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"You can go ahead and cancel for the rest of the week, too. Kenma doesn't like it here."
Taking his son by his chubby little hand, Kuroo Tetsurou walks out of the Sunny Hills Day Care Center for the last time and much more slowly than he would have liked. It isn't a bad place exactly; it's just the wrong one. Kuroo has a lot of patience for many things, but someone talking to his five year old son like he's stupid because he doesn't want to play with the other kids is not one of those things.
He doesn't blame them, exactly. It had taken Kuroo a while to get used to the idea that Kenma would probably grow up with social anxiety, and even longer to accept the fact that it isn't his fault or Kenma's. It's just one of those things.
Trying to find someone who is qualified to care for such a child is the main source of Kuroo's own brimming anxiety. Eight times, he has signed Kenma up for a day care program, and eight times he is told some variation of, "He'll grow out of it." He didn't think it was that big a deal to honor Kenma's paltry request to have his snacks at a different time than the other kids because the noise bothers him. But because this isn't "equal and inclusive," it's apparently too much to ask.
Kuroo doesn't know what he's supposed to do for the rest of the week. He could call in to work, but he's out of sick days and goodwill from his boss. Kuroo's mother insists she is too old to be chasing after a small boy, but she refuses to acknowledge the fact that Kenma is about as rambunctious as a box turtle. All the kid needs or wants is a handheld game and some alone time. He hasn't seen Kenma's mother since he was born. This leaves Kuroo with few options and a large helping of dread.
They’re halfway home when Kenma puts down his game and asks baldly, “Daddy, are you mad at me?”
Nearly slamming on the brakes in surprise, Kuroo says without hesitation, “Never.” He collects his thoughts before he ruffles his son’s hair, blithely ignoring the knowledge that Kenma doesn’t like it. Dad’s prerogative. “You’re the heart and spine of this family. I couldn’t any more be mad at you than at the sun for shining.”
Kenma only replies with reddened cheeks and shoulders that are no longer tense. Kuroo tries to reinforce this concept every once in a while, even if he has to do it every day. He wants the idea of being loved and accepted to be fresh in Kenma’s mind, especially when the rest of the world is anything but that to a child who is just a little different.
He stops off at the grocery store to pick up necessities for dinner. Kenma glares at the car door like it betrays him when it opens, but Kuroo can’t and won’t leave him alone in the car. “It’s okay, buddy. I’ll be with you the whole time, and it’ll only take a few minutes.”
Kenma smiles weakly and comes along, holding Kuroo’s hand and sticking close to his side. Kuroo knows it will be a challenge to shop one-handed, but he doesn’t mind if it helps Kenma.
It’s hard not to notice the stares he gets. Kuroo wishes it is because he’s such a hot guy with a handsome kid, but that isn’t the kind of judgment he sees from the supermarket moms. They look at him and see a young twenty-something alone with a son they assume he can’t take care of
So Kuroo paints a grin on his face and, with his shopping basket looped around his elbow, he gives them a cheery wave and a suggestive eyebrow waggle. They scatter like cockroaches, and Kuroo resumes shopping in peace.
“You want some juice, buddy?” Kuroo asks Kenma, who nods. “Grape? Guava? Mango?” Kenma shakes his head. “Ooh, I know . . . apple.” When Kenma’s eyes brighten, Kuroo detours them to pick up plenty of Kenma’s favorite snack time drink.
Of course, Kuroo knows every food Kenma likes, but he reckons that letting Kenma help make choices at the grocery store will help him be able to ask for things he wants and needs. So they play the juice game, the snack game, or whatever else is on the shopping list (even toilet paper).
As Kenma is dithering over which brand he prefers, Kuroo is heavily jolted by something — or rather, someone — crashing into his side. Kuroo remains upright, but the same can’t be said for the much shorter person who is now sprawled on the floor covered in multi-packs of juice boxes.
“Oh ho ho, friend,” Kuroo says through a chuckle, “be one with gravity, not with the floor.” He sets down his shopping basket, reaches out and takes the shorter man’s hand, hefting him to his feet.
“Pardon the trouble,” the man squeaks as he bows almost to the floor again. “Should’ve grabbed a basket.”
It isn’t until the guy straightens out and looks Kuroo in the eye that the spark of recognition hits. “Yaku?”
“Kuroo-san!” Yaku bows again. “Please forgive my clumsiness.”
Seeing how close Yaku is to soiling himself in mortification only sparks mirth in Kuroo. “No harm done, friend. Just a juice run gone wrong.” With that, he helps pick up a few of the inordinate number of juice box packages Yaku is looking to purchase. “Are you really thirsty, or do you have nine toddlers at home?”
“Both.” Yaku scowls. “Long story short: I run a day care, and my assistant made a glaring error in the last run to the store. It’s more like fifteen small, shrieking four-year-olds that are really thirsty.”
When Kuroo hears the words ‘day care,’ his jaw drops. “You run a day care? Where is it? What sorts of kids do you take?”
It’s then that Yaku’s eyes slide to the small figure crouched behind Kuroo’s legs. “Oh, I see.” Yaku lowers himself to his knees, juice boxes forgotten, and asks, “What is your name?”
Kenma doesn’t respond until Kuroo gives his hand a gentle squeeze. Finally, Kenma says his name in barely more than a whisper, and Yaku’s face lights up like he’s been given a gift. Kuroo’s heart skips a beat when he sees Yaku bow his head to little Kenma and say, “My name is Yaku. It’s very nice to meet you.”
Kenma nods solemnly, and Yaku rises to his feet. “Your son?”
Kuroo grins. “The one and only. Also, my best friend and the better looking member of the Kuroo tribe.”
Yaku smiles fondly. “He seems like a good kid. Maybe a little anxious, but nothing that can’t be remedied by a little cooperation.” He squints at Kuroo. “Why, were you looking for a new day care?”
It’s hard for Kuroo not to scowl as he recounts his trials and tribulations with finding a good place for Kenma to go, but his frown pales in comparison to the thunderclouds that practically emanate from Yaku. “These people call themselves professionals?”
Shaking his head in disgust, Yaku hands Kuroo a business card. “Come see me if it’s not too far out of the way. I’ll make you a deal: Kenma can stay with us for free for a week. If you’re satisfied with his care, we can make the necessary arrangements. If not, it won’t cost you a single yen.”
Kuroo’s eyes widen. “Are you sure, Yaku-san? That’s over ten-thousand yen you’ll be losing.”
“It’s the least I can do,” Yaku says before pursing his lips. “Every kid deserves to be understood. And when that kid also happens to belong to a friend of mine, I don’t think of it as a loss.”
Kuroo wants to hug Yaku, but he doesn’t want to jostle Kenma too much. Instead, he pockets the card offers a hand. “I look forward to seeing your place. I work at ten in the morning, so when do you open tomorrow?”
“Seven o’clock,” Yaku provides before squatting down once more. “I hope I’ll see you tomorrow, Kenma-chan. And there will be plenty of apple juice.”
“Thank you, Yaku-san,” Kenma mumbles, but Kuroo knows this is more than just a courtesy from Kenma; it is a gift of acceptance. In the ten minutes they stood there, Kenma is already comfortable enough with Yaku to say more than his name. That’s better than over half the other day care people ever got.
There is an extra spring in Kuroo’s step as he guides Kenma through the rest of their shopping list. When they are at the bagging counter, Kenma even asks him how he knows Yaku. Kuroo explains about how they used to play volleyball together and were in the same class during high school.
Kenma gives Kuroo the barest of smiles and says, “I like Yaku-san.”
Kuroo can barely corral his relief.
The Cats and Crows Daycare Center is a small building, but the atmosphere surrounding it is one of it being well cared for. The floor is all smooth rubber tiled in bright colors, and every corner and every edge of every surface is rounded for safety. Every cabinet in sight is cinched tight with child-proofing clips. All the chairs are fluffy, upholstered cubes.
In the next room, a guy who is barely taller than the kids surrounding him holds up circles with kanji on them. In turn, each of the kids around him fish through a bowl with table tennis balls and produce a ball with the same kanji printed on it. When he says the name of the kanji out loud, the children hold up the ball and repeat after him.
When a few produce the wrong ones, the guy, who sports a ridiculous tuft of blond hair in the middle of his forehead, smiles and visits each child. He both praises the kids with rightly chosen kanji and gently corrects the wrong ones, taking time to explain to each one how the mistake is an easy one to make. There is not a frown in the room.
“Wow,” Kuroo says to himself as Kenma stares at this tutoring session with a look of anticipation most people would probably miss. “Kenma, does that look interesting? Learning to read?”
Kenma nods, his whole body quivering. Kuroo is a breath away from asking Yaku to marry him when said caregiver bustles into the reception area. “Sorry to keep you waiting, Kuroo-san! Tobio-chan and Shou-chan don’t like running out of chalk. They remember they don’t like each other and stop playing together.”
Kuroo doesn’t get the joke, but he smiles anyway when Yaku chuckles. “So you teach them, as well?”
Yaku nods. “Kids’ minds are at their peak learning capacity at age three. Something as simple as kanji can propel them into a lot of great places before they even get to school. Most of the kids who choose to sit in on kanji class can read fairly well by the time they’re five.”
“Choose to sit in?”
“All learning activities are optional. I only ask them to sit in on one class when they first start coming here, and if they don’t like it, they can go play instead. Most of them want to stay.”
Kuroo blinks at Yaku, feeling like the guy he had known for three years is an entirely different person. “You’re really good at this, Yaku. I hope you know that.” He glances over at Kenma, who is peeking around the doorway to the kanji class, his face rapt. “I’ve never seen him want to do anything but video games before.”
Yaku gives Kenma a fond glance. “He seems like an observant kid. I have a feeling he’ll pick up a lot of stuff by watching. Eventually, he’ll learn a lot of social mannerisms by seeing other children interact, and it will help ease his social anxiety. We just need to help him where we can until he gets there.”
“Marry me,” Kuroo blurts, jokingly yet maybe a little in earnest. When Yaku sputters, Kuroo slings an arm around Yaku’s shoulders. “The fastest way to a man’s heart is through his totally awesome kid.”
His face beet red, Yaku coughs, “I appreciate it, but I’m taken, Kuroo-san.” When Kuroo quirks a brow, Yaku directs his gaze towards the kanji room and the wild-haired guy teaching the kids. “That’s Nishinoya. He’s my assistant and, um . . . kind of sort of my boyfriend.”
Kuroo grins and nudges Yaku’s ribs with his elbow. “He looks like a keeper. The kids love him.”
“Yeah,” Yaku croons with a silly grin on his face. “Completely an accident, but it’s funny how things all work out.”
Nodding, Kuroo says, “Like running into you literally a half hour after pulling Kenma out of his previous day care.”
Yaku nods before saying, “I hope he likes it here. It’s good to see you, and I’d love to see Kenma happy.”
“That makes both of us.”
Kuroo fills out registration paperwork and is very surprised to find that Yaku’s rates are actually lower than Sunny Hills. When he comments on this, Yaku says, “I don’t aim to make a lot of money. I make enough to pay off student loans, for me to live off of, and to pay Nishinoya and the janitor. A lot of the parents give me deals on supplies if they work in a certain industry, as well as refer new clients. In turn, I keep their business cards on the pin board by the door. It just . . . works out.”
Armed with the knowledge that Yaku is, indeed, a saint among humans, Kuroo leaves with a smile before he accidentally leaks out another marriage proposal.
At the end of his work day, Kuroo can’t wait to get to Cats and Crows to see Kenma again. Or, rather, see what progress Yaku has made with Kenma. He walks into the building and nearly trips over a black-haired boy pushing around a nerf volleyball with a tiny redhead boy. They’re arguing over who rolls the ball straighter, while Nishinoya leans against the doorframe with a grin. Another dark-haired boy stands next to Nishinoya, and Kuroo swears the kid has the most judgmental eyes he’s ever seen on a four year old.
“Kuroo-san!” Nishinoya cries, startling the two boys with the ball. “Here to pick up Kenma-chan?”
He gives Nishinoya a cursory nod before kneeling next to the two boys on the floor. “You two really like volleyball, huh?”
Both of them bob their heads enthusiastically. Kuroo smiles and says, “Did you know that Yaku-san and I played volleyball together when we were in school?” Their eyes widen. “Yeah, and you know why that is? It’s because big or small, volleyball is about heart and working with your team to be the best you can be. Keep practicing together, and you two might grow up to be the best volleyball players in Japan.”
“Ossu,” both boys chime as Kuroo pats them both on the head and leaves to find Kenma.
Kenma is in the kanji room alone, rifling through one of the bowls of kanji balls. He holds up each one and says its name before setting it next to him and repeating the process with another ball.
Kuroo watches his son plow through this newfound knowledge. Kenma misses a fair few, but the sheer number of correct ones amazes Kuroo, especially for the first day. He waits until Kenma finishes the bowl before he sits down next to him.
“Time to go, Kenma.” Kenma’s face falls a little bit, which Kuroo takes as a very good sign. “Did you have a good time today?”
With a solemn nod, Kenma says, “Yaku-san let me have my snack with him. He told me how he picked the name Cats and Crows.”
Hoping Kenma will tell him the same story later, Kuroo asks the question that burned in his mind all day at work. “So, would you like to come back here tomorrow?”
Kenma gives him a small smile, but as far as Kuroo is concerned, it’s a broad grin complete with a cheerful marching band playing in the background. “I thought you might. Now, let’s go say bye to Yaku-san and we’ll go home and have dinner.”
“Can we have apple pie?”
When Kuroo sees the ease on his son’s face, something that has been sorely lacking but is so precious for him to behold, he answers, “Of course, we can have apple pie.”
They don’t say goodbye to Yaku; instead, it’s “see you tomorrow,” and Kuroo can’t help but think that everything is going to be all right at Cats and Crows.