a state of almost (until it wasn't)

🏠

Hokuto tastes like mint and the lingering sweetness of the red wine they shared earlier. Taiga presses him deeper into the mattress, savoring the way Hokuto’s breath hitched when he slides a hand under his shirt. Six months of learning each other’s bodies, and still Taiga finds himself dizzy with want.

“Fuck, I needed this,” Taiga murmurs against Hokuto’s throat.

The past week at work had been hell—some idiot in marketing had leaked confidential product features to a competitor, and Taiga had spent endless hours in damage control while Hokuto rewrote code until his eyes were bloodshot.

Hokuto’s fingers tangle in Taiga’s hair, tugging just enough to send a shiver down his spine. “Less talking,” he says, voice rough in a way that makes Taiga’s skin prickle with heat.

Taiga complies, working his way down Hokuto’s body, unbuttoning his shirt with practiced ease. He takes his time, partly because he knows it drives Hokuto crazy, partly because he’s still not over the fact that he gets to have this—gets to have him. Six months, and sometimes Taiga still wakes up stunned to find Hokuto’s arm draped across his waist, as if the universe had made a clerical error in his favor.

“You’re thinking too much again,” Hokuto whispers, thumb tracing Taiga’s lower lip.

“Occupational hazard.” Taiga nips at the pad of Hokuto’s thumb before returning to the task at hand. He pushes Hokuto’s shirt open, revealing the lean planes of his chest, and dips his head to taste the salt of his skin.

Hokuto arches beneath him, one hand still tangled in Taiga’s hair while the other fumbles with Taiga’s belt. There’s an urgency to his movements that Taiga recognizes—the same desperate need to forget the stress of the week, to lose himself in something that makes sense when everything else feels like it’s spiraling.

“Want you,” Hokuto breathes, and Taiga feels those two simple words like a current through his body.

He shifts, aligning their hips, relishing the friction even through layers of clothing. Hokuto’s eyes flutter closed, his lips parting on a soft exhale that Taiga captures with his own mouth. He tastes the wine again, darker now, mixed with desire.

Taiga’s belt finally gives way under Hokuto’s persistent fingers. He feels the cool air against his skin as Hokuto pushes his shirt up, palms flat against his ribs, his touch both reverent and demanding.

“Too many clothes,” Taiga complains, breaking the kiss to tug at Hokuto’s pants. “Off.”

Hokuto laughs, the sound warm and intimate in the dim light of the bedroom. “So bossy.”

“You like it.”

“I do.” Hokuto lifts his hips, helping Taiga slide his pants down his thighs.

They’re both breathing harder now, movements growing more urgent. Taiga presses his forehead against Hokuto’s, savoring the closeness, the way their breath mingles in the narrow space between them. He slides a hand down Hokuto’s side, fingers skimming the waistband of his boxers.

“Taiga,” Hokuto says, voice breaking on his name in a way that makes Taiga’s chest tight with something beyond desire.

And then—a knock at the door, so soft Taiga almost thinks he imagined it.

“Papa? Tiger-san?” Ema’s voice, small and uncertain, filters through the wood.

Taiga freezes, his hand still on Hokuto’s hip. For a moment, neither of them moves, as if staying perfectly still might somehow make the interruption disappear.

Another knock, a little louder. “Are you awake?”

Hokuto sighs, his breath warm against Taiga’s neck. “Just a second, sweetheart,” he calls, already shifting to sit up.

Taiga rolls off him, swallowing a groan of frustration. He adjusts himself quickly, pulling his shirt down while Hokuto scrambles to button his own and retrieve his pants from where they’ve been discarded on the floor.

“You decent?” Taiga whispers.

Hokuto nods, running a hand through his disheveled hair in a futile attempt to smooth it.

Taiga crosses to the door, taking a deep breath to steady himself before opening it just enough to see Ema’s small figure in the hallway. She’s clutching Mr. Bunny in one arm, her other hand twisting the hem of her nightgown.

“Hey, princess,” Taiga says, keeping his voice casual despite the heat still coursing through his veins. “What’s up?”

“I can’t sleep,” Ema says, her eyes wide and solemn in the dim light of the hallway. “I had a bad dream.”

Taiga feels Hokuto come up behind him, a warm, solid presence at his back. “What kind of dream?” Hokuto asks, his voice already shifting into concerned-father mode despite the fact that Taiga can feel the tension still humming through him.

Ema’s lower lip trembles. “There were monsters under my bed. And they were going to eat Sparkle and Mr. Bunny.”

“That sounds scary,” Taiga says, crouching down to her level. “But you know what? I happen to be an expert monster-chaser.”

Ema clutches Mr. Bunny tighter. “You are?”

“Absolutely. What do you say we go check under your bed together?”

Ema’s room is awash in soft blue light from the nightlight. Taiga crouches beside her bed, making an exaggerated show of checking underneath while Hokuto stands at the doorway, arms crossed, watching them with barely concealed amusement.

“I don’t see any monsters here,” Taiga announces, lifting the dust ruffle higher. “Just some dust bunnies, but they’re the friendly kind.”

Ema peers over the edge of the bed, skeptical. “Are you sure? They were really big. With teeth.”

“Positive.” Taiga straightens up, knees cracking. “Your papa and I have a strict no-monsters policy in this house.”

Hokuto snorts softly from the doorway.

Ema clutches Mr. Bunny tighter, her eyes still wide with lingering fear. She glances from Taiga to Hokuto, then back again. “What if they come back when you leave?”

Here it comes, Taiga thinks, already seeing the trajectory of this conversation.

“Can I sleep with you tonight?” Ema asks, her voice small but hopeful. “Just tonight. I promise.”

Taiga looks at Hokuto, whose expression has already softened into surrender. They both know how this ends.

Hokuto gives an imperceptible nod, and Taiga feels a complicated mix of resignation and tenderness wash over him.

“Just for tonight,” Taiga says, even though they know it’s the fourth time in three weeks. Each time with the same promise. Each time with Taiga’s body left humming with unfulfilled desire.

Ema’s face lights up, fear instantly forgotten, as she races past them both toward the master bedroom.

Hokuto steps closer, his hand finding Taiga’s in the semi-darkness. “Sorry,” he whispers, close enough that Taiga can feel the warmth of his breath against his ear. “Rain check?”

“Rain check,” Taiga agrees, though he’s keeping a mental tally of these postponements. The score isn’t in his favor.

By the time they reach the bedroom, Ema has already claimed the center of the mattress, sprawled diagonally with the confident entitlement of a child who knows she’s won. Taiga watches as Hokuto gently repositions her, creating just enough space for the two adults to squeeze in on either side.

“Monster-free zone,” Hokuto assures her, smoothing back her hair. “Guaranteed.”

Taiga slips into his side of the bed, the sheets still warm from their earlier activities. His body hasn’t quite gotten the message that those activities have been indefinitely postponed, and he shifts uncomfortably, trying to ignore the lingering ache of desire.

Ema immediately rolls toward him, her small hand patting his cheek with surprising gentleness. “Thank you for checking for monsters, Tiger-san.”

“Anytime, princess,” he says, and means it, despite everything.

She settles between them, already heavy with impending sleep. Taiga watches her eyelids grow heavier, her breathing deepening. Across the expanse of Ema’s small body, he meets Hokuto’s gaze in the dim light.

“I really am sorry,” Hokuto mouths silently.

Taiga shrugs, trying for nonchalance. What can you do? the gesture says, though what he’s really thinking is more complicated.

He’s not angry—not really. Just frustrated in ways that go beyond the physical. Four times in three weeks. Always some interruption, some reason to postpone. Work stress. Ema’s nightmares. Exhaustion. The universe seems determined to keep them in a perpetual state of almost.

Ema shifts in her sleep, one arm flung across Taiga’s chest, her feet pressing against Hokuto’s side. She's small but somehow manages to take up an impossible amount of space.

Taiga stares at the ceiling, listening to the dual rhythm of their breathing. His body still thrums with unspent energy, but he finds the frustration ebbing as Ema’s warmth seeps into him. He remembers, suddenly, how he used to value his solitude, his empty house with its perfect order. How the thought of sharing his space—his bed—would have sent him running for the hills.

Now, somehow, this chaos feels like home.

Hokuto’s hand finds his in the darkness, fingers intertwining above Ema’s sleeping form. A silent apology. A promise for later.

Taiga squeezes back, acknowledging both.

“She’ll be asleep in ten minutes,” Hokuto whispers, barely audible. “We could move her back then.”

Taiga glances down at Ema’s peaceful face, her lips slightly parted in sleep. “Let her stay,” he says, surprising himself. “We have tomorrow.”

Hokuto’s expression softens with something that looks dangerously like love. “And the day after.”

“And all the days after that,” Taiga agrees, settling deeper into the mattress. His body still wants, but it can wait. This feels important in ways he’s still learning to articulate.

Four times in three weeks. But who’s counting?

🏠

“Motherfucker!” Taiga slams the controller down as his car explodes on screen, sending shards of digital debris across the TV. “That was completely unnecessary, Yugo.”

“All’s fair in Rocket League and war,” Yugo says, not taking his eyes off the screen as he maneuvers his vehicle with infuriating precision.

Juri laughs from his spot on the floor, legs stretched out beneath Yugo’s coffee table. “You’re getting sloppy, Taiga. That's your third beer talking.”

“It’s not the beer.” Taiga grabs his bottle and takes another defiant swig. The amber liquid is lukewarm now, but he drinks it anyway. “I’m just... distracted.”

“Clearly.” Yugo scores another goal, triggering a replay that shows Taiga’s car spinning uselessly in the corner. “What’s going on? You’re usually better than this.”

Taiga stares at the screen, feeling the weight of the past three weeks pressing down on him. The almost-moments. The interrupted nights. Ema’s perfectly timed nightmares. His body thrums with a familiar frustration that beer can’t quite dull.

“I haven’t had sex with Hokuto in three weeks,” he blurts out, the words tumbling past his lips before his brain can stop them.

The room goes silent except for the game’s cheerful background music. Juri chokes on his beer. Yugo’s car stops moving on screen, resulting in an easy goal for the AI opponent.

“Jesus, Taiga.” Yugo sets down his controller and turns to stare at him. “A little warning before you drop that bomb?”

“What? We’re friends. I can’t talk about my sex life?”

“It’s not that.” Juri wipes beer from his chin. “It’s just... there’s such a thing as a conversational runway. You can’t just land that plane with no warning.”

Taiga slumps back against the couch. “Sorry. It’s just... frustrating.”

“I bet it is,” Yugo snickers, earning him a kick from Juri. “What? Don’t act like you weren’t thinking it too.”

“So what’s the problem? Trouble in paradise already?” Juri asks, his tone gentler than Yugo’s but still laced with amusement.

“No trouble. Just... interruptions.” Taiga rubs a hand over his face. “Every time we start something, either Ema-chan has a nightmare or one of us is too tired from work or something comes up. Four times in three weeks we’ve tried. Four times.”

“You’re counting?” Yugo raises an eyebrow. “That’s... dedicated.”

“Shut up.” Taiga throws a coaster at him, which Yugo dodges with practiced ease. “It’s not like I’m keeping a spreadsheet. It’s just... noticeable.”

“Welcome to parenthood,” Juri says, reaching for another beer. “From what I hear, kids are basically tiny cockblockers. It’s like their sixth sense.”

“Ema-chan’s not even my kid,” Taiga mutters, though the words feel hollow as soon as they leave his mouth. Because isn’t she, in all the ways that matter? The thought both terrifies and warms him.

“Oh please.” Yugo rolls his eyes dramatically. “You pack her lunches. You check for monsters under her bed. You’ve got her artwork on your refrigerator. She’s your kid.”

“Besides,” Juri adds, “you knew what you were signing up for. Package deal, remember?”

Taiga sighs, knowing they’re right. “I just... I didn’t expect it to be so...”

“Hard?” Yugo supplies with a smirk.

“I was going to say ‘complicated,’” Taiga glares at him. “But thanks for that.”

“Look at you, though.” Yugo gestures with his beer can. “Six months ago, you were Mr. Independent. No strings, no attachments, just you and your robot vacuum living the dream.”

“Zoomie,” Taiga corrects automatically, then catches himself. Christ, I’m even defending the vacuum now.

“And now you’re here, whining about not getting laid because you’re too busy being a family man.” Yugo’s voice softens. “It’s a good look on you, Taiga. Even with the sexual frustration.”

“I’m not whining,” Taiga protests weakly.

“You kind of are,” Juri says. “But it’s understandable. Have you talked to Hokuto about it?”

Taiga shifts uncomfortably. “What am I supposed to say? ‘Hey, can we schedule sex around your daughter’s nightmares?’”

“That’s exactly what you say,” Yugo says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Communication, dumbass. Welcome to adult relationships.”

“Easy for you to say. You’re not trying to navigate a relationship with a ready-made family.”

“No, but I’ve seen enough rom-coms to know that bottling this up is a recipe for disaster.” Yugo picks up his controller again. “Talk to him. And invest in a really good lock for your bedroom door.”

“And soundproofing,” Juri adds helpfully. “Kids have superhuman hearing when it comes to things they shouldn’t overhear.”

“You’re both the worst,” Taiga groans, reaching for his controller. “Can we just play and forget I said anything?”

“Not a chance,” Yugo grins, starting a new match. “This is the most entertainment I’ve had all week. Taiga Kyomoto, defeated by a kid's nightmares.”

Taiga flips him off, but there’s no real heat behind it. Because they’re right, and he knows it. Somehow, when he wasn’t looking, his life transformed completely.

And despite the frustration—sexual and otherwise—he wouldn’t trade it. Not even for all the uninterrupted nights in the world.

“So what’s your plan then? Just suffer in silence until Ema-chan goes to college?” Yugo asks, his thumbs working the controller with practiced ease despite the conversation.

Taiga sighs, watching the car respawn on screen. “It’s not that simple.”

“Actually, it is.” Yugo scores another goal, not even bothering to celebrate this time. “Why don’t you guys drop her off with one of us for a night? Problem solved.”

The suggestion hangs in the air for a moment. Taiga’s car sits motionless as he considers it.

“That’s… not a terrible idea,” he admits reluctantly.

“I’m full of not-terrible ideas.” Yugo grins. “You two need a night off. I can take her.”

Juri nods. “Or me. I’ve got that spare room.”

Taiga snorts, the sound more bitter than he intends. “Right. Because our schedules sync up so perfectly.” He sets down his controller, giving up on the game entirely. “Hokuto’s up to his eyeballs in the new update, and I’ve got the fall campaign deadline. We barely see each other as it is.”

“So pick a date.” Yugo shrugs. “Plan ahead. That’s what adults do.”

“Says the guy who once forgot his own birthday,” Taiga mutters.

“That was one time!”

“Twice,” Juri corrects. “Remember the year you scheduled that food critic visit on your birthday?”

“Not the point.” Yugo waves dismissively. “The point is, Taiga needs to get laid before he combusts.”

Taiga groans, sliding further down the couch. “It’s not just about sex. It’s about...” He trails off, searching for words that won’t make him sound pathetic. “Connection, I guess. Time together that isn’t about work or parenting or fucking household chores.”

“Look at you, all grown up and emotionally aware,” Juri teases, but his eyes are kind. “Seriously though, check your calendar. When works for you?”

Taiga pulls out his phone, scrolling through his schedule. The blocks of color representing meetings, deadlines, and appointments blur together in a depressing mosaic of obligations. “Maybe the weekend after next? The 17th?”

Yugo winces. “Can’t do it. Got that wedding catering gig, remember? The one with the bridezilla who wants seven appetizer options?”

“Shit, right.” Taiga scrolls further. “The 24th?”

“I’m in Osaka that weekend,” Juri says. “Art installation opening.”

“Great.” Taiga tosses his phone onto the couch. “See what I mean? Everybody’s busy.”

“What about Hokuto’s in-laws?” Yugo suggests. “The grandparents in Niigata?”

“We can’t keep asking them to take the train down just so we can have alone time,” Taiga says, rubbing his temples. “They’ve already done it twice this month for actual emergencies. It’s not fair to them.”

“What about school friends?” Juri asks. “Doesn’t Ema-chan have playdates or something?”

Taiga stares at them. “What are you talking about?”

“You know, other kids from her preschool. Parents are always arranging that stuff, right? Sleepovers and whatnot.”

“She had that sleepover with her friend,” Yugo points out. “When you guys had your first date.”

Something clicks in Taiga’s mind. “Yuki-chan’s mom,” he says slowly. “She’s always offering to have Ema-chan over.”

“There you go.” Yugo nods approvingly. “Problem solved.”

“Maybe,” Taiga admits, picking up his phone again. “I’d have to check with Hokuto first. And see if Yanase-san is free.”

“Look at you, all responsible and shit,” Yugo laughs. “Never thought I’d see the day.”

“Fuck off,” Taiga says without heat, already composing a text to Hokuto.

Hey, random question. Think Yanase-san would be up for another sleepover soon? Maybe a weekend?

“Subtle,” Juri comments, reading over his shoulder.

“I’m not going to text ‘Can Ema-chan sleep over at Yuki-chan’s so I can finally have sex with her father?’, am I?” Taiga snaps, then softens. “Sorry. Sexual frustration makes me cranky.”

“We noticed,” Yugo and Juri say in unison.

Taiga’s phone buzzes with Hokuto’s reply.

Probably? Why? Everything okay?

He types back: Just thought it might be nice for her. And for us to have some time.

Three dots appear immediately, then disappear. Reappear. Disappear again.

Taiga’s stomach tightens. Maybe he’s being too forward. Maybe Hokuto doesn’t even want—

The phone buzzes.

That would be nice. I can ask Yanase-san at pickup tomorrow.

Relief floods through him, followed by a flutter of anticipation. He sends back a thumbs-up emoji, trying to play it cool despite the smile tugging at his lips.

“Success?” Yugo asks, watching his face.

“Maybe,” Taiga says, trying to temper his expectations. “He’s going to ask tomorrow.”

“Look at you, scheduling your booty call like a proper adult,” Yugo teases. “I’m so proud.”

“It’s not just a booty call,” Taiga protests, though heat rises to his cheeks. “It’s… couple time.”

“Couple time,” Juri repeats with a straight face. “Very mature.”

“I hate both of you,” Taiga says, picking up his controller again. “Can we please just play the game now?”

“Sure,” Yugo agrees, unpausing the match. “But just so you know, if this works out, I expect full details.”

“Not happening,” Taiga says firmly, focusing on the screen.

“Not even a general review? Star rating? Thumbs up or down?” Yugo presses.

Taiga scores a goal, his first of the night, and allows himself a smirk. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

🏠

Taiga fumbles with his keycard in the darkness, still buzzing from three hours of video games and Yugo’s relentless trash talk. The front door swings open with a soft click—not even midnight yet.

He slips off his shoes in the entranceway, the house quiet except for the gentle hum of the air purifier. A year ago, he’d have crashed at Yugo’s place without a second thought, sprawled on that lumpy couch until morning, phone forgotten, responsibilities distant.

Now he’s checking his watch, calculating hours of sleep before work, tiptoeing through his own house like he’s afraid to disturb it.

The staircase creaks under his weight despite his best efforts. At the top landing, he pauses, drawn to the soft glow spilling from Ema’s partially open door.

He can’t help himself—he never can—and edges closer to peek inside.

Her night light casts star-shaped patterns across the ceiling, bathing the room in gentle blue. Ema sleeps with one arm flung dramatically above her head, the other clutching Mr. Bunny against her chest. Sparkle the jellyfish sits guard at the foot of her bed, its glittery tentacles catching the light. Waddles lies down on her side.

When did I start doing this? Taiga wonders, leaning against the doorframe. When did checking on someone else’s kid become as natural as breathing?

Warm arms slide around his waist from behind, and Taiga startles before melting back against Hokuto’s chest. The scent of mint toothpaste and that ridiculously expensive face wash Hokuto insists on fills his senses.

“You’re home early,” Hokuto murmurs against his ear, voice rough with sleep. “Everything okay?”

Taiga nods, covering Hokuto’s hands with his own. “Just missed this, I guess.”

They stand there watching Ema’s chest rise and fall, her mouth slightly open, dark lashes fanned against her cheeks. Something tightens in Taiga’s chest—this fierce, protective feeling that ambushed him when he wasn’t looking.

“I texted Yanase-san today,” Hokuto whispers, his breath warm against Taiga’s neck. “She said next Saturday works for a sleepover. Apparently Yuki-chan’s begging for one.”

Taiga turns in Hokuto’s arms, searching his face in the dim light. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Hokuto’s smile is soft, a little shy. “I thought maybe we could..”

“Yeah,” Taiga says again, suddenly finding it difficult to swallow. “We could.”

Hokuto brushes his thumb across Taiga’s cheekbone. “You look tired. Long day?”

“Mmm. The summer campaign is kicking my ass.”

“Want a bath? I could run one for you.”

The offer is so simple, so domestic, but it lands like a revelation.

“That would be…” Taiga clears his throat. “Yeah. That’d be nice.”

Hokuto takes his hand, leading him down the hall to the bathroom. The tiles are cool under Taiga’s feet as Hokuto turns on the faucet, adjusting the temperature with practiced precision. Steam begins to rise, fogging the mirror.

“I got that bath salt you mentioned,” Hokuto says, reaching for a jar on the shelf. “The one with the eucalyptus.”

Taiga blinks. “You remembered that?”

“Of course I did.” Hokuto measures out a scoop, the sharp, clean scent filling the small space. “You said it helps with muscle tension.”

Something about this—Hokuto remembering his offhand comment, buying the salt, running water at just the right temperature—makes Taiga’s throat tighten. He busies himself with unbuttoning his shirt, suddenly self-conscious despite the fact that Hokuto has seen him naked plenty of times by now.

“Here, let me,” Hokuto says, stepping closer to help with the buttons. His fingers brush against Taiga’s chest, leaving trails of warmth.

“You don’t have to—”

“I want to.” Hokuto pushes the shirt off Taiga’s shoulders, letting it fall to the floor. His hands move to Taiga’s belt next, unfastening it with deliberate slowness. “Is this okay?”

Taiga nods, not trusting his voice. There’s something unbearably intimate about this—being undressed, cared for—that makes his skin prickle with vulnerability.

Hokuto helps him step out of his pants, then pulls Taiga’s shirt over his head. His boxers follow, and then Taiga is standing naked while Hokuto—still fully dressed in sweatpants and a faded t-shirt—tests the water with his hand.

“Perfect,” Hokuto declares, straightening up. His eyes travel over Taiga’s body with unhurried appreciation. “You’re beautiful, you know that?”

Taiga rolls his eyes to hide his embarrassment. “Shut up.”

“Make me,” Hokuto challenges, stepping closer.

Taiga does, rising on his toes to press his mouth against Hokuto’s. The kiss is gentle at first, then deepens as Hokuto’s hands find his waist, pulling him closer. Taiga sighs against his lips, some of the day’s tension already melting away.

“Your bath’s getting cold,” Hokuto murmurs against his mouth.

“Don’t care,” Taiga replies, chasing his lips.

Hokuto laughs softly, breaking the kiss to guide Taiga toward the tub. “In you go. I didn’t waste my fancy bath salts for nothing.”

Taiga steps into the water with Hokuto’s steadying hand on his elbow. The heat is perfect, just this side of too hot, and he sinks down with a groan of pure pleasure.

Steam clouds his vision as he sinks deeper into the bath, muscles unwinding in the eucalyptus-scented water. He watches through half-lidded eyes as Hokuto settles onto the small wooden stool beside the tub, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Something about seeing him there—barefoot, tousled hair, soft t-shirt—makes Taiga’s chest ache with a peculiar tenderness.

“So,” Hokuto says, trailing his fingers through the water. “You had fun with Yugo and Juri?”

Taiga hums, letting his head fall back against the tub’s edge. “Yeah. Though Yugo’s a cheating bastard at Mario Kart.”

Hokuto chuckles, the sound low and warm in the small bathroom. “Let me guess—he always gets the blue shell?”

“Every. Fucking. Time.” Taiga flicks water at Hokuto, who dodges with practiced ease. “It’s unnatural.”

Silence settles between them, comfortable yet charged with something Taiga can’t quite name. He studies Hokuto’s profile—the slope of his nose, the slight shadow of stubble along his jaw, the way his lashes cast feathery shadows on his cheeks in the dim light.

Just say it, Taiga thinks, swallowing against the sudden dryness in his throat.

“So, about that sleepover,” he begins, focusing intently on a drop of water sliding down his knee. “I might have, uh, had an ulterior motive for asking.”

Hokuto raises an eyebrow, waiting.

Taiga sinks lower into the water, letting it lap at his chin. “I sort of... complained to Yugo and Juri tonight.”

“About?”

“About how we haven’t had sex in three weeks because your daughter keeps cockblocking us.”

The words hang in the steam-filled air for a moment before Hokuto snorts, covering his mouth with his hand. His shoulders shake with silent laughter.

“It’s not funny,” Taiga grumbles, splashing him again. “Do you know how pathetic I sounded? ‘Oh, poor me, my boyfriend’s too busy being a good father to fuck me.’”

Hokuto’s laughter subsides, but his eyes remain bright with amusement. “And what sage advice did they offer?”

“That’s the worst part. They were actually helpful.” Taiga sinks deeper, blowing bubbles in the water. “Juri suggested the sleepover idea. I felt like an idiot for not thinking of it myself.”

Hokuto’s expression softens. He reaches out to brush wet hair from Taiga’s forehead, his touch lingering. “It’s not exactly intuitive if you haven’t done this before.”

“Done what? Dated someone with a kid?”

“That. Or just... been in a relationship where you have to work around other priorities.” Hokuto’s fingers trail down to trace the curve of Taiga’s jaw. “Between work and Ema and just being exhausted most days, it’s easy to let certain things slide.”

Something in his tone makes Taiga look up. “You sound like you’re speaking from experience.”

Hokuto nods, his gaze turning distant. “Rui and I... after Ema was born, we just stopped having time. I was at work all day, she was exhausted from taking care of a newborn.” He shrugs, a small, rueful gesture. “By the time we realized what was happening, we’d fallen into a pattern that was hard to break.”

The confession settles between them, weighty with implications. Taiga watches Hokuto’s face, searching for signs of regret or sadness, but finds only thoughtful acceptance.

“What did you do?” Taiga asks, voice hushed.

“We started scheduling it,” Hokuto admits with a self-deprecating smile. “Sounds romantic, right? But it worked. We’d plan date nights, arrange for her parents or babysitters to take Ema. It became something to look forward to, not just another thing to fit in.”

Taiga reaches for Hokuto’s hand, lacing their wet fingers together. “And here I was thinking I was being incredibly clever with this sleepover idea.”

“You are,” Hokuto squeezes his hand. “I’d forgotten that was even an option, to be honest. It’s been so long since I’ve had to think about... scheduling intimacy.”

“Is that weird?” Taiga asks, vulnerability creeping into his voice despite his efforts. “Having to plan when to have sex?”

Hokuto shakes his head. “Not weird. Just different from what you’re used to.” He leans closer, his breath warm against Taiga’s damp skin. “But different doesn’t mean worse.”

“No,” Taiga agrees, something settling in his chest. “It doesn’t.”

Hokuto’s thumb traces circles on Taiga’s wrist, sending ripples of warmth up his arm. “So. Next Saturday.”

“Next Saturday,” Taiga confirms, heat rising to his face that has nothing to do with the bath water. “A whole day. No interruptions.”

“No interruptions,” Hokuto echoes, his voice dropping lower. “Just us.”

The water cools faster than Taiga expects, warmth fading to lukewarm then edging toward chilly. He shivers, goosebumps rising along his arms.

“Time to get out,” Hokuto says, reaching for a towel. “You’re starting to prune.”

Taiga takes Hokuto’s extended hand, water sluicing off his body as he stands. The cool air hits his wet skin, and he shivers again, more violently this time. Hokuto wraps him in a bath towel—the ridiculously plush one Taiga never used before Hokuto moved in—and begins drying him with careful, methodical strokes.

This shouldn’t feel so fucking intimate, Taiga thinks, standing still as Hokuto rubs the towel over his shoulders, down his back. There’s nothing sexual about it, yet heat pools in his belly at the tender attention. Hokuto’s hands move with practiced efficiency, as if he’s done this countless times before.

Maybe he has. For Ema. For Rui.

The thought should bother him, but it doesn’t. Instead, Taiga finds himself leaning into Hokuto’s touch, craving the easy domesticity of it.

“Arms up,” Hokuto murmurs.

Taiga complies without thinking, allowing Hokuto to slide a soft t-shirt over his head. It’s one of Hokuto’s, worn thin from countless washes, smelling faintly of their shared laundry detergent.

Taiga steps into the pajama pants Hokuto holds out, steadying himself with a hand on Hokuto’s shoulder. The fabric is cool against his skin, settling low on his hips.

“These are yours,” Taiga says, recognizing the faded plaid pattern.

Hokuto shrugs, a small smile playing at his lips. “They look better on you.”

Something about that—Hokuto dressing him in his own clothes, claiming him in this quiet, understated way—makes Taiga’s heart stutter in his chest. He leans forward, pressing a kiss to the corner of Hokuto’s mouth.

“Thanks for the bath,” he murmurs against Hokuto’s skin.

Hokuto turns his head, capturing Taiga’s lips properly. “Anytime.”

They break apart, and Taiga moves to the sink, reaching for his toothbrush. Hokuto leans against the doorframe, watching with that soft, unguarded expression that still catches Taiga off guard.

“What?” Taiga asks around a mouthful of toothpaste.

“Nothing,” Hokuto says, not looking away. “Just like seeing you here.”

Taiga rolls his eyes to hide how the words affect him, focusing on the mechanical motions of brushing. He spits, rinses, wipes his mouth on the hand towel.

“Ready for bed?” Hokuto asks, pushing off the doorframe.

Taiga nods, following him down the hallway.

They pause at Ema’s room for one more check—still sleeping soundly, one leg now kicked free of the covers—before continuing to what Taiga still thinks of as his bedroom, though it’s undeniably theirs now.

Hokuto’s side of the bed has a dog-eared paperback on the nightstand. Taiga’s has a phone charger and a half-empty glass of water. The duvet is already turned down, inviting them in.

They slide under the covers with practiced ease, finding their usual positions—Hokuto on his back, Taiga curled against his side, head on his chest. Hokuto’s arm wraps around him, pulling him closer.

“So,” Hokuto says into the darkness, “next Saturday.”

Taiga traces patterns on Hokuto’s chest through his t-shirt. “Next Saturday.”

“We should probably figure out what we want to do.” Hokuto’s voice rumbles under Taiga’s ear. “Besides the obvious.”

Heat creeps up Taiga’s neck. “You mean we’re not just going to spend the entire day fucking?”

Hokuto laughs softly, the sound vibrating through his chest. “I mean, we could. But we also have a whole day to ourselves. Seems like we should take advantage.”

“We could go somewhere,” Taiga suggests, warming to the idea. “Take a day trip, maybe check into a hotel for the night.”

“That could be nice.” Hokuto’s fingers trace lazy circles on Taiga’s shoulder. “Where would you want to go?”

Taiga considers this, mentally running through options. “Hakone, maybe? Hot springs, nice views.”

“What about the beach? Enoshima’s not too far.”

“It’ll be crowded.” Taiga nestles against Hokuto’s side. “Maybe we should just stay home. Order in, watch movies, have sex on every surface in the house.”

“Mmm, tempting.” Hokuto’s hand slides down to rest on Taiga’s hip, thumb stroking the exposed skin where his t-shirt has ridden up. “Though maybe not every surface. I’m not sure my back could handle the kitchen counter.”

Taiga snorts, burying his face against Hokuto’s neck. “Old man.”

“We’re both the same age,” Hokuto protests, pinching Taiga’s side lightly.

“You wish, I’m eternally twenty-five.”

They lapse into comfortable silence, Hokuto’s fingers continuing their gentle exploration of Taiga’s hip.

“We could check into one of those love hotels,” Taiga says suddenly, the idea popping into his head fully formed. “You know, the themed ones with the crazy rooms and the vending machines full of toys.”

Hokuto's hand stills. “You’re joking.”

“Am I?” Taiga grins against Hokuto’s skin. “Could be fun. Maybe they have a Hello Kitty room. Or a dungeon.”

Hokuto’s laugh vibrates through his chest. “I draw the line at Hello Kitty.”

“Fine,” Taiga concedes, tracing patterns on Hokuto’s stomach. “What about the dungeon?”

“You’re terrible.” But Hokuto’s voice holds nothing but fondness, and his fingers thread through Taiga’s hair, tugging gently.

Heat pools in Taiga’s belly at the slight pressure. It’s been three weeks of stolen kisses and frustrated sighs, of Ema’s perfectly timed nightmares and early morning wake-ups. Three weeks of wanting without having.

“I miss you,” Taiga murmurs against Hokuto’s neck, surprising himself with the admission.

“I’m right here.”

“You know what I mean.”

Hokuto shifts, rolling onto his side to face Taiga properly. In the dim light filtering through the curtains, his eyes are dark and serious.

“I do,” he says, cupping Taiga’s face. “I miss you too.”

The kiss starts gentle, a soft press of lips, but quickly deepens. Taiga’s body responds instantly, muscle memory taking over as he presses closer, slipping his leg between Hokuto’s.

Hokuto makes a low sound in his throat, his hand sliding down to grip Taiga’s hip.

“We could,” Taiga breathes against Hokuto’s mouth. “Right now.”

Hokuto pulls back slightly, resting his forehead against Taiga’s. “We both have work tomorrow. And Ema—”

“I know, I know.” Taiga sighs, flopping onto his back. “Just thinking out loud.”

“Saturday,” Hokuto promises, pressing a kiss to Taiga’s temple. “Just five more days.”

“Five days,” Taiga repeats as he settles to sleep.

Five days too long, but at least there’s something to look forward to.

🏠

“So we could look at a Honda,” Hokuto says, signaling for a turn. “Or maybe a Toyota. Something practical.”

Taiga traces his finger along the rental car’s window, watching houses blur past. He’s only half-listening to Hokuto’s car talk. After days of anticipation, Saturday has finally arrived, bringing with it the promise of uninterrupted time together. The thought sends a pleasant shiver down his spine.

“You’re not listening to me,” Hokuto says, glancing sideways.

“I am,” Taiga protests. “Honda. Toyota. Practical.”

“And?”

“And…” Taiga fumbles, caught. “And they have good safety ratings?”

Hokuto’s laugh is soft. “I was talking about fuel efficiency, but good try.”

“Sorry.” Taiga shifts in his seat. “I’m a little distracted.”

“Thinking about our plans?” Hokuto’s voice drops lower, just for Taiga’s ears.

Heat crawls up Taiga’s neck. “Maybe.”

From the backseat, Ema’s animated chatter fills the car.

“And then we’ll have cookies, right Mr. Bunny? And Waddles, you have to share with Sparkle because she’s new and doesn’t know the rules yet.”

Taiga turns to watch her, surrounded by her stuffed menagerie. Mr. Bunny sits propped against her booster seat. Waddles and Sparkle flank him on either side, an unlikely trio of confidants.

“Sparkle says she’s never had a sleepover before,” Ema announces, making the jellyfish’s tentacles wave. “But I told her it’s okay because Yuki-chan is the best at sleepovers.”

“That’s right,” Hokuto confirms, meeting her eyes in the rearview mirror. “And what do we remember about sleepovers?”

Ema sighs dramatically. “Listen to Yuki-chan’s Mama, brush my teeth, and no jumping on the furniture.”

Hokuto pulls the car to a stop in front of the modest two-story house. Potted plants line the front walkway, and colorful chalk drawings decorate the driveway.

“We’re here!” Ema announces, already fumbling with her seatbelt. “Yuki-chan’s house!”

Taiga helps her gather her stuffed animals while Hokuto retrieves her overnight bag from the trunk. The weight of anticipation sits heavy in his stomach. Twenty-four hours of freedom. Twenty-four hours of Hokuto all to himself.

They walk up to the path together, Ema skipping ahead with Sparkle’s tentacles bouncing. She rings the doorbell herself, standing on tiptoes to reach.

“Coming!” calls a voice from the inside.

Taiga glances at Hokuto, finding his own mix of emotions reflected back—excitement, nervousness, a touch of guilt.

The door swings open, revealing Mrs. Yanase with her warm smile. “Ema-chan! We’ve been waiting for you.”

“Yanase-san!” Ema bows politely before holding up her jellyfish. “This is Sparkle. She’s never been to a sleepover before.”

“Well, we’ll have to make sure she has a wonderful first time, won’t we?” Mrs. Yanase turns her smile to Hokuto and Taiga. “Matsumura-san, Kyomoto-san, it’s good to see you again.”

From inside the house comes the patter of small feet, and then Yuki appears, her dark hair in two bouncing pigtails. “Ema-chan!” She spots the adults and bows quickly. “Hello, Matsumura-san. Hello, Tiger-san.”

“Hi, Yuki-chan,” Hokuto says, setting Ema’s bag down. “Thank you for inviting Ema over.”

“We’re going to have so much fun!” Yuki grabs Ema’s hand. “Mama made cookies, and Papa’s going to help us build a blanket fort, and I got new stickers for our collection!”

Ema turns to Hokuto, eyes wide with excitement. “Papa, can I go play now?”

“Don’t you want to say goodbye first?” Hokuto kneels down.

Ema throws her arms around his neck. “Bye, Papa! I love you!” She plants a quick kiss on his cheek before turning to Taiga. “Bye, Tiger-san!”

She hugs him too, and Taiga breathes in the strawberry scent of her shampoo, suddenly reluctant to let go. It’s just one night, he reminds himself.

“Be good,” he says, ruffling her hair. “Listen to Yanase-san.”

“I will!”

And then she’s gone, racing inside with Yuki, her stuffed animals clutched to her chest.

Mrs. Yanase laughs. “They’ll be fine. We have a whole evening planned. I’ll text you if there are any problems, but I doubt there will be.”

“Thank you for having her,” Hokuto says, handing over a small gift bag. “Just a little something to say thanks.”

“That’s very kind. Enjoy your day, you two.” There’s a knowing twinkle in her eye that makes Taiga wonder exactly how much Hokuto shared when arranging this sleepover.

The door closes, and suddenly they’re alone on the doorstep.

“Well,” Taiga says, shoving his hands in his pockets. “That’s that.”

Hokuto’s smile is slow and full of promise. “That’s that.”

Taiga feels the shift in energy the moment the door closes. He watches Hokuto’s face transform—the parental mask slipping away to reveal something hungry and tender beneath.

Without speaking, they walk back to the rental car, fingers intertwining naturally. The simple touch sends electricity up Taiga’s arm.

“So,” Taiga says, his voice catching slightly as Hokuto’s thumb traces circles against his palm. “We’re really doing this.”

“Twenty-four hours,” Hokuto confirms, unlocking the car with his free hand. “Just us.”

The car feels different now—more intimate with just the two of them. Taiga settles into the passenger seat, watching Hokuto’s profile as he starts the engine. The sharp line of his jaw, the concentration in his eyes as he checks mirrors and blind spots.

“Yokohama, here we come,” Hokuto says, pulling away from the curb.

Taiga leans back, allowing himself to relax fully for the first time in weeks. No interruptions. No small footsteps pattering down the hall. No stuffed animals requiring rescue from under the bed at precisely the wrong moment.

“You okay?” he asks, studying Hokuto’s hands on the steering wheel. “Last time we left Ema-chan for a sleepover, you checked your phone every five minutes.”

Hokuto’s mouth quirks into a half-smile. “I’m trying my best not to be that parent today.” He merges onto the highway, the car accelerating smoothly. “For the next 24 hours, it’s just us. I’ve made peace with that.”

“Really?” Taiga raises an eyebrow. “Your phone isn’t set to maximum volume? You didn’t give Yanase-san three different emergency contacts?”

“Only two,” Hokuto admits with a laugh. “And I may have called her pediatrician yesterday to confirm her allergy information was up to date.”

“Of course you did.” Taiga reaches over, resting his hand on Hokuto’s thigh. “It’s one of the things I love about you.”

The almost-confession hangs between them. They haven’t said those words to each other in a while.

Hokuto covers Taiga’s hand with his own, squeezing gently. “I know it’s been frustrating,” he says, eyes fixed on the road. “These past few weeks.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to. I’ve seen your face every time Ema knocks on our door.”

“I don’t mind,” Taiga lies.

“Liar.” Hokuto’s voice is gentle. “It’s okay to admit it’s been challenging. Relationships are hard enough without adding a five-year-old who’s terrified of monsters under her bed.”

Traffic thickens as they approach Yokohama, buildings rising against the skyline. Taiga watches the Landmark Tower come into view, remembering how he used to imagine his future—sleek, solitary, uncomplicated. Nothing like the messy, beautiful reality he’s living now.

“I wouldn’t trade it,” Taiga says suddenly. “The interruptions. The sticky fingerprints on my tablet. Any of it.”

Hokuto glances over, surprise softening his features. “No?”

“No.” Taiga swallows, finding courage in the confined space of the car. “I like our life. I like who we are together—all three of us.”

Hokuto’s grip tightens on the steering wheel. “Even with the chaos?”

“Even with the chaos.” Taiga traces patterns on Hokuto’s thigh, feeling the muscle tense beneath his fingertips. “Though I’m not complaining about twenty-four hours of uninterrupted adult time.”

The tension breaks as Hokuto laughs, the sound filling the car. “Thank god. I was starting to worry you’d gone completely soft on me.”

“Never.” Taiga leans closer, his breath ghosting over Hokuto’s ear. “I have very specific, very un-soft plans for you tonight.”

Hokuto’s sharp intake of breath is deeply satisfying. “You can’t say things like that when I’m driving.”

“Why not?” Taiga asks innocently, letting his fingers drift higher on Hokuto’s thigh.

“Because—” Hokuto catches Taiga’s wandering hand, bringing it to his lips. “Because I’d like us to actually make it to Yokohama in one piece.”

Taiga relents, settling back in his seat with a smirk. “Fine. I can be patient.”

“Since when?” Hokuto teases, navigating through the increasingly busy streets.

“I waited three weeks, didn’t I?”

Hokuto's expression softens. “You did. And I promise it’ll be worth the wait.”

🏠

Yokohama Chinatown emerges like a vibrant dream—red lanterns strung overhead, the air thick with spices and sizzling oil. Taiga feels the tension in his shoulders dissolve as Hokuto guides the car into a parking space, his hand already reaching for Taiga’s the moment the engine dies.

“We made it,” Hokuto says, squeezing Taiga’s fingers.

We made it. Such simple words for something that feels monumental. Twenty-four hours of freedom. Twenty-four hours of just them.

Taiga steps onto the pavement, inhaling deeply. October has painted Yokohama in amber and gold, the crisp air carrying just enough bite to make Hokuto’s warmth beside him feel like a necessity rather than a luxury. The crowd pulses around them—tourists with cameras, locals on weekend outings, couples like them seeking connection in the bustle.

“Hungry?” Hokuto asks, his thumb tracing absent circles on Taiga’s palm.

“Starving.” The word carries more weight than Taiga intends, and he catches Hokuto’s knowing smile.

They merge into the flow of pedestrians, shoulders brushing as they navigate the narrow street. Hokuto points out architectural details—ornate carvings above doorways, guardian lions standing sentinel—while Taiga’s attention drifts to the food stalls lining their path. Steam billows from bamboo baskets, and vendors call out their offerings in a melodic cacophony.

“Wait.” Taiga stops abruptly, tugging Hokuto’s hand. “Do you smell that?”

Hokuto raises an eyebrow. “Smell what, exactly? There are about fifty different scents right now.”

But Taiga is already moving, pulled by an invisible thread toward a small storefront with a line snaking out the door. A handwritten sign features a cartoon panda with bulging cheeks.

“It’s them,” he says, eyes widening. “The panda buns everyone’s been posting about.”

Hokuto squints at the sign. “The what now?”

“Pork buns shaped like pandas. They’ve been all over my feed for weeks.” Taiga joins the line, pulling Hokuto alongside him.

“You want to wait in this line for... decorative pork buns?” Hokuto sounds skeptical, but his eyes crinkle at the corners—that particular expression that means he finds Taiga endearing despite himself.

“Not just decorative. People say they’re amazing.” Taiga leans against Hokuto’s shoulder, lowering his voice. “Plus, it gives me an excuse to keep holding your hand in public.”

The line moves surprisingly quickly, and soon they’re at the counter. Taiga orders one to share, passing over coins and accepting the warm paper bag with both hands.

They find a small bench tucked between shops, away from the main flow of traffic. Taiga opens the bag, releasing a cloud of fragrant steam. The panda stares up at them, its expression almost accusatory.

“It feels wrong to eat something with a face,” Hokuto muses.

“Even if the face is delicious?” Taiga tears the bun in half, revealing the savory pork filling. He offers one piece to Hokuto, their fingers brushing in the exchange.

The first bite dissolves on Taiga’s tongue—pillowy dough giving way to perfectly seasoned meat. He closes his eyes, savoring the contrast of sweet and salty.

“Okay,” Hokuto admits after his own bite. “That was worth the wait.”

They finish the bun in companionable silence, watching the crowd flow past. Taiga feels strangely untethered—no responsibilities, no schedule, just this moment with Hokuto beside him.

“My turn to choose,” Hokuto says, standing and offering his hand. Taiga takes it without hesitation, letting himself be led through the winding streets.

They stop at a bubble tea shop tucked between a jade seller and a fortune teller. The menu is expansive, but Hokuto orders jasmine milk tea for himself and brown sugar milk tea for Taiga, both with extra pearls.

“How did you know that’s what I’d want?” Taiga asks as they exit, the cold plastic cup sweating in his hand.

Hokuto shrugs, a small smile playing at his lips. “I pay attention.”

The simple statement sends warmth blooming through Taiga’s chest. He punctures his drink with the oversized straw, chewing thoughtfully on the sweet, chewy pearls. Hokuto’s fingers find his again, sticky now from condensation but no less welcome.

They wander deeper into Chinatown, stopping to sample xiaolongbao that burst with savory broth, crispy scallion pancakes drizzled with hoisin sauce, and skewers of grilled squid that leave their fingers smelling of garlic and char.

“We should probably find actual lunch soon,” Hokuto says, even as he reaches for a tray of steamed dumplings from a passing cart.

“This is lunch,” Taiga counters, watching Hokuto’s lips close around the dumpling. A drop of sauce clings to the corner of his mouth, and Taiga reaches up to wipe it away, letting his thumb linger against Hokuto’s skin.

The gesture feels impossibly intimate amid the crowd. Hokuto’s eyes darken, and Taiga feels an answering heat low in his belly.

“Maybe we should skip lunch,” Hokuto suggests, voice dropping to a register that makes Taiga’s pulse quicken.

“And miss all this food?” Taiga gestures to the surrounding stalls, even as his body leans toward Hokuto, drawn by the gravity of want.

“We can always come back for dinner.”

The implication hangs between them—that there are other hungers to satisfy first.

Taiga sips his bubble tea, using the cold sweetness to temper the heat rising within him. “One more stop,” he decides, tugging Hokuto toward a dim sum cart where bamboo steamers are stacked like towers. “Then we check in to the hotel.”

The dim sum cart sits in a quiet corner, away from the main hustle of the street. Taiga studies the menu while standing so close to Hokuto that their shoulders touch. He’s hyper-aware of every point of contact between them—the brush of Hokuto’s arm against his, the occasional press of a thigh.

“Shumai?” Taiga suggests, pointing at the steamed dumplings.

Hokuto nods, his breath warm against Taiga’s ear. “And the har gow.”

Their order comes quickly—bamboo steamers stacked on their small table. Taiga watches Hokuto’s hands as he deftly maneuvers his chopsticks, lifting a translucent har gow to his mouth. There’s something mesmerizing about the precision of his movements, the careful way he handles even something as simple as eating.

“You’re staring,” Hokuto says without looking up.

“Can’t help it.” Taiga doesn’t bother denying it.

What’s the point? They both know exactly what’s happening here—this meal is just a formality, a thin veneer of civilization over the raw need building between them.

Taiga picks up a shumai, but his appetite has shifted to something food can’t satisfy. He takes a bite anyway, the savory pork and shrimp barely registering on his tongue. His body feels electric, attuned to every subtle shift in Hokuto’s posture.

Hokuto’s chopsticks pause halfway to his mouth. “You’re not hungry anymore, are you?”

The question holds multiple meanings. Taiga meets his gaze steadily. “Not for dim sum.”

Something flickers in Hokuto’s eyes—heat, anticipation, a mirror of Taiga’s own impatience. He sets down his chopsticks and heads to the cashier.

They pay quickly, movements suddenly efficient after the leisurely pace of their earlier wandering. Taiga’s skin feels too tight, his body too warm despite the autumn chill. They weave through the crowd, no longer stopping to look at storefronts or sample street food.

The walk back to the car passes in a blur. Taiga’s mind races ahead to what comes next—the hotel, privacy, Hokuto’s hands on his skin without the threat of interruption.

By the time they reach the rental car, his heart hammers against his ribs like a trapped thing seeking freedom.

Hokuto slides into the driver's seat, his movements controlled but tension evident in the set of his shoulders. He starts the engine but doesn’t immediately pull away, his fingers flexing against the steering wheel.

“Where to?” Taiga asks, though they’ve already discussed this part of the plan.

“There’s a place near the station.” Hokuto’s voice has dropped to that lower register again, the one that sends heat pooling in Taiga’s belly. “About ten minutes from here.”

The drive passes in charged silence. Taiga watches Hokuto’s profile, the sharp line of his jaw, the focused intensity in his eyes as he navigates through traffic. Hokuto has always been beautiful to him, but there’s something about him now—this quiet anticipation, this barely leashed desire—that makes Taiga’s breath catch.

Hokuto turns down a side street, then another, until they pull into a discreet parking lot attached to a modern building with tinted windows. The sign is understated, no gaudy neon or explicit imagery, just the hotel’s name in sleek silver lettering.

“Wait,” Taiga says as Hokuto reaches for the door handle.

Hokuto turns, question in his eyes.

Taiga doesn’t answer with words. Instead, he leans across the center console, hand coming up to cup Hokuto’s jaw, and pulls him into a kiss.

It’s meant to be quick—a preview, a promise—but the moment their lips meet, something shifts. Hokuto makes a sound low in his throat, hand coming up to tangle in Taiga’s hair, holding him close. The kiss deepens, turns hungry, and Taiga loses himself in the taste of Hokuto, the lingering sweetness of bubble tea and the underlying flavor that’s just him.

When they finally break apart, both breathing hard, Taiga feels light-headed. “Sorry,” he says, not sorry at all. “Couldn’t wait.”

Hokuto’s laugh is breathless. “You never could.”

“Not when it comes to you.” The admission slips out before Taiga can filter it, raw and honest in a way he rarely allows himself to be.

Hokuto’s eyes soften, his thumb tracing Taiga’s lower lip. “Let’s go inside before we give the security cameras a show.”

The reminder that they’re in a public parking lot—that anyone could walk by and see them—sends a thrill down Taiga’s spine. He feels reckless, giddy, like a teenager sneaking out with his boyfriend.

The chirp of Hokuto’s phone cuts through the moment like a knife. Taiga freezes, his hand still on the door handle. For a heartbeat, they stare at each other, reality crashing back.

“It’s Yanase-san,” Hokuto says, his voice tight as he glances at the screen.

Something cold slides down Taiga’s spine. Mrs. Yanase promised not to call unless—

“Hello?” Hokuto answers, pressing the phone to his ear.

Taiga watches Hokuto’s face transform. The flush of desire drains away, replaced by something pale and rigid. His eyes widen, then narrow as he listens.

“How long has she been like this?” Hokuto asks, his voice controlled but strained. “Yes. Which hospital? We’ll meet you there.”

Hospital. The word hits Taiga like a physical blow.

“What happened?” he demands the moment Hokuto lowers the phone.

“Ema’s sick. Stomach cramps. Bad ones.” Hokuto’s already turning the key in the ignition. “They’re taking her to the hospital.”

The engine roars to life. Taiga’s pulse pounds in his ears as Hokuto pulls out of the parking space with none of his usual caution.

“Did she eat something?” Taiga asks, gripping the dashboard as Hokuto takes a corner too sharply. “Was she crying? Did Yanase-san say—”

“I don’t know.” Hokuto’s knuckles whiten on the steering wheel. “She said Ema was fine one minute, then doubled over the next. Crying that her stomach hurt.”

Taiga’s mind races through possibilities—food poisoning, appendicitis, some rare childhood disease he’s never heard of. Each thought worse than the last.

He fumbles for his phone, pulling up a map.

“Take the expressway,” he says, voice steadier than he feels. “It’s faster.”

Hokuto nods, jaw clenched. His foot presses harder on the accelerator.

Taiga stares at the navigation screen, willing the little blue dot to move faster. Forty-five minutes back to Tokyo, if traffic cooperates. Nearly an hour before they can reach Ema. His stomach churns with helpless fear.

“She’ll be okay,” he says, the words hollow even to his own ears. “Kids get stomach bugs all the time.”

Hokuto doesn’t answer, his focus entirely on the road. His profile is a study in controlled panic—eyes fixed forward, breathing measured, every muscle tense.

Taiga recognizes the expression from the night of the apartment fire. Hokuto holding himself together by sheer force of will.

He wants to reach for him, to offer comfort, but knows better. Touch would break the fragile control Hokuto’s maintaining. Instead, he turns back to his phone, calculating alternate routes in case of traffic.

“Did you check if she had her allergy medicine this morning?” he asks, needing to fill the silence.

“Yes,” Hokuto says, merging into the expressway. “And she hasn’t had shellfish in days.”

“What about—”

“I don’t know, Taiga.” The words crack like ice. Hokuto takes a breath, steadying himself. “I’m sorry. I just—”

“It’s okay.” Taiga swallows the knot in his throat. “We’ll be there soon.”

The lights of Tokyo soon appear on the horizon. Taiga checks the navigation again—eighteen minutes to their exit, then surface streets to the hospital.

“We should have stayed home,” Hokuto says quietly, breaking the silence. “We shouldn’t have left her.”

The words cut deeper than Hokuto could know. Taiga stares at his hands, guilt rising like bile. This getaway was his idea—his solution to weeks of frustration. And now Ema is in a hospital, in pain, while they were an hour away.

“This isn’t your fault,” he says, the words sounding hollow even to himself.

Hokuto doesn’t respond, his focus entirely on the road ahead.

The distance between them in the small car feels suddenly vast. All the intimacy of the afternoon has evaporated, leaving only worry in its wake.

Taiga watches Tokyo grow larger through the windshield, his chest tight with fear and guilt. The twenty-four hours that had stretched before them with such promise now feels like a selfish indulgence. He thinks of Ema’s face, pale with pain, asking for them both.

Hang on, Ema. We’re coming.

🏠

The front door clicks shut behind them. Taiga’s shoulders sag with exhaustion as he sets Ema’s overnight bag on the entryway bench. Hospital antiseptic still clings to his clothes, mixing with the sour smell of sickness and fear.

Hokuto carries Ema up the stairs, her arms looped loosely around his neck, her face buried against his shoulder. She looks impossibly small in his arms, fragile in a way that makes Taiga’s chest ache. He follows them up, his footsteps deliberately quiet on the wooden treads.

Four hours in the emergency room for three words: acute gastric flu.

The diagnosis echoes in his mind, simple yet terrifying. He remembers the fluorescent lights of the examination room, how they cast shadows under Ema’s eyes, making her look hollowed out. How her tiny hand had reached for his while the doctor pressed gently on her abdomen.

“Almost there, princess,” Hokuto murmurs as they reach the landing. His voice is gentle but strained around the edges. Exhaustion etches lines into his face that weren’t there this morning.

Taiga pushes open Ema’s bedroom door, flicking on the soft glow of her night light. Hokuto lays Ema down with practiced care, her limbs limp with fatigue. She whimpers slightly as her back touches the mattress, eyes fluttering open.

“Papa?” Her voice is thin and scratchy.

“I’m here.” Hokuto smooths her hair back from her forehead. “How’s your tummy feeling now?”

She considers this with a serious expression. “Not so spinny anymore.”

Relief flickers across Hokuto’s face. “That’s good. The medicine is helping.”

Taiga stands at the foot of the bed, unsure where to place himself. The guilt that’s been gnawing at him since Mrs. Yanase’s call has settled into something heavy and persistent in his gut.

He should have been here. They both should have.

“Tiger-san?” Ema’s eyes find him, questioning.

“I’m here too.” He steps closer, forces a smile that feels brittle. “You gave us quite a scare, kid.”

She blinks slowly, processing this. “Sorry.”

“No, no.” Hokuto’s voice is firm. “You don’t need to be sorry for getting sick. That’s never your fault.”

Taiga watches as Hokuto reaches for the bottle of rehydration solution on the nightstand. The pale blue liquid catches the light as he pours it carefully into a cup with a straw. His movements are precise, measured, the actions of a father who’s done this before.

“Small sips,” Hokuto instructs, holding the cup to Ema’s lips. “Remember what the doctor said.”

Ema wrinkles her nose but obeys, taking three dutiful sips before turning away. “Tastes funny.”

“I know. But it’ll help your tummy feel better.” Hokuto sets the cup back down. “Just a little more in a few minutes, okay?”

She nods, eyelids already drooping.

Taiga shifts his weight, acutely aware of his uselessness. He should know what to do. Should have some instinct for this.

But he stands frozen, watching Hokuto’s quiet competence with a mixture of admiration and inadequacy.

“Can you grab her pajamas?” Hokuto asks, not looking up as he checks Ema’s temperature with the back of his hand.

Taiga nods, grateful for the direction. He moves to the dresser, pulling open the second drawer where Ema’s pajamas are neatly folded.

When he returns to the bed, Hokuto is already helping Ema sit up. Together, they manage to change her out of her day clothes and into the pajamas. Taiga holds her steady while Hokuto guides her arms through the sleeves, their movements falling into an unexpected rhythm.

“There we go,” Hokuto says, easing her back against the pillows. “Comfy?”

Ema nods, already half-asleep. “Can Tiger-san stay too?”

The question catches Taiga off guard. He glances at Hokuto, uncertain.

“Of course he can.” Hokuto’s voice is soft. “We’re both staying right here until you fall asleep.”

Taiga’s throat tightens unexpectedly. He sinks down onto the edge of the mattress, careful not to jostle her. Ema’s small hand finds his, her fingers curling around his index finger with surprising strength.

“More medicine in an hour,” Hokuto says quietly, checking his watch. “And we’ll need to wake her for more fluids.”

Taiga nods, watching the steady rise and fall of Ema’s chest. Her eyelashes cast tiny shadows on her cheeks, her face finally peaceful after hours of pain.

Hokuto tucks the blanket around her, his movements gentle. There’s something intimate about watching him care for Ema like this—something raw and honest that makes Taiga’s chest ache. This is the Hokuto that exists in quiet moments, when no one else is watching. The father who knows exactly how to soothe a sick child, how to make the world feel safe again.

Ema’s grip on his finger loosens as she drifts deeper into sleep. Taiga stays perfectly still, afraid to break the fragile peace that’s settled over the room.

Minutes tick by in the hushed quiet of Ema’s bedroom. Taiga’s legs have gone numb from sitting in the same position, but he doesn’t dare move. The weight of the day presses down on his shoulders like a physical thing.

Hokuto sits on the other side of the bed, his face half-hidden in shadow. The night light casts everything in a soft blue glow, making the scene feel underwater, suspended in time.

“I think she’s finally out,” Hokuto whispers, his voice barely audible.

Taiga nods, carefully extracting his finger from Ema’s grip. Her hand falls limply to the mattress, and she sighs in her sleep, turning slightly.

They rise in unison, moving with exaggerated care toward the door. Taiga’s joints protest as he straightens, pins and needles shooting through his calves. Hokuto leaves the door cracked open, just enough to hear if Ema calls out.

In the hallway, the spell breaks. Reality crashes back in waves—the abandoned weekend plans, the frantic drive back to Tokyo, Ema’s pale face as they rushed into the emergency room.

“I’ll make some tea,” Hokuto says, already moving toward the stairs.

“Hokuto, wait.” The words escape before Taiga can stop them.

Hokuto pauses, turning back. Exhaustion has carved deep lines around his mouth, but his eyes are alert, questioning.

“I’m sorry.” The apology feels inadequate, but Taiga pushes on. “This is my fault. The whole weekend getaway—it was selfish. If we’d been here when she first got sick—”

“Don’t.” Hokuto’s voice is firm but not unkind. “You can’t think like that.”

“But it’s true.” The guilt that’s been festering all day spills out. “If I hadn’t pushed for us to have time alone, if we’d just stayed home, we would have been there when she first started feeling sick. We could have gotten her to the doctor sooner.”

Hokuto sighs, running a hand through his already disheveled hair. “Kids get sick, Taiga. It happens. Even if we’d been home, she might still have ended up in the ER.”

“But we weren’t home.” The words taste bitter. “We were in Yokohama, eating dumplings and—” He cuts himself off, the memory of their carefree afternoon now tainted.

Hokuto takes a step closer, close enough that Taiga can see the stubble darkening his jaw, the tiny flecks of amber in his brown eyes.

“I should be the one apologizing,” he says quietly.

Taiga blinks, caught off guard. “For what?”

“For how I acted in the car.” Hokuto’s gaze drops. “When you were trying to help figure out what got Ema sick, and I snapped at you.”

The memory surfaces—Hokuto’s white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel, his voice sharp with fear as he’d barked, “I don’t know, Taiga.”

“You were worried about Ema-chan,” Taiga says, dismissing it with a shake of his head. “I get it.”

“That’s not an excuse.” Hokuto’s voice is low, serious. “I was scared, yes. But I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. Especially when you were just trying to help.”

Something in Taiga’s chest loosens at the words. He hadn’t realized how much that moment had stung until now, how he’d been carrying it alongside his guilt. “We were both scared,” he admits.

Hokuto nods, his expression softening. “When Yanase-san called—” He breaks off, swallowing hard. “All I could think was that I’d failed her. Failed Ema.”

“You didn’t fail anyone.” Taiga reaches out, gripping Hokuto’s forearm. “You saw how the doctors looked at you in there—like you were some kind of superhero parent for knowing exactly what to tell them about her symptoms.”

A ghost of a smile touches Hokuto’s lips. “Hardly. I was just repeating what Yanase-san told us.”

“Still.” Taiga’s thumb moves in small circles against Hokuto’s sleeve. “You knew what to do. How to comfort her.”

“And you were right there with me.” Hokuto’s hand covers his, warm and solid. “Holding her hand during the examination. Distracting her with that ridiculous story about Zoomie while they put the IV in.”

Heat rises to Taiga’s face. “I was just improvising.”

“It worked, though.” Hokuto steps closer, eliminating the space between them. “She stopped crying.”

Their foreheads touch, a gesture so simple yet achingly intimate. Taiga closes his eyes, breathing in the familiar scent of Hokuto’s skin beneath the hospital antiseptic.

“I’m still sorry about the weekend,” he murmurs.

Hokuto’s lips brush against his, feather-light. “I’m not.”

“No?”

“No.” Hokuto kisses him properly then, soft and slow. “We needed that time, even if it got cut short. And we’ll have other weekends.”

Taiga kisses him back, letting the tension of the day melt away in the warmth between them.

When they break apart, he feels steadier somehow, more grounded.

“Tea?” Hokuto asks, his voice rough around the edges.

“Tea,” Taiga agrees, taking Hokuto’s hand as they move toward the stairs.

🏠

“Hold still, Tiger-san. I can’t make you pretty if you keep moving.”

Taiga stifles a groan as tiny fingers tug at his hair with more enthusiasm than skill. He winces at a particularly sharp pull, catching Hokuto’s eye over the top of his book.

The bastard doesn’t even try to hide his smirk.

“Ema-chan, maybe a little gentler?” Taiga suggests, his scalp burning from another enthusiastic yank.

“But I’m making you a princess,” Ema explains with the patience of someone dealing with a particularly slow student. “Princesses have to suffer to be beautiful.”

Where the hell did she learn that? Taiga wonders, shooting Hokuto another glance.

Hokuto merely shrugs, the corner of his mouth twitching as he pretends to return to his reading.

The coffee table is littered with an arsenal of hair accessories—glittery clips, rainbow elastics, and a pink plastic tiara that Ema had insisted was essential to the transformation. Taiga’s hair, now grown past his shoulders after months of neglecting haircuts, provides the perfect canvas for her artistic vision.

“There!” Ema announces, jamming another butterfly clip somewhere near his temple. “Now you need sparkles.”

“I think I'm sparkly enough,” Taiga protests weakly, feeling something slide precariously in his half-constructed updo.

“No such thing as too sparkly,” Ema declares, reaching for a tube that Taiga recognizes with horror as some kind of glitter gel.

A week ago, she’d been curled up in bed, pale and miserable with stomach flu. Now, fully recovered, her energy has returned with interest. Taiga can’t bring himself to deny her anything, not after those frightening hours in the hospital. Even if it means sacrificing his dignity on the altar of princess makeovers.

“You look very regal,” Hokuto comments, not bothering to hide his amusement anymore. He’s lounging on the couch, book propped against his knee, looking unfairly handsome and put-together while Taiga suffers.

“You’re next,” Taiga threatens, but Hokuto just grins.

“My hair’s too short. Such a shame.”

“I could still put sparkles on you, Papa,” Ema offers helpfully.

Taiga feels a surge of vindictive pleasure at the flash of alarm that crosses Hokuto’s face.

“That’s an excellent idea,” Taiga encourages. “Papa would look beautiful with some glitter.”

Hokuto narrows his eyes in silent warning just as the doorbell chimes.

“I’ll get it,” Hokuto says quickly, setting his book aside and rising with suspicious eagerness. “You stay right there and let Ema finish your... transformation.”

Taiga feels something wet and cold touch his cheek as Ema applies the glitter gel with enthusiastic imprecision. He resigns himself to his fate, listening to Hokuto’s footsteps retreating toward the front door. At least whoever’s visiting will only see Hokuto, the presentable half of their relationship.

The murmur of voices drifts from the entryway—Hokuto’s familiar tone joined by others that Taiga can’t immediately place. He stiffens as the voices grow louder, approaching the living room.

“Look who came to surprise us,” Hokuto announces, stepping back into view with a smile that’s equal parts delight and mischief.

Behind him stand Satomi and Toshiyuki, both beaming with the unmistakable joy of grandparents making an unexpected visit.

Taiga freezes, acutely aware of the state he’s in. Half his hair is twisted into some kind of abstract sculpture, secured with neon clips and ribbons. The other half hangs limply over his shoulder, waiting its turn. And now his face is apparently decorated with streaks of pink glitter.

This is how I die, he thinks, mortification burning through him like wildfire. This is how I meet my end—looking like a deranged unicorn in front of my boyfriend’s in-laws.

“Grandma! Grandpa!” Ema shrieks, abandoning her beautician duties to launch herself at her grandparents. Toshiyuki catches her mid-leap, swinging her up into his arms with practiced ease.

Satomi’s eyes crinkle with warmth as she takes in the scene, her gaze lingering on Taiga’s embellished appearance. “We thought we’d surprise you with a visit since we were in Tokyo to meet some friends.”

“What a lovely surprise,” Taiga manages, fighting the urge to tear the accessories from his hair. He rises from his cross-legged position on the floor, painfully aware of the butterfly clips hanging precariously from his bangs.

“I was making Tiger-san a princess,” Ema explains proudly from her grandfather’s arms. “Doesn’t he look pretty?”

Toshiyuki’s eyes dance with amusement. “Very pretty indeed.”

Taiga catches Hokuto’s gaze, silently communicating a mixture of embarrassment and accusation. You could have warned me. You could have given me two seconds to fix this disaster.

Hokuto’s answering look is pure innocence, but the slight quirk of his lips betrays his enjoyment of Taiga’s predicament.

“I should probably...” Taiga gestures vaguely toward the stairs, planning his escape to restore some semblance of dignity.

“Oh, don’t change a thing on our account,” Satomi says warmly, setting down her purse. “I think it’s wonderful that Ema has someone to practice her styling skills on.”

Taiga feels a strange mix of embarrassment and something warmer, more complicated. He’s standing in the living room with glitter on his face and ridiculous things in his hair, being appraised by Hokuto’s in-laws—Rui’s parents—and somehow, impossibly, it doesn’t feel like they’re judging him.

“We thought we’d take Ema-chan to the zoo today,” Satomi continues, settling onto the couch with the easy familiarity of family. “The weather’s perfect, and they have that new capybara exhibit she’s been talking about.”

“And maybe she could stay with us at the hotel tonight?” Toshiyuki adds, bouncing Ema slightly in his arms. “We’ve got a room near Tokyo Station with plenty of space.”

Taiga blinks, processing this unexpected development. He catches Hokuto’s eye again, noticing something different in his expression—not just amusement now, but a hint of... satisfaction?

“That sounds wonderful,” Hokuto says, his voice suspiciously smooth. “Ema, why don’t you go upstairs and pack your overnight bag? Show Grandma and Grandpa your new room while you’re at it.”

Ema wriggles down from Toshiyuki’s arms. “Come see my lamp! And Sparkle! And my new bookshelf that Tiger-san built!” She grabs both grandparents by the hand, tugging them toward the stairs with surprising strength for someone so small.

Satomi throws an amused glance over her shoulder as she’s dragged away. “We’ll be down in a few minutes!” she calls, her knowing smile making Taiga’s cheeks burn hotter beneath their glittery coating.

The moment they disappear upstairs, Taiga turns to Hokuto, hands on his hips. “You planned this.”

It’s not a question. The pieces click together in his mind—Hokuto’s complete lack of surprise at the “spontaneous” visit, the overnight bag suggestion, the too-casual way he’d sent Ema upstairs with her grandparents.

Hokuto has the grace to look slightly sheepish, running a hand through his hair. “I might have called them last week. After our... interrupted Yokohama trip.”

“You might have?” Taiga arches an eyebrow, feeling a butterfly clip slide precariously down his temple.

“Fine. I definitely called them.” Hokuto steps closer, reaching up to rescue the falling clip. His fingers brush Taiga’s cheek, sending a current of warmth through him despite his indignation. “You’re not the only one who’s been frustrated, you know.”

The low timbre of Hokuto’s voice sends heat pooling in Taiga’s stomach. He tries to maintain his affronted expression, but it’s difficult with Hokuto standing so close, looking at him with those eyes.

“I appreciate the initiative,” Taiga says, keeping his voice down to prevent it carrying upstairs. “But maybe a heads-up would have been nice? So I wouldn’t be meeting your in-laws looking like I lost a fight with an accessories counter?”

Hokuto’s lips twitch. “I didn’t know Ema would be giving you a makeover today.”

“Bullshit.” Taiga narrows his eyes. “You practically threw me to the wolves. You could have intercepted her before she broke out the glitter gel.”

“But you look so pretty,” Hokuto murmurs, his fingers tracing the line of glitter on Taiga’s cheek. The touch is feather-light but electric, making Taiga’s breath catch despite himself.

“I hate you,” Taiga mutters without conviction.

“No, you don’t.” Hokuto’s smile turns softer, more intimate. “And for what it’s worth, I think Satomi-san and Toshiyuki-san are charmed. They keep telling me how happy they are that Ema has both of us now.”

Something twists in Taiga’s chest—a complicated knot of emotions he’s still learning to untangle. Being accepted by Rui’s parents means more than he’d expected. He’s not trying to replace anyone, but being acknowledged as part of this family feels significant in ways he’s still discovering.

“Still could have warned me,” he grumbles, but there’s no heat in it.

“And miss seeing you covered in glitter and butterfly clips? Never.” Hokuto leans in, pressing a quick kiss to the corner of Taiga’s mouth. “Besides, we now have the whole night to ourselves. Worth a little embarrassment, don’t you think?”

Taiga feels his resolve crumbling. It’s impossible to stay annoyed when Hokuto looks at him like that—eyes warm with a mixture of amusement and desire. And the prospect of uninterrupted time together is admittedly enticing after weeks of careful timing and Ema’s uncanny ability to sense when they’re trying to be alone.

“I’m still making you pay for this,” Taiga warns, but his body betrays him as he leans into Hokuto’s touch.

“I’m counting on it,” Hokuto whispers, his breath warm against Taiga’s ear.

The thundering of small feet on the stairs announces Ema’s return. Taiga quickly steps back from Hokuto, though the lingering heat of his touch remains on Taiga’s skin. He smooths down his ridiculous hair as best he can, feeling like a teenager caught making out by his parents.

Ema barrels into the living room with her purple overnight bag bouncing against her hip, Satomi and Toshiyuki following at a more sedate pace. Her eyes shine with excitement, practically vibrating with anticipation.

“I packed Sparkle and Waddles and Mr. Bunny and my toothbrush and my princess pajamas!” she announces, as if completing a mission of vital importance.

“Sounds like you’ve got all the essentials,” Taiga says, trying to ignore the knowing look Satomi gives him as she adjusts her purse strap.

Ema drops her bag and throws herself at Hokuto, wrapping her arms around his waist. “Bye, Papa! I’m going to see the capybaras!”

“Be good for Grandma and Grandpa,” Hokuto says, crouching to her level and smoothing her hair. “Remember to brush your teeth tonight.”

“I will!” She promises with the solemn conviction of a child who may or may not remember once distracted by hotel room novelties.

Then she turns to Taiga, and he barely has time to brace himself before she crashes into him, nearly knocking him off balance. Her arms wrap around his waist, face pressed against his stomach. The gesture still catches him off guard sometimes—this easy, uncomplicated affection she offers.

“Bye, Tiger-san! Sorry I didn’t finish making you pretty.”

Taiga pats her head fondly, acutely aware of Satomi and Toshiyuki watching. “Next time, kiddo. The capybaras won’t wait forever.”

She pulls back, beaming up at him. “You can keep the sparkles on if you want.”

“That’s… very generous of you.”

Toshiyuki chuckles, reaching for Ema's bag. “We should get going if we want to see everything. The zoo closes at five.”

“We’ll take good care of her,” Satomi assures them, though her eyes twinkle with something that makes heat creep up Taiga’s neck.

“We’ll check in when we get to the zoo,” Toshiyuki adds, more practically. “And before bedtime.”

Hokuto nods, his expression a perfect mask of parental concern rather than the anticipation Taiga knows he must be feeling. “Have fun. We’ll see you tomorrow afternoon?”

“Around two,” Satomi confirms, ushering Ema toward the door. “Unless you’d prefer later?”

The question hangs in the air, loaded with implication.

“Two is perfect,” Hokuto says smoothly, following them to the entryway.

Taiga hangs back slightly, still self-conscious about his appearance. He watches as Hokuto helps Ema into her shoes, double-checking her laces with practiced movements. The easy domesticity of it still catches him sometimes—how seamlessly Hokuto transitions between passionate partner and devoted father.

Final hugs are exchanged, along with reminders about Ema’s allergy medicine and her preference for the night light when sleeping somewhere new.

Then the door closes behind them, and suddenly the house is silent.

Taiga stands in the entryway, acutely aware of Hokuto’s presence in front of him. The quiet feels loaded, electric. They’re alone—truly alone—for the first time in weeks.

“So,” Taiga says as Hokuto turns to face him. “You orchestrated quite the escape plan.”

Hokuto’s eyes darken as he steps closer. “Desperate times.”

“And your in-laws were surprisingly... accommodating.”

“They like seeing me happy,” Hokuto says simply, reaching up to touch one of the butterfly clips still clinging to Taiga’s hair. “And they like you.”

The words send an unexpected wave of emotion through Taiga’s chest. “Even with glitter on my face?”

“Especially with glitter on your face.” Hokuto’s fingers trace the sparkly streak on Taiga’s cheek before gently removing the butterfly clip from his hair. “It shows you let Ema be herself with you.”

Hokuto’s voice drops lower as he removes another clip, his fingers grazing Taiga’s scalp in a way that sends shivers down his spine. “It shows what kind of man you are.”

Taiga swallows hard. “And what kind is that?”

“The kind who puts a little girl's happiness above his dignity.” Another clip falls away, followed by Hokuto’s lips pressing against the newly exposed skin at Taiga’s temple. “The kind who makes me want to do this—”

Hokuto’s mouth finds his, the kiss deep and unhurried. Taiga melts into it, weeks of interrupted moments and careful restraint dissolving under the heat of Hokuto’s touch.

When they break apart, they’re both breathing harder.

“You have glitter on your face now too,” Taiga murmurs, satisfaction curling through him at the sight.

“Worth it.” Hokuto’s fingers find another clip, removing it with deliberate slowness before pressing his lips to the spot. “I think we should get you cleaned up.”

The suggestion is innocent enough, but Hokuto’s eyes promise anything but innocence. He removes a ribbon, letting it fall to the floor as his lips brush the sensitive skin behind Taiga’s ear.

“You seem to be enjoying this a little too much,” Taiga observes, his voice embarrassingly unsteady.

“Unwrapping my present,” Hokuto murmurs against his skin, fingers finding yet another clip. “Slowly.”

Hokuto’s lips trace a burning path down Taiga’s throat, each kiss deliberate and torturous. The wall supports Taiga’s weight as his knees threaten to buckle. The decorations in his hair are half-removed, leaving him in a disheveled state that should be embarrassing but somehow only heightens the electricity between them.

“Bedroom,” Taiga manages, voice rough with need.

Hokuto shakes his head, fingers working at another ribbon. “Not yet. I’m not done with you here.”

The last few accessories come out one by one, each removal followed by the press of Hokuto’s mouth against newly exposed skin. Taiga’s patience wears thinner with each touch, desire coiling tighter in his belly.

When Hokuto finally removes the last clip—a tiny purple butterfly nested at the nape of his neck—Taiga feels the absence of weight like a release.

“Finally,” he breathes, hands coming up to frame Hokuto’s face. The glitter has transferred between them, leaving them both sparkling in the afternoon light. There’s something strangely fitting about it.

Taiga doesn’t wait for Hokuto’s next calculated move. He surges forward, capturing Hokuto’s mouth in a desperate kiss that has none of the earlier restraint. His fingers tangle in Hokuto’s short hair, pulling him closer as if trying to eliminate any space between them.

He walks them backward toward the couch, unwilling to break the kiss long enough to navigate the stairs to the bedroom. Weeks of interrupted moments and careful timing have left him raw with need, and he can’t bear to wait another second.

The back of his knees hit the couch, and he sinks down onto it, pulling Hokuto with him. But Hokuto resists, remaining standing between Taiga’s spread knees, looking down at him with eyes dark with hunger.

“I’ve been thinking about this all week,” Hokuto confesses, voice low and rough. His hands slide down Taiga’s chest, fingers catching at the hem of his t-shirt. “About you. About having you to myself.”

Taiga’s breath catches at the possessiveness in Hokuto’s tone. It still surprises him sometimes—this side of Hokuto that emerges when they’re alone, so different from his gentle, reserved public persona.

“Less talking, more doing,” Taiga challenges, but his voice betrays him, emerging breathless and needy.

Hokuto’s answering smile is almost predatory. He leans down, recapturing Taiga’s mouth in a kiss that’s deeper, hungrier than before. His tongue traces the seam of Taiga’s lips before delving inside, tasting him with deliberate slowness that makes Taiga groan in frustration.

Just when Taiga thinks he might actually combust from want, Hokuto breaks the kiss, trailing his lips down Taiga’s jaw, his throat, lingering at the hollow where his pulse beats frantically. Taiga’s head falls back against the couch cushions, giving Hokuto better access as his hands fist in the fabric beneath him.

“Hokuto,” he breathes, not quite a plea but close.

Hokuto’s hands find the waistband of Taiga’s sweatpants, fingers hooking under the elastic. He looks up, meeting Taiga’s gaze with a question in his eyes—always checking, always making sure. Even now, with desire making his pupils wide and dark, he’s careful.

Taiga lifts his hips in silent permission, watching as Hokuto slides the sweatpants down his legs. His underwear follows, leaving him exposed and aching under Hokuto’s heated gaze.

This is really happening, Taiga thinks, a little dazed. After weeks of stolen moments and interrupted attempts, they finally have the house to themselves, with no chance of Ema’s small voice calling out for them or tiny footsteps padding down the hall.

Hokuto sinks to his knees between Taiga’s spread thighs, hands sliding up to rest on his hips. The position is achingly vulnerable, leaving Taiga nowhere to hide as Hokuto looks up at him with naked want.

“You’re beautiful,” Hokuto murmurs, pressing a kiss to the inside of Taiga’s thigh.

Taiga would normally deflect such earnestness with sarcasm, but the words stick in his throat as Hokuto’s lips trail higher, leaving a path of heat in their wake. All he can do is watch, breath catching as Hokuto’s mouth moves closer to where he needs it most.

The first touch of Hokuto’s lips against his length tears a ragged sound from Taiga’s throat. His hands fly to Hokuto’s hair, not guiding, just needing something to anchor himself as pleasure courses through him. Hokuto takes his time, exploring with torturous thoroughness, his tongue tracing patterns that make Taiga’s thighs tremble.

“Fuck,” Taiga gasps, the word punched out of him as Hokuto takes him deeper.

Hokuto hums in response, the vibration sending shockwaves of pleasure up Taiga’s spine. His fingers tighten in Hokuto’s hair, drawing a groan that he feels more than hears. The sound travels through him like electricity, making his hips buck involuntarily.

Hokuto’s hands tighten on his hips, holding him in place as his mouth works over Taiga with increasing urgency. The sight of him—always so composed, now on his knees with his lips stretched around Taiga—is almost too much to bear. Taiga feels himself spiraling toward the edge embarrassingly quickly, overwhelmed by sensation and the weeks of anticipation leading to this moment.

“Fuck, Hokuto, I’m—” Taiga can’t finish the sentence, his warning dissolving into a strangled moan as pleasure crashes through him like a tidal wave. His fingers tighten in Hokuto’s hair, body arching off the couch as he comes undone.

Hokuto doesn’t pull away. His hands steady Taiga’s trembling thighs, mouth working him through each pulse of his orgasm until Taiga collapses back against the cushions, chest heaving and mind blissfully empty. For several heartbeats, all he can do is stare at the ceiling, sensation slowly returning to his extremities.

When he finally finds the strength to lift his head, the sight that greets him steals what little breath he’s managed to recover. Hokuto is still kneeling between his legs, lips swollen and eyes dark with unsatisfied desire. A smudge of glitter gleams on his cheekbone—a ridiculous, perfect detail that makes something twist in Taiga’s chest.

“Come here,” Taiga murmurs, reaching down to tug Hokuto upward.

Hokuto rises from his knees with fluid grace, allowing himself to be pulled into a deep, searching kiss. Taiga tastes himself on Hokuto’s tongue, the intimacy of it sending a renewed spark of desire through his spent body. His hands find Hokuto’s shirt, fingers fumbling with the buttons.

“You’re still wearing too many clothes,” Taiga says against Hokuto’s mouth, frustrated by the barrier of fabric between them.

Hokuto’s laugh is low and rough. “We should fix that.”

“Bedroom,” Taiga decides, pushing himself up from the couch on still-shaky legs. His sweatpants are tangled around one ankle, and he kicks them free before grabbing Hokuto’s hand and pulling him toward the stairs.

They stumble up the steps together, Taiga walking backward to keep his eyes on Hokuto. His fingers work at Hokuto’s shirt buttons, revealing more skin with each step. By the time they reach the landing, the shirt hangs open, exposing the lean planes of Hokuto’s chest.

Taiga pushes the shirt from Hokuto’s shoulders, letting it fall forgotten to the hallway floor. His hands explore newly revealed skin, tracing the contours of Hokuto’s torso with reverent fingers. There’s still a novelty to this—being allowed to touch, to want so openly.

His own t-shirt follows, pulled over his head and discarded without ceremony. The brush of skin against skin as Hokuto presses him against the wall sends electricity racing down his spine. Hokuto’s mouth finds his throat, teeth grazing the sensitive spot just below his ear that always makes him shiver.

“We’re never going to make it to the bedroom at this rate,” Taiga gasps, head falling back against the wall as Hokuto’s hands slide down to cup his ass.

“Whose fault is that?” Hokuto murmurs against his skin.

Taiga doesn’t have a witty retort. His brain short-circuits as Hokuto’s hips roll against his, the friction of fabric against his sensitive flesh drawing a hiss from between his teeth. Despite having just come, he feels desire building again, slow and insistent.

With effort, he pushes Hokuto back, creating enough space between them to reach for the waistband of Hokuto’s sweatpants. His fingers make quick work of it, dragging the sweatpants and underwear down with deliberate slowness that makes Hokuto’s breath catch.

“Bedroom,” Taiga repeats, more urgently this time. “Now.”

They make it the final few steps to the bedroom door, shedding Hokuto’s sweatpants and underwear along the way. Taiga walks Hokuto backward until his knees hit the mattress, then gives him a gentle push. Hokuto falls onto the bed with a soft laugh, propping himself up on his elbows to watch as Taiga retrieves the lubricant and a condom from the nightstand drawer.

Taiga climbs onto the bed, straddling Hokuto’s thighs. He sets the supplies beside them on the mattress before leaning down to capture Hokuto’s mouth in a kiss that’s slower, deeper than their earlier urgency. His hands frame Hokuto’s face, thumbs brushing over his cheekbones where traces of glitter still cling to his skin.

“You’re still sparkly,” Taiga murmurs against Hokuto’s lips.

“Your fault,” Hokuto reminds him, hands sliding up Taiga’s bare thighs to rest on his hips.

Taiga shifts his attention to Hokuto’s neck, pressing open-mouthed kisses along the column of his throat. He works his way down slowly, learning the geography of Hokuto’s body with lips and tongue and teeth. Each touch draws a different sound from Hokuto—a sharp intake of breath, a low moan, his name whispered like a prayer.

When Taiga reaches for the lubricant, Hokuto’s eyes track the movement, darkening with anticipation. Taiga pours the cool liquid over his fingers, warming it between them before reaching between Hokuto’s legs.

The first touch makes Hokuto’s breath catch, his head falling back against the pillows. Taiga watches his face intently, cataloging each micro-expression as he works his finger inside with careful precision. He adds a second finger when Hokuto’s hips begin to move restlessly against his hand, curling them to find the spot that makes Hokuto’s back arch off the mattress.

“Taiga,” Hokuto gasps, the sound of his name in that wrecked voice sending heat pooling in Taiga’s stomach.

Taiga reaches for the condom, but Hokuto’s hand closes over his, stopping him.

“Let me,” Hokuto says, voice rough with want.

Something about the request makes Taiga’s pulse quicken. He hands over the foil packet, watching as Hokuto tears it open with careful fingers. There’s an intimacy to this moment that transcends the physical—a trust that makes Taiga’s chest tight with emotion he can’t quite name.

Hokuto sits up slightly, his free hand curling around the back of Taiga’s neck to pull him into a kiss that’s surprisingly tender given the heat between them. When he pulls back, his eyes are dark and serious, holding Taiga’s gaze as his fingers roll the condom down Taiga’s length with deliberate slowness.

The sensation draws a hiss from between Taiga’s teeth, his hips jerking involuntarily into Hokuto’s touch. Hokuto’s lips curve into a smile that’s equal parts affection and desire, his thumb brushing over the head in a teasing caress that makes Taiga’s vision blur at the edges.

“Fuck,” Taiga breathes, the word barely audible.

Hokuto lies back against the pillows, pulling Taiga down with him. Their bodies align perfectly, chest to chest, heartbeats thundering against each other through skin and bone. Taiga braces himself on his forearms, looking down at Hokuto spread beneath him—flushed and wanting and impossibly beautiful.

For a moment, he just stares, struck by the reality of this. Of Hokuto looking up at him with those dark eyes, mouth swollen from kisses, hair mussed from Taiga’s fingers. There’s still a trace of glitter on his cheekbone, catching the afternoon light filtering through the curtains.

Mine, Taiga thinks, the possessiveness of it startling him. He’s never been one for sentimentality, and has always kept relationships at arm’s length. But there’s nothing distant about this—about the way his heart hammers against his ribs as Hokuto’s hands slide up his back, urging him closer.

Taiga reaches between them, guiding himself to Hokuto’s entrance. He presses forward with exquisite care, watching Hokuto’s face for any sign of discomfort.

The first breach draws a sharp intake of breath from Hokuto, his fingers digging into Taiga’s shoulders.

“Okay?” Taiga asks, voice strained with the effort of holding still when every instinct screams at him to move.

Hokuto nods, eyes half-lidded and dark. “Don’t stop.”

Taiga pushes forward incrementally, giving Hokuto time to adjust to the intrusion. The tight heat of him is almost unbearable, pleasure coiling at the base of Taiga’s spine with each slow inch. He forces himself to go slowly, to savor the gradual joining of their bodies.

Hokuto’s breathing grows ragged, his chest rising and falling rapidly beneath Taiga’s. His legs wrap around Taiga’s waist, heels digging into the small of his back in silent encouragement. The angle changes, allowing Taiga to sink deeper, drawing a low moan from both of them.

When he’s fully seated, Taiga stills, forehead dropping to rest against Hokuto’s shoulder. The sensation is overwhelming—not just the physical pleasure, but the emotional weight of being connected like this. Of being inside Hokuto, surrounded by his warmth.

“You feel—” Taiga starts, but the words catch in his throat.

Perfect. Like home. Like everything I never knew I wanted.

Hokuto’s hand comes up to cup the back of Taiga’s head, fingers threading through his hair in a gesture so tender it makes Taiga’s chest ache. “I know,” he murmurs, as if he can hear all the things Taiga can’t bring himself to say.

Taiga lifts his head, needing to see Hokuto’s face. What he finds there steals his breath—raw emotion laid bare, nothing held back. It’s terrifying and exhilarating all at once.

He captures Hokuto’s mouth in a deep, searching kiss, trying to convey with touch what he can’t with words. Hokuto responds in kind, his hands framing Taiga’s face as if he’s something precious.

The kiss breaks naturally, both of them needing air. Taiga stays perfectly still, giving Hokuto time to adjust, watching the subtle shifts in his expression as discomfort gives way to pleasure. It’s a heady thing, witnessing Hokuto like this—all his careful composure stripped away, leaving only raw need in its wake.

“Move,” Hokuto finally whispers, the word half command, half plea. “Please, Taiga.”

The sound of his name in that wrecked voice nearly undoes him. Taiga withdraws slightly before pushing back in, establishing a rhythm that’s torturously slow. Each thrust draws a different sound from Hokuto—a gasp, a moan, a breathless curse—and Taiga catalogs them all, learning what makes Hokuto come apart beneath him.

Their bodies move together with increasing urgency, finding a cadence that feels like conversation. Hokuto’s hips rise to meet each thrust, taking Taiga deeper, drawing him further into the heat between them. The friction is exquisite, pleasure building with each movement until Taiga feels like he might shatter from the intensity of it.

“God, Hokuto,” he gasps, the words punched out of him as Hokuto’s inner muscles clench around him. “You’re so—”

Beautiful. Perfect. Mine.

“Perfect,” Taiga finally manages, the word escaping on a ragged breath.

Hokuto’s eyes find his, dark and heavy-lidded. The vulnerability there makes something twist in Taiga’s chest—a sharp, sweet ache he’s still learning to navigate.

Hokuto reaches up, fingers tracing the curve of Taiga’s jaw with reverent precision. The touch grounds him, pulls him back from the edge where pleasure threatens to overwhelm thought entirely.

“I love you,” Hokuto whispers, the words hanging in the air between them.

Taiga feels them like a physical force, pushing against his ribs. He’s heard them before—Hokuto has said them in quiet moments, in the dark before sleep claims them—but never like this, never when they’re joined so intimately, with nothing between them but sweat and shared breath.

The words catch in his throat. Not because he doesn’t feel them—God, he feels them so much it terrifies him—but because saying them here, now, seems to cross some final threshold he didn’t know existed.

Instead, he kisses Hokuto deeply, pouring everything he can’t say into the press of lips and tongue. Hokuto responds with equal fervor, his hands sliding down Taiga’s back to grip his hips, urging him deeper.

Taiga complies, his movements growing more urgent as pleasure builds at the base of his spine. He shifts his angle slightly, drawing a sharp gasp from Hokuto that tells him he’s found exactly the right spot. He maintains the position, driving into Hokuto with increasing intensity, watching as Hokuto’s composure fractures beneath him.

There’s something profoundly satisfying about seeing Hokuto like this—the man who holds everything together, who manages work and parenthood and life’s daily chaos with such careful precision, coming undone because of him. Because of them, together.

“Close,” Hokuto gasps, the word barely audible over the sound of their breathing and the rhythmic creak of the bed beneath them.

Taiga reaches between them, wrapping his fingers around Hokuto’s length. The touch draws a broken sound from Hokuto’s throat, his back arching off the mattress. Taiga strokes him in time with his thrusts, watching Hokuto’s face as pleasure overtakes him.

When Hokuto comes, it’s with Taiga’s name on his lips, his body tensing around him in waves that threaten to pull Taiga over the edge with him. Taiga works him through it, maintaining his rhythm even as his own control frays at the edges.

The sight of Hokuto in the aftermath—flushed and panting, eyes half-closed in bliss—is what finally breaks him. Pleasure crashes through him with staggering force, whiting out his vision as his hips stutter against Hokuto’s. For a moment, he loses all sense of himself, aware only of the heat between them and the thundering of his heart.

When reality reasserts itself, Taiga finds himself collapsed against Hokuto’s chest, their bodies still joined. Hokuto’s arms encircle him, one hand tracing idle patterns on his sweat-slick back. The touch is soothing, grounding, pulling him back into his body one gentle stroke at a time.

“Wow,” Taiga mumbles against Hokuto’s collarbone, not quite ready to meet his eyes.

Hokuto’s chest vibrates with silent laughter beneath him. “Eloquent as always.”

Taiga lifts his head to glare half-heartedly at him, but the expression melts away at the sight of Hokuto’s face—soft and open in the aftermath, his usual reserve nowhere to be found. There’s still a trace of glitter on his cheekbone, catching the light when he moves.

“You’re one to talk,” Taiga counters, reaching up to brush his thumb over the sparkle. “You’ve got fairy dust all over you.”

Hokuto catches his wrist, pressing a kiss to his palm that’s achingly tender. “Your fault.”

“Worth it,” Taiga decides.

With reluctance, Taiga disengages from Hokuto, both of them wincing slightly at the separation. He disposes of the condom in the bathroom before returning to find Hokuto propped up against the pillows, watching him with warm eyes.

“What?” Taiga asks, suddenly self-conscious under that steady gaze.

Hokuto shakes his head slightly. “Nothing. Just... happy.”

The simple admission hits Taiga like a physical blow. He’s spent so much of his life chasing a nebulous idea of contentment—through career success, through his carefully ordered house, through relationships that never quite fit—and here it is, offered so easily in Hokuto’s quiet voice.

Happy.

Taiga slides back into bed, arranging himself against Hokuto’s side. Their bodies fit together with practiced ease now, Hokuto’s arm coming around his shoulders as Taiga’s head finds the hollow of his throat. The position feels like safety, like coming home after a long journey.

“Me too,” Taiga admits, the words muffled against Hokuto’s skin.

It’s as close as he can get to returning those three words Hokuto offered earlier, but from the way Hokuto’s arm tightens around him, he knows it’s enough for now.

🏠

Taiga’s muscles protest as he shifts slightly against the rumpled sheets. Six hours. They’ve been at this for six hours, and his body bears delicious evidence of every minute.

He lies sprawled on his back, one arm flung over his eyes, feeling the pleasant burn in his thighs, the tender spots where Hokuto’s mouth had been particularly enthusiastic.

The light filtering through the blinds has shifted, afternoon sun giving way to early evening shadows that stretch across the bedroom floor. Somewhere in the house, a phone had rung several times before going silent.

Taiga hadn’t cared enough to check whose it was.

He can’t remember the last time he'd lost track of time so completely. He can't remember surrendering himself to pure sensation without the nagging voice in his head tallying responsibilities, calculating consequences, measuring the minutes until he needed to be somewhere else.

Nowhere else to be but here.

The bathroom door clicks open, releasing a cloud of steam that carries Hokuto’s soap scent into the bedroom. Taiga lifts his arm just enough to peek at Hokuto’s silhouette in the doorway. His hair is damp, curling slightly at the temples, and he’s wrapped in the dark blue robe Taiga gave him a month ago.

“Found these scattered around the house,” Hokuto says, voice rough at the edges. He holds up a bundle of clothes—Taiga recognizes his own shirt, twisted and inside-out, and Hokuto’s sweatpants. “Along with these.” He places their phones on the nightstand.

Taiga makes a noncommittal sound. Moving seems like too much effort, even to check his notifications. The outside world can wait.

“You alive over there?” Hokuto asks, amusement threading through his voice.

“Barely,” Taiga mumbles, but he’s smiling against his arm. “You’ve killed me. I hope you’re satisfied.”

The mattress dips as Hokuto sits beside him, his weight a familiar anchor. “Very,” he says, and Taiga doesn’t need to look to know he’s wearing that small, pleased smile. “But also hungry. Dinner?”

Taiga finally drops his arm, blinking up at Hokuto. The bathrobe hangs open at the neck, revealing a scattering of marks across his collarbone—evidence of Taiga’s earlier enthusiasm.

Mine, something primitive in him whispers.

“We could go out,” Hokuto continues, his fingers absently tracing patterns on Taiga’s bare shoulder. “There’s that new place near the station you mentioned wanting to try.”

The thought of getting dressed, of walking among strangers and making polite conversation, feels impossibly daunting. Taiga’s body is boneless, sated in ways he didn’t know were possible. The idea of leaving this bubble they’ve created makes his chest tighten.

“Takeout,” he decides. “Definitely takeout.”

Hokuto nods, his thumb brushing over a sensitive spot on Taiga’s neck that makes him shiver. “Curry?”

“God, yes.” Taiga stretches, wincing slightly at the pull in muscles he’d forgotten he had. “From that place with the good naan.”

“Already have their number saved,” Hokuto says, reaching for his phone.

Taiga watches him scroll through his contacts, noting the careful way Hokuto holds himself. He’s sore too, Taiga realizes with a mixture of satisfaction and tenderness. They’ve marked each other in ways that will linger for days—hidden evidence of this afternoon they’ve stolen for themselves.

“You’re staring,” Hokuto says without looking up from his phone.

“You’re worth staring at.” The words slip out before Taiga can filter them, too honest for his usual guarded self.

Hokuto glances at him, surprise softening into something warm. “Even like this?” He gestures vaguely at himself—at the robe that’s slightly too small across his shoulders, at his uncombed hair and the faint shadow of stubble on his jaw.

“Especially like this,” Taiga admits. Hokuto disheveled is a rare sight, one that Taiga hoards like treasure. This version of Hokuto belongs to Taiga alone.

Hokuto’s expression shifts, heat rekindling in his eyes. For a moment, Taiga thinks he might set the phone aside, might lean down and capture his mouth in another kiss that would inevitably lead them back to where they started hours ago.

But then Hokuto’s stomach growls audibly, breaking the tension.

Taiga laughs, the sound startled out of him. “Food first,” he concedes, pushing himself up to sitting position with a groan. “Then maybe round—what are we on now, four?”

“Five,” Hokuto corrects, already dialing the restaurant. “Unless you count the shower.”

“Oh, we’re definitely counting the shower.”

Hokuto’s lips twitch as he waits for the call to connect. “Six, then.”

As Hokuto places the order, Taiga stretches once more and reaches for his phone. The screen lights up with a barrage of notifications—and what looks like two dozen messages in their group chat.

The first message from Yugo, timestamped two hours ago: So did you guys finally break the bed yet or what?

Followed by Juri: Give them time, they’ve had a lot of foreplay these past weeks

And then a string of increasingly outrageous speculations about what Taiga and Hokuto might be doing with their child-free evening, complete with eggplant emojis and water droplets.

Heat crawls up Taiga’s neck.

“What are they saying?” Hokuto asks, settling beside him with his own phone.

Taiga tilts the screen away. “Nothing worth repeating.”

Hokuto raises an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth quirking up. “That bad?”

“Worse.” Taiga scrolls further, wincing at a particularly graphic suggestion from Yugo involving kitchen counters. “They’re being twelve-year-olds.”

Hokuto chuckles, his attention returning to his own phone. “Tell them we’re fine.”

Taiga hesitates, thumbs hovering over the keyboard. A petty, satisfied part of him wants to confirm their friends’ suspicions. Wants to stake his claim, to make it real beyond the walls of this bedroom.

Mission accomplished, he types finally. He’s ruined me for all others.

The response is immediate—Yugo’s string of celebratory emojis followed by Juri’s About damn time.

Yugo: DETAILS

Taiga snorts. Not a chance

Juri: Boooooring.

Soon, the doorbell chimes downstairs.

“Food’s here,” Hokuto says, setting his phone down. He stands, tightening the belt of his robe. “I’ll get it.”

Taiga watches him move toward the door, appreciating the confident line of his shoulders, the slight hitch in his step that betrays lingering soreness.

“Want to come down and eat at the table?” Hokuto asks, pausing at the doorway.

The thought of leaving this room, of sitting properly at a table when his body still hums with the memory of Hokuto’s touch, seems ridiculous. Taiga gestures at the rumpled bed around him.

“Here’s fine,” he says. “I’m not moving unless the house is on fire.”

Hokuto shakes his head, that small, fond smile playing at his lips. “We’ll get curry on the sheets.”

“Don’t care.” Taiga sprawls dramatically across the mattress. “Worth it.”

The doorbell rings again.

“We’re not eating in bed,” Hokuto says firmly, though his eyes betray his amusement. “The desk, maybe. We can at least pretend to be civilized.”

“Fine,” Taiga concedes, pushing himself upright with exaggerated effort. “The desk. But I’m not putting on pants.”

“Wouldn’t dream of asking you to,” Hokuto says dryly. “Back in a minute.”

As Hokuto disappears down the hallway, Taiga reaches for his discarded t-shirt and boxers on the floor. Once dressed, he clears space on his desk for their impromptu dinner. He pushes aside work papers and unplugs his laptop, making room for what will undoubtedly be a feast—Hokuto always orders too much, a habit Taiga suspects comes from years of making sure Ema has options.

His muscles protest as he drags the desk chair into position, but it’s a satisfying ache. A reminder of the afternoon they’ve shared, of barriers finally broken.

“The sheets are for sleeping,” he murmurs to himself, straightening a stack of papers. “And other activities.”

He glances at the bed, sheets twisted and bearing evidence of hours well spent. They’ll need changing before Ema returns tomorrow, but for now, they’re a battlefield map of desire finally unleashed.

Footsteps on the stairs signal Hokuto’s return. Taiga watches him nudge the door open with his shoulder, arms laden with bags that release enticing aromas into the room.

“They threw in extra naan,” Hokuto says, kicking the door closed behind him. “Said we’re good customers.”

Taiga rises to help, taking one of the bags and inhaling deeply. His stomach growls embarrassingly loud. “Fuck, that smells good.”

He hadn’t realized how ravenous he was until now. The hunger hits him all at once, a hollow ache that makes his hands slightly unsteady as he unpacks containers onto the cleared desk. Somehow, in the haze of sweat and skin and need, they’d skipped lunch entirely.

“When did we last eat?” Taiga asks, popping open a container of butter chicken that sends a cloud of fragrant steam toward the ceiling.

Hokuto pauses, brow furrowing. “Breakfast? The omurice I made before Satomi-san and Toshiyuki picked up Ema.”

“Jesus.” Taiga glances at his watch. “That was nine hours ago.”

No wonder he feels light-headed. Nine hours of nothing but water and... well, Hokuto. His body has been running on adrenaline and endorphins, burning through calories like kindling.

Hokuto passes him a plastic fork and spoon and settles into the spare chair Taiga dragged over. The robe gaps slightly as he sits, revealing a slice of chest that Taiga forces himself to look away from.

Food first. They’ve earned it.

“This is...” Hokuto trails off, eyeing their makeshift dining arrangement with amusement. “Not how I pictured our first proper date night without Ema.”

Taiga snorts, already shoveling rice onto his plate. “What, you didn’t imagine eating curry half-naked at my desk after fucking each other senseless all afternoon?”

The crude language hangs in the air between them. For a split second, Taiga wonders if he’s crossed a line—if the bluntness that Yugo and Juri laugh at might land differently with Hokuto.

But Hokuto just smiles, that small, private smile that crinkles the corners of his eyes. “Can’t say it was in my top five scenarios, no.”

“Your loss,” Taiga says, relief making him bold. “This is clearly superior to some stuffy restaurant.”

He gestures at their setup—takeout containers crowding the desk, their knees bumping underneath, both of them barely dressed. Hokuto in his robe, Taiga in nothing but a t-shirt and boxers, hair still wild from Hokuto’s hands.

Hokuto tears a piece of naan, considering. “It has its charms.”

The understatement makes Taiga grin. He watches Hokuto take a bite, eyes closing briefly in appreciation. The man eats like he does everything else—with focus and presence, savoring each moment.

They eat in companionable silence for a few minutes, the only sounds the clink of plastic utensils against containers and occasional appreciative murmurs. Taiga feels the food restoring him, energy seeping back into his depleted muscles.

“I think I needed this,” he admits, reaching for more rice. “I was starting to see spots.”

Hokuto raises an eyebrow. “Should I be flattered or concerned?”

“Both,” Taiga decides, his foot nudging Hokuto’s under the desk. “Definitely both.”

A soft chime interrupts them—Hokuto’s phone lighting up on the nightstand. He glances at it, then back at his half-eaten curry.

“Go ahead,” Taiga says, recognizing the conflict in his expression. “It might be about Ema.”

Permission granted, Hokuto wipes his hands on a napkin and retrieves his phone. His expression softens immediately, a smile blooming.

“It’s from Satomi-san,” he says, returning to the desk. He turns the screen toward Taiga. “Look.”

The photo shows Ema at what must be the zoo, beaming with gap-toothed delight beside a tiger enclosure. The caption from Satomi reads: Someone wanted to see Tiger-san’s namesake! She told the zookeeper all about her Tiger-san at home.

Something warm and unexpected unfurls in Taiga’s chest. He reaches for the phone, zooming in on Ema’s face—on the pure joy radiating from her as she stands beside the sleepy tiger in the background.

“God, she’s cute,” he says, the words escaping before he can consider them.

Hokuto’s expression is tender. “I bet she insisted on seeing the tigers first thing. She’ll probably ask them to take her to see the capybaras next,” he says, setting the phone aside and returning to his curry. “She’s been obsessed since that documentary we watched.”

“The one where they just sat there and did nothing?” Taiga grins, remembering Ema’s delighted giggles. “Yeah, that tracked.”

They fall back into comfortable silence, finishing their meal as the evening light fades from the window. Taiga’s body has found a second wind, the food restoring energy he hadn’t realized was depleted. His muscles still ache pleasantly, but the bone-deep exhaustion has lifted.

He watches Hokuto tear the last piece of naan in half, offering the larger portion without comment. It’s such a small gesture—the kind of thoughtfulness Hokuto extends without fanfare or expectation.

Taiga takes it, their fingers brushing. “Good call on the takeout,” he admits, popping the last bite into his mouth. “I needed this.”

Hokuto smiles, that small private one that still makes Taiga’s stomach flip. “Food or the company?”

“Both,” Taiga says, not bothering to hide the affection in his voice. “Definitely both.”

They’ve demolished almost everything—empty containers littering the desk, a few grains of rice scattered across papers Taiga will deal with tomorrow. The real world can wait a little longer.

Hokuto stands, gathering the empty containers with practiced efficiency. “I’ll take these down.”

“Such a dad,” Taiga teases, but there’s no bite to it. He stretches, feeling the pleasant pull in his shoulders and back. “I need a shower.”

Hokuto pauses at the door, takeout trash in hand, his eyes tracking over Taiga’s body with renewed interest. “Alone?”

The question hangs between them, loaded with possibility. Taiga feels a flicker of heat rekindling low in his belly despite the afternoon’s exertions.

“Depends,” he says, meeting Hokuto’s gaze directly. “How fast can you get back up here?”

Hokuto’s smile turns predatory. “Two minutes.”

“I’ll time you.”

With a last lingering look, Hokuto disappears down the hallway. Taiga listens to his footsteps on the stairs, smiling to himself as he hears Hokuto hurrying.

He pushes himself up from the chair, wincing slightly at the twinge in his thighs. The evidence of their afternoon is written all over his body—marks on his neck and chest that will need careful hiding at work, a pleasant soreness in muscles he’d forgotten existed.

Worth it, he thinks, heading for the bathroom. So fucking worth it.

The shower hisses to life, steam quickly filling the small space. Taiga catches his reflection in the mirror as he strips off his t-shirt—his hair a disaster, lips still slightly swollen, a trail of faint bruises disappearing beneath his boxers.

He looks wrecked. And happier than he can remember being in years.

The bathroom door opens just as Taiga steps under the spray. He doesn’t turn, just smiles at the tile wall as he hears the rustle of Hokuto’s robe hitting the floor.

“One minute and forty-seven seconds,” Taiga says, eyes closed as water sluices over his face. “Impressive.”

“I’m motivated,” Hokuto replies, his voice closer now. The shower curtain rustles, and then Hokuto’s chest presses against Taiga’s back, solid and warm.

Taiga leans into the contact, letting his head fall back against Hokuto’s shoulder. Strong arms circle his waist, holding him steady as the water cascades over them both.

“Not yet tired?” Hokuto murmurs, lips brushing the shell of Taiga’s ear.

“Second wind,” Taiga says, turning in Hokuto’s arms to face him. Water plasters Hokuto’s hair to his forehead, droplets clinging to his eyelashes. He looks younger like this, softer somehow.

He reaches up, pushing wet hair from Hokuto’s eyes. “Besides,” he adds, voice dropping lower, “we’ve got all night.”

Hokuto’s hands slide down to Taiga’s hips, pulling him closer under the spray. “All night,” he echoes, the words a promise against Taiga’s lips.

The kiss tastes like curry and possibility, like boundaries finally crossed and fears finally conquered.

Taiga surrenders to it completely, letting the water wash away everything but this moment, this man, this unexpected happiness he never thought he’d allow himself to have.

- The End -