Chapter Text
Of all the things Gakuhou had anticipated and prepared for in parenthood, he certainly wasn't ready for this.
The worst days of Gakuhou’s life thus far were as follows: the day he lost his wife, the day he lost Ikeda, and the day he backhanded his son in front of his class. This, he thinks miserably, might join the list.
“Hey pops,” says red devil-delinquent-problem child Karma Akabane, leaning against the doorway in a Nice Shirt and Nice Slacks and holding a rather ostentatious bouquet of seasonal blooms. “Is Gakushuu in?”
Karma Akabane addresses his son by his first name, Gakuhou registers distantly. He says eloquently, “huh?”
“Is Gakushuu in?” Akabane repeats, craning his neck to look around Gakuhou’s shoulder. Then beams, and waves at the approaching set of footsteps coming up from behind.
“Hi Karma,” Gakushuu greets, also wearing a Nice Shirt and Nice Pants and sweeping past Gakuhou with a air of giddiness that Gakuhou hopes was his imagination. “You’re here early.”
“Not about to keep you waiting,” Akabane flirts back, which, what? What?
The flowers, Gakuhou notes with a dismay, are (undeniably) for Gakushuu. His son has a soft smile on his face and a cute little blush as he sets the bouquet in a vase on the coffee table, and Gakuhou just gapes wordlessly as he redefines “floating on a cloud” just as Akabane bounces with anticipation.
The kids ignore him. Or, well, Akabane ignores him, seemingly having eyes for only one Asano; Gakushuu’s gaze briefly flicks to him with an amused twinkle in his eye but otherwise pretends he doesn’t exist, and they continue to playfully banter in the hallway and Gakuhou only barely manages to catch whatever they’re saying but hardly remembers any of it. The only thing running in his mind is white noise that's the equivalent of "????" and wondering when technology advanced so as to let people imitate the heart-eyes emoji so realistically in real life.
And then Gakushuu says, “bye dad, I won’t be back for dinner,” and Akabane says “see you, Mr Ex-Principal,” and Gakushuu laughs and hits him a little, and then they’re walking hand-in-hand out the gate and down the pavement to who-knows-where and Gakuhou is still reeling from shock.
What?
What?!
Gakuhou’s still staring at the offending vase on the coffee table when their housekeeper Tamiko returns from her shopping. She sets down the groceries by the doorway and makes a curious hum, and Gakuhou expects a variety of phrases including but not limited to “what is the occasion?”, “who got flowers?” and “they look very nice.”
What Gakuhou doesn’t expect, (and note that he’s already braced for any unforeseen circumstances after witnessing the day’s prior occurrences,) is Tamiko saying “looks like Karma took my advice after all,” and Gakuhou says again, “What?!”
“Purple tulips,” Tamiko nods in approval, “very nice. Roses are classic, yes, but far too commonplace; red comes off a little strong, don’t you think? Ah, they match his eyes, good choice.”
“What are you talking about?” Gakuhou asks in desperate bafflement.
“Karma came by to ask me what Gakushuu’s favourite flowers are,” Tamiko says, nodding to herself as if it explains anything, “they are very cute, don’t you think?” And then she makes another happy noise and heads to the kitchen with her bags, whistling along the way, and now Gakuhou has even more questions than he started off with and no answers.
“Akabane Karma and Gakushuu?” says Hachiho over the line, “why do you ask?”
“Just curious,” Gakuhou grits out, glaring at the vase. He’d succumbed and dialed the number for Gakushuu’s homeroom teacher after their other housekeeper Husare returned and wrinkled her nose at the flowers with a “I would have gone with a darker purple, to be honest,” and Tamiko calls out from somewhere in the house, “but they match his eyes!” To which Husare replied, “Dark purple, Tamiko, is far classier,” and the women started a squabble.
“Surprisingly,” Hachiho says, “they are a very good influence on each other. Akabane has grown less rowdy and far mellower, and Gakushuu is much calmer and less stressed ever since they got together-”
“Excuse me?” Gakuhou chokes out, voice strangled.
“Oh, you didn’t call for me to gossip, how unprofessional of me,” Hachiho says, and Gakuhou was just about to correct that yes, he did call for said gossip and would she please continue , but she cuts him off, “I apologize, Mr Prin- ah, Asano, sorry, a force of habit you see. But the staff meeting is about to commence soon so I'll have to cut the call. Don’t be a stranger, you can always call or drop by for a chat!”
Gakuhou is left staring gobsmacked at his lock screen, a picture of his very young and very cute and very absolutely pure and innocent and single son, holding a peace-sign to the camera with a gap-toothed grin. Granted, in that picture Gakushuu was aged approximately six, but still.
But still.
“Oh,” says his driver, Jin, as he toes off his shoes and looks over at the floral arrangement adding an unnecessary pop of colour in the living room. “I see Akabane stopped by.”
Gakuhou was going to kill someone.