Chapter Text
Villain attacks on UA were nothing new to the school, and they weren’t new to Ayumu either. So then, why had this one taken him by such surprise? Perhaps it was the time at night. No one was supposed to be roaming around the campus at this hour, but Ayumu had snuck out. It was for innocent enough reasons; all he wanted was to leave a surprise gift for a friend in another class. He ended up at the wrong place at the wrong time. Maybe it was the dark, or the false sense of security being at school gave him, but whatever the reason, he hadn’t reacted fast enough. Just one touch would have been all it took to activate his quirk, and yet, he failed at doing just that.
It was raining. He could hear the pitter-patter against the concrete his head was laying on, and he could faintly make out the droplets as they glistened in the streetlights, blurry as they may be with his glasses gone. His whole body felt numb, save for a dull thrumming in his head. He couldn’t see, but he knew he must have been bleeding, because he knew he had been stabbed. By what, he didn’t know, but it couldn’t have been anything normal, to cause the feeling—or lack thereof—that he was experiencing. He had always heard that being stabbed felt hot, like having lava poured on and into you, but this was nothing like that. He wasn’t hot, or cold, and he didn’t feel wet even though he certainly should have.
How was he supposed to be a hero if this was all it took to take him down? One surprise from behind, and he was rendered completely helpless. The villains could have already hurt someone else, or have already gone through with whatever their plan was, all because Ayumu hadn’t been competent enough as a hero to stop them. Sir had worked so hard to teach him speed and awareness, but it seemed Ayumu hadn’t truly taken his lessons to heart. He had been neither quick nor aware.
His hearing was slowly fading with his consciousness. He knew he had to try to stay awake, but he was growing so tired. There was a loud sound coming from the distance now, but Ayumu wasn't cognizant of what it was. Even though many more noises came, they kept getting quieter and quieter to Ayumu's ears.
The blood loss must have been making him hallucinate, because he could swear that he saw Iida bend over him, yet that could not be true, as no one was out at this time of night. But Ayumu saw Iida , his ruby red eyes gazing down at him, big and scared, but comforting. Ayumu followed those eyes, looking where they pointed like a sailor guided by a lighthouse in a thick fog. Iida's lips moved, but Ayumu could not hear his voice.
Ayumu tried to cast away the illusion. Surely allowing it to stay could do him no good, it would only provide him a false sense of hope that he may perhaps make it out of this alive. Yet the mirage persisted, sliding his hand underneath Ayumu's aching head and cradling him under his arm. It could have been the rain, or it could have been his blurry vision, but Ayumu thought he saw tears in Iida’s eyes. It was astonishing just how real he looked, as he turned his head away and called out to something, eyes always falling back to the boy in his arms.
The world was fading faster now, and Ayumu could do nothing more to prevent his eyes from closing.
The fire alarm blared in his ears, and yet Tenya managed to remain calm. It was his job, as class president, to do so, and to guide his classmates out of the building, along their planned evacuation route. Luckily, class 1A had been through many emergencies far worse than this, and so it was relatively easy to get everyone out of the dorms in a timely manner.
He walked a few feet ahead of everyone else, as was his duty as a guide, especially since the rain made it hard to see in the darkness, even with the help of the streetlights. His position at the front of the group made him the first to spot a figure lying on the ground, not too far in front of him. He outstretched his hand, signaling for the rest of the class to stop, and slowly approached who or what was there.
As the figure’s visage came into view, a scream ripped from Tenya’s throat.
“Yokoyama!”
Throwing caution to the wind, he sprinted toward the boy, falling to his knees, which then scraped against the wet pavement. His knees began to bleed as he skidded to a stop, but he ignored the stinging pain and the feeling of small bits of sediment entering the fresh wounds.
He tried so desperately not to panic, looking over Yokoyama’s body that was sprawled out, unmoving. Blood pooled around him, so much of it coming out of him so quickly that the rain couldn’t keep up enough to wash it away. His stomach was mutilated, his shirt and jacket stained completely red.
Tenya bent over Yokoyama, looking him in the eyes, which were still open, and moved to meet Tenya’s gaze—the only sign that Yokoyama was still alive, aside from his chest that moved up and down with each of his struggling breaths.
“Yokoyama, can you hear me? Can you move? What happened to you? Please, say something! Answer me!” he desperately tried to get an answer from the injured boy, but Yokoyama did not respond, or move, or show any indication that he could hear what Tenya was saying.
He lifted Yokoyama’s head, resting it in the crook of his elbow, his other hand putting pressure on the gaping wound in Yokoyama’s stomach. His hand became soaked with Yokoyama’s blood which flowed out of him despite Tenya’s attempts to slow it.
“Go find a teacher!” he cried out to his class, “Get Recovery Girl! Yokoyama’s been hurt!”
Tenya looked back down to see Yokoyama’s eyes slipping closed.
“No, no, no, no, no, no!” he panicked, shaking him, his bloodsoaked hand moving from his wound for just a moment, trying to pat him on the face and get him to wake up, “Look at me. Look at me, Yokoyama. Please, please don’t go to sleep!”
Realising there was once again nothing stopping the blood flow from Yokoyama’s wound, Tenya quickly returned his hand, but he continued to shake the boy in a hopeless attempt to wake him.
Aizawa and a few of the other teachers arrived not a moment too soon, forming a circle around Tenya and Yokoyama to shield them from the prying eyes of Tenya’s classmates.
“Let us take care of him from here,” came his teacher’s voice, and yet Tenya’s arms and legs refused to budge. He understood that he had called for their aid, and deep down he knew that getting Yokoyama into the teachers’ hands was the best thing for him to do, but a fear of Yokoyama’s condition rooted itself deep into Tenya’s subconscious. With each sharp breath that whistled through his teeth he gripped on tighter to the limp body in his arms, his knuckles turning white, his fingers leaving red imprints on Yokoyama’s skin. He shook his head firmly, every part of him screaming no.
“Iida, you have to let him go, we can’t help him otherwise,” Aizawa persisted.
Grief overtook him, a saga of painful memories surging forward to the forefront of his mind, and he continued to adamantly shake his head. No. He wasn’t going to lose someone so close to him, not again, not like he had almost lost Tensei. His entire body was shaking, and he was sobbing so hard it hurt, but no matter what he wouldn’t let go. Arms wrapped around his torso, trying to pry him away, but with every ounce of strength he had he resisted. He was so lost, lost in the sickening warmth of Yokoyama’s blood on his hands and his body in his arms that was so cold in comparison, and the faint feeling of Yokoyama’s breathing against his chest that he desperately clutched him to.
Every sound around him was distant and muffled, yet he could make out Aizawa’s voice one more time above everything else. “Kayama.”
Everything fell black.
When consciousness returned to him, Tenya found that he was in the nurse's office.
He had no idea what time it was or how long he had been here, but neither of those things mattered to him. He jumped up from his bed, wobbling a bit once he got onto his feet, but recovering quickly. He surveyed the room, but saw no sign of Yokoyama or anyone else, which made Tenya grow frantic. Before he could do anything rash, however, a voice came from the doorway. He snapped his head over to see who was there, finding Aizawa, who somehow looked more tired than usual.
“Calm down, he’s alright.”
Tenya wanted to believe his teacher, but he was never going to be fully reassured until he saw Yokoyama’s condition for himself.
“Mr. Aizawa. Where is he?”
The teacher’s eyes softened. He sighed, taking a few steps further inside the room, and gesturing for Tenya to sit back down. The boy did so. Aizawa sat down beside him, and began explaining what had happened.
“After Midnight used her quirk on you, we brought you both here. Recovery Girl tried to help Yokoyama the best she could, but her quirk can only do so much. We had to take him to a proper hospital. He’s in stable condition, but there’s something else that you should know. I’m sure you’ve come to this conclusion on your own, but Yokoyama was attacked.”
Tenya locked eyes with him for a brief moment, a knot forming in his stomach. He had, of course, guessed as much the moment he saw his friend bleeding out on the ground. Yet it hadn’t sunk in, not the way it did then, when Aizawa said the words aloud. He gripped his hands into fists, trying to contain the wave of anger and fear that came over him. It seemed his teacher had more to tell him.
“They found traces of a heavy sedative in his wound, enough of it to take down someone ten times his size. He hasn’t woken up yet, and the doctors say he probably won’t for a few days.”
Tenya’s heart dropped to the bottom of his chest. He couldn’t muster up any words to say. He felt his eyes threaten to tear up, and squeezed them shut. He wasn’t going to cry yet, not until Aizawa was at least done telling him the facts. He had to be strong, he had to hold himself together.
“We don’t know who the attacker is or how they got on campus. It’s possible that they’re still hiding somewhere. Which means the entire school’s on lockdown for the time being.”
Of course, Tenya understood the reasoning, but he couldn’t help the look of incredulity that formed on his face, or the way his lips moved to protest, not having the chance to as Aizawa amended his statement.
“However, I talked to the principal, and I’ve been granted permission to take you to see Yokoyama. The only condition is that, while we’re out, you cannot leave my side for any reason whatsoever. Is that clear?”
Tenya was stunned into silence for a moment. When his brain caught up with him, he nodded.
“Yes sir, of course! Thank you, Mr. Aizawa.”
“Don’t mention it,” the man said, standing up, “Get yourself cleaned up. We leave in twenty minutes.”
It was then that Tenya realised he was still in his bloodied clothes, that very same blood dried onto his hands, staining them and making his stomach churn. “Right.”
Aizawa began to exit, but stopped just short of the door. “One more thing,” he said, and Tenya glanced up at him inquisitively.
“We found something near the attack site. It’s on the bedside table.” With that, the teacher left.
Tenya looked over at the aforementioned table, and sure enough, there sat a small wrapped package. The paper was ripped and wet and messy, bow on top squashed and deflated. It was a pitiful little present, and it drew his curiosity. He picked it up, examining it from all angles, turning it over and over in his hands. Although the tag was soaked and the ink was smudged, he could still make out what it said.
To: Iida
From: Yokoyama
He ripped the paper off, which had long since lost its structural integrity and came off easily. The box itself was also soaked, but upon opening it, he saw that the contents had remained mostly dry. Tucked inside was an envelope on a bed of tissue paper that likely had something hidden underneath.
He started with the envelope first, opening it to reveal a small card decorated with little drawings of oranges.
Dear Iida,
Surprise! I know your class starts winter work studies soon, and I didn’t know when the next time we’d get to chat outside of training would be, so I thought I’d drop this off while I had the chance. I always liked receiving surprise gifts growing up, and I hope you do too.
Yokoyama
Tenya teared up slightly reading the note. Yokoyama had been out there because he wanted to give something to him, and in many ways that made Tenya responsible for what had happened. He had some sort of influence on Yokoyama that made him feel like it was okay to break the rules and go out at night, and because of that he had been hurt.
Swallowing, Tenya pushed through his negative feelings, however, gently peeling back the blue tissue paper. Revealed was a small book, one that he had mentioned wanting to read to Yokoyama a few weeks ago, and he was touched that he had remembered.
Not wanting to ruin the pages or the cover, Tenya dared not touch the book with his blood stained hands. Instead he put the card back into the box and carried it with him to the bathroom. He would go back to his dorm to change, but first, Tenya wanted nothing more than to get the feeling of Yokoyama’s blood off his hands.
He lathered them in soap and began to scrub, the cold water turning red as it washed down the drain, and yet the stain on his skin was stubborn. He kept scrubbing, digging under his nails and rubbing his skin raw, desperately trying to remove every trace. While the crusty, dried blood was long gone, he could still sense the sickening feeling of it lingering on his palms and his fingers. The soap was gone, and the water was running clear, but still he was persistent. He continued to scrub, and scrub, to the point he was clawing at his hands, trying to remove the sensation of something that wasn’t there. He only stopped when the water ran red again.
The car ride to the hospital was long and awkward. Tenya was turned away from his teacher, focusing instead on the world outside the window, his leg bouncing nervously. His mind was racing. Sure, Aizawa had told him the Yokoyama was fine, but fine was a vague term that could mean any number of things. All “fine” assured him of, in this case, was that his friend was still breathing. After all, Aizawa had said that Yokoyama hadn’t even woken up yet.
Aizawa didn’t mention the fresh scratches on Tenya’s hands, something that he was thankful for, yet it seemed he couldn’t quite escape scrutiny about all of his actions.
“What happened last night?”
His words were so sudden and jarring that it took Tenya a moment to even register them. He gripped at his pants, hands balled into tight fists.
“To be honest, sir, I’m not entirely sure.”
Aizawa hummed, clearly dissatisfied with Tenya’s response. “What do you think happened?”
Closing his eyes, Tenya recalled the night prior to the best of his ability, the panic he felt the moment his eyes laid on Yokoyama’s body, the way his body refused to budge once Yokoyama was in his arms, the way thoughts of Tensei wormed their way into his mind, mingling with the truth of what happened and creating a blurry, confused picture of the night in his memories, until everything eventually went black.
“I was scared,” Tenya admitted, “I thought about my brother. I almost lost him, and I didn’t want to risk losing Yokoyama. It felt like if I left him, I was giving up on him. If I wasn’t there, and he died, I would never forgive myself.” He was tearing up again. There were few things in the world that made Tenya cry, and yet he had cried three times in the past twenty-four hours. This was Tenya’s weakness.
“It’s not your fault.”
Tenya looked over at his teacher, eyes widened in surprise. “What?”
“It’s not your fault that Yokoyama got hurt.”
His mouth hung agape, Tenya was unable to formulate any sort of response. The words Aizawa spoke were reassuring, something he wouldn’t expect of his teacher, and yet, for some reason hearing them hurt. Tenya of course, needed to hear them, yet how Aizawa knew that much was a mystery.
Reading his mind, Aizawa answered his question, “Yokoyama broke the rules and went out at night to deliver a gift to you. The one that we found near where he was attacked. You think that because he was there to bring something to you, that somehow makes you responsible for what happened.”
There was a tone to Aizawa’s voice, one that wasn’t typical of him. It was slight, barely detectable, but it was definitely there. It sounded sad, understanding in a way, and it made Tenya feel less like he was speaking to a teacher and more like he was speaking to a friend.
“You didn’t know he would be there, Iida. Even if you had, no one could have guessed that a villain would have snuck on campus at that moment. It’s not your fault.”
Tenya’s lip quivered as he tried to keep himself composed. He wanted to believe what Aizawa was telling him, he truly did, but the small, dark part of his mind wouldn’t let him off so easily. It swore to him that he was guilty, that no matter what he said or did or thought, no matter what was said to him or who said it, he would always bear the burden of responsibility for Yokoyama’s fate that night. He knew it was foolish to feel this way, dramatic even, but nothing could be done to silence the voice in the back of his mind that was determined to keep him in his place. All he could do was nod, to act like he agreed with Aizawa’s truths, and to try and convince himself of them.
Aizawa and Tenya walked the halls of the hospital, making their way to Yokoyama’s room. Tenya’s chest tightened, fearful of his friend’s state. The last time he had visited someone in the hospital like this, he had been completely overwhelmed with panic, and the feelings he felt then still lingered within him. It was hard to shake the memory of running through a hospital, hoping and praying that his brother still had his life.
After what felt like eons, they arrived at Yokoyama’s room. Tenya was surprised to find two people already in there, standing at his bedside. He recognised the first of the pair as Matsui, Yokoyama’s homeroom teacher. It made sense that she would be there. But the other man was new to Tenya, a bearded man taller than himself, with dark, blue-green hair and green eyes. He was hunched over the bed, hands firmly gripping the rails. He was crying, softly singing some song that Tenya could have sworn he’d heard Yokoyama humming before.
Aizawa joined Matsui at her side, whispering something to her that Tenya couldn’t quite make out. The unknown man seemed to take longer to notice that they had company, slowly lifting his head. Tenya locked eyes with him for a long moment, before at last the man spoke.
“You’re him, right?” he asked, voice breaking. “You’re the one who found him?”
Stunned into silence for a moment, Tenya stood with his mouth agape. He swallowed, knowing that he had to offer a response.
“Yes, uhm. That is correct, sir.”
The man rushed over to him and bowed, tears still pouring from his eyes.
“Thank you, thank you for saving my son!”
It clicked in Tenya’s brain all at once. This man was Yokoyama’s father. Of course he would be here.
Tenya bowed back. “I’m sorry I didn’t find him sooner.”
They both stood up straight again, and Tenya followed the older Yokoyama to the bed, where the younger Yokoyama lay. Tubes and wires were hooked up to him, a mask over his nose and mouth to help him breathe, and yet he looked peaceful, sound asleep on his back, a hospital gown obscuring his wound and making it seem as though his state was almost natural.
“They said they’ve been giving him something to try and counteract the sedative,” Matsui spoke up. “But it doesn’t seem to be helping any.”
The teacher had a strange look on her face, more serious a look than Tenya could remember ever seeing her wearing. She looked at Yokoyama with an odd sense of familiarity, not of the person but of the situation. It didn’t go unnoticed the way Aizawa rubbed her shoulder either, subtly comforting her. Tenya had never been particularly perceptive of other people’s emotions, but even he could tell that something in this incident brought about unpleasant memories for both of them, something that he could undoubtedly relate to.
He looked back down at Yokoyama, a million thoughts running through his head. His glasses were still gone, likely washed away by the rain, but on the bedside table Tenya noticed a pair, smaller than the ones Yokoyama typically wore, with one of the lenses scratched. They must have been his spares, likely brought by his father. Tenya told himself he would personally remedy the fact Yokoyama didn’t have any other pairs of glasses himself, when Yokoyama woke up. If Yokoyama woke up.
A nurse walked in, calling for Yokoyama’s dad to fill out a few things. The man obliged, leaving the room, and Aizawa and Matsui followed suit.
“We’ll give you some time with him alone.” Tenya was grateful, knowing that this was a courtesy Aizawa was providing him. Normally Tenya wouldn’t be so quick to break a stipulation like the one he had been informed of before coming here, but he needed just a moment of alone time with Yokoyama, and it seemed Aizawa knew as much, too.
He leaned over Yokoyama’s sleeping body, to get a better look at him. He had mentioned to Tenya that he often had fantastical, vivid dreams, and would sometimes draw them, or describe them to him. It made him wonder if, perhaps, in Yokoyama’s chemically induced slumber, he was dreaming of anything, or if his wild imagination was for once silent and empty, void of all colour and vibrance.
Tenya reached out, hesitantly grabbing Yokoyama’s hand. It was unlikely he could feel or hear anything right now, but the warm feeling of Yokoyama’s skin against his own grounded Tenya in reality, assuring him that, even if asleep, Yokoyama was still here and still alive.
“Yokoyama, I’m so sorry,” he whispered, “I should have gotten there sooner. You were out there because of me.”
One hand still interlocked with Yokoyama’s, Tenya had to grip the railing of the bed with his other in order to steady himself.
“I don’t think you can hear me, but… thank you for the book. I love it,” Tenya said each word as it came into his mind, “I love you. I was so scared I was going to lose you. I care about you so much, I don’t want to ever watch you die.” The words he was saying didn’t register to him, they just came out, and in a few hours he likely would be unable to even recall what he said.
Suddenly, Tenya felt fingers twitch from within his grasp. His head shot up to Yokoyama’s face, watching as the boy’s dark eyebrows furrowed, however his eyes did not open.
“Iida…?” he whispered faintly, voice hoarse.
“Yokoyama? Can you hear me?” Tenya felt some mixture of hope and giddy excitement course through him, and begged for this to be real, for his imagination not to be playing tricks on him.
“I can… I can hear you…”
It was clear to Tenya that Yokoyama was struggling to speak, but at the very least he was speaking . Hearing Yokoyama’s voice was every reassurance he needed that Yokoyama was fine , that he had survived, that he was going to be okay.
“Mr. Aizawa!” Tenya exclaimed, finding himself on the verge of happy tears. The man in question came rushing back into the room.
“What is it?” he quickly asked, worry evident on his face.
“Yokoyama’s awake!”
It had been a rush of doctors and nurses from there, slowly filling the small room and pushing Tenya and the three adults out, until they all gave up and decided to wait in the hallway.
Yokoyama’s dad took the opportunity to chat, which Tenya didn’t mind.
“I never really introduced myself,” the man said sheepishly, hand behind his neck in a way very reminiscent of his son, although Tenya supposed that logically he should consider it the other way around. “Akio Yokoyama. I’m Ayumu’s father.” He outstretched his other hand, and Tenya firmly shook it.
“A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Yokoyama. I’m–”
“Tenya Iida, right? Yes, I know. Ayumu talks about you all the time. I’m sorry we had to meet under such awful circumstances. You’ve been a really good friend to my boy, and I can’t thank you enough for it, especially now that you’ve gone and saved his life.”
It was a lot for Tenya to take in. Knowing that Yokoyama spoke so highly of him to his father filled him with a sense of pride, and it made him feel warm inside.
“Your son means the world to me, Mr. Yokoyama,” Tenya said, “He’s been a better friend to me than I could ask for, and that is all the thanks I will ever need.”
Mr. Yokoyama smiled, and he nodded, knowingly.
Eventually they were given an update on Yokoyama’s condition, and allowed to return to the room, where Ayumu was sitting slightly more upright, still having to wear an oxygen mask, but looking significantly more alive than he had a few hours prior.
His dad rushed over to him, carefully giving him a hug, and beginning a game of twenty questions with the poor boy.
“How do you feel?”
“I’m okay, Dad, I can’t… I can’t really feel much.”
“Do you need anything? Anything at all?”
“I’m fine, the… the nurses, they brought me a glass of water.”
“Oh I’m so glad you’re okay!”
Eventually Mr. Yokoyama sensed that he should give the boy some space, backing up and allowing the other three in the room to talk to him.
“Ms. Matsui, Mr. Aizawa, you’re here too?” Yokoyama questioned when he saw them. Matsui nodded.
“Who do you think carried you over here, huh?” she joked.
Yokoyama cracked a small smile, but coughed when he tried to laugh. Tenya immediately reached for the glass of water on the bedside table, helping him remove the mask for a moment and take a sip. Yokoyama thanked him with his eyes.
“Sorry, I should know better. I’ve been where you are.”
The small group spent time explaining to Yokoyama just what had happened, chatting, and just keeping him company. It was clear that each of them felt relieved to see Yokoyama alive, awake, and alert.
“Promise me you’ll come visit as often as you can,” Yokoyama requested, and Tenya nodded adamantly.
“Yes, of course! I’ll visit you every day until you’re cleared to come back to campus.”
Aizawa opened his mouth like he was going to say something, but Matsui quickly elbowed him in his side, causing him to shut it immediately.
By the end of the day, it was only Ayumu’s father who sat beside his bed, keeping Ayumu company, as everyone else had to return to UA because of the lockdown. He wished he could be doing more to help catch the villain who had attacked him. It didn’t seem fair that he was stuck in the hospital while the rest of the school worked to catch the culprit.
Ayumu was happy to have his dad with him, despite the circumstances. It felt like it had been so long since he had seen his father last, to be able to talk to him like this. They called as often as Ayumu’s training and his dad’s job allowed, but it was never quite the same.
“I’m so glad that you’re okay.”
Ayumu felt almost embarrassed, his dad having said those exact words about a million times already. Sure, Ayumu was probably the most glad of anyone that he was okay, and he appreciated how much his dad cared about him, but if he was honest, he really didn’t want to be thinking about that night so much. Yes, he had survived, but the fact he had gotten so badly injured in the first place was something that he viewed as a personal failure.
“By the way, I’ve been meaning to ask. That man that was in here. That was Eraserhead, wasn’t it?” the older Yokoyama asked suddenly, and Ayumu was appreciative of the change in topic.
Ayumu smiled, “It was! He’s kind of intimidating, and I was definitely scared of him at first… but I think he’s actually really caring, deep down. He’s been helping me and another student train using our capture weapons, and he’s helped me hone my quirk a lot better, too.”
His father smiled in a similar manner. “I can’t believe I got to meet Eraserhead! That’s so cool! Here I thought meeting Planta would be the only time I’d get to meet a pro. And wait, wait, wait, wait. You said he’s been training you personally? That’s even cooler, kiddo!”
“Yeah, it is! All of the teachers at UA are so nice and helpful. It’s been amazing to get to meet them. I’ve learned so much from them all.”
As Ayumu thought about it, he realised he was quite lucky in some ways, to have gone to a school as prestigious as UA, and to have met as many pros as he had. Yet the more the thought lingered in his mind, the more bittersweet it truly was. All of his favourite pros got hurt, and he would never be able to shake the feeling that he was the cause of this correlation. Now it seemed that even he wasn’t immune to the effects of his injury-inducing bad luck.
“I wish you could have gotten to meet Sir,” he said suddenly, looking down at his hands, which fiddled with his hospital gown. “I think you would have liked him. I know you’ve always thought he was kind of scary… but there was this whole other side to him. He laughed at my jokes and he always made sure I had a smile on my face.”
He hadn’t realised how sad he must have looked until his dad got up from his chair, walking over to hug him, one hand around his shoulders and the other laying gently on the top of his head.
“I really miss him, Dad.”
“I know, son. I know.”