Haru's alarm went off at 6:15, but he was already wide awake, staring at the ceiling fan spinning lazy circles. Ever since that wild dream a couple nights ago, sleep had been playing hard to get. His mind kept replaying flashes—Chris's smile, his touch, the heat that felt way too real. Haru rubbed his face, groaning. "Get it together, dude."
"Papa! Pancakes!" A tiny voice yelled from down the hall, followed by the thump-thump of little feet. The bedroom door flew open, and Ichigo barreled in like a human cannonball, black wavy hair sticking up in every direction, bright brown eyes shining with pure four-year-old energy. He was still in his dinosaur pajamas, clutching his stuffed T-rex like it was his bodyguard.
Haru's tired face cracked into that soft, automatic smile he only ever wore for his kid. "Morning, troublemaker." He pulled Ichigo into a big hug, the boy's giggles vibrating against his chest. For a moment, the weight of deadlines and single-dad life felt lighter.
"Chris coming today? He promised animal pancakes!" Ichigo bounced on the bed, nearly launching the stuffed dino into orbit.
"Yeah, buddy. He'll be here soon." Just saying the name made Haru's stomach do a weird flip. He shook it off and swung his legs out of bed.
The morning routine was pure organized chaos. Haru shuffled to the bathroom, splashed cold water on his face to chase away the dark circles, and threw on a pale blue button-up with the sleeves rolled up—his usual "I'm an adult but barely" look. In the kitchen, Ichigo had already dragged his special stool to the counter, ready to "help" whether anyone asked or not.
Haru started the coffee—black gold, his one true love—and poured cereal for Ichigo. "Eat up, champ. No turning the milk into a swimming pool today, deal?"
Ichigo grinned, milk already on his chin. "Deal! But only if we make roars with pancakes."
The doorbell rang right on time—7:30 sharp. Haru opened it to find Chris standing there, light brown hair perfectly messy, hazel eyes bright and lively, wearing a simple white tee and jeans, apron slung over his shoulder like a cape. That genuine, sunny smile hit Haru harder than his morning coffee ever could.
"Ohayoo, Haru-san!" Chris chirped, stepping inside. He dropped to one knee instantly. "What's up, Captain Ichigo? Ready for pancake missions?"
Ichigo squealed and tackled Chris in a hug that nearly knocked him over. Chris laughed, swinging the kid around once before setting him down. Haru leaned against the wall, arms folded, watching the scene with a warmth he couldn't quite hide.
"Coffee?" Haru asked, voice a little rough from lack of sleep.
"Two sugars, please," Chris said, tying on his apron. His sleeves rolled up too, revealing slim forearms that moved with easy confidence. Haru tried—and failed—not to notice.
The three of them turned the kitchen into a pancake factory. Chris mixed batter while Ichigo "measured" flour (mostly dumping half the bag on the counter). A white cloud exploded everywhere—on Ichigo's cheeks, in Chris's hair, even dusting Haru's shirt like fake snow.
"Flour blizzard!" Ichigo yelled, clapping powdery hands.
Chris burst out laughing, that open, cheerful sound filling the whole apartment. "Best blizzard ever, little man."
Haru grabbed a dish towel, stepping close to wipe Ichigo's face. Chris reached at the same time, their fingers brushing over the kid's messy hair. The touch lingered—just a second—but it sent a spark straight up Haru's arm. Chris's hazel eyes flicked up, playful and warm, a faint blush coloring his cheeks.
"You got some too," Chris said softly, voice dropping lower. He lifted his hand, thumb gently brushing a streak of flour from Haru's jaw. The pad of his thumb was warm, the motion slow, almost tender. Haru's breath caught; he didn't pull away.
"Uh... uh. Thanks," Haru muttered, heart thudding way too loud.
Chris's smile turned shy, but his eyes held Haru's a beat longer than necessary. The kitchen suddenly felt ten degrees hotter.
They flipped pancakes into wobbly dinosaurs, stars, and one very questionable heart that Ichigo insisted was "for Papa and Chris to share." Syrup rivers ran across plates, and laughter bounced off the walls. Haru sat across from them, sipping coffee, watching Chris patiently cut Ichigo's food into tiny bites and praise every messy mouthful. The way Chris interacted with his son—so natural, so caring—made something in Haru's chest ache in the best way.
After breakfast came fort-building time. Blankets draped over chairs, pillows piled high. Ichigo declared it the "ultimate secret base" and dragged both adults inside. Haru's taller frame barely fit, knees bent awkwardly, while Chris folded himself neatly beside him. Their shoulders brushed, thighs pressed together in the cramped space. Neither moved away.
"Rawrrr! We fight bad guys!" Ichigo roared, then yawned mid-roar.
Chris chuckled. "Looks like the king dinosaur needs a nap recharge."
Storytime followed—Chris's animated voice bringing picture-book dragons to life while Haru tucked the blankets around Ichigo. The kid fought sleep valiantly, but finally conked out, tiny fingers still curled around his stuffed T-rex.
They slipped out quietly, closing the door with a soft click. The apartment fell into that rare midday hush. Haru headed to the kitchen to tackle the pancake apocalypse; Chris followed without a word.
"I got the dishes," Chris offered, nudging Haru gently with his hip. "You've got that big meeting later, right?"
Haru didn't budge. "We'll tag-team it."
They stood side by side at the sink, sleeves rolled higher, hands dipping into warm soapy water. Brushes of arms, accidental bumps—every touch lingered a fraction longer than it should. Chris flicked a bubble at Haru, grinning. Haru splashed back. Soon they were laughing, water droplets flying, shirts clinging damply to skin.
Chris backed Haru against the counter, palms flat on either side, caging him in playfully. Soap suds dotted his messy hair; his hazel eyes sparkled with mischief and something deeper, hotter. "You should laugh like this more often, Haru-san. Suits you."
Haru's pulse raced. Chris was so close—warmth radiating, that fresh, clean scent mixing with faint flour. The air between them crackled, thick and electric.
"Chris…" Haru breathed, not sure if it was a warning or an invitation.
Chris leaned in slowly, giving Haru every chance to stop him. He didn't. Their lips met—soft, tentative, like testing fragile glass. Then Haru's hand slid to Chris's waist, pulling him closer, and the kiss turned deeper, hungrier. Chris made a quiet, needy sound that shot straight through Haru. Fingers threaded into damp hair; bodies pressed together, heat building fast.
Hands wandered—over backs, along arms, tracing lines through wet fabric. Shirts clung tighter; breaths grew ragged. Haru's palms settled on Chris's hips, thumbs brushing bare skin where the tee had ridden up. Chris shivered, arching closer, one leg sliding between Haru's. The friction drew a low groan from Haru's throat.
Time stretched, the world shrinking to just them—soft gasps, whispered names, the quiet rustle of clothes shifting. Chris's lips trailed to Haru's jaw, then down his neck, warm and teasing. Haru tilted his head back, eyes fluttering shut, every nerve on fire.
They lost track of minutes, wrapped up in each other, the playful morning melting into something intense and undeniable. When they finally eased apart, both were flushed, breathing hard, foreheads resting together.
Chris's voice was husky, shy. "That was… intense."
Haru huffed a breathless laugh, thumb brushing Chris's swollen lip. "Yeah. No kidding."
Reality nudged its way back—Ichigo could wake any second, Haru's meeting loomed. They straightened clothes with reluctant fingers, stealing one last slow, gentle kiss before pulling away.
Chris grabbed his backpack, cheeks still pink. "I've got afternoon lecture, but… text me?"
Haru nodded, heart pounding. "Count on it."
The door clicked shut. Haru leaned against the counter, touching his lips, a small smile tugging at the corners. Whatever this thing between them was, it wasn't going away. And for the first time in years, he didn't want it to.
The rest of the day flew by in a blur—work calls, picking Ichigo up from preschool, dinner, bath, bedtime stories. But every quiet moment, Haru's mind drifted back to that kitchen, to Chris's taste, his warmth. By the time Ichigo was snoring softly, Haru's phone buzzed.
Chris: Still thinking about this morning. You?
Haru smiled at the screen, thumbs hovering before typing back.
Haru: Same here. Tomorrow can't come fast enough.