His father was waiting for him.
Not in the obvious sense, he wasn't standing in the hallway or sitting at the kitchen table.
He was in the lounge with his suit on as usual. He had a cup of tea placed beside him on the table, which had stopped steaming a while ago.
The television was on but the volume was so low that it looked like the people on there were just mouthing their words. Amane and her mother upstairs, the distant sound of Amane's voice complaining suggesting that someone had hit their bedtime.
Itsuki came through the front door, already registering the configuration of the room through his wings in half a second before he rounded the corner.
That's when he understood what was happening here.
'He's been home for at least two hours. The tea is cold. He turned the television on to look like he wasn't waiting and the volume is too low to actually watch anything even for him since he has his earbuds on. His heartbeat is at resting rate, which would not be an issue if it weren't that he always has a slightly higher beat than most people, he's clearly prepared for something . That's worse than if he were worked up about it.'
He came into the lounge and sat down on the sofa without being asked, set his bag down, and waited.
His father looked at him for a moment. Then he reached over and turned the television off.
"How was school?" he asked.
"Fine," Itsuki said.
"Anything interesting happen?"
"No."
His father nodded slowly, the way he did when he was letting something sit before he used it. He picked up his tea, saw it was cold, and set it back down.
"I want to talk to you about something," he said.
"Alright," Itsuki said.
"I'd like you to be honest with me."
"I'm always honest with you," Itsuki calmly replied.
His father looked at him with the expression of a man who had enhanced hearing, enhanced vision, and eleven years of raising this particular child.
"You told me you were at Shinso's," his father said. "The Thursday before last. You left at six forty in the morning."
'He clocked the time. I should've expected this, his hearing is good enough to hear footsteps on the stairs at that hour and he could probably do it in his sleep as well.'
"I went for a walk first," Itsuki said. "I had trouble sleeping."
"A walk," his father said.
"Yes."
"For how long."
"An hour or so."
"In the warehouse district?" his father commented.
He nearly lost his composure, his heart dropped but he managed to stay collected. His father was paying close attention so he couldn't afford to mess up.
"I walk in different directions," Itsuki said. "I don't really have a fixed route."
"The soles of your shoes that day had a specific type of grit on them," his father said, pointing towards his feet, even though he had no shoes on.
"The warehouse district uses a particular grade of industrial aggregate for its pavements. It's different from the residential streets. I noticed it when you came home that evening."
'This motherfucker checked my shoes? I knew he had enhanced senses and was suspicious of me my entire life but to check my shoes to prove a point was on another level. Why hasn't he become a cop yet?'
Itsuki kept his face neutral and his breathing even and did not move his eyes away from his father's, because breaking eye contact was the thing people did when they had been busted and Itsuki was determined to stay firm in this mind battle.
"I was curious about the area," he said. "I'd heard about it and wanted to see what it looked like."
"At six in the morning."
"I told you I had trouble sleeping."
Itsuki kept his expression steady and his eyes exactly where they were.
"I walk in different directions," he said. "I don't have a fixed route."
"At six in the morning."
"I told you I couldn't sleep."
"You've told me that twice now," his father said. "The exact same phrasing both times."
'While not necessarily a way to tell if someone is lying, repetition often beats upon frustration and when you are losing control, I don't know if his saying you've repeated that twice has some deeper meaning or he is just observing it, but I can never be too paranoid now.'
"It's the accurate description," Itsuki said. "I don't have a different way to put it."
His father looked at him for a moment, Itsuki was unsure whether or not he believed him. .
"The wheel," he said, moving onto another topic.
"What about it," Itsuki said.
"You told the doctor at five years old that you didn't know what it was."
"I've watched it appear approximately forty times since then."
I've watched it appear when you're under physical strain, when something hits you, when you're pushing yourself past a normal limit."
"It appears and spins and something changes in how you move afterward."
He pointed towards me.
"You know exactly what it does."
Itsuki said nothing.
"You've known for a long time," his father continued. "And you made a decision at five years old, in that doctor's office, to say you didn't."
"At five I had a limited understanding of it," Itsuki said. "That was accurate at the time."
"And now?"
"Now I understand it better."
"What does it do?"
He considered for a moment how much to give here. Giving something real always costs less than people expected, because it creates the impression of honesty around everything adjacent to it.
"It adapts," he said. "When something affects me physically, it processes it and adjusts. The second time the same thing affects me, it does less. By the third, usually negligible."
His father remained still, he has suspected this for a long time and to have his suspicions confirmed was a great joy to him, but he couldn't show that out loud yet.
"So you are effectively," his father said slowly, "immune to anything given enough exposure."
"Not immediately though."
"But you recover from it."
"Yes."
"Completely."
"Yes."
"Because of the reverse—" His father stopped.
"Because of another ability you haven't mentioned."
The room was quiet enough that the house settling made a sound.
"WHAT? This is a great surprise he almost said it, I don't think I've ever talked about reverse cursed technique out loud, how could he know? He knows there is a healing component and he stopped himself from naming it, which means he still doesn't want to reveal everything he knows, he still doesn't trust me.'
"My wings have a regenerative function," Itsuki said, which was true and adjacent to what his father was reaching for without being the thing itself.
His father looked at him steadily. "Your wings."
"Yes."
"It's the wings."
"The wings have more functions than the doctor recorded," Itsuki said. "I've discovered more over time."
His father's eyes had not moved from his face for the last several minutes, Itsuki was determined not to lose face or look like he wasn't confident, the two of them sat in the quiet lounge just staring at each other.
"You're very good at this," his father sighed.
"Answering questions with true things that aren't the answer," his father said. "You've been doing it since you could talk. I've watched you do it with teachers, with doctors, with me. You never lie outright. You find the true thing that points in the wrong direction and you use that instead." He paused. "It's impressive. It's also something an eleven year old should not be this practiced at."
"I've always thought carefully about what I say," Itsuki said. "That's not unusual."
"No," his father agreed. "But the… precision of it is. The way you calibrate exactly how much truth to give and in which direction to point it." He leaned forward slightly. "Itsuki. Where did you learn to do that."
And there it was.
The question that he really wanted answered. The question as to which Itsuki hoped that his father wouldn't ask, not just something that was out of something feeling out of place but built up by planning and evidence.
Itsuki looked at his father: the suit, the glasses, the cold tea, the man who had been sitting in this room for two hours waiting for him just to ask this question. He stayed quiet for three seconds before answering back.
"I read a lot," he said.
His father held his gaze for a long moment.
Then he sat back, he wasn't satisfied with the answer but he knew he couldn't outright deny it.
"Alright," he said.
"I'm not going to pretend I think that's the full answer," he said. "But I'm also not going to keep pushing tonight."
He looked at Itsuki directly.
"What I will say is this. Whatever you're doing — whatever you've been doing — I need you to know that you can tell me. I won't even stop you, I just need to know Itsuki, it's something that has been on my mind for years you know?."
"You understand me?"
"Yes," Itsuki said. "I understand you."
"Good." He stood up. "Go to bed. You've got school."
"Yeah," Itsuki said.
'DAMN IT HE GOT ME!'
"I've been totally outclassed, he analysed all the leftovers that I hadn't cleaned up effectively. It wouldn't be too much of a bother if he figured out who I am but… I am trained for this and… he's just a citizen, I've been trying not to get caught and he just disassembles me like that, albeit over 11 years it is still so frustrating.'
He went to his room and sat on the edge of his bed.
✦ ✦ ✦
Downstairs, his father sat alone in the quiet house for a while longer.
He was a man who had lived his entire life receiving more information than he could always act on.
His enhanced hearing was strong enough to listen to a heartbeat even when his earbuds were on. Itsuki's heartbeat had remained relatively the same throughout the entire process of him talking, so calm and composed even when he had let go, it had made him unsure whether or not the kid was really suspicious.
His enhanced vision had watched from across the room the small adjustments of expressions that he put on, the deliberate settling of his to be neutral and almost uncaring.
It was unsettling how calm he always was, he had never heard his hearbeat spike when he told a lie, not once in eleven years.
That was not the behavior of a child who had learned to stay calm under pressure. That was the behavior of a pathological liar.
With most people he could discern whether or not they were lying, unless they were trained individuals… or Tenrin Itsuki, his son. It always made him uneasy, not knowing what his true intentions was.
By no means was he a mind reader, but he was used to reading people more than he was to reading books. So seeing how his little child was able to lie and tell the truth and he wasn't able to tell was frustrating.
"Damn it… he got me," his father chuckled to himself as he put his legs on the table.
So he would wait until his son was ready to tell the truth, he was unsure if he wanted to keep on monitoring him anymore. The conversation he had just had with him would make him even more cautious.
But he was a patient man.
He could wait.
***
[A/N]: I wrote this while a little sick, so pardon me if there were any spelling or grammar mistakes.
Also please can you guys review the fic. Roughly 20k words in so I think that's enough content for a proper review.