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It’s quiet as Shouta sits on the couch, channel flipping through the late night/early morning info-mercials that don’t so much as irritate him as make him feel sad for whoever buys into this garbage. He feels his eyes drooping, the dark room around him and his full stomach from dinner doing him no favors, but he fights it, waiting for Hitoshi to be done with his shower so they can go to bed.
Of course, usually, he wouldn’t wait. His son is 16 now, it’s not like he needs a babysitter to make sure he’s tucked in at night...though maybe on the silent nights when Shouta can’t sleep he does indulge in those memories that remind him of when Hitoshi used to beg for such things. He falls asleep to a melancholy ache in his chest on those nights.
But no, Toshi isn’t small anymore, his first night patrol under his belt now as of today, having accepted Shouta’s internship offer and they having just gotten back an hour before. The boy did well, Shouta’s heart swelling with pride while they had eaten greasy takeout that only tastes that good at 2 a.m. Hitoshi was starving and Shouta didn’t think twice of handing over a couple pieces of his meat to top off Hitoshi’s quickly dwindling bowl. A small smile from the boy was a worthy reward.
Knocking Shouta out of his thoughts is the bathroom door creaking open, just another thing he needs to remember to fix with all the glorious free time he has available. He turns around on the couch at the sound of padding feet coming down the hall, Hitoshi in fresh pajamas and ringed in the backlight from the still open bathroom door, steam pouring out behind him and making him look almost ethereal. Shouta smiles.
“Better?”
Hitoshi nods, biting at his bottom lip. The boy had nearly sweat through his hero costume with how ragged Shouta had run him, leaping over roofs and up and down walls. But Shouta knew he loved it, expecting no less from his dad. Shouta never goes easy on his interns, after all; it’s just not logical.
Slowly Hitoshi draws near, towering over the back of the couch so that Shouta has to look up at him from where he sits. Now that he’s closer, Shouta sees the towel in one hand and—
And the brush in the other.
He feels a warmth in his lungs, like a small fire has been lit and tenderly cared for. It’s been a while since Hitoshi has asked this of him...perhaps years, if he remembers correctly. Hitoshi doesn’t use words, nothing but a sheepish darting if eyes and a tilt of his lips showing he has any request whatsoever. But Shouta speaks Hitoshi better than anyone, and so he grunts, turning away from his son, but only for a moment, as the teenager rounds the couch, plopping down on the floor between Shouta’s legs with his back facing his father.
With slow movements, Shouta takes the towel and drapes it over Hitoshi’s head, sopping locks worked over with slender fingers, working into his scalp like Hitoshi has always liked since he was a very little boy. Sometimes, Hitoshi used to fall asleep to this, it working better than any story or bedtime ritual ever could. Shouta’s smile widens.
It’s still quiet, the tv a low rumble and the light from the hall casting a warm glow that mixes with the blue of the television. Occasionally Hitoshi lets out an involuntary hum as Shouta finishes drying his hair, taking the brush into his right hand now instead.
As the first lock slides through the teeth of the comb, Shouta wonders why, why tonight. He remembers how this step of the process used to go, Shouta’s attempts at detangling often ending in a few tears on Hitoshi’s end...which now isn’t an issue given how his son has mastered the use of conditioner and each section combs out with ease.
If you had asked Shouta so many years ago if he would miss those tense moments, he would have told you ‘no’. But now that he is here…he was wrong.
When he sees how his son has grown so tall and so strong and so kind, part of Shouta wants to cry himself. Hitoshi’s shoulders are broad now and he can nearly see eye to eye with his father and yet all Shouta sees some days is his little boy, crying over a few knots in his hair.
The smile fades, but only a little.
Hitoshi’s hair lies flat, but both of them know as it dries it will rise in its gravity defying way, physics be damned. As Shouta finishes, he places a flat palm upon Hitoshi’s forehead, tilting his head back while he leans forward to lay his boy back into his chest. Their eyes meet.
“All done, kiddo.”
Hitoshi’s eyelids are half closed and Shouta not for the first time thanks the stars they have the week off for this so that Hitoshi can rest after his—their—patrols.
“Let’s go to bed, ‘kay?”
The only answer Hitoshi gives is the shutting of his eyes and yet Shouta finds he is not in the least surprised, planting a kiss between his son’s eyes and shifting his boneless frame around to lift him from the floor.
Yes, he doesn’t know why tonight of all nights Hitoshi came to him like this, but as he tucks him under his covers, savoring every moment, he decides it doesn’t much matter. He’ll take what he is given.