Haru balanced the grocery bags in one arm while unlocking the door, Ichigo clinging to his leg like a mini anchor. "Papa, ice cream now?" the kid asked, pouting up with those big brown eyes.
"Soon, buddy. Gotta put stuff away first," Haru said, ruffling his wavy black hair. The apartment smelled like fresh coffee—Chris must've started a pot. It was a chill weekday evening, work done early, no big drama for once. The debt collectors had gone radio silent after the big payment, and Aiko's zoo trip with Ichigo last week had gone smooth, no weird vibes.
Chris poked his head out from the kitchen, apron on, light brown hair a charming mess. "Need a hand, Haru-san?"
Haru passed a bag over, their fingers brushing—electric, even after all this time. "Arigatou, captain. Ichigo's on ice cream strike till we serve."
Chris grinned, hazel eyes twinkling. "Coming right up, captain."
They unpacked together, Ichigo helping by stacking cans wobbly on the counter. Haru watched Chris move—slim build, lively steps, that innocent caring side shining as he scooped ice cream for the kid. Damn, he was hooked.
After snacks, playtime exploded: trains chugging across the floor, Ichigo directing like a boss. Chris joined in, making goofy sound effects. Haru sat back, soft smile cracking his usual serious face. But his mind wandered to Aiko's text earlier: Can we talk soon? About therapy stuff.
Nap time hit—Ichigo out cold after one story. The apartment hushed. Haru and Chris collapsed on the couch, legs tangled casual.
"You've been texting Aiko more," Chris said, voice neutral but curious. "Everything cool?"
Haru nodded, arm draping over Chris's shoulders. "Yes. She's opening up about her therapy. Wants to explain why she's pushing for more time with Ichigo."
Chris leaned in, head on Haru's chest. "Wanna share? Or is it private?"
Haru kissed his forehead. "Nah, you're part of this now. You should know about it too. Well...she called yesterday—spilled the beans. After the divorce, she hit rock bottom. Moved cities, new job, but the guilt ate her up. Sleepless nights, panic attacks. Started therapy six months in—some counselor specializing in family stuff."
Chris listened, fingers tracing patterns on Haru's thigh.
"She said it was brutal at first. Digging into why she cheated: feeling trapped, ignored, but admitting her part—avoiding talks, seeking escape. Learned about attachment styles—hers was 'avoidant,' mine 'anxious.' We clashed bad. Therapy helped her forgive herself, understand patterns from her own crappy childhood—distant parents, always performing for love."
Haru paused, voice dropping. "She's been working on boundaries, communication. Weekly sessions, journaling, even group therapy for divorced folks. Says it's why she's back—wants to be healthy for Ichigo, not repeat mistakes. Asked if I'd consider co-parenting counseling together."
Chris's eyes widened. "Whoa. That's big. You thinking about it?"
Haru shrugged. "Maybe. For Ichigo's sake. She's changed—calmer, more present. Therapy's her lifeline now. Meds for anxiety, mindfulness apps. Proud of her, honestly."
Chris smiled soft. "You're a good guy, Haru-san. Handling this like a champ."
Haru pulled him closer. "Couldn't without you. You keep me grounded."
The mood shifted—air thickening with warmth. Chris straddled Haru's lap, hands on his shoulders. Lips met slow, savoring—tongues brushing gentle, building fire. Haru groaned quiet, palms sliding up Chris's thighs, gripping hips to pull flush.
Kisses deepened, breaths hitching. Chris's fingers unbuttoned Haru's shirt slow, palms gliding over chest, thumbs circling sensitive peaks. Haru shivered, hands dipping under Chris's tee, tracing slim waist, pulling it off. Skin met hot, bodies pressing urgent.
Haru flipped them careful, laying Chris back, hovering close. Mouth trailed neck—kissing, nipping soft, leaving faint blooms. Chris arched, gasp escaping, legs wrapping Haru's waist. Friction sparked through pants, rhythm teasing slow.
Clothes shed impatient—pants unzipped, kicked away. Bare now, sweat-slick warmth. Haru's hand wrapped firm, stroking in time with grinds—pleasure coiling deep. Chris's nails raked Haru's back light, hips bucking to meet every touch.
They moved tangled—whispers of need, gasps mingling. Haru's free hand pinned Chris's wrist gentle, angle deepening friction. Eyes locked—Chris's hazel wild, Haru's brown burning affectionate.
Climax built shared—Chris tensing first, release crashing with breathy cry against Haru's shoulder. Haru followed, body shuddering, spilling hot as waves hit.
They stayed wrapped, breaths evening, foreheads touching. Chris smiled lazy. "You make everything feel right."
Haru kissed him tender. "Same here."
Afternoon blurred into routine: Ichigo waking hungry, park swings where Chris pushed him high, dinner of stir-fry with extra veggies Haru snuck in. Bath time splashes, bedtime stories with both reading parts—Ichigo demanding "Chris do the dragon voice!"
As the kid drifted off, Haru and Chris shared a look—grateful, connected. Evening wound down with couch cuddles, TV low, talking more about Aiko's journey.
"Therapy sounds tough," Chris said, head on Haru's lap. "But good she's doing it."
Haru nodded, fingers in Chris's hair. "Yeah. Makes me think—maybe I should try it too. Unpack my guarded crap."
Chris grinned up. "You're opening up fine with me."
Haru leaned down, stealing a kiss. "True. You're my therapy."
Night deepened—Chris staying over, slipping into bed quiet. They tangled under covers, breaths syncing, pasts shared, future bright.