Haru juggled his coffee mug and laptop bag as he locked the apartment door, Ichigo tugging at his hand like an impatient puppy. It was one of those crisp mornings where the air nipped at your nose, but the sun promised a decent day. "Papa, hurry! Chris waits!" Ichigo whined, his bright brown eyes wide, stuffed dino under one arm.
Haru chuckled, that soft smile reserved for his kid breaking through his usual serious vibe. "We're going, buddy. No rushing or we'll trip." He held Ichigo's tiny hand tighter, protective as always, guiding him down the stairs. The four-year-old's daily routine was like clockwork—breakfast, play, park, nap—and Chris had slotted right in, making it all smoother.
At the bottom, Chris was waiting by the street, leaning against a lamppost with his backpack slung over one shoulder. His light brown hair caught the light, looking charmingly messy, and his hazel eyes lit up when he saw them. "Ohayo, dynamic duo!" he called, crouching to high-five Ichigo.
"Chris! We go park?" Ichigo bounced, grabbing Chris's hand too. Now Haru and Chris were linked through the kid, walking like a makeshift family unit.
Haru felt a warm buzz in his chest. "Yeah, park first. Then your nap, little man."
The playground was buzzing with other kids, but Ichigo zeroed in on the swings. Chris pushed him gently at first, then higher as Ichigo squealed for "more!" Haru sat on the bench, watching them. Chris's energy was infectious—lively posture, genuine laughs—but Haru caught those subtle glances his way, hints of affection that made his heart skip.
After swings came sandbox chaos. Ichigo built lopsided castles, demanding Chris and Haru join. "Papa, big tower! Chris, moat!"
Chris knelt in the sand, sleeves rolled up, helping shape the walls. "This is gonna be epic, Ichigo. Like a fortress for dinosaurs."
Haru joined in, his trousers getting sandy, but he didn't care. Their hands brushed while packing dirt—accidental, but electric. Chris blushed faintly, that playful expression turning shy.
By lunchtime, they headed home. Ichigo was pooped, yawning through his sandwich. Nap time hit like a truck—Chris tucked him in with a story about brave explorers, the kid's wavy black hair splayed on the pillow, clutching his toy.
With Ichigo out, the apartment hushed. Haru made fresh coffee, handing a mug to Chris on the couch. "You look beat today. Everything okay?"
Chris took the cup, fingers brushing Haru's—on purpose this time. He sighed, leaning back, his open posture closing a bit. "Yeah… just stuff from the past creeping up. Mom's bills, you know?"
Haru sat closer, arm draping casually over the back of the couch. "Wanna talk? I'm all ears."
Chris stared into his coffee, hazel eyes distant. "It's heavy, Haru-san. Mom got cancer when I was 15. Breast cancer—aggressive type. Treatments were brutal: chemo, radiation, surgery. Dad bailed early, so it was just us. Insurance covered some, but not enough. We racked up debt fast—hospital stays, meds, all that crap."
Haru nodded, listening quietly. He'd heard bits, but not the full story.
Chris continued, voice dropping. "I worked odd jobs after school—delivering papers, mowing lawns—but it wasn't cutting it. Then… I borrowed from the wrong people. Local gangsters in our old neighborhood. They fronted cash for mom's last rounds of treatment. She beat it, thank God—she's in remission now, living with my aunt. But the debt? It's like a shadow. Interest piles up, and they want payments. I've been scraping by with college gigs and this job, but it's tight."
Haru's stomach twisted. "Damn, Chris. That's rough. How much we talking?"
Chris rubbed his neck, avoiding eye contact. "Too much. Around 50 grand now, with the interest. They call sometimes—subtle threats, like 'don't forget us.' I pay what I can, but college tuition eats the rest."
Haru set his mug down, turning to face him fully. His reserved side cracked; vulnerability showed in his dark brown eyes. "You're carrying that alone? Why didn't you say sooner?"
Chris shrugged, a weak smile. "Didn't wanna dump it on you. You're dealing with your own stuff—work, Ichigo, the divorce hangover."
Haru reached out, hand on Chris's knee. "We're in this together now, right? That kiss yesterday… it wasn't just a fluke."
Chris's blush deepened, but he leaned in. "No. Definitely not."
The air shifted, charged like before. Haru cupped Chris's face, thumb tracing his jaw. Chris's breath hitched, eyes fluttering shut as Haru closed the gap. The kiss started soft—lips brushing, tender—but heat built quick. Chris's hands slid up Haru's arms, gripping his shoulders, pulling him closer.
They shifted on the couch, bodies aligning. Haru deepened the kiss, tongue teasing Chris's lips until they parted with a sigh. Chris tasted like coffee and sweetness, his slim frame pressing against Haru's taller, medium build. Hands wandered—Chris's fingers unbuttoning Haru's shirt slowly, tracing the slight athletic lines beneath. Haru shivered, his own hands slipping under Chris's tee, palms flat on warm skin, feeling the healthy slimness.
Chris straddled Haru's lap carefully, hips settling in a way that drew quiet gasps from both. The friction was teasing, deliberate—bodies rocking gently, building warmth through clothes. Haru's mouth moved to Chris's neck, kissing along the pulse point, nipping softly. Chris arched, a breathy moan escaping, fingers tangling in Haru's messy black hair.
Clothes shifted—shirts pushed up, exposing skin to cool air and warm touches. Haru's hands explored Chris's back, waist, pulling him tighter. Chris's hips ground down, the rhythm slow but insistent, breaths mingling hot and fast. Soft whispers filled the space—names, encouragements, the rustle of fabric adding to the haze.
They lost themselves in the moment, the couch creaking faintly under their weight. Every touch felt electric, intimate—kisses trailing lower, hands mapping sensitive spots, the world fading to just sensation and connection. Chris's cheeks flushed deep, hazel eyes locked on Haru's with raw want; Haru's tired expression melted into pure desire, dark circles forgotten.
Eventually, they slowed, breaths evening out, bodies still tangled. Chris rested his head on Haru's shoulder, smiling softly. "You make the bad stuff feel smaller."
Haru kissed his temple. "We'll handle your debt. Together. No more hiding."
Chris nodded, vulnerability shining through. "Okay. Arigatou, Haru-san."
Ichigo's nap ended soon after—toddling out with sleepy pouts, demanding snacks. The afternoon blurred into routine: coloring books, a quick grocery run where Ichigo held both hands again, dinner prep. Chris seemed lighter, his cheerful energy back, but Haru caught him checking his phone once, frowning at a text before pocketing it.
Evening wound down with bath time—bubbles everywhere, Ichigo splashing like a mini tsunami. Chris and Haru tag-teamed, laughing as water soaked their shirts. Bedtime stories followed, Ichigo drifting off mid-tale.
At the door, Chris lingered. "Thanks for listening today. Means the world."
Haru pulled him into a quick hug. "Anytime. Text me if those guys bug you."
Chris nodded, stealing a fast kiss before heading out. Haru locked up, mind racing. Chris's backstory hit hard—debt, gangsters, a kid fending for his mom. It made Haru more protective, like with Ichigo. But it also scared him. What if this blew up?
His phone buzzed later—Chris: Home safe. Sweet dreams, Haru-san. 💕
Haru: You too. We'll sort this.
Yeah, things were getting real. And Haru was all in.