Chris's phone buzzed on the kitchen counter, vibrating hard enough to rattle the salt shaker. He froze mid-stir, wooden spoon dripping sauce back into the pan. It was an unknown number—again. Third time this week.
Haru glanced over from setting the table, dark brown eyes sharpening. "Ignore it?"
Chris shook his head, wiping hands on the apron. Ichigo was in the living room, building a block fortress, oblivious. "Better answer. If it's them..."
He picked up, voice steady as he could make it. "Hello there?"
Rough laugh on the other end. Kenji—the taller collector from the street confrontation. "Iesuke. Thought you'd ghost us. Payment's late, kid. Five grand was due yesterday."
Chris's stomach dropped. They'd paid the last chunk on time—Haru's transfer. "We sent it. Check your account."
Kenji snorted. "We did. Cute—ten grand like big man. But interest rolls daily. You're short two now, plus 'late fee.' Seven by Friday, or we escalate."
Chris gripped the counter. "That's bullshit. We had a deal—"
"Deal's what boss says. And he says you're playing house with that daddy and his brat. Nice apartment. Be shame if something happened—leaky pipes, broken windows. Or maybe the kid's preschool gets a visit."
Threat cold as ice. Chris's blood boiled and chilled at once. "Touch them and—"
Kenji cut him. "Friday. Seven grand. Cash drop, place TBD. Don't test us." Click. Dead.
Chris set the phone down slow, hands shaking. Haru was there instant, arm around waist. "What'd they say?"
Chris repeated word for word, voice cracking on Ichigo's part. Haru's jaw clenched, protective fury flashing. "Motherfuckers."
Ichigo toddled in. "Dinner ready? I'm hungry!"
Chris forced smile, ruffling hair. "Almost, little man. Go wash hands."
Haru waited till kid gone. "We're not paying more. Police—now."
Chris nodded numb. "Yeah. But scared they'll retaliate fast."
They reported it—recorded call saved, officer took details serious this time. "Escalation with child mention—we'll patrol area, warn preschool."
Dinner quiet—Ichigo chattered, but adults tense. Bedtime early, kid out fast.
Living room, lights low. Chris paced, anxiety spiking. Haru pulled him to couch. "Hey. Breathe. We're handling."
Chris collapsed into him, face in neck. "Feels like no escape. They know everything."
Haru held tight. "They don't know us. We're smarter."
Comfort turned electric—need to feel alive, safe. Chris tilted up, lips crashing desperate. Haru kissed back fierce, hands framing face, tongues urgent. Chris straddled lap, grinding hard, friction instant heat.
Shirts shed quick—Chris's apron tossed, tees yanked. Skin met flushed, slim pressing medium. Haru's mouth neck—sucking marks claiming, soothing fear. Chris arched, gasp ragged, nails digging shoulders.
Pants undone impatient, pushed away. Bare, sweat hot. Bodies aligned—Haru's hand wrapping firm, stroking rhythm rolls. Chris bucked wild, moans breathy, legs tight.
Haru's free hand pinned wrist gentle, deepening grind. Pleasure coiled sharp—eyes locked, hazel scared yet burning, brown fierce love. Whispers: "Got you," Haru growled; "Don't let go," Chris pleaded.
Climax crashed shared—Chris tensing beautiful, release spilling hot muffled cry. Haru followed, shuddering deep, waves intense.
Tangled after, breaths ragged evening. Chris teary smile. "You make me feel safe."
Haru kissed temple. "Always will."
Showered soft—kisses water, hands reassuring. Bed tangled, talks safety plans: more police, debt lawyer consult, Haru installing cameras.
Morning: routine forced normal—pancakes, preschool drop with extra scans. Work blur, but Haru checked in constant.
Afternoon: lawyer meet—options limited, but bankruptcy threat to collectors possible. Police patrol visible, reassuring.
Evening: park guarded, dinner calm. Bedtime hugs extra tight.
As Ichigo slept, Haru and Chris couch—plans solidifying.
"Friday drop?" Chris asked.
Haru shook head. "Trap. We go police escort, or no show—force hand."
Chris nodded, leaning in. Threat loomed darker, but together stronger.