CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN: MEN OF THE YAMADA CLAN. 

A soft knock at the door draws my attention to the door and I get up from the veranda before opening it and welcoming the young man who enters.

"Good morning Sakamoto-Sama."

"Good morning." He smiles slightly and bows, placing a prepared suit on the divider.

"Master Yamada asks for your appearance this morning Sakamoto-Sama..." I sigh, cutting him off and he stares at me panicked.

"You know, Sama makes me feel really old. Knowing your personality, you won't stop calling me that, but can you refrain when it's just us?" He stares at me dumbfounded, his eyes searching mine.

"Of course... er..."

"Just Yuzuki is fine." I smile and he returns it nodding.

"Yes, sir... I mean, Yuzuki." He busies himself setting out the small tables and chairs and putting away the futon as I move behind the divider to change.

"Can I ask you a question?" I ask peeping over the divider.

"... of course..." I smile as he hesitates. So, it's either honorifics or no name huh. I stifle my laugh as I move from behind the divider and his eyes widen. Oh. Clearing my throat, I quickly button up my shirt, tucking it neatly into my trousers.

"How exactly would you describe him?"

"Describe who?"

"Your Young Master." I meet his eyes sternly and he visibly gives in.

"He's a good man. As the old master and elders fear, he is a rather compassionate man that they fear he'll be taken advantage of," he meets my eyes now returning my stern gaze, "that's why I'm glad he has you by his side now, Yuzuki... he's also excited to finally have you home."

"Hmm. Is that excitement also why he had you spying outside my door last night?" His head snaps up and he stares at me, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows nervously.

"I want to trust him unlike Old Master Yamada, but if anything happens to her while I'm here please tell him I'll never forgive him." He swallows nervously again avoiding my eyes. Nodding his understanding he returns to his work and I finish getting dressed before following him to the kitchen. A rectangular dining table filled with food sits in the middle of the spacious room, the cook still busy preparing more side dishes. Father and son sat on opposite ends, a newspaper in one's hand, the other sat absentmindedly staring into the garden.

"So you finally joined us." His tone is stern, but I ignore his obvious jab moving to sit opposite the boy I was now responsible for.

"Good morning, big brother." Looking up at the boy who greeted me I couldn't help the smile that crept across my face.

"Good morning Miyama-Kun." His lips curl into a shy smile before he moves his gaze to the set breakfast before him.

"So, how are you liking Japan so far?"

"It's quieter than I remember..." I reply quietly, holding back my sigh.

"I think it's rather lively actually... maybe you can't hear the noise because you're focused on something else..." his voice trails off and he starts eating, still avoiding my eyes.

"Hmm? I suppose you're right." I retort, giving him a meaningful smirk.

"What's her name? The woman you were talking to...?" He asks, his voice almost a whisper.

"So it was you." He hesitates before placing his rice bowl and chopsticks on the table before meeting my gaze.

"I-I'm Sorry... I didn't mean to eavesdrop, but I heard you talking and..."

"It's alright. Next time come in and actually talk to me." I cut him off, smiling as his eyes widened.

"Really?! You wouldn't mind...?" He asks, practically crawling over the table.

"Why would I?" I question, arching my brow.

"Well, Onii-san had to leave his home... he must hate me..." I chuckle and he looks at me confused.

"I did have to leave my home, but I don't hate you. You needed my help and someone else needed my absence to grow up, so it's a win-win."

"What's she like?" Miyama asks and the old man clears his throat, drawing our attention to him. Ignoring his obvious interruption, I return my gaze to the boy opposite me.

"Hmm, I could say she's a lot like you."

"What do you mean?" He asks, tilting his head cutely.

"Lost. Reserved. Burdened by a generation much older than your own." I reply, my latent meaning obvious.

"That's enough." The room falls silent; even the workers seem to hesitate before placing the final sets of plates on the table and excusing himself. Finally meeting his obvious attempt at an imitation gaze, his brow frowns and I sigh inwardly.

"Is this the woman you speak of, boy?" he asks as he throws the newspaper across the table and I'm greeted by a photo of us - Atlas and I, "Is this the woman you returned for?"

"Hmm, I always thought she was extremely photogenic." I grin and he huffs his annoyance.

"Wow. She's beautiful," I subconsciously jump at his sudden voice behind me, before smiling my agreement, "She's really my age." He states, catching her age in the article. He doesn't seem too surprised. I suppose he did his research.

"Yeah, she's younger than me..."

"Eight years. That's still less than our father and my mother. I guess we prefer young older women." At his witty comment I fail to stifle my laughter and the old man glares at us over his cup of coffee.

"Pfft, young older women…"

"The two of you will surely be the death of me. Both of you are your mothers' sons." At this, there's a moment of silence before we all erupt in laughter and I ease into my seat. I suppose this is going to be more bearable than I thought. Looking at the man I long since stopped calling father my chest seemed to tighten. I prided myself on being able to stand alone. To be left eventually by anyone who entered my life. I suppose the joke was on me really. I'd lied. I'd wanted nothing more than to be loved. I'd wished for nothing but that one person who'd stand by my side no matter what. I'd wanted that cliche love. That forever after. And now, I've found it. In a woman more broken and isolated than myself. He was right in saying I'd returned for her, but…

"Where's mom buried?" The silence weighs heavy before he clears his throat looking towards the forest.

"I'll take you there after breakfast."

Smiling at the pair before me, I vow to come home to you Atlas. Four years. Three years is still too long. I want you now.