Chapter Text
Nakajima Atsushi stood by the kitchen counter with a steaming mug in hand, watching early sunlight filter through the curtains and dance across the living room floor.
It was peaceful now—almost too peaceful, he mused, remembering how different their mornings had been a few years ago. Back then, peace was a rarity that had to be earned through chaos: through battles of wills and bodies locked away together.
Now, in this quiet domestic dawn, peace came as naturally as the slow, sleepy breaths of the little boy curled up on the sofa. Atsushi’s gaze drifted to his son, Itsuki, who sat nestled in a pile of cushions with a picture book held upside-down in his tiny hands. The child’s dark hair stuck out in messy tufts—evidence of a restless night’s sleep—and his wide gray eyes traced the colorful shapes on the page with solemn concentration. Atsushi couldn’t help a small smile.
Three years old... Three years old, he marveled silently. How had time flown so quickly? It seemed only yesterday he’d woken in a hospital bed, weak and disoriented, to the sight of that very boy swaddled in blankets. Our son, he had thought in awe, even as tears blurred his vision.
He’s beautiful. The memory flickered now: Akutagawa’s exhausted face hovering above him, eyes uncharacteristically soft and rimmed red from sleepless nights, murmuring, “You’re finally awake... meet our son.”
That same overwhelming mixture of joy and relief had washed over Atsushi then, and even now the echo of it warmed his chest each time he looked at Itsuki.
A rustle of fabric and a sharp throat-clearing pulled Atsushi back to the present. Across the room, Akutagawa Ryuunosuke emerged from the hallway, already dressed in his usual attire—minus his long coat for now—and adjusting the cuff of his crisp victoria style dress shirt.
He moved with a quiet, predatory grace that never quite left him, even in the comfort of their home.
He couldn't believe he almost died, and almost left this world behind..
I almost lost everything, Atsushi thought, fingers tightening slightly around his mug. A shadow of lingering fear flitted through him unbidden, but he willed it away with a slow breath.
Akutagawa paused near the sofa, his stern expression softening just a fraction as he looked down at their child. Itsuki had noticed his papa’s approach and immediately raised his arms in a silent plea to be picked up. With a low, indulgent sigh, Akutagawa obliged, lifting the toddler into his arms.
For a moment, the man once feared as “The port mafia’s rabid dog” simply stood there holding a pajama-clad three-year-old, Strong arms supporting the boy’s weight as naturally as if they’d been made for this instead of violence.
Atsushi felt his heart swell at the sight. It never ceases to amaze him how gentle Akutagawa could be with their son.
The man who once couldn’t speak a sentence to Atsushi without venom or hostility was now brushing a crumb off Itsuki’s cheek with delicate care. ‘People can change’, Atsushi reminded himself, hope and gratitude welling up inside.
He changed—no, we grew.
However, their hard-won domestic calm had its fault lines. He noticed it in the tightness of Akutagawa’s jaw this morning, a subtle tension around his eyes as the dark-haired man balanced Itsuki on his hip.
Atsushi could guess the reason: today was preschool day. The first day they would drop Itsuki off at a new preschool program—a neutral facility where children all over Yokohama, gifted or not, could safely mingle. It did happen to include young Mafia and Agency children given the chance of children to be born.
It was an unprecedented arrangement born of the fragile alliance between their organizations after all the turmoil. Logically, Atsushi believed it was for the best.
Itsuki would get to play with children his own age and have something like a normal childhood. But another part of Atsushi churned with anxiety. Would the other children notice how different Itsuki was? Could the teachers handle it if something... strange happened?
Akutagawa noticed Atsushi’s distant staring..
“Drink your tea before it goes cold,” Akutagawa’s voice cut through his thoughts, brusque but not unkind.
He had noticed Atsushi’s silent fretting—he always did.
Those sharp eyes missed nothing. Atsushi managed a small laugh and took a sip of the tea he’d nearly forgotten in his hand. “Thanks,” he murmured. The warm liquid did little to settle his nerves, but he crossed the room to join his family anyway, determined not to let worry spoil the morning.
They Had got married, Ryunosuke and Atsushi, it was coming up to their one year anniversary, but they both agreed it wasn't a big deal, the ceremony was small and only consisted of the two of them and a few Agency members as witnesses.
Itsuki squirmed in Akutagawa’s arms, leaning toward Atsushi with a pout. “Dada,” he lisped softly, reaching out to tug at Atsushi’s sleeve. Atsushi’s heart melted at the simple word—Dada.
It had taken a while for Itsuki to settle on what to call each of them. Akutagawa had, somewhat stiffly, suggested “Papa” for himself, which their son took to readily. Atsushi had become “Dada” , a name that still sent a pleasant jolt through him each time he heard it in that sweet, small voice.
“What is it, sweetie?” Atsushi asked, gently taking the boy from Akutagawa’s arms with practiced ease. Itsuki immediately nuzzled against Atsushi’s shoulder, hiding his face in the crook of his father’s neck. “Dun wanna go…” came the muffled whine against Atsushi’s shirt. “me stay home?” The plea was punctuated by little fists clutching the fabric of Atsushi’s sweater.
Atsushi met Akutagawa’s gaze over Itsuki’s shoulder. There it was: the expected protest. They had anticipated this; Itsuki had been increasingly apprehensive all week whenever the topic of preschool came up. Still, hearing the quaver in his son’s voice made Atsushi’s resolve waver. Maybe… maybe we could wait another year? he thought fleetingly.
He’s only three, after all… But Akutagawa’s dark eyes narrowed, reading Atsushi’s hesitation. “We’ve discussed this,” Akutagawa said quietly.
He stepped closer, one hand coming to rest on Itsuki’s back. The boy peeked out from Atsushi’s shoulder at the sound of his papa’s voice. “You need to go to school, Itsuki,” Akutagawa continued, tone gentle but firm. “Just for a few hours. Papa and Dada will come back for you soon.”
Itsuki’s lower lip trembled. His gray eyes—so like Akutagawa’s in shape and intensity—flickered between his parents. “But… I stay home? Pwease?” he tried again, the last word coming out in a toddler’s soft, earnest mispronunciation that would have been adorable if it weren’t so heartbreaking.
Atsushi sighed softly and knelt down, sliding Itsuki from his arms to stand on the floor. He stayed at eye level, hands resting on the little shoulders. “It’s okay to be scared,” he said soothingly, brushing a messy fringe of black hair away from Itsuki’s forehead. “I was scared on my first day, too.” he lied, knowing his childhood was much different from the one he was giving his own child, but he wanted to do his best to reassure him.
Beside him, Akutagawa crossed his arms, a familiar sign of impatience—or was it discomfort? Atsushi knew Akutagawa was never entirely at ease with these tender moments; he was still learning, just as they all were. But instead of snapping, Akutagawa bent down as well, crouching on one knee so that he and Atsushi formed a gentle circle around their son. “You won’t be alone,” Akutagawa added, his voice a touch softer now. “There will be other children to play with. And remember…” He hesitated, searching for the right encouragement. “Remember the black cat plush we got you? The one you named Meowy?” Itsuki nodded slowly, rubbing at one eye with a small fist.
Atsushi chimed in, understanding what Akutagawa was doing. “You can take Meowy with you, if you want,” he said. “For courage. The cat will keep you safe until we pick you up.”
At the mention of his beloved stuffed cat, a faint light of interest sparked in Itsuki’s eyes. “Meowy… come too?”
“Yes,” Akutagawa confirmed. He unfolded his arms and placed a hand atop Itsuki’s head in an almost awkward pat.
“They can come. But only if you promise to try being a big boy today.” Their son considered this solemnly. Finally, he gave a tiny, resolute nod. “Okay… I be big.” His arms threw up as he explained the pronunciation turned the words into “I beeg,” and Atsushi had to bite back a smile of pride and relief.
The crisis was averted for the moment. Atsushi stood, gently ruffling Itsuki’s hair. “That’s our brave boy.” He felt Akutagawa rise as well, moving in that quiet, controlled way of his. When Atsushi glanced sidelong at his partner, he caught a hint of a smile ghosting over Akutagawa’s lips—subtle, but there. Despite his earlier firmness, Akutagawa was proud too.
“I’ll fetch his clothes,” Akutagawa said, clearing his throat as if to mask the warmth in his expression. He turned toward the bedroom, fingers brushing the back of the chair where his coat hung.
“Papa…”
A tiny hand shot out and latched onto the loose sleeve.
Itsuki’s grip was light, more of a cling than tug, but the black fabric still rippled. For a heartbeat, the long, tattered hem of the coat seemed to shiver on its own—like something beneath the cloth had stretched lazily against its confines.
Atsushi’s breath caught. Rashomon??, why is this happening?? The last time this happened was in the suite??.
It was only the faintest twitch, a suggestion of movement rather than an attack, but he knew the feeling in the air too well—that prickle under his skin, the way the room seemed to grow thinner, sharper, whenever Akutagawa’s ability stirred.
“Papa?” Itsuki repeated, head tilted in an unfamiliar way, fingers still curled in the sleeve.
Akutagawa froze.
He didn’t look angry or startled. He just… stopped. The color drained from his face so quickly Atsushi could see it happen, like the blood had physically been pulled from his body. His pupils narrowed, one hand tightening on the chair back as his knees wobbled.
“Ryunosuke?” Atsushi’s voice dropped, the old fear cutting through the morning calm. He stepped forward at once, prying Itsuki’s hand gently off the coat. “Hey, don’t pull Papa’s sleeve like that, sweetie, you’ll wrinkle it,” he said lightly to their son—but his eyes were fixed on Akutagawa.
The air around the hem of the coat gave another faint ripple. Not reaching outward this time, not trying to bite, but… restless. Pressing. Atsushi could almost see the hunger there, that old instinct that wanted out whenever Akutagawa’s body was under strain.
Despite Fukuzawa’s ability helping, Akutagawa still needed to feed Rashomon small doses to keep it dormant. Both he and Atsushi had talked about this and put protocols in place to keep that hidden from their son.
Ryunosuke shut his eyes for a second too long. “I’m fine,” he murmured—and immediately proved himself a liar by swaying on his feet.
Atsushi was at his side in an instant. He caught him by the shoulders, feeling the unnatural heat under his palms and the tension coiled tight in the muscles there. “You’re not fine,” Atsushi hissed under his breath, careful that Itsuki only heard the concern, not the anger. “Sit down.”
“I said—”
Whatever protest he’d been about to make dissolved into a quiet, ragged breath. His grip slipped on the chair. Atsushi guided him down firmly before his legs could give out completely.
Itsuki watched with wide, worried eyes. “Papa sick?” he whispered.
Atsushi forced a smile over his shoulder. “Papa’s just a little dizzy,” he soothed. “Can you do Dada a favor and sit with Meowy for a minute? Guard him for me, okay?”
Itsuki hesitated, then nodded and clutched the cat plush to his chest, backing up a few small steps like he’d been asked to take charge of something very important.
As soon as Itsuki’s attention was on the toy, Atsushi crouched in front of Akutagawa, his smile dropping. Up close he could see the faint dark veins feathering out from under Akutagawa’s collar, pulsing once, twice, then retreating as he forced his breathing to slow. Rashomon pressing up against the inside of his skin like smoke against glass.
“Aku… when was your last dose?” Atsushi kept his voice low.
Akutagawa’s jaw tightened. “Last night.”
Atsushi’s eyes narrowed. Despite the fact they were Married now it seemed the ex-mafioso still went back to his roots and lied for the sake of it, he still struggled to be honest with Atsushi despite their now domestic life..
"Come on.. Tell me the truth.”
Silence stretched for a beat. Akutagawa looked away, a flicker of shame crossing his features. “…Two days,” he admitted.
Atsushi swore under his breath. “Ryunosuke. You can’t keep doing this.”
“I didn’t want him to see,” Akutagawa replied, voice clipped, but there was a raw edge beneath it. “He’s finally sleeping through the night without nightmares. I wasn’t going to wake him up with a needle in my arm.”
The man had made a valid point, Itsuki had been sleeping with them in the double bed due to night terrors during the night.
“And what happens if you collapse in front of him instead?” Atsushi shot back the anger there only because he was scared. “Or if Rashomon pushes harder than you can shove it back?” His gaze flicked, just for a second, to their son on the rug with Meowy—then back to Akutagawa. “You promised you wouldn’t take that risk, not with him in the room.”
The coat at Akutagawa’s feet twitched again, a barely-there pulse like a living thing straining against a leash. He caught the hem in one pale fist, fingers digging into the fabric as if he could physically pin the ability down.
“I have it under control,” he said through his teeth. “Fukuzawa’s helping. I just—” Another wave of dizziness hit him, cutting the sentence in half. His free hand flew to his temple; the world tipped sideways for a heartbeat.
Atsushi inhaled sharply. That was enough of an answer.
“We’re not arguing about this,” he said, voice suddenly steady in that way it only got when he’d made up his mind. “Sit. Breathe. I’m getting the kit.”
“Atsu—”
“Sit.”
He didn’t raise his voice, but the look he gave brooked no argument. For all the softness Atsushi carried, there were moments—like now—when the tiger in him surfaced without claws, just iron will and Akuatagwa knew better than to argue because of his own ego.
Akutagawa’s shoulders slumped. He let his head tilt back against the chair for half a second, eyes closed, the admission of weakness in that one motion almost worse for him than the vertigo itself. “Hurry,” he muttered, more to himself than to Atsushi.
“I will.” Atsushi squeezed his shoulder once, then forced his expression gentle again as he turned back to Itsuki. “Hey, buddy,” he said, walking past him.
“I’m just going to grab something from Dada’s room. Can you keep Papa company? Show him how brave Meowy is?”
Itsuki nodded seriously and shuffled closer to the chair, holding up the plush cat so it ‘faced’ Akutagawa. “Meowy no scared,” he told his papa with quiet conviction. “they no scare.” he said before mimicking some sounds as if Meowy had turned into a superhero of sorts.
A faint, reluctant breath of a laugh escaped Akutagawa. “Is that so…” His voice was rough, but there was affection in it. “Then I suppose I can’t be scared either.”
Atsushi disappeared down the hall and was back within moments with a small metal case tucked under his arm—the one they kept hidden high in the wardrobe, sealed with a locking clasp. He popped it open on the coffee table with practiced hands, revealing sterile syringes, alcohol swabs, vials carefully labeled in Yosano’s neat hand.
Inside one of the vials, crimson glinted in the light—Atsushi’s blood, drawn under medical supervision and treated until it was safe to store and administer in micro-doses. A half-mad idea at first, born from Yosano’s and Fukuzawa’s combined desperation: if Atsushi’s regenerating body could repair his own tissue, maybe, just maybe, it could dampen the self-destructive hunger of Rashomon when diluted and introduced into Akutagawa’s system.
It worked. Not perfectly, not permanently—but enough. Enough that the episodes where Rashomon tried to eat its way out of him had gone from daily to a few dangerous slips a year.
Atsushi swabbed the inside of Akutagawa’s elbow with quick, efficient motions, trying not to think about the small pair of eyes watching from knee-height. Itsuki stood beside the chair now, Meowy tucked under one arm, his other hand resting in a tiny, comforting pat on Akutagawa’s knee.
“Does it hurt?” he whispered.
“Not much,” Akutagawa answered before Atsushi could, forcing his voice steady. “Just a pinch.”
Atsushi shot him a brief, appreciative look for the attempt to make it sound small. “Alright, deep breath,” he murmured. This was as much for Akutagawa as for himself.
The needle slid in smoothly. Atsushi watched the plunger depress, watched his own blood swirl into Akutagawa’s vein—warm, familiar, faintly luminous in a way only ability users might notice. For a moment, nothing happened.
Then the black veins feathering along Akutagawa’s collarbone fluttered and receded, like ink pulled back into a pen. The restless twitch at the hem of his coat stilled. The tension in his shoulders eased by degrees; his next breath went in without the slight hitch it had carried before.
Color crept back into his cheeks. The dizziness faded from his eyes.
Atsushi withdrew the needle, pressing a gauze pad over the puncture. “Better?” he asked quietly.
Akutagawa flexed his fingers, testing the steadiness in them. “Tch. Slightly.” Then, softer, more honest: “…Yes.”
Itsuki peered up at him, anxious. “Papa no fall?” he asked.
Akutagawa met his son’s gaze and, just for that moment, let every other emotion fall away. “No,” he said. “Papa’s not going to fall.” He reached out and brushed a hand through Itsuki’s hair, smoothing the ruffled strands. “Thank you for staying.”
The boy’s face brightened at that, worry melting into shy pride. “Me help,” he said simply.
“You did,” Atsushi agreed, offering him a warm smile as he snapped the metal case shut and pushed it out of sight under the table. Later, he’d sterilize everything properly, log the dose in the little notebook Yosano kept nagging them about. Right now, he just wanted to move them away from the shadow of what could have happened.
He tossed the used swab in the bin and straightened. “We’ll talk about the ‘two days’ thing later,” he said quietly to Akutagawa, a warning wrapped in concern.
A faint flicker of defiance sparked in Akutagawa’s eyes, but it was dulled by fatigue and the lingering echo of fear. “There’s nothing to talk about,” he muttered.
Atsushi arched his brow. “You scared him,” he said simply, glancing at Itsuki—who was now hugging Meowy and Akutagawa’s leg at the same time, as if afraid either might vanish. “scare me.”
The words landed. Akutagawa looked away first, jaw working. “I won’t let it happen again,” he said finally, and in his voice was not stubbornness, but a quiet, shaken promise. “I won’t go rogue. Not here. Not with him.”
Atsushi believed him—because he wanted to, because he knew how much Akutagawa hated himself for even the possibility that Rashomon could turn on their child. But belief didn’t erase the need for precautions.
“I know you won’t,” Atsushi replied softly. He rested a hand on Akutagawa’s shoulder, thumb rubbing small circles through the fabric. “That’s why you’re going to let me nag you about the injections and not pretend you’re invincible.”
“Hn.” It was the closest thing to agreement he was going to get right now.
Now that the crisis was averted Atsushi took Itsuki to the bedroom and began to get him ready for pre-school leaving Akutagawa to sit with his thoughts in the front room alone.
While he dressed Itsuki, Atsushi noticed he was quieter as if he was hiding something.
“What’s on your mind, hmm?” Atsushi asked gently, brushing the sleep-tangled hair away from his son’s face.
Itsuki pursed his lips, forming his thoughts with the careful concentration only a toddler could muster.
“Locked… woom,” he said at last, stumbling over the r in room. Atsushi felt his stomach jolt. “Locked room?” he repeated, striving to keep his voice calm.
“Why do you say that, sweetie?” Itsuki tapped two fingers together—an anxious little habit he’d picked up from Atsushi.
“You an’ Papa… talk ’bout it. Last night,” he explained haltingly. “I heawd.” Atsushi closed his eyes for a second. Of course. He and Akutagawa had been up late, sharing whispered memories in bed—memories of that bizarre and fateful Get Along Project that had locked them together in a penthouse suite years ago.
They had thought Itsuki sound asleep, but clearly little pitchers have big ears. He exchanged a glance toward the front room where Akutagawa rustled around.
How much had their child overheard? “Were you scared?” Atsushi asked softly, hugging Itsuki a little closer. The boy nodded. “Don’ like wocked wooms,” he mumbled. “Bad stowies.” Atsushi’s heart ached.
He wished he could wipe away every bit of darkness from Itsuki’s world. “That was a long time ago, It wasn't so bad” he murmured into his son’s hair. “And it turned out okay. You know why?” Atsushi let himself wonder what part of the conversation he had heard.. He had had a nightmare about the orphanage again last night and hoped he didn't hear that part.
“Why?” came the small voice. “Because we all learned to get along,” Atsushi answered gently. “Your Papa and I, and Dazai-san and Chuuya-san, and everyone. We got out safe, and we got you. You’re our happy ending to that odd little story.” It was perhaps too complex an explanation for a three-year-old, but Atsushi hoped the reassurance would come through.
Indeed, Itsuki seemed to consider this. “Happy… ending?” he echoed, the words delicate in his mouth. “Exactly.” Atsushi pulled back to smile at him. “Nothing bad from that locked room can hurt us now. Not when we have you.” Itsuki peered up at him, as if testing the truth of those words. Then he offered a shy, tentative smile in return.
“Me happy,” he declared. Though the phrasing was off, Atsushi understood the feeling behind it.
“Dadda’s happy too,” Atsushi whispered, kissing his son’s cheek.
Akutagawa joined them soon afterwards with Itsuki’s clothes, They finished dressing him with the practiced teamwork of two parents who had gradually found their rhythm.
There was the usual debate over the scarf—Atsushi insisted on wrapping one snugly around Itsuki’s neck as it was “It’s chilly today!” while Akutagawa rolled his eyes and muttered that Atsushi was coddling the boy.
In the end, the scarf stayed, largely because Itsuki declared it “soft and warm” and refused to let Akutagawa take it off.
Shoes tied and Cat plushie Meowy firmly in hand, Itsuki was finally ready.
He looked up at his parents with a mix of pride and apprehension, as if he wasn’t entirely convinced about this big-boy mission but was determined to try.
Atsushi felt a swell of love at the sight—his son looked so small, bundled in his little coat and bright red scarf, clutching that toy. Small, but brave.
Akutagawa opened the front door, gesturing for Atsushi and Itsuki to go ahead. Just before stepping out, Atsushi paused, placing a hand on Akutagawa’s shoulder. “Ready, Papa?” he asked softly, a playful undertone to the question.
_______________
The Yokohama Cooperative Preschool was a cheerful little place tucked between a bakery and a pharmacy on a quiet side street. Bright cartoon animals danced across a painted sign that read “Yokohama Cooperative Preschool,” and the laughter of children rang from the play yard out back.
Still, to Atsushi’s eyes it looked a bit imposing as they approached—perhaps because he could feel Itsuki tensing up with each step closer. Sure enough, as they crossed the threshold into the brightly decorated foyer, Itsuki’s grip on Atsushi’s hand became viselike.
The child pressed himself against Atsushi’s leg, half-hiding behind him while peering around with wide, uncertain eyes. A few other parents milled about, helping to hang up tiny jackets in cubbies or kneeling to give goodbye hugs.
Atsushi recognized a couple of Agency colleagues among them who offered friendly nods. There were also a few figures in darker attire whom he suspected were Port Mafia affiliates—proof that this neutral-ground preschool experiment was truly drawing participants from both sides.
He even spotted the familiar flash of auburn hair by the doorway: Nakahara Chuuya, clad in his customary black coat and signature hat, crouched down adjusting the collar of a little boy’s shirt.
Beside him stood a tall man with tousled brown hair.
They appeared to have just finished dropping off their own child.
Atsushi and Akutagawa exchanged quick looks.
It was still a strange sight, seeing former friends going through the same domestic motions.
Chuuya glanced up and noticed them; his mouth twitched in something between a smirk and an uneasy smile. Dazai, too, looked their way. He lifted a hand in a lazy half-wave, his lips curling into an amused grin as if to say, Fancy meeting you here.
Atsushi returned a polite nod. Akutagawa offered nothing more than a curt, acknowledging dip of his head.
There was history and complicated feelings there—between all of them—but here and now, they were just parents with kids on their first day of school.
Before any awkward pleasantries had to be exchanged, a warm voice drew Atsushi’s attention. “Hello there! You must be Itsuki.” A young woman with short, curly hair and a sunflower-yellow apron approached, smiling kindly at the little boy peeking out from behind Atsushi.
She must be one of the teachers. Itsuki burrowed his face shyly into Atsushi’s pant leg rather than answer. Atsushi chuckled softly, prying his son gently forward. “Yes, this is Itsuki,” he answered for him. “I’m Atsushi, and this is my—” he caught himself, unsure how to introduce Akutagawa in this setting. “—my Husband, Akutagawa.”
Akutagawa stepped forward with a polite, if stiff, bow. “Thank you for looking after our son,” he said quietly. The formality almost made Atsushi smile; Akutagawa always reverted to an old-fashioned politeness when anxious. The teacher beamed. “We’re delighted to have him. And you must be so proud—he’s our second youngest in this group.” She bent down to Itsuki’s level, tone gentle. “Hi, Itsuki. My name is Ms. Sasaki. We’re going to have lots of fun today. Do you like stories?”
For a moment, Itsuki didn’t respond. Then, from the safety of Atsushi’s leg, he nodded once. “That’s great!” Ms. Sasaki said brightly. “We always start the day with story time. You can even bring your friend there along.” She pointed to the plush car clutched under Itsuki’s arm. “What’s your teddy's name?”
Itsuki stared at her with big, serious eyes. Finally, he mumbled, “Meowy,” in a voice so soft it was almost swallowed by the surrounding noise. “Meowy? How wonderful,”
the teacher replied, as if he’d spoken loud and clear. “Well, Meowy is very welcome too. Maybe they can help you make some new friends.” As if on cue, a commotion by the play area drew their attention.
Two children were arguing over a set of blocks—rather, one was pouting while the other held the blocks aloft just out of the other childs reach.
Atsushi recognized the boy at once- not that he had ever seen the child before- but that mop of reddish-black hair and those bright, mischievous blue-gray eyes were unmistakably a blend of Chuuya and Dazai.
It was Hiroaki Nakahara, their son.
The little boy was being teased by Hiroaki but the boy jumped, trying to grab the blocks back. “Give it back!” the boy whined.
“Hiro-kun,” came Chuuya’s warning voice from across the room, low but effective. He had noticed the situation. Immediately, the blocks were given back without another word.
Hiroaki lowered his arms, looking more caught than remorseful. The other child huffed and scooped up his blocks, shooting Hiroaki a wary look before scurrying off.
Atsushi watched as Dazai ruffled Hiroaki’s hair, murmuring something—perhaps a gentle scold or a farewell—before the couple made their exit.
Hiroaki, left on his own, crossed his arms and pouted in the aftermath of the reprimand. He didn’t join any of the other kids; instead he wandered over to a corner where a wooden train set was laid out. Itsuki had observed all of this from behind the safety of Atsushi’s leg.
Now, as Hiroaki sat by himself pushing a toy train along the track, Itsuki tugged on Atsushi’s hand. “Dadda,” he whispered, eyes still fixed on the other boy. “Can I… go there?” Atsushi followed his gaze and felt a small wave of relief wash through him. Itsuki wanted to approach another child on his own—that was a good sign. And since the other child in question was Hiroaki, it might actually be easier; the two boys were in similar situations, after all.
“Of course,” he said gently. He gave Itsuki an encouraging nod. “Why don’t you go say hello? I think that’s Hiroaki. You’ve heard Papa and me talk about him.” “Yes,” Akutagawa added under his breath, a hint of wryness creeping in, “the little hellion who inherited both of his fathers’ troublemaking tendencies…” It was too low for anyone but Atsushi to catch.
Atsushi nudged him lightly, shooting him a look. Akutagawa merely shrugged, not exactly repentant. Itsuki, oblivious to their exchange, gathered his courage. He let go of Atsushi’s hand and toddled hesitantly toward Hiroaki, clutching Meowy to his chest like a shield.
Atsushi felt his shoulders tighten with an urge to hover, but Ms. Sasaki laid a reassuring hand on his arm. “He’ll be okay,” she whispered. “We encourage them to go at their own pace.”
Atsushi nodded, forcing himself to stay where he was. Akutagawa moved to stand beside him; together they watched from a respectful distance. Itsuki approached the other boy slowly. Hiroaki noticed him when he was a few steps away and looked up, curiosity replacing the sulky expression he’d worn moments before.
The dark copper haired boy tilted his head. “Hi,” he offered first, legs folded beneath him as he sat amongst the wooden train pieces. Itsuki stopped, half-hiding Meowy behind his back.
After a tiny pause, he replied, “…Hi fwiend,” the attempt at friend coming out with an endearing lisp.
Atsushi had to press his lips together to keep from smiling too broadly, so as not to distract them. Hiroaki’s eyes flicked to the plush tiger now peeking shyly from behind Itsuki’s back. “Cool toy,” he declared unabashedly. “I got one too.” He reached behind him and pulled out a small action figure—a caped superhero figurine. Pride shone on his face. “Ultraman can fly!”
“I ish me could fly!” he said quietly but matter-of-factly.
Hiroaki blinked, then gave a quick, conspiratorial grin. “Papa make everything fly. Even me!” He raised his arms in an enthusiastic, if imprecise, pantomime of Chuuya’s gravity powers.
The two kids laughed! And after a moment Itsuki asked “You special… too?” he asked earnestly. The question made Hiroaki pause. He looked at Itsuki more intently, as though only now realizing something.
Children seemed to have a sixth sense about these things—maybe Hiroaki noticed that this new boy felt different from the ordinary kids, the same way Itsuki had noticed about him. “Uh-huh,” Hiroaki answered at length. To demonstrate, he lifted a hand and scrunched his face in concentration.
One of the kids nearby became dizzy and fell over. It was subtle, imperfect control, but definitely more than any normal child could do.
Itsuki’s face broke into a real smile—bright and amazed. It was as if he’d discovered a secret friend. In answer, he carefully set Meowy down on the carpet and held out his own small hand toward the moving train.
Atsushi tensed slightly—he wasn’t sure what Itsuki might do; their son’s ability was still unpredictable and usually triggered by emotion rather than conscious control.
But all Itsuki did was wiggle his fingers in the air and whisper, “Hiro-chan, stop.”
For a moment Hirokai couldn't move, he got scared until Itsuki laughed and complained he couldn't see now!
“What happen??” Hirokai explained and Itsuki whispered “shhh! Don’t tell”
After a moment Itsuki grabbed Hirokai’s toy and exclaimed “Wanna play heroes an’ tigers? That’s so cool!” Itsuki nodded eagerly. “Okay!” In the span of a minute, the two boys had plopped down together, jabbering in excited toddler-speak about what game to play.
Akutagawa broke the silence “They’re… alike, I think.” The teacher nodded knowingly. “That’s often how it goes. Sometimes the ones who feel a little different find each other.” She straightened and clapped her hands lightly. “Alright, parents, we’re about to start the day. Let’s say our goodbyes now.” Atsushi knelt and beckoned Itsuki. Their son looked up from his new friend, a flicker of apprehension crossing his face as he realized the moment of parting was here. Slowly, he got to his feet and shuffled back toward his fathers, Hiroaki watching curiously from the play corner.
“You’re going to stay and play with Hiroaki-chan now,” Atsushi said gently, pulling Itsuki into a hug. He kept his tone upbeat, though the tight squeeze he gave betrayed his own reluctance to let go. “Papa and I will be back soon, just like we promised.” Akutagawa crouched as well, placing a hand on Itsuki’s shoulder.
“Be good,” he instructed—gruff words, but the emotion behind them was tender. “Listen to your teacher. And if you feel scared...?”
“I have Meowy,” Itsuki recited quietly. “An’… an’ I’m big.” He tried so hard to sound brave that Atsushi’s eyes stung with pride. “That’s right.” Atsushi kissed his forehead. “You’re our brave little tiger.” Itsuki took a deep breath. “You come back?”
“We will,” Akutagawa affirmed, leaning in to press a rare kiss to the crown of his son’s head. “We’ll always come back for you.” Finally, Itsuki nodded. Atsushi could see him fighting tears, but the boy blinked them back and mustered a smile. He reached out and gave Akutagawa’s sleeve one last tiny tug—a gesture that meant I love you as clearly as words. Then he did the same to Atsushi’s fingers.
With that, Ms. Sasaki gently took Itsuki’s hand. “Say bye-bye to your dads, sweetheart.”
“Bye-bye,” Itsuki chirped, and though his voice quivered, he bravely lifted Meowys paw to wave as well.
Atsushi rose, his chest tight. He and Akutagawa waved back, keeping their own smiles firmly in place.
They lingered only a moment more to watch as the teacher guided Itsuki back over to join Hiroaki at the play area. Hiroaki offered Itsuki a block and said something that made Itsuki giggle.
They sat side by side, heads bent together as if they’d been friends for ages. It was a sight that warmed Atsushi’s heart even as it ached with the pang of separation.
Their baby was growing up, taking his first steps into a world that might not always be kind to someone like him. Akutagawa gently touched Atsushi’s arm. “We should go,” he said under his breath.
His own gaze was still fixed on their son, and Atsushi recognized the reluctance in it. “Yeah,” Atsushi replied softly. He allowed Akutagawa to steer him toward the door.
As they exited the preschool, leaving the sound of children’s chatter behind, Atsushi found himself glancing back one last time through the window. He could just make out Itsuki’s small form inside, still safe and happy for now.