Haru stared at his reflection in the bathroom mirror, towel slung low around his hips after a quick shower. The steam fogged the edges, but his face was clear—dark brown eyes warmer than they used to be, slight dark circles fading a bit. He rolled his shoulders, feeling the tension from the day's office grind ease out. Therapy reflections had been hitting him hard lately, ever since that co-parenting session with Aiko.
It started simple: Ms. Tanaka suggesting he try solo sessions. "Unpack your guarded side," she'd said. Haru resisted at first—big surprise, right? But after a couple weeks, he bit the bullet. Weekly talks, digging into the dirt of his past.
"Papa! Chris says dinner's ready!" Ichigo's voice piped from the hallway, pulling Haru back. The kid was a whirlwind, black wavy hair bouncing as he peeked in.
Haru smiled soft, that rare one just for his son. "Coming, buddy. Tell Chris two minutes."
Ichigo nodded big, toddling off. Haru dressed quick—casual tee and sweats, sleeves pushed up. The apartment smelled like stir-fry heaven, Chris's specialty. In the kitchen, Chris stirred the pan, apron tied over his simple shirt and pants, light brown hair charmingly messy. His hazel eyes lit up when Haru walked in.
"Perfect timing, Haru-san. Veggies are crisp, just how you like."
Haru wrapped arms around Chris from behind, chin on his shoulder. "Smells killer. You spoil us."
Chris blushed faint, leaning back. "Gotta keep my guys happy."
Ichigo climbed his booster seat, demanding "extra carrots!" They ate family-style—chatter about preschool art, Chris's college quiz (aced it, of course), Haru's boring meeting. Ichigo smeared sauce on his cute t-shirt, pouting when Haru wiped it.
After dinner, playtime chaos: blocks tumbling, Chris making goofy faces to Ichigo's delight. Haru's heart swelled watching—Chris's energetic vibe contrasting his own reserved one, but blending perfect.
Bath time splashed on, bedtime stories followed. Ichigo conked out mid-tale, clutching his dino. Haru tucked him in, protective hand lingering on his head. "Sweet dreams, little man."
Back in the living room, Chris dimmed lights, pulling Haru to the couch. "You were quiet tonight. Therapy stuff?"
Haru nodded, arm around Chris's shoulders. "Yep. Session yesterday got deep. Ms. Tanaka asked about my 'walls'—why I keep people at arm's length."
Chris snuggled closer, open posture inviting. "What'd you say?"
Haru exhaled, vulnerability creeping in. "Tied to the divorce, mostly. Aiko leaving gutted me. Felt like failure—as a husband, partner. Built those walls higher after. Work became escape, Ichigo my only soft spot. Therapy's making me see patterns—from childhood too. Dad was distant, always working. Mom tried, but I learned early: don't show weakness, handle it solo."
Chris's hazel eyes softened, hand on Haru's knee. "Sounds heavy. But you're changing—opening up to me, to Aiko even."
Haru smiled faint. "Absolutely. Reflections hit different now. Journaling helps—writing fears, wins. Like how hiring you cracked me open. Your cheer, caring... made me want more than surviving. Therapy's teaching tools: breathing for stress, voicing needs. Feels cheesy, but works. Less tired inside."
Chris's blush deepened, subtle affection shining. "Proud of you, Haru-san. You're healing."
The air thickened—gratitude turning electric. Haru cupped Chris's face, thumb tracing jaw. Chris leaned in, lips meeting soft, then hungry. Tongues brushed teasing, breaths quickening. Chris shifted to straddle Haru's lap, slim frame pressing close.
Haru's hands slid under Chris's shirt, palms warm on back, tracing spine. Chris shivered, grinding slow, friction sparking through fabric. Shirts peeled off—Chris's tossed, Haru's yanked away. Skin met hot, Haru's medium build against Chris's healthy slimness.
Mouths wandered—Haru kissing neck, nipping collarbone gentle, leaving faint marks. Chris arched, gasp breathy, fingers tangling Haru's black hair, tugging guide. Pants undone impatient, pushed down with shaky hands.
Bare now, sweat-slick warmth. Bodies aligned perfect—Haru's hand wrapping firm, stroking rhythm with rolls. Chris bucked, moans soft, legs wrapping tighter. Haru's free hand pinned Chris's wrist light, angle deepening grind.
Pleasure coiled intense—eyes locked, hazel burning need, brown full love. Whispers mingled: "Feel so good," Chris panted; "Mine," Haru growled low.
Climax built shared—Chris tensing beautiful, release crashing muffled against Haru's shoulder. Haru followed, shuddering hard, waves hitting deep.
Tangled after, breaths evening. Chris smiled lazy. "Therapy boost?"
Haru chuckled, kissing temple. "Best kind."
They cleaned quick—shower touches playful, more kisses under water. Dressed cozy, shared couch time with TV low, talking deeper.
"Therapy's scary at first," Haru said, fingers in Chris's hair. "But unpacking the mess... frees you up. Like shedding old skin."
Chris nodded. "Makes sense. Maybe I should try—for the debt stress, Mom's stuff."
Haru squeezed his hand. "I'll go with you. Support crew."
Evening wound down—Chris staying, slipping bed quiet. Tangled under covers, breaths syncing, reflections shared, hearts lighter.
Morning routine kicked in: pancakes, Ichigo's giggles, preschool drop. Work blur for Haru, but therapy echoes kept him steady. Afternoon park with Chris and Ichigo—swings high, ice cream treats.
Dinner simple, bath fun, bedtime hugs. As Ichigo slept, Haru and Chris curled up, future feeling solid amid healing.