Haru crouched to Ichigo's level in the preschool hallway, tying the kid's shoelace while Chris waited by the door with the backpack. It was a regular Monday morning—rain drizzling outside, Ichigo in his favorite dino rain boots, chattering about the finger-painting project waiting inside.
But something was off. Ichigo's bright brown eyes weren't sparkling like usual. His wavy black hair was a bit flatter, and he dragged his stuffed bear by one arm instead of hugging it tight.
"You excited for school, buddy?" Haru asked, soft smile on.
Ichigo shrugged small, lower lip poking out. "Kinda."
Chris knelt too, hazel eyes gentle. "What's up, little man? Not feeling the paints today?"
Ichigo glanced at the classroom door, then back. "Timmy said... said I don't have a real family. 'Cause no mommy and two daddies."
Haru's heart cracked. Chris's face tightened—playful vibe gone in a flash.
Haru pulled Ichigo into a hug. "That's not true, champ. We are a real family. Me, you, Chris—and Mommy too, when she's here. Families come in all shapes."
Ichigo nodded against his shoulder, but his voice was tiny. "Timmy said it's weird. And other kids laughed."
Chris ruffled his hair. "Kids say dumb stuff sometimes 'cause they don't understand. But our family's awesome. We make pancakes, build forts, go to the park. That's real."
The teacher, Ms. Park, waved from the door—class starting. Ichigo hugged them extra tight before going in, waving bye with a braver smile.
In the car, Haru gripped the wheel hard. "Damn. He's four. Shouldn't deal with this crap."
Chris stared out the window, jaw set. "Homophobia starts early, huh? Makes me mad. And sad—for him."
Haru reached over, hand on Chris's thigh. "We'll talk to the teacher. And Aiko—co-parenting means looping her in."
They did—called Ms. Park after drop-off. She was supportive: "I'll address it in circle time—families are different, all loved. Timmy's parents will get a note too."
Aiko met them for lunch—quick café spot. She listened, eyes misty. "My boy facing this? Because of us?" Therapy voice kicked in: "It's not because of us—it's ignorance. I'll talk to him tonight, reinforce love."
Afternoon preschool pickup: Ichigo ran out happier, waving a drawing—stick figures of him, Haru, Chris, Aiko, all holding hands under a rainbow. "Ms. Park said families are like rainbows—different colors, all pretty!"
Haru scooped him up, heart swelling. Chris high-fived him. Crisis small, but handled.
Home, routine helped heal: snacks, park despite drizzle (puddles = fun), dinner mess. Bedtime, Ichigo asked quiet, "Am I weird?"
Haru and Chris tucked him in together. Haru: "No way, buddy. You're perfect. Families love different ways—that's special."
Chris added story voice: "Like superheroes—unique powers, but save the day together."
Ichigo giggled, drifting off secure.
Door closed, Haru and Chris living room—lights low, tension from day lingering, but love stronger.
Chris pulled Haru to couch. "Today sucked for him. But we nailed it—team."
Haru nodded, pulling close. "Yeah. Proud of us."
Kiss started soft—comfort, gratitude. Turned heated quick. Chris straddled lap, lips hungry. Tongues brushed urgent, breaths ragged.
Shirts shed—Chris's tee lifted slow, Haru's yanked. Skin met hot, slim pressing medium. Haru's mouth neck—kissing slow, nipping gentle. Chris arched, gasp breathy, grinding instinctive.
Pants undone impatient, pushed away. Bare, sweat-slick. Bodies aligned—Haru's hand wrapping firm, stroking rhythm rolls. Chris bucked, moans soft, legs tight.
Haru's free hand traced thigh, deepening friction. Pleasure coiled intense—eyes locked, hazel fierce love, brown protective. Whispers: "Our family," Chris panted; "Forever," Haru husky.
Climax shared—Chris tensing beautiful, release muffled cry. Haru followed, shuddering deep.
Tangled after, breaths evening. Chris smiled lazy. "Best way to end a tough day."
Haru kissed temple. "With you? Always."
Morning brought normal—pancakes, giggles, drop-off. Teacher update: talk went well, kids curious but kind. Timmy apologized (parent-prompted, but progress).
School drama small wave, but family sailed stronger—love the anchor.