinji says with no judgment, stroking his back and hair gently as they hold each other. “I’m so sorry… Take your time, okay?”
Hideaki just clutches onto him tighter. “I’m also sorry,” he hiccups, voice muffled. “I said I’d take her without thinking, but I didn’t even ask…”
“You didn’t really have a choice,” Shinji points out.
“And what about money? And baby supplies and parenting and oh god her life in my hands—“
“Hideaki.” Shinji lifts him up, holding him at arm’s length. “You won’t be alone.” This much he knows with certainty. “I’m here too, remember? And I’m sure both our families will help where they can.”
Hideaki shakes his head again, scrubbing furiously at his tear-stained cheeks. “I can’t ask you to do that. It’s a child, for heaven’s sake. Maybe if I asked them to wait a while, I can help you find another place if you wanted to move out, or I can find another place myself. Maybe my mom will let me stay with them for a bit—“
“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Slow down.” Shinji frowns, dropping his hands. “No one is moving out. She might be your responsibility, but I can still help, you know. Especially since you literally work a twenty-four hour shift. No way am I leaving you high and dry with a real live baby.”
Hideaki looks conflicted. “Still, I’d really have to sit down and figure out how to take care of most of this.”
“I’ve taken care of my nephew plenty of times while my sister couldn’t,” Shinji offers. “And she might even have some of his old stuff if you wanted. Come on, we’ve always been a team, right?”
That gets Hideaki to give him a weak smile. “Right.”
Honestly, Shinji isn’t sure why he feels so strongly about this, but he does know that he’s not about to abandon Hideaki with the burden of life-changing events hanging over his head. “We can figure out budget stuff and schedule stuff later. For now, maybe try for some more sleep if you can, or let’s make tea or something. Realistically, we can’t do much other than research until the social worker gets here tomorrow.”
He’s relieved to see that Hideaki’s eyes are dry and a little clearer now, though the redness and puffiness remains. “Right,” he says, firmer. “One step at a time. And Shinji?”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you so much for being there for me.”
“Anytime,” Shinji says, and wholeheartedly means it.
Hideaki is a wreck.
He can’t stop pacing, and he’s sure that Shinji is watching him out of the corner of his eye, and he can’t stop checking his messages to see whether fire chief Takashima has seen his meeting request to talk about emergency leave. He’s going to have to figure out their schedules long term, and he’s going to have to do research that he can’t focus on right now about parenting, and he might be called upon to organize the funeral, and a million other things.
“I can hear you overthinking,” Shinji says finally, looking up from his laptop on the couch. “They’re not gonna come any faster, you know.”
“I know.” Sighing, Hideaki pauses at the end of the floor rug and pivots, finally coming over to sit on the couch next to Shinji. “Just—what if they say I’m unfit to be a parent or the house isn’t regulation or whatever?”
Shinji’s about to reply when the doorbell rings, causing Hideaki to jump about five meters in the air and scramble to his feet. He nearly trips on his way to the door and pulls it open with more force than is strictly necessary, and stands in the doorframe breathing harder than he had been a moment ago.
The woman standing on the other side—to her credit—looks unfazed.
Her short hair is parted asymmetrically so that one side is pulled back neatly, almost the same color as Hideaki’s, and she smiles as she bows slightly over the baby swaddled in a soft blanket in her arms.
“Toujou-san, I presume? My name is Natsukawa Yui. I’m the social worker assigned to your niece.”
Hideaki clears his throat. “Yes, hello. Sorry, please come in.”
He ushers her into the living room where Shinji has closed and set aside his laptop, and sits down next to him again, grateful for his presence. He might go certifiably insane otherwise.
“And you are?” Natsukawa asks Shinji politely.
“Kanemaru Shinji. I’m his housemate.” Hideaki silently marvels at how calm he sounds.
Natsukawa nods, and thankfully doesn’t question them further. “Kosumi-chan is sleeping for now, so let’s talk about some logistics, if that’s okay.”
Hideaki swallows and nods, trying to pay close attention as she explains the legal process and a couple things about custody. “I’ve also emailed you an intake form that I’d like you to do immediately if possible,” she says. “It will ask you things about your income, family situation, living habits, and other lifestyle questions. As you might understand, we want to be sure she’s going to the best possible place for her, and I would be happy to answer any questions.”
Slowly, Hideaki nods, getting up briefly to grab his own laptop and waving away Shinji offering his own. The form is extensive and detailed, but he painstakingly goes through it, and pauses at a few to ask for clarification. When he gets to the question about income, though, his fingers still over the keyboard.
The brief thought crosses his mind that he could fudge the numbers a bit and add in what he could reasonably expect from his parents. Then he immediately feels guilty, because even though they’re stable, he can’t expect them to contribute or not need some of the extra funds for medical bills.
“Is… there a certain threshold I have to meet for income?” he asks instead.
“Technically, no,” Natsukawa says, and Hideaki feels the knot in his chest let up slightly. “It does have to be stable and consistent. But you should also factor in all minimum childcare requirements listed underneath. There should be a chart that shows you an estimation.”
Shinji leans in as well as Hideaki scans it, and he tries not to let his heart sink. He could technically provide all this, but he would likely have to cut some corners…
“Put mine in there, too.”
“Shinji!” Hideaki exclaims, shaking his head furiously and nearly knocking into him. “I told you you don’t have to do that.”
But Shinji looks up from looking over his shoulder, gaze level. “I told you I wanted to help, and it’s not going to hurt me.”
Hideaki narrows his eyes at him, but Shinji doesn’t budge. Ultimately, he doesn’t fight that hard when Shinji leans forward to take the laptop, swiftly adding his own income on top of Hideaki’s before handing it back over.
“You can do it alone, but that doesn’t mean you should,” he says, gruff but not unkind.
Hideaki nods slowly, gratitude welling in his chest.
The rest of the form goes without major hiccups, and Natsukawa requests to tour the house and take a few photographs. When they get back to the living room, where the baby is still sleeping on the couch, she smiles and asks, “Would you like to hold her?”
Whatever part of Hideaki had tied his body in knots releases too suddenly, making him feel weak. “Yes, please,” he says, rushed and hurried, and Natsukawa smiles wider.
Scooping Kosumi up gently, she waits until Hideaki holds out his arms and places the bundle in them carefully. She’s heavier than he’d thought. She stirs, her face scrunching a little, and Hideaki’s breath catches in his throat when her eyes open completely.
“Hello, Kosumi-chan,” he whispers softly.
She regards him blearily for a moment, then opens her little mouth and wails.
Both Hideaki and Shinji jump, but Natsukawa just laughs at their terrified faces pleading for help as Hideaki tries to keep a hold of her flailing limbs and rock her gently. “It’s probably a combination of going through a lot in the past couple days and being in an unfamiliar environment. Or it could be that she’s hungry. Speaking of…”
Turning to her bag again, she brings out a smaller bag and hands it to Shinji since his hands are free. “This is some baby formula, diapers, and toys that she already had, plus a couple extras. I’ll send a follow-up email with some guides and articles as well as notes about parent support groups, but she’s only been started on solid foods for a couple months, so you’ll have to start introducing more of that. Is there anything pressing you would like from me before I head out?”
Hideaki is vaguely focused on her words, more concentrated on Kosumi screaming and drooling into his shoulder—he’ll probably have to change—but he does manage to say, “No, I think…” He glances toward Shinji, who nods encouragingly. “I think we’ll figure it out.”
“Thank you for your time, Natsukawa-san,” Shinji adds. “We’ll try not to bother you too much.”
Natsukawa laughs. “Much appreciated.”
After Shinji has shown her to the door, the two of them are left alone again with the still-crying baby. Hideaki tries to clear his head through the noise and think.
“Let’s… try feeding her first,” he suggests, thinking back to his frantic research the night before. Kosumi continues to wail in his arms, and he fears for both their eardrums.
Shinji rifles through the bag for a bottle and formula, looking relieved as he comes up with both, reading the labels. “I think… the bottle needs to be sterilized? And the formula is the concentrate kind, so it needs to be diluted.”
He doesn’t waste time, making a beeline for the kitchen to do both. Hideaki follows to observe and answer a couple questions, but it really feels like a bit of a blind scramble until he’s able to sit down with her and try to nudge the nipple of the bottle against her mouth. It takes a couple tries, but she finally grabs the lid of the bottle and takes the nipple into her mouth, and thankfully, blessedly, her wails cease into contented gurgling.
Hideaki and Shinji both let out a sigh of relief.
“Guess we got it right?” Hideaki offers, smiling up at him hesitantly.
“Yeah,” Shinji says, sinking into the spot next to him. “We can do this.”
They’re quiet for a moment, just watching her.
“We have to do this,” Hideaki says finally, feeling the edge of desperation creep in his voice. “I can’t let her down; I’ve heard things about the foster system from Kuramochi-san because he went through it, and I will never let her go through that if I can help it.”
Shinji squeezes his shoulder. “She’ll be safe here,” he insists. “We have people we can turn to for help. I’ll even ask Jun-san and maybe Takako-san for some pointers or something. And I’m sure the fire department folks will understand.”
Hideaki nods shakily, leaning into him and tipping the bottle a little further. “Can we talk logistics? I feel like I’ll end up taking leave for at least a few months while things settle, but I can’t stop working forever. We should have a plan for when I go back, and think through all the supplies and where to get them, and resources.”
“I’ll start a folder,” Shinji offers, reaching for his laptop.
“It’ll be my responsibility for the most part,” Hideaki reminds him. As sweet as Shinji is to offer to help so much, he’s determined to be as little a bother to him as possible.
Of course, Shinji is stubborn, not that Hideaki would have his best friend any other way. “Sure, sure,” he says, sarcasm fully evident as he opens a new document.
They’ll have to work on that.
It takes a long while, and Kosumi falls back asleep in his arms, but getting organized—or starting to—always helps him feel better. By the time Shinji leaves for his night shift in the evening, Hideaki’s head feels a little more clear, like sediment settling in water.