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“Osomatsu, would you like to take a break and come in for a snack?”
Matsuyo peeks her head out through the sliding door to the backyard, watching her eldest son work diligently- work and diligently; not words used to describe any of the sextuplets often - on his mini garden. He was caked in dirt, his white shirt, stained brown with hose water and mud while his boots no longer looked new although he had just bought them a week prior.
“Maybe don’t come inside,” Matsuyo retracts her offer before the man could walk inside. Karamatsu and Choromatsu had just cleaned yesterday, she didn’t want to ask them to help her again.
Osomatsu grins sheepishly, rubbing his finger under his nose, spreading more dirt under it, as he realizes why she seems so hesitant to let him in the house.
“Yeah,” he laughs, “maybe just bring the snack out here?”
She comes back a few minutes later and throws a pack of seaweed toward her son’s head. He catches the pack and wipes his hands on his–
“Hey,” she scolds, a menacing tone of voice warns him that he’s doing something wrong, “despite how dirty your white shirt is, I’d prefer for you to not wipe your mud-caked hands on them.”
Osomatsu hurriedly puts the seaweed packet between his knees as he removes his hands from his white shirt and begins to wipe it on his red jumpsuit instead.
Matsuyo sighs. She had hoped he would rinse his hands with the water from the hose, but whatever, at least his jumpsuit wasn’t that troublesome to wash the mud off of.
“So, how’s your garden coming along?”
“It’s going great! I can show you each of the flowers and talk to you about each of them after I finish this seaweed packet!”
Osomatsu seemed so prideful in his work, the excited twinkle in his eye was all she needed to recognize how happy he is to be working in the backyard.
She had offered him to plant in the garden on a whim, a healthy activity for him to do besides sitting inside all day reading manga or going out to play pachinko or harass his brothers. Her tomato crops had died, and she considered them too much of a hassle to take care of, so she had this wide empty patch of healthy soil, offhandedly mentioning it to her sons who showed no interest in it.
Osomatsu had come to her later that night when all his brothers were asleep.
“Osomatsu, it’s three in the morning and you’re blocking the TV, what do you need?”
Her son in response took the remote and paused her drama before asking her, “Can I use that patch in the garden?”
She was immediately suspicious. Why would her son want to do something so… wholesome? It was unlike him to want to do anything good.
“Why?”
Osomatsu blushes in response, the dim lighting of the room would make it imperceptible to others, but Matsuyo was an observant mother, she could tell whenever her sons were embarrassed.
“There’s this cute guy who opened up a flower stand near Totoko’s place and I wanted to,” he mumbled his words and covered his face with his hands, “y’know… talk to him.”
The woman laughs in response, “you make talking with him seem as embarrassing as the first birds-and-bees conversation! You’re so funny Osomatsu.”
She only laughs harder when his face grows a deeper shade of red. He was so embarrassed by the notion of talking to the flower stand-man. What was his name again?
“So… Oyama-san is it?”
“WOqjsnIHQAXZBHW,” Osomatsu lets out an incomprehensible series of sound at the mention of the cute guy’s name as he crouches down onto the ground, trying to cover as much of his red face as he could from his all-knowing mother who’s only response was to laugh again.
“I’m rooting for you,” she cooes in a teasing voice, “don’t forget that I want grandchildren!”
“Mom!”
And now here he was, explaining the different flowers in the garden to her, regurgitating knowledge he had probably learned from Oyama, but regardless he had learned and it was something he seemed to be passionate about.
The flowers she notices all seemed related to his brothers. There were blue, green, purple, yellow, and pink flowers scattered throughout the plot with some white ones in between.
“Was that on purpose?”
Osomatsu realizes what she’s referring to and smiles.
“Nah actually. I didn’t notice the colors I chose until they started blooming. It’s kinda nice to recognize that I’m thinking about them all the time,” he rubs the back of his neck, a tad bit embarrassed, “must be why I feel so safe and like it here so much.”
Matsuyo’s heart gushes and melts at the sweet confession.
“Mom!”
She glomps him in a hug, squishes his cheeks and covers him in quick kisses.
“My precious baby boy,” she says in between the loving assault, “always loving his brothers. What a good eldest.”
“Mommmmmm,” he whines out, trying to escape her iron-gripped hug, “please stop.”
“Do you want me to really?”
She already knows the answer, but she feigns ignorance as she inquisitively raises her eyebrow towards her son.
He mumbles something in response, and although she most likely knew what he said, she wants to hear him say it clearly.
“What was that? You mumbled so I couldn’t hear you.”
He mumbles the statement again, more like grumbled, but she still didn’t understand what he was saying.
“Osomatsu, I didn’t teach you to mumble, cmon!~”
“M-Mom! I,” he groans in humiliation, “I said I don’t mind when you spoil me like this and I don’t mind your hugs and stuff I guess...”
“Ooh, that’s what I thought my precious widdle, siwwy boy,” she pinches his cheeks as he once again tries to escape her.
“Mom, eww! Don’t baby talk to me!”
“My precious, handsome son!”
Her hugs were inescapable, she did teach Jyushimatsu the tentacle-hold after all, there was no escape.
“Mom!”
“You know I love you right?”
“Yes, mom.”
“No, like… really realize that I love you?”
Osomatsu shifts his weight from one foot to another as his mother awaits his answer. He never really stopped to think about how much his parents loved him, his brothers yeah, he wondered that all the time, but his parents… He always just considered himself a burden to them, a literal man-child, a freeloader, but thinking about it they always pushed him to succeed even if it was just small victories. His father pushed him to get a job out of love because he wanted to see his son become financially independent and recognize that he could do something on his own. Matsuyo was always there with some tough-love for him, a snack, and open arms, ready to encourage or scold him depending on the situation, but never judge him without reason to.
He smiles, his eyes a bit teary as he considered it.
“Yeah, I do,” was his simple response as the two of them hug again in the garden.