Fuma had always been that guy.
The leader who never stopped moving.
The one barking schedules, nitpicking choreography, flexing credentials with a smug little grin.
“Ah, you know—my dad wrote songs for ARASHI,” he’d say, like punctuation.
So when he finally collapsed into bed that night, his body didn’t rest—it shut down.
Deep. Gone. No leader. No boss. Just a worn-out human.
Morning came with a horrible, confusing realization.
The sheets were damp. His pajamas… not right.
Fuma jolted upright.
“…What the hell?! Why am I—why am I like—like a toddler—?!”
Panic spiked.
And unfortunately… witnesses happened.
Kento and Tera froze in the doorway.
Silence.
Then—
“WHAT ARE YOU LOOKING AT?!” Fuma snapped, face flushing hot. “YOU ENJOY HUMILIATING ME, DON’T YOU?!”
He lunged.
Too fast. Too messy. Too emotional.
Tera reacted on instinct, pushing him back just enough—
thunk.
Fuma stumbled, bumped his head lightly, and then…
Everything broke.
His breath hitched.
Hiccups bubbled out.
His hands curled into his sleeves.
“…h-hic… nnnh…”
Tears spilled before anyone could stop them.
“Oh—oh no,” Kento said immediately, arms wrapping around him. “Hey, hey, it’s okay. I’ve got you.”
Tera knelt, rubbing his head gently. “I’m so sorry, Fuma. You’re safe.”
And then they noticed it.
The way his words melted.
The unfocused eyes.
The tiny, broken sounds slipping out instead of sentences.
Sou’s face went pale.
“…Guys. He’s regressing.”
“Ma… mama…” Fuma whimpered, clutching Kento’s shirt.
Kento blinked. “Did he just—”
“Mummy…” Fuma turned, reaching for Tera with trembling hands.
“…Oh my god,” Tera whispered. “He called me mummy.”
Kento laughed weakly. “He called me mama.”
“Well,” Sou sighed, already switching to problem-solving mode, “guess that’s settled.”
The apartment turned into controlled chaos.
Shori and Masaki were dispatched immediately.
“Diapers,” Shori said firmly.
“Cute ones,” Masaki nodded. “Soft. No questions.”
Meanwhile—
Shuto took toy duty.
Hara took entertainment duty and immediately abused his power.
He poked Fuma’s cheek.
“Boop.”
Fuma’s face crumpled.
Then Hara pulled out his phone.
“Hey, wanna see something sc—”
“CUT IT OFF, HARA!” Shuto barked, yanking the phone away.
Fuma wailed.
Kento scooped him up instantly. “No scary stuff. No no. Mama’s here.”
When the supplies arrived, Tera handled bath time with surprising gentleness—warm water, quiet humming, careful hands.
Kento handled the rest, focused and tender.
“There we go,” he murmured. “All clean. All comfy.”
The others cleaned the bed like professionals who would never speak of this again.
When Fuma reappeared in a tiny hoodie, soft leggings, and clipped pacifier—
The room went silent.
“…He’s unfairly cute,” Masaki whispered.
“Bwuh… aaah… ba wa wa!” Fuma babbled happily, clapping.
Since little Fuma clearly had energy, they made a decision.
Outdoors.
The mall.
An indoor playground called PARENTHOOD, where adults and kids were welcome and nobody judged.
Fuma toddled along, paci bobbing, eyes huge.
“Ah ah ah—Fuma-chi,” Kento said gently, holding his hand. “Be patient. Mama’ll let you go soon.”
“MHMMHM!!! WAN NOW!!!” Fuma stomped.
Tera crouched. “If you wait nicely, mummy’ll get you ice cream.”
Fuma froze.
“…Ice… cweem?”
“Yes,” Kento smiled. “Big reward.”
“YEAAYYY!!”
He bounced in place, waiting with all the dramatic restraint of a very small human.
Inside, the playground was a wonderland—London buses, glowing tunnels, soft lights, a ball pool that shimmered like treasure.
“Cuh-lors!” Fuma gasped, crawling into the tunnel, paci squeaking softly.
“Careful, baby,” Tera called from outside.
Fuma explored everything—cages, slides, secret nooks—until he tired himself out, waddling more than walking. But mishaps happened as he stopped.
As Fuma crawled through the glowing tunnel, his movements slowly changed.
The excited wiggles turned into stiff little pauses.
He stopped mid-crawl, brows knitting together.
“…nnn…”
A tiny grunt slipped out, followed by a confused whine. He froze, then awkwardly shuffled forward again, clearly uncomfortable and smells started to waft up.
Kento noticed immediately.
“…Ah,” he said softly, recognizing the signs way too well. “Fuma baby.”
Tera leaned closer. “Did he—?”
Fuma’s face scrunched up, cheeks puffing as he let out a tiny, embarrassed whimper. He shifted his weight, clearly realizing something had happened but not quite understanding how.
“…uh-oh…” he mumbled.
A faint tell followed — enough that Kento sighed fondly instead of reacting with shock.
“Okay,” Kento said gently, voice calm and reassuring. “That’s our cue.”
“Nu… wan pway…” Fuma protested weakly, flopping onto his tummy and kicking his feet like a tired kitten.
“I know,” Kento murmured, lifting him carefully. “But we take care of our body first. Then we go right back.”
Fuma sniffled, then clung to Kento’s hoodie, paci bobbing as he whimpered.
Tera rubbed his back. “It’s alright, baby. No scolding. Accidents happen.”
Within minutes, everything was handled discreetly and kindly — no teasing, no drama. Just clean clothes, soft words, and reassuring hugs.
Fuma relaxed almost instantly, snuggling into Kento’s chest.
“…mmh…”
“There we go,” Kento smiled. “All better.”
Fuma perked up again soon after, waddling back toward the lights, completely unbothered now — as if nothing embarrassing had ever happened at all.
Kento noticed immediately.
“Alright, Fuma baby,” he said softly. “Time for a change.”
“Nu!! WAN PWAY!!”
Tiny tantrum. Kicks. Tears.
But Kento just lifted him gently. “We’ll play again after. Promise.”
Fresh clothes. Clean hugs. A playful pat.
Peace restored.
Later, ice cream happened.
Fuma beamed, sticky smile and all, hopping as he walked, crinkle-crinkle sounds following him like a secret soundtrack.
Tired. Happy. Safe.
For once… the overworked leader didn’t have to lead.
He just had to be held.