Chapter Text
Hitoshi hops in place, ever excited, as Shouta digs through the closet for his luggage.
“Whatcha doin’, Daddy?” Hitoshi questions, slightly muffled around his pacifier. “We cleanin’?”
Shouta hums in an absentminded manner, internally grimacing at the mess in Hitoshi’s closet. They definitely needed to do a deep clean when they returned. “No,” he replies. “Aren’t you coloring?”
Hitoshi pouts. “Bu’ I’m curious!”
Shouta lightly tickles Hitoshi’s side, smiling at the bright laughter bubbling forth. “Don’t worry about it, baby. It’s a surprise.”
Hitoshi brightens, gasping, “A surprise? What is it, what is it?” Hitoshi lays on Shouta’s back, and Shouta fake-groans at the weight in an exaggerated manner. “Daddy~, I wanna know!”
“It wouldn’t be a surprise, then,” Shouta says, laughing. “I suppose you’ll have to wait and see.”
Hitoshi whines. “Bu’ Daddy~!”
“But Hitoshi~,” Shouta teases.
Hitoshi sniffs after a moment. “Z’shi would tell me.”
Shouta snorts. Even if Hizashi didn’t know what was going on—which he didn’t—he’d remain tight-lipped throughout Hitoshi’s interrogation.
It wasn’t a cliché brochure that made Shouta book the trip, but, rather, Hitoshi, who asked if he could have a watermelon-flavored icicle for dinner. The answer had been no, much to the Little’s dismay, but it did make Shouta remember it was summer, and they were long overdue for a vacation.
“C’mon, you brat.” Hitoshi squeals when Shouta picks him up, slinging the Little over his shoulder. Hitoshi giggles, squirming, but not enough Shouta worried he’d drop him by accident. “It’s snack time.”
Hitoshi claps. “C’n I have popsicle?”
“No.”
Hitoshi wilts. “Aw.”
It’ll be a light snack, since they had lunch almost two hours ago. Chopped fruit, since Hitoshi seemed to be going through a fruit craze and refused to eat it if it wasn’t cubed.
He sets Hitoshi down in his high chair and makes quick work of chopping an assortment of apples, oranges, and watermelon.
“Daddy, wan’ some?” Hitoshi questions, holding out a piece of apple.
“Thank you, baby.”
After he makes sure Hitoshi is actually eating the fruit, and not flicking the pieces to the floor for their cats, he heads into the hallway and picks up his phone a moment later, dialing a familiar number. “Hizashi?” Shouta says once the call is answered, though he makes sure Hitoshi is suitably distracted by his orange slices. “Do you have any plans next week?”