Chapter Text
It had been far too long since Hifumi had been in Tokyo. Touring and traveling for events and collabs all the time was taxing, but she wouldn’t trade it for anything. Her quirks and creativity were being praised. No one at the table would smack her hand, or shush her. Those days were barely a wispy memory, now. She hadn’t thought about shoji, in, who knew how long?
Stepping out onto the street, she took a deep breath. That delicious, smoggy city air, oh how she’d missed it while abroad. She had calculated time for reminiscing into her travel time, so she took her time taking in the bright signs and odd aura of the Red Light District. Shinjuku would always have a special place in her heart.
Many of the bars and shops had rotated over the years. Hifumi didn’t care about those, she’d never even taken a step into any of them. She never went there to explore, or experience, or try. No, when she was in Shinjuku, she only ever went home.
Wanting just a minute more in the Tokyo air, she listened in on the loud conversation of two young queers, a few feet from the doors. “I’m telling you, it’s true! This isn’t just some baseless rumour, babe, you’ve gotta believe me!”
“You lie so much I’m surprised you stay vertical.” The second blew a mouthful of smoke into his partner’s mouth. “How I am supposed to believe that there’s some secret queer club beneath the queer bar? Your screws are all loose.”
The first scowled. “It’s the owner’s like, elite club man. The stairs are in the storeroom, and, if you show a special coing to the bartender, they let you in! I hear it’s a hot ass orgy.”
Young people and their weird little rumours. Hifumi laughed freely as she strolled through the doors of Crossroads, Tokyo’s number one queer business. Home. Even though the bar had gone through many changed since the first time she’d entered, the energy was still the same. That, of course, was because of the owner.
Hifumi paused at the end of the bar, watching the door behind her. She called over the bartender when she saw the gossipers slip in, making a show of taking a large coin from her pocket, holding it out.
With a half bow, the bartender lifted the gate, letting her behind the bar. He pointed to the farthest door in the little hall the patrons couldn’t enter without a purpose. The storeroom. The stairs creaked welcome home, and she couldn’t fight the large smile on her face.
“Fumi’s here!” An orange blur knocked into her, nearly toppling them both. She was better prepared for the following red blur.
Futaba pulled back first, adjusting his circular glasses with a huge smile. She was still the shortest of the original group, with enough mischief for an army of tech geeks. She’d kept the horrible crock boots, but under their large green parka was probably his best attempt at appropriate office attire. Dark dress pants, and a collared button-up covered in 8-bit video game art. The collar had beceome necessary when they had to visit a client in person, since tattoos and professionalism were hard to keep together. They’d gotten their hair done recently, so the vibrant wolf cut looked sharp. A single chain hung around their neck, holding a ring with a large ruby, and two charms; a floppy disk, and a coffee cup.
The littlest one of them all had seen year after year of increasing success. Just that year, she’d sold three programs she had developed in her down time for no small fortune. Though, her proudest achievement was being able to have a new lab built in her mom’s name, where her research would be continued until they explored every micro thingy, and run out of conclusions to draw.
“Sorry for bombarding you, Hifumi!” The red blur, Sumire, apologized, still giggling in excitement. She’d been trying a wide selection of cuts she styles, all in search of the perfect one. Currently, it only reached her shoulders, some of it pulled up into a braid crown. It was really pretty, but not quite Sumire. Her glasses were still the same boxy ovals, an orange heart on one side of the plain frames, a red on on the opposite side. Her sense of style had grown with her over the years. She was wearing a pale red, knit sweater, a black pleated skirt that was just longer than her knees, and dark knights with colourful bunnies stitched into them. On her left wrist was a chain bracelet, like Futaba’s necklace. The ring on her bracelet had an emerald in place of a ruby, and the only charm she had was a ballet shoe.
After a few years in Tokyo, once she felt completely set in her identity, she’s connected with her parents again. They’d all been victims back then, but their grief divided them. Sumire didn’t do gymnastics again, and her parents were simply happy to have someone else to share in Kasumi’s memories with. Now, the family worked together all year round, running a grief processing camp. They were mostly targeted towards kids and young adults, but they’d recently raised enough to expand their grounds for a small trial group, for adult grief camp. Each employee had to pass rigoress background and safety checks, the shadow of Doctor Maruki still leaning over their souls.
The two were married now, yes. Legally, too. In the United States. At a Las Vegas chapel where they were wed by a Pitbul impersonator. How did they tell their friends? By sending each of them a copy of their crappy wedding photo, in which they were both dressed in Ghost Face costumes, their masks pulled aside for their first wedded kiss, and fake Pitbul air thrusting behind them. On the back had been the actual invitation to their ceremony back in Tokyo, held right upstairs in Crossroads.
“I missed you both too. Any chance I can get a proper hug?” When they rushed at her this time, Hifumi was ready. She wrapped her arms around them both, taking a moment to appreciate the memory. “Alright, thanks. Is everyone else here already or am I still early?”
Futaba swayed from side to side, wobbling like a penguin towards Sumire, who was too busy answering the question to notice her partner’s approach. “Early! It’s just us and their brother so far-aH!”
The duo fell to the floor in a heep, bursting into laughter, and trying- and failing -to manage a kiss through the laughter. Hifumi was glad their relationship had survived, and thrived with the very different lives. Futuba rarely left Yongen-Jaya, just for in-person meetings and two months a year in the States, working alongside other ‘reformed’ hackers to hack into random systems, just to leave them stronger and more protected than before. Sponsored by, you guess it, the Kirijo group. Sumire spent half the year in the woods, at the camp. Two weeks on, two weeks off. Most people wouldn’t have lasted like them.
“Oh, do you know anyone who’d be interesting in buying a hamster or two?” Sumire asked politely, still panting on the ground while Futaba wheezed, sprawled over her. “We may have ended up for a dozen. Or so.”
That was such an unclear quantity of hamsters. Hifumi didn’t even have to ask, since Futaba let the trump out too soon. “He currently have two hundred hamsters. We offer discounts for bulk purchases.”
“How the fuck did you two end up for that many hamsters?” She would regret asking, but the last she’d heard about the Yoshizawa-Sakura ‘children’, they just had three. “That shouldn’t even be possible.”
Sumire giggled, hands playing with Futaba’s hair. They were being so domestic for a couple wed by air-thrusting fake Pitbull, were currently lying on the floor, and had two hundred hamsters. “Well, turns out one my first three girls was a boy. Futaba didn’t really pay attention to how many he fed while I was away, and I didn’t really notice either? Until my dad went to check our furnace for us and got swarmed.”
Poor Mr Yoshizawa.
Hifumi decided to leave the two of them to their romance time on the ground, making her way into the back room that had been transformed into the perfect space to hold their friend group reunions. The floors in that room alone were heated, a soft, dark carpet covering the entire surface past the lower shoe deck. Yusuke’s art decorated the walls, all but one. The far wall had a single, large frame on it, housing their first complete group photo, taken just after Sumire became one of them.
In the centre of the room was a low coffee table. A, special coffee table. The top board could be removed to reveal a games table. Along the long sides of the table were identical, comfy as fuck couches. Like, you’d be treating your ass like a king if you sat on that thing. Three bean bags bridged the gap between the couches on one end, a loveseat and recliner on the other. There was another door at the far end of the room, which led to the kid-friendly play room and their private storeroom.
One person had that key, and he brightened when he saw her. One of the triplets had been on Akira’s lap, so he quickly dropped him on his Dad before running to greet her. At last, his hair was somewhat well kept. The sides were kept short, and the main curls got no longer than his eyebrow. He’d ditched the fake glasses a few years back, only to be told he needed real ones now. So, he wore contacts out of spite. He must have unbuttoned his white dress shirt down here, revealing the inappropriate for work ‘baby slut’ crop top beneath it. Oh, and the standard service industry black pants. There was a single little dagger earring pierced to the upper cartilage of his left ear. He wore his wedding band on the opposite hand, forged from the remains of the bullets he’d once pulled out of his partner, when he still blindly followed the bastard’s orders.
Mama Lala had finally decided to retire two years ago, turning Akira’s previous title of co-owner now owner. Crossroads had been blooming under his care, finally taking on a list of part and full time workers to keep things going. Akira refused to pinch pennies, instead making sure everything was up to date and functional. For every extra dollar he put into the bar, he was met with a full register at the end of service hours, day after day. And, he did weekly performances as Aki-chan, having a permanent slot, just as he’d always dreamed.
Goro didn’t bother getting up to greet her, since he had three children keeping him on the beanbag. He was a creature of habit, and he’d only started letting his hair grow just long enough to tie it up when he realized babies loved to do that. A lot. He’d dressed up for once, not just showing up in his pyjamas. A short sleeved, dusty blue collared shirt, open over a plain black t-shirt, and charcoal khakis. Yeah, he dressed like the teen dads who tried to pick up cougars instead of their own kids. His matching bullet-metal wedding band watched Akira’s, work on the right hand. The mate to Akira’s dagger earring was in Goro’s right.
He’d gotten a promotion or three over the years, and now he was one of three heads of the Shadow Operatives Tokyo Division. Despite being an investigator for all those years, he’d jumped at the chance to manage the entire division’s finances. So, he went from investigator to accountant. Hifumi called that a downgrade, but Goro was oddly content with his ‘real adult job’. Boring.
Akira still gave the best hugs. The perfect balance of warm and tight, they were one of the things she missed most when she was on the road. “You look good, Aki. Staying in shape for your shows?”
“Funny, Fumi.” Still, he did a little posey pose, laughing brightly. “I apologize on behalf of my family, it seems their manners have dried up.” Akira winked at her, and she had to laugh at the four groans. “Goro, oh husband of mine?”
He grunted as the triplets squirmed on top of him. “You heard Papa, say hi to your aunt Hifumi.” Rather obviously, he neglected to do so himself.
It was a mystery to everyone how Akira had gotten Goro to agree to raise a child with him. That had been what they agreed on, one. So they got on a list to have a surrogate carry their kid. Goro outright refused to have his DNA passed on. He didn’t want to curse anyone else with Shido’s genes. They found an egg donor who resembled Goro enough, though Akira bemoaned having zero chances of their kid having his favourite red eyes.
They went to an ultrasound appoint to hear the heartbeat. And a second heartbeat. A third heartbeat. So much for having just one. Of course they had triplets with their luck.
Now, the trio were seven. Goro insisted on sending them to only an elite elementary, which meant they were still in their school uniforms. Though, kudos to that one elementary school for having one uniform catalogue, everything unisex. The top during the colder months was a dark brown turtle neck sweater, the crest stitched over the wearer’s heart. Both darker haired triplets had chosen to wear the black khaki shorts, while the odd child out wore the light grey slacks.
The youngest scampered up to hug Hifumi first, their sole daughter, Mikata. She had gotten her Papa’s hair, lusciously curly and ink black, matching her dark eyes. She came across as sweet and quiet, but she spent every silent second plotting. “Hi aunt Hifumi!”
Next was the first born, Kataru. His caramel brown hair was a fluffy mess, and he tried to push it back before slamming into her. Clever dark eyes looked up at her. “Did you bring us anything this time?”
“Kataru-”
“I meant hi aunt Hifumi!” He darted off, probably to hide from his dad after being reprimanded.
There was only one triplet yet, the sweet middle child, Hitoka. He practically looked like a mini Akira, though his hair was lighter by a few shades. It was completely possible that his smile could cure diseases. Plus, his hugs were a pint sise version of Akira’s. “Welcome home aunt Hifumi!”
“Ahem.” Her first friend tapped his foot loudly, staring pointedly at his husband. Goro made a show of taking out his phone to partake in his favourite boring adult man activity; rereading emails. “Hm, so that’s how it’s going to be. Formation G!”
Moving in like a military level coordinated attack, the triplets caught their dad by surprise by slamming into him, forcing him to the floor. Kataru cheered, doing a very seven-year-old victory dance. Mikata stood over her kill, giggling she her dad glared at the little socked foot on his chest. Hitoka slipped away to stand at his Papa’s side. “Mission success, Captain.”
“Thank you for the excellent report, Ranger Hitoka. Treat yourself to a soda from the stash.” Ruffling his hair first, Akira gave his son a slight push to send him on his way. “Finisher Mikata? Pro Kataru? Go grab a soda for a job well done.” The remaining siblings grinned at each other, racing to catch up to their third. “Well, Goro?”
His red eyes made it very clear that he was extremely unhappy with what had happened. “Hi Hifumi. How was Europe?”
“Gayer.” It wasn’t even a joke, it was so incredibly ahead of Japan there that she almost didn’t want to return home. Now, if Europe had a Crossroads… “Like, yeah, I think that was my favourite touring Goblins and Gorges stream event. We got to play in an actual castle, at night! It was amazing.”
Hifumi found her favourite of the bean bags, flopping down with a relaxed sigh. It was her favourite because one of the workers at the company had accidentally stuck a bunch of memory foam in the middle of the beans. The how was a mystery, but not one she cared to solve. If it was comfy? Then it could have been shat out my her majesty, Mama Lala.
Akira reached down to help his husband up, but apparently Goro was still ‘healthy’ fond of revenge. A sharp tug, and the taller man let out a yelp as he came tumbling down. Goro burst into uncontrollable laughter, which still sounded borderline unhinged. “You forgot, Captain, that I don’t play fair.”
“Anything new with you homos? Since the last time I saw you?” Goro made a whole show of taking a seat on the couch, flipping Akira off when he booed. “That was like, right before I left. So, February?”
While the boring husband went back to his old man boring shit, the one she always like better tried to think it over. “Not really? Work’s been steady, Goro’s been Goro’ing, the kids are kids. Just average shit from us, sorry.”
“You say that as if mister ‘my dream job is accounting’ doesn’t work for like, the closest thing to a secret government agency from some shitty YA novel.”
He couldn’t even be bothered to look at her when he was pulling his child genius crap on her. It was just emails! And he’s read them already! “We are not government, we are a private data analysis firm that is funded by the biggest anti-government company in Japan. On paper.”
“Yeah, nothing fun from us.” Akira swooped in, saving his love from having every creative insult she could come up with thrown at him. “Tell me more about your tour! Did you encounter any real monsters out there, Guild Master?”
Oh well, she supposed she could talk about it a little more. “Okay, so they flew the whole group into London so we could meet and shit before we actually started. Let me tell you, London sucks ass…”
Futaba and Sumire shuffled into the room properly somewhere between Hifumi reached the Portugal leg of her trip, and the loud arrival of the rest of the guys. “Alright, get ready guys, the life of the party has arrived!”
Ryuji’s newest look these days was shorter than when Hifumi had met him, and no longer that odd piss yellow. He was finally rocking his natural dark brown, and just a messier version of a work appropriate style. He’d never gotten the beard he used to rant about wanting, stuck with his stubbly chin or a smooth face. While he was still wearing the Shujin track pants, he was proudly showing off one of the long-sleeve tee designs Yusuke had made to support Ryuji’s favourite youth group.
Since he’d started teaching at Shujin, the school’s reputation completely changed. School spirit was at an all time high, as was participating in the athletics and culture clubs. When he refused the offer to take over as principal, overseeing board had to scramble for something they could call a promotion to keep the illusion that hard work paid off. Spirit advisor had been a fake position when they made it, but Ryuji was born for that role.
Yusuke no longer looked like someone had stretched out an image of a french twink. Unlike his partner, Yusuke could grow a beard. His face remained smooth in solidarity. His hair was shorter than it had been like, ever. It was maybe an inch longer than his partner’s, slicked back to avoid the atrocious middle part Ryuji like to document and curse them all with in the group chat. Another new development, he began to develop an interest in wearing different outfits. They were all so proud of them. His ice blue t-shirt was a tight fit, the low v-cut revealing the edge of his version of their matching tattoos. Yusuke’s was a snake curled up in the shape of a heart, over his heart. Ryuji’s was one of Yusuke’s immortal lesbian lobsters. It was also on his right ass cheek. And, finishing off his look, the artist had found black cargo capris in his size. Somehow.
The artist was far from what anyone would call starving now. After the hype of the lovefoam exhibition died down, he had another, on a much smaller scale. He made an entire exhibition about ‘the beauty and the passion’, which was just all the pieces he’d created while observing their partner do the dirty deed with others for years. It fucking took off, people were all over them. Hell, one of them had been hung in the Louvre during an international rising artists event! Magazines and critics called his all sorts of flattering things. Life didn’t make sense anymore.
Ryuji had to duck as he entered the room, since her was carrying their son on his shoulders. Little Kohan had just turned three two weeks ago, meaning Hifumi had missed it, still in Europe. His dark brown hair had just gotten cut again, the smart cut still fresh. Sleepy brown eyes blinked down at them, clearly on the verge of succumbing to sleep. “Oh man, we got here before Makoto! Yes! She is never living this down!”
“Odd indeed.” Yusuke reached behind him awkwardly, before giving up and asking for help. “My eternally burning match? I require, assistance.”
Ryuji groaned, carefully lowering his toddler until he could hand him off to the eager Akira. He circled the artist, having a quiet argument with someone they couldn’t see. “I promise, okay? Will you stop hiding behind your Baba? You can hold both of our hands, yes. Yusk, hand.” Hifumi was very confused. They only had one kid, and he was a toddler. If they’d had a second, they would have to be a baby, right? “Alright, here we go! Everyone, I’d like you to meet Daika. Do you want to say hi?”
A frightened little girl stepped out from behind Yusuke, trying to hide between the two men. She had angelic little features, dark grey eyes staring at her socks, dark blue hair tied back, unable to hide her face. She looked to be the same age as the Akechi-Sakura triplets. She shook her head.
Yusuke took over, letting Ryuji pull the girl into a hug to soothe her. “Three months ago, we received a letter proclaiming that my father had passed, and he’d left me something in his will. His lawyer let us know that the will itself was messy and unclear, and that my name was the only one that could be legally recognized. I was to inherit everything he had left. Which, included a daughter he had with one of his, young, art students.”
No wonder Daika looked so much like Yusuke, they were half siblings. “Originally, Ryuji and I were going to find a family to adopt her. That plan changed when we were introduced, and we discovered how young she is, and how our father had been keeping her. So, we adopted her ourselves.”
Ryuji had hoisted the little girl into his arms, running a hand through her long, dark hair. Daika reached out slightly for her half brother, the coach assisting with the transfer. Yusuke began to whisper to her softly, having their own little conversation.
Ryuji took over once more. “So, here we are. She’s like, technically Yusk’s half sister or something, but we’ve decided to just raise her as our daughter. It was hard to keep this from you all for three months, but we wanted Dai to get used to us before throwing all our chaos at her.”
“Everyone,” Yusuke called, his tone soft, “someone wishes to introduce herself to you all.”
Daika slowly peeled herself away from Yusuke, just enough to shyly look around the room. “...Hi. My name, is, Kit…”
“Kitagawa-Sakamoto.” Ryuji stage whispered to her slowly, so she could hear all the syllables.
“Kitagawa-Sakamoto Daika.” She glanced between her two guardians for approval, their smiles giving her more confidence to finish her introduction. “I’m seven years old. It’s very nice to meet you.”
They gave her a round of applause, which might have just embarrassed her a little. Yusuke let her hide her red face in his shoulder. “Thank you all for listening, and while we’d prefer to never need to ask for support, we know you’d all be willing to provide.”
“Ryuji, would you mind asking Daika whether she’d rather stay with you both, or meet some kids her age?” Goro’s tone was masterfully controlled, to make the girl as comfortable as possible. “If she’d like to play, my three kids are seven too. Only if she wants to, of course.”
Yusuke asked the question instead, going back and forth with her for a spell. Then, he carefully lowered her to her feet, taking her hand. Dai looked up at him first, before turning slightly towards Goro. “I want to play, please.”
He rose from the couch, leading the way towards the play room, Yusuke and Daika following.
Ryuji fell back onto the the spare bean bag with a deep sigh. “Y’all, our lives have been so screwed up since Yusk’s bastard father went and died.” Thankfully, Kohan was fast asleep on Akira’s lap. “I, we haven’t even been able to get her registered for school yet. It’s a nightmare.”
“Bro, if you want us to help get her into my kids’ school, you just have to ask.” Akira tapped their feet together. Ryuji smiled all watery, rubbing at his eyes. “You guys aren’t alone, remember? We’re all here for you.”
Hifumi’s heart was finally warming back up again after all that. Hopefully they’d all get to watch Daika gradually open up to them all, and get to just be a kid.
Next to arrive were not the Niijima-Okumura crowd, a fact that shocked everyone. They were never last. One time wasn’t always possible, but never last.
The door to the stair banged open, revealing neither Ann nor Shiho, but their nine-year-old daughter, Mifuka. Her long, wavy black hair was held back in a tight pony tail, her big blue eyes scanning the room as she shed her maroon windbreaker. She must’ve just finished practice, since she was still wearing her youth basketball league jersey and shorts.
She was breathing a little heavy, hoping around as she tried to yank her shoes off without untying them. It, would have been faster if she slowed down and untied them, now. “Mifuka! Thank goodness, what have we told you about running off like that?!”
And there was Shiho, arriving to try to reign in their hurricane of a daughter. She’d cut all her hair off after her last official pro match, and kept it in a naturally wild, more masculine style. It did kind of make her look more mature, it like, an attractive way. Like, short-haired Shiho knew how taxes worked, while ponytail Shiho got confused by long answer questions. She was wearing one of the free shirts she’d gotten from different volleyball tournaments over the years, and the red Shujin track shorts.
She and Ryuji taught together now. He was her boss, yeah, but they worked well together, always had. They’d been able to accomplish the impossible; a truce between the track and volleyball teams. All of the teams, actually, but bad blood was strongest there. Anytime inter-team fighting was caught, the teams involved would have to participate in a bonding exercise. Forced to work together or not play their next game, the athletes had, started to get along. Maybe she’d had to stop playing professionally, but teaching gym worked for Shiho. And, her retirement had allowed for them to have their daughter.
Said daughter was still rolling around, struggling with her shoes. “I know, okay? Don’t run off and all that. Have you considered you and Mum are just too damn slow?”
“Nope. You slow down. Two against one, sport.” Shiho grabbed at a flinging shoe, trying to get the laces to loosen. “How do you keep doing this? Mifuka, just untie them.”
Finally laying back and not continuing to make it actively worse, she crossed her arms and pouted. “I don’t need you help. I had it handled.”
“Don’t lie to me so frankly.”
Ann finally slumped into the room, falling to the carpet while panting like she’d run a maraton. Over time, her two ponytails became one, and there was much less of it than before. She had like, a normal amount of hair now. The years had only made her that more beautiful, she was very verbal about how she was about to enter her milf era. Her wife was just as vocal about her appreciation. She’d broken out one of her old favourite dresses, a black cocktail number that used to result in her and Shiho disappearing periodically throughout the night. She’d actually worn tights with it, too.
The name Takamaki-Suzui Ann had slowly become a household name. …In the west. She liked it that way. She could feel like a normal person when she was home, not constantly hounded by tabloids and paparazzi. Her movie money kept them in a new, smaller apartment, though it was much more suited for a family of three. She refused to spoil her daughter. She got her nice things, sure, but she knew how to say no.
“Did,” she wheezed, “did you, catch up to her?”
Mifuka scowled, glaring at her Ma undoing her laced for her. “Nope. She’s gone, off to France.”
“She’s fine, Ann.” Shiho finally got the first shoe free, tossing it behind her like a bad apple. “Got her laces all tangled up again.”
Her daughter shot her an offended look. “Snitch!”
“Mifuka, you need to just, slow down.” Ann pushed herself up, frowning as her daughter refused to look at her. “Why were you even running this time?”
Reminded that she had a reason, she ignored her own parents to speak to Akira. “Are the triplets here?”
The second shoe wiggled free, and the girl didn’t wait for an answer, darting off to the play room.
Shiho sighed, slumping against her wife. “Why did we think that having a kid that was a mix of us was a good idea?”
“Horny delusion.” Well, Ann was honest about it. They helped each other up, greeting their friends as they grabbed the loveseat. “I still love her though, even when she tries to give up heartattacks.”
Perhaps there was something about parenthood that messed with your mind? Or, they’d always been that way.
The last arrivals got in half an hour later, by far the latest they’d ever been. Only Ryuji had been later, and that was one time.
“Not a word.” Makoto warned as she opened the door, ushering her family through. For a woman of forty, she looked really good. She’d been keeping her muscle up over the years, and the most prominent wrinkles on her face were her smile lines. She’d kept her hair the same, and still made an impressive about of piercings. Though, she’d gotten tattoos at some point. Lilies, barbed wire connecting the flowers together. She was still in her favourite sleeveless turtleneck workout shirt, though she normally wore a plaid shirt over it when she wasn’t, you know, working out. Her dark cargo pants brought it all together with her boots, which she was unlacing rather aggressively.
She’d had a rough go when they lost Johanna. The dog had passed her life expectancy, but losing a pet you’re that close to was always hard. Hifumi had moved back in for a while, and Sae even stayed in the guest room, so that they were there for her. Makoto had, somewhat of a career change after that. She still took patients three days a week, but she spent another three training service dogs. She would never take get another of her own, not even a failed one. They wouldn’t be her Johanna. But, she was doing really well. Her coworkers said it was like her and the dongs spoke the same language.
Haru brought up the rear of the family, a tired look on her face. She never lost that kind look to her face, though she had a few more lines than her wife. Her hair was still fluffy, but she’d dyed it a bright pink back in February as a fun idea for the bakery, and it was still vaguely pink. Makoto’s heavy black all seasons coat was around her shoulders, and it seemed like there were a few stains in her pink peach patterned blouse she’d failed to get out. Sheer black stockings and one of her lighter, lilac skirts. Having three kids had made her a little rounder, but it worked for Haru. She was a baker, after all. A think baker was a bad sign.
For Haru, the last ten years weren’t much different. She and Makoto made sure to be home plenty when their boys were little, slowly backing off as they grew up and needed them a little less. Her father was around a lot more, since he’d retired and decided to live as a family man. Hifumi remembered Makoto calling her one night on the road she gushing about how Haru had snapped and begged her father to get a hobby. He backed off on the hovering, coming to terms with the fact that she didn’t need him. Haru was beginning to feel the same way about her boys.
Makoto stood at the edge of the carpet, talking in a low voice to her sons. Haru leaned into her side, which did calm her down a little. If things were bad enough, someone would have to put their life on the line and give her a chance to wrestle through her anger.
Their twins, now ten, were still very identical, and Hifumi knew that they worked to keep it that way to mess with people. The differences between them were practically nuances. On bad days, their own mothers got it wrong, though those times were rare, and the mistake correctly swiftly.
Kazuto always had his sleeves end an inch about his wrists, and spoke more with the right side of his mouth. Hiroto moved more when he talked, and always kept his hands in his pockets.
For some reason that only they knew, they’d insisted on having the most eye searing bowl cuts for two years now. It looked so awful with their pin straight, auburn hair. Hifumi was certain it was taking years off their mothers’ lives. They both had the Niijima sharp eye shape, with the honey brown colour their Mama had. But, they always had a mischievous twinkle. They acted as a unit, and got up to more trouble than children of Makoto and Haru should have been capable of.
“Kazu, did you take that cash out of my wallet?” The twin in the big Tokyo University hoodie shook his head, snickering. Haru sighed, letting her head fall against Makoto’s shoulder. “Damn, that was so we could get ice cream after this.”
The twins exchanged a silent conversation. Grumbling, Hiro, wearing his vibrant tie-dye hoodie, reached into his pants pocket and handing a couple of bills back. “Sorry Mama.”
“No you’re not, it’s gonna happen again.” Makoto grumbled, while the twins just shrugged and headed for the play room. “We’re not getting ice-cream tonight, right?”
Haru giggled, and wore a devious grin. That’s where the twins had gotten it from. “Oh, not a chance. It’s just the easiest way to get my things back without a fight. Some of us are civil, you know.”
“Hm, you’ll have to show me this civility, sometime.” The both laughed softly, sharing a quick kiss. Makoto tilted her head a bit, watching her oldest slowly remove his shoes. “Are you sure you’re fine, Seiji?”
Seiji was in middle school already, in the early teen days of fourteen. He’d just passed his Mama in height, and it wouldn’t be long before he shot part his Mom. Those dark curls of his were kept short now, making his face look less round, his red eyes sharper, a little less dorky tweenish. He was the perfect mix of both parents; a complete culinary master, cooking dinner with his Mom; he had Haru’s green thumb, and they could spend hours in the greenhouse on the roof; he had Haru’s wider shape, but gained muscle like Makoto.
He was where Makoto’s plaid had gone, the blocky blue and black one she’d had for decades. It didn’t look half bad with his dark, baggy skate park pants. “Fine enough, right?”
“You can stay with us this time.” Haru’s voice sounded hopeful, and she reached out to cup his face as he stood. Another thing he and Makoto shared were those face freckles. No where else, just the face. “None of the others will mind, you know this. And I’d feel better with you close.”
The teen leaned into his Mama’s touch, smiling down at her softly. “Mama, it’s okay, I’m fine. If I feel worse, I’ll sit in the storeroom and text you, okay?”
“Nothing you say will keep her from worrying, you’re her little Prince, after all.” Makoto ruffled his hair softly, his cheeks going a little red at his childhood nickname. The little family stood like that for a moment, before Haru shakily pulled her hand back. “You don’t have to be tough with us. Just because you’re looking at high schools already doesn’t make you any less our son.”
Taking the first step away, Seiji went for a big smile. “I know. Don’t let Mama spend the whole night worrying about me, okay? Have some fun for once.”
“Hey, we’re fun!” The taller wife protested, smiling at her son’s free laughter. “No moping Love, you heard him.”
Haru squeezed in under her arm, breathing carefully. “I know, just, he’s growing up too fast.”
Catching up now that they rarely saw each other was a whole lot different than before. Well, Hifumi saw them a lot less. She knew for a fact that the others did everything they could to make time. Sumire, Futaba, and herself were the only outliers, with their jobs leading to more traveling and such.
Before, catching up usually lasted all of five minutes before they’d break out the heavier alcohol and some sort of movie or game. Now? Well, a lot of the night would be spent passing around everyone’s phones to see pictures of their children. Job updates too, of course, but those were less exciting in most cases.
Akira was trying a new routine? Meh. Mifuka got suspended for punching an older boy in the gut? Much more entertaining.
“Why do all principals suck?” Ann whined into her third gin and tonic, already careening towards tipsy. Her tolerance hadn’t changed after all those years; she was still a lightweight. “Like, I get that she shouldn’t resort to violence, but she wouldn’t have gotten the chance if they were handling bullying better!”
So true. What was with people in power blaming the ones trying to spark change when those harming others fly by? Akira nodded, splitting his attention between the conversation at hand and entertaining the toddler on his lap. “I’ve noticed we haven’t had to deal with that as much since we went for a private school. That’s horrible, though! Kids shouldn’t be punished for not having the money for a private school.”
“Tell me about it, man.” Actual teacher Ryuji groaned, leaning back against his husband in a way that made it look like his bones were made of jello. “Why is there so much backlash when we try to stop bullying? Who gives a shit if the bully is important?”
Haru, who hadn’t weighed in just yet, cleared her throat. “Corruption is like a weed. It digs its roots in deep, so even if you cut it down, it’ll sprout again. But, that’s not to say that cutting it down is worthless. It’s tough work, and often goes unnoticed, but the plants appreciate it.” She sipped her spiked tea. “That is to say, sometimes you can’t work your way to the top and fix everything. Working at it from the outside, though? Makes a difference to those around you.”
“You and Shiho do good work, Ryu.” Ann pecked her wife on the cheek, smiling knowingly at her oldest friend. The three of them had probably experienced the worst possible scenario, and their drive to keep it from happening again was mighty impressive. “You can’t solve every problem. But, I know you both inspire others to try too.”
Yusuke changed the subject as subtly as a plane crash. Maybe it was to help their partner. Maybe they just had bad social literacy. No, it was the second one. “Have I mentioned that Daika adores Ryuji yet?” No one answered. “I suspect that our shared genes may have something to do with how quickly she took to me, though there is no such reason for her love for her Papa. My darling mate must simply be ‘father material’.”
“First, don’t call him your mate ever again.” Resident internet master Futaba looked like they wanted to power wash their mind out. Hifumi was glad she didn’t know the context. “Second, I still can’t believe you managed to keep this from us!”
That was an understatement. Neither of those two were good with keeping secrets, especially Ryuji. “Believe me, it was effin’ tough! We had three months where we couldn’t brag about our awesome daughter, so you better believe we’re gonna double down tonight!”
So, he wasn’t joking. Between the two of them, they had enough photos of Daika to fill three scrapbooks. A lot of them also included Kohan. It was clear that Yusuke was very relieved that she was happy to have a younger brother. Hifumi now knew just about everything about the newest member of their little family, which was maybe a little concerning.
At one point, Makoto had disappeared down the hall, leaving an anxious Haru alone in their recliner.
“Hey, I know Maks told us not to ask,” biting the bullet, Sumire bit her lip as she softly addressed the remaining wife, “but is there something going on with you all tonight?”
She looked to the hall, and as if summoned by just a look, Makoto returned. The taller woman looked quite tired, and slipped back into her place with her soulmate. “Hey, is it okay if we tell the others? About, that?”
“We, should.” Makoto’s expression didn’t match her words. Hifumi was convinced that the last thing she wanted to do was tell them. “It’s, Seiji.”
Quite the concerning opening.
“A drunk man puked on him on the train.” Oh, what a relief. Not that a drunk man vomitting on you is good, but she was worried he was sick, or worse. “He was able to change when we got home, but on our way here, a bird pooped on him.”
Haru sighed. “He’s had such awful luck lately, we’re afraid it’ll affect his mental health. Being a teen is tough enough without, all this.”
True that. “Seiji’s a trouper, plus, I’m sure he’d come to you if he did have any issues. He trusts you both a lot.”
The night wore on, and eventually to a close. The years have been long and many, yet their bonds remain strong. As they each depart, it’s with the knowledge that this isn’t the end, but another beginning. Hifumi can hardly believe how far she’s come, and fuck, she owes it all to them. Her chosen family, her friends, her soul friends.