Chris stared at the ceiling, the fan spinning lazy circles in the dim bedroom light. It was one of those quiet nights where the world outside faded, but the noise inside his head cranked up loud. Haru was beside him, breathing steady in sleep, arm slung over Chris's waist like an anchor. Ichigo was out cold in his room, the apartment peaceful. But Chris couldn't shut off the thoughts—Dad's note, Mom's tears, that empty feeling like the floor dropped out.
He slipped out of bed careful, not wanting to wake Haru. Padded to the living room, wine glass from earlier still on the table. He poured a splash, sat on the couch, knees drawn up. The abandonment stuff—Dr. Lee called it trauma—had been poking him more since therapy started. Sessions dug deep, but tonight it hit like a wave.
Flashbacks crept in: Nine-year-old Chris coming home from school, rain pattering the windows. Mom at the table, diagnosis letter crumpled. Then Dad's note days later: "Can't do this. Sorry." Door shut, gone forever. Chris punching the wall, knuckles bloody, vowing to be enough for Mom. But that "not enough" seed planted deep, grew roots.
He sipped wine, eyes stinging. Therapy homework: journal the feelings. He grabbed his notebook, scrawled messy: "Why wasn't I worth staying for? What if Haru leaves too? Or Ichigo gets hurt 'cause of me?"
The door creaked—Haru, sleepy-eyed, sleeves rolled on his tee, dark brown gaze concerned. "Hey. Couldn't sleep?"
Chris set the glass down, forcing a weak smile. "Nah. Brain's on overdrive."
Haru sat close, arm around shoulders. "Talk it out? I'm up."
Chris leaned in, vulnerability raw. "Therapy stuff. Dr. Lee says abandonment trauma from Dad bailing. Hits hard sometimes—like I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop. With you, Ichigo... scares me I'll mess up, you'll bounce."
Haru pulled him tighter, protective hold. "Not happening. But unpack it. What'd Dr. Lee say?"
Chris exhaled shaky. "It's like a wound that never healed right. Dad leaving during Mom's cancer? Felt like he chose easy over us. I was kid, handling adult crap—bills, chemo runs, lying to friends 'bout why I flaked. Therapy's making me see patterns: I over-give, fear rejection. Like with the debt—didn't tell you at first 'cause thought you'd see me as burden, leave."
Haru listened, thumb rubbing Chris's arm. "That's heavy. But you're not a burden. You're strength—handled hell young, came out kind."
Chris's eyes misted. "Dr. Lee gave exercises: reframe thoughts. 'Dad's failure, not mine.' Journal positives, affirm worth. Sounds cheesy, but helps a bit. Still... nights like this, the 'not enough' voice screams."
Haru tilted his chin up, eyes warm but serious. "You're more than enough. For me, Ichigo, your mom. Therapy's unlocking that—proud of you facing it."
The air charged—comfort turning electric. Chris closed the gap, lips meeting soft, desperate for connection. Haru kissed back deep, hands framing face, tongues brushing urgent yet tender.
They shifted—Chris straddling Haru's lap, bodies flush. Shirts peeled slow—Haru's tee yanked, Chris's lifted off. Skin met hot, slim pressing medium build. Haru's mouth trailed neck—kissing slow, nipping collarbone gentle, leaving faint blooms that soothed abandonment aches.
Chris arched, breath hitching, grinding instinctive. Friction sparked through pants, building sweet. Haru's hands roamed back, gripping hips to guide rhythm. Pants undone impatient, pushed away.
Bare now, sweat-slick warmth. Bodies aligned—Haru's hand wrapping firm, stroking in time with rolls. Chris bucked, moans breathy, legs wrapping tighter. Haru's free hand traced thigh, deepening grind.
Pleasure coiled intense—eyes locked, hazel vulnerable yet burning, brown full reassurance. Whispers: "Worth everything," Haru murmured; "Stay with me," Chris gasped needy.
Climax built shared—Chris tensing beautiful, release crashing muffled against Haru's shoulder. Haru followed, shuddering hard, waves deep.
Tangled after, breaths evening. Chris smiled teary. "You chase the ghosts away."
Haru kissed forehead. "We'll keep chasing. Together."
They cleaned gentle—shower touches soft, more kisses under water. Dressed cozy, shared bed again—Chris curled Haru's side, sleep coming easier.
Morning routine: pancakes, Ichigo's giggles, coffee. Haru dropped Chris at college, quick kiss. "Therapy today?"
Chris nodded. "Yeah. Digging more."
Session with Dr. Lee: unpacked abandonment deeper—role-play rejecting the 'not enough' voice, affirm positives. Chris left empowered, lighter.
Afternoon: park with Ichigo, swings high, ice cream treats. Dinner family-style, bath fun, bedtime hugs.
As Ichigo slept, Haru and Chris curled couch. "How was session?"
Chris shared—reflections, exercises. "Feels like unlocking a door I nailed shut."
Haru squeezed hand. "Proud. You're healing strong."
Wine shared, talks flowed—past pains, future dreams. Bond deeper, trauma fading slow.