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The man in the living room is not Papa.
Eri's heart thumps. Clutching the wall, she pokes her head out. Soft calico fur tickles her calves as Bond slinks between her feet for a look too.
Papa — No, Fake Papa yanks off the sofa cushions and searches the lining. Messy blonde hair fluffs up, reminding Eri as always of a lion's mane. Familiar ruby red eyes narrow.
He looks like Papa.
"Where the fuck did that bastard hide the tape?" Fake Papa curses aloud. He scowls and gets on his knees to look underneath the sofa.
He sounds like Papa.
Eri and Bond exchange a look.
But he is definitely not Papa.
Eri bites her lips. Hackles already up, Bond growls and prowls forward.
I knew I should've just turned down this job. Grifting — Eri's forehead scrunches. Grifting? What does that mean? — rich widows is where the real easy money is. Why do they want a stupid tape anyway?
Fake Papa gets back up on his feet. He turns around.
Eri jolts. Ducking back, she flattens herself against the wall. Did he see? Heart hammering, she holds her breath.
Is it blackmail material? Huh. That old man did look like a rich CEO. Maybe even a politician. And this guy is a psychiatrist or something, right? If the tape is blackmail, then . . . Excitement flashes through his thoughts, but it does not feel nice. It burns dark and mean, not star-bright like it does in Papa's and Daddy's minds. Ooh baby, I hit the jackpot then —
Eri blocks the rest. She doesn’t want to hear any more. Fake Papa's mind is not like Papa's at all. Papa's thoughts run rough and warm, with his really cool spy plans and feelings sometimes firing in quick, explosive bursts. It reminds her of fireworks.
Reading Papa's mind is fun. It's like watching Bondman in action but even cooler because Papa is a real life spy.
Fake Papa's mind just feels wrong.
That isn’t all either.
Clinging to the wall, she inches closer and peers out.
Everything is very messy. Ransacked, Eri thinks, remembering the word from last week's episode of Spy Wars. Things lie all over the floor. Drawers and cupboards are open. Cushions tumble down.
Eri tilts her head. It looks like a giant sneezed through the apartment, and everything flew up in the air.
Papa is never messy.
Eri pauses.
Except for his hair.
Daddy is not really messy either, but Papa is the one who remembers where everything is. He always finds her cute hair clips and stickers — they keep disappearing from her hands like magic — and he always knows where Daddy's shoes and briefcase are.
Daddy forgets things a lot. Papa says it is because Daddy's pretty head is still in the clouds when he wakes up. Eri is not really sure what he means — Daddy does not have wings, and they do not live in the sky — but it must be a funny thing because Daddy's cheeks turn pink whenever Papa says it, and Papa grins when he notices.
Fake Papa stalks into the kitchen. Muttering under his breath, he yanks open the drawers.
Eri frowns.
The biggest giveaway is that there is nothing on the table. Papa always has breakfast ready by the time she or Daddy wakes up. He is either reading the newspaper while he waits for them or finishing Daddy’s bento box (and sometimes hers too when she begs him to because the school cafeteria never cuts her bunny apple slices or makes panda onigiri like Papa will).
Where is Papa anyway? Papa would never let bad guys into the apartment. A bad feeling wriggles up. Her heart pounds, and she clutches her chest. Is he on another spy mission? Or is Papa . . . Her gaze flits back to Fake Papa rummaging through the cabinets.
Is he hurt and caught by the bad guys?
Her chest tightens, an invisible hand squeezing her heart. No, no, no. She shakes her head. That can’t be. Papa is super strong. Even stronger than Bondman. He is the best spy ever. He saves the world all the time. He wouldn’t lose to bad guys.
Eri clenches her hand, fingers digging into her shirt. In any case, Fake Papa is a bad person. If Papa is not here, then it is up to her to defend headquarters — um, the apartment. She should go get Daddy. Eri nods. Daddy is strong too. He will take care of it.
She runs towards Daddy’s room. Wait. Her feet skid to a stop. She swings her head back to the living room. Fake Papa looks like Papa right now. Will Daddy believe her when she says it’s not him? Eri bites her lips. Oh, no. She squirms, rocking to and fro on her feet. What should she do? What should she do? She can’t tell him that she read Fake Papa’s mind.
White walls and stern faces flash through her memory.
She can’t tell anyone that she can read minds.
Eri swallows. But they need to stop Fake Papa. She will just wake Daddy and —
“Mnn?!” Her feet suddenly lift off the ground, and the hallway tilts up. Eri widens her eyes. What? Who? Her heart slams against her ribcage. She jerks her head back only to see familiar red and white locks. A gentle arm cradles her against a solid chest, and the soothing scent of Daddy’s shampoo drifts up.
Oh.
“Good morning,” Daddy mumbles into her hair. His blue and grey eyes flutter open, sleepy gaze finding hers, before his eyelids droop down again. He hugs her again, and Eri instinctively circles her arms around his neck, squeezing back.
It is hard for Daddy to wake up in the morning. He gets very cuddly, hugging the first person — or cat — he sees. Sometimes she finds him curling up with Bond on the sofa, too sleepy to make it to the dining room. Other times, she finds him clinging onto Papa’s back as he cooks, looking exactly like the koala they saw at the zoo last month. And sometimes, just like right now, it’s her.
Eri relaxes. She turns her cheek into the crook of his neck. Walking, Daddy immediately nuzzles into her hair, his cheek rubbing the top of her head like Bond does sometimes to her leg. Eri’s lips twitch up. A warm fuzziness curls through her, nestling right where her heart beats. Hugs with Daddy — and Papa — are very nice. She feels warm and safe in their arms the same way she does wrapped up in her favorite blanket.
“Katsuki?” Daddy murmurs, voice still rough with sleep. He sounds confused. He stops.
Eri looks up. Oh. They are in the dining room. She pauses. Oh. Oh. Her eyes widen. Fake Papa is still here. Her head snaps up, nearly hitting Daddy’s jaw. Before she can warn him, Daddy tilts his head and tugs the hem of Fake Papa’s shirt from behind.
Fake Papa recoils. Whirling around, he slaps Daddy’s hand away and presses back against the kitchen counter.
Daddy stills. Fake Papa gapes, his wide eyes darting from Daddy to her. The smack rings in Eri’s ears and echoes in the silence.
No one says a word.
Eri stares down at Daddy’s hand still frozen in the air. There is a rapidly reddening mark. The more she looks at it, the more the same throbbing red tinges her vision. Her fingers fist into Daddy’s shirt.
Papa would never hit Daddy. Ever.
Daddy slowly lowers his hand, his body stiff like the statue at school. Eri lifts her gaze up to his face. The corner of his lips tilt down, and his hair falls down over his eyes, hiding them from her. He looks hurt.
An unhappy sound escapes her. Indignant, she turns accusing eyes onto Fake Papa.
“S-Sorry. You, uh, surprised me, coming in like that,” Fake Papa says. Shit, he has a husband and a kid? Eri hears. Those idiots never even told me that he was gay. Keep calm. Gotta play it off, play it cool. He takes a step forward. Clearing his throat, he scratches his cheek. “I didn’t mean to hit you. My bad. Does it hurt? Let me see, sugar.”
Eri blinks. Sugar? Papa has a bunch of nicknames for Daddy, but he never calls him that. Daddy’s arms twitch, and she can feel the surprise running through Daddy too.
Without warning, Fake Papa takes Daddy’s hand and kisses it.
Daddy blinks. Eri frowns.
Fake Papa smiles, but it fits wrong on his stolen face. She frowns harder. Her hand twitches with the sudden urge to bat his hand away from Daddy. Fake Papa can’t steal him away. Daddy is not his ; he is Papa’s and hers.
A yowl suddenly pierces the air like a war cry. Orange, white, and black fur blurs straight towards Fake Papa. Hissing, Bond lunges. His claws sink into Fake Papa’s leg.
Fake Papa lets out a pained cry. He stumbles back. “What the — Get off me!”
Bond leaps onto his back with another hiss. Green eyes narrow to slits. Bond claws again viciously. Flexing his paws, Bond grips tighter and swipes at Fake Papa’s neck. "Meow!"
Fake Papa curses aloud. He digs his fingers roughly into Bond’s fur and tries to peel him off. “Get off me, you stupid cat! That fucking hurts!” He crashes back against the cupboards. His hand catches Bond’s tail and yanks hard. Bond makes an awful, pained sound.
“Wait, don’t do that,” Daddy says, sounding alarmed. He steps forward. “You’ll injure him.”
“Hurry up and get this cat off my fucking face!”
“Bond!” Eri jumps down, slipping out of Daddy’s arms. She runs. Fake Papa’s hand flexes as if to yank Bond’s tail again. “No! You’re hurting him!” She steps on his toes and jumps up. Her fingers close around soft fur, and she pries a yowling Bond away. Hugging Bond close to her chest, she runs a shaky hand through Bond’s fur. “Are you okay, Bond?”
“I’m the one who’s not okay!” Fake Papa’s head snaps up in her direction. His eyes flash in anger. “What kind of rabid animal are you keeping?” he snarls. Rage darkens his features.
Eri shrinks back. “He didn’t mean to,” she says, voice small. She hugs Bond tighter.
“Katsuki.” Daddy’s lips thin in a white line. There is a warning note in his voice that Eri has never heard before. “You need to calm down.”
“I’m bleeding!” Fake Papa wipes his neck with the back of his hand and shows them the blood smeared on his skin. “Look at this!” His voice thunders in the air.
Eri flinches. Papa is loud too, but he never raises his voice at her. Not like this. Not even when she failed her spelling test the other day.
Fake Papa’s face distorts in anger. His glare cuts back to her, eyes glinting meanly and lips curling back in another snarl. Fear stabs at her. The memories of unkind hands and disapproving faces ghost through her mind. Trembling, she steps back.
He’s not Papa. He’s not. Eri’s bottom lip quivers. But he has Papa’s face, and he looks mad. Really mad. She shakes harder. He looks like he hates her. Her chest tightens again. It hurts. The back of her eyelids burn, echoing the ache in her chest. Tears well up in her eyes.
She hates him. She hates him for looking like Papa, for doing things Papa would never do. Hot tears roll down her cheeks. Eri sniffles. She catches her trembling lip between her teeth, but the hurt swells up like a balloon, and a sob breaks free.
Blue suddenly crosses in front of her. “Eri.” A hand rests gently on top of her head, familiar and warm. “Go to your room.”
Daddy’s voice is steady and calm, but when she looks up, his eyes are as cold as ice. He does not look away from Fake Papa. He is angry too, she can tell, but not at her.
Eri tugs his sleeve. “He’s — He’s not Papa,” she hiccups out because he needs to know. “He —”
“I know,” Daddy says simply.
She blinks up, startled. He already knows?
Katsuki would never make Eri cry, she hears Daddy think. She can feel his absolute certainty too, the thought unwavering and unbreakable like steel. Determination edges his features just as sharply.
Oh. Of course, he knows. Daddy knows Papa too.
The hot ache in her chest ebbs away, the phantom grip on her heart easing. Tears drying up, she rubs her eyes. She nods. "Okay."
Carrying Bond, she turns around and heads to her room —
And stops mid-way in the hallway because she definitely needs to see Daddy take down Fake Papa. An assassin versus a — a — Eri furrows her brow. What was the word they used in Spy Wars again?
Oh, copycat! Eri nods to herself. Mm. An assassin versus a copycat seems like a very exciting thing that you just can't miss.
Bond makes a disapproving sound. He bats her chin with a paw and nudges her shoulder with his head. "Meow!"
"I won't come any closer," Eri promises, stroking between Bond’s ears. "We'll just watch, Bond." She peeks out.
"N-Not him? What on earth is that kid saying, huh?" Fake Papa stammers, and he does not sound like Papa now. His voice sounds different. It sounds higher, the words a little weird and thick.
Eri tilts her head. An accent?
Daddy’s face hardens.
Fake Papa lets out a nervous laugh that does not go with Papa's face at all. Raising his hands, he inches away and out of the kitchen. "I-I mean, who else would I be? Right?"
Daddy follows. "Indeed." He grabs a pencil from the dining table. “What an excellent question.” In one fluid motion, he pivots, kicking hard. Fake Papa gasps, eyes bulging. He staggers. Daddy wrenches him back by the arm and shoves him face-down on the table. “Answer it,” he says flatly, pinning Fake Papa’s arm behind his back. “Who are you?” Daddy stabs the pencil behind Fake Papa’s ear and drags it up.
Eri watches with wide eyes as the blond spiky wig falls to the ground, and brown curls spring up. The face mask peels off, much like a snake shedding skin. It plops onto the table in a gross, beige clump. She squints. The man has a slightly crooked nose, rounder cheeks, and a slashed off eyebrow.
Oh. Fake Papa’s real face looks nothing like Papa’s.
Daddy’s eyes are pure ice. He presses the sharpened tip of the pencil against the man’s throat. Anger slices his words razor-sharp. “What have you done to my husband?”
The man gulps. “L-Look, man. I — It’s just a job, you know? It’s not personal or anything! I don’t even know where your hubby is, okay?" He thrashes. "Come on, just let me go. Yeah? No harm, no foul, man. Come on. Let me go, damn it!”
Daddy tightens his grip, unyielding. “You made Eri cry,” he says coldly. “It’s unforgivable. And I am taking it personally.” Daddy twists his arm. Fake Papa screams. “Talk. Who are you? What do you want?”
Fake Papa blubbers a long string of nonsensical words.
Should I break a finger? Daddy tilts his head. Or should I take a kidney? People have two. He will be fine with one.
“Ah.” Eri looks down at Bond. They exchange a look before she nods solemnly and backs away. She forgot.
Daddy is very scary sometimes.
“ — I think that should be good,” the policeman says, stroking his chin. His partner nods, flipping her notebook shut. “Thank you for your cooperation. If you have any questions or concerns, please feel free to call the station or me.”
He hands Daddy his card and bows politely.
“Ah. Yes. Thank you,” Daddy answers, taking it. He bows back. Hugging his leg, Eri waves shyly.
The policeman pats her head. “That must have been scary, huh? It's alright. We have that rascal under custody now.”
His partner reaches into her pockets. “Would you like some candy? I have strawberry and chocolate.”
Eri shakes her head. “You’re not supposed to take candy from strangers,” she tells her because the policewoman seems like a nice lady, and Eri does not want to be rude. “That’s what Papa and Daddy always say.”
The policewoman grins. “Very sound advice. How silly of me.”
Her partner lets out a full-belly laugh, his beard shaking and round cheeks dimpling. He looks a bit like Santa. “Oh yes, right you are. You should always listen to your parents,” he says, winking.
Eri fidgets. Did she say something funny? She doesn’t get it.
The policeman ruffles her hair with another laugh. “What a bright, young lady you have for a daughter,” he praises.
Eri flushes. She hides behind Daddy.
Daddy nods. He rubs her back. “I’m very lucky to have her as a daughter,” he says softly.
Eri’s cheeks heat up even hotter. She buries her face fully into Daddy’s shirt and hugs him tight.
She likes that he is her daddy too.
“Hey, Sho,” a very familiar, gruff voice calls out. All eyes turn to the door. It swings open. “There’s a police car outside. Did something happen . . . ?”
Papa stops. The paper grocery bag in his arms sags as his grip falls lax. His eyes rove over the ransacked apartment. They linger on Fake Papa, unconscious and bound in Eri’s jumping rope on the sofa, for a good long moment before he focuses back on them. He stares blankly.
“Papa!” Without thinking, she runs and launches herself at him.
Papa shifts the grocery bag under an arm and catches her easily with the other. In a familiar, practiced motion, he hefts her up.
The ballooning bad feelings in her chest deflate. She winds her arms around him and tucks herself into the crook of his neck. Papa is fine. He is okay, just like she knew he would be. She presses closer, hugging him tightly. His usual scent of burnt sugar wraps around her, pleasant and reassuring, and the sense of safety seeps through her like sun-soaked warmth.
“Ah, you must be the husband!” the policeman greets, walking forward. He bows. Papa returns it stiffly. “Don’t worry," the policeman says. "No one is hurt, and we have the culprit in custody.” He grins and jerks his thumb towards Daddy. “All thanks to your quick thinking husband.”
Daddy shifts on his feet as everyone looks at him. Discomfort crosses his expression. He grips his elbow. “No, I, ah, just happen to know some self-defense. That’s all. It’s because you two came so quickly.”
“Humble too,” the policewoman teases with a smile. She pulls Fake Papa up from the sofa. “We’ve been trying to catch this guy for so long, but he keeps stealing identities one after another. His usual MO is to seduce rich widows and heiresses out of their money.” She shakes her head. “Even the thieves are starting to act like spies.”
Eri freezes. S-Spy? She eyes the police. Do they know? Is Papa’s cover blown?
Papa blinks. “ . . . Right.” He pauses. “Did you say thief?”
“He wanted to steal a tape,” Eri whispers in his ear, remembering how she read Fake Papa’s mind earlier.
Papa frowns. Tape? Don’t tell me this idiot is the one who broke into my office last night. He turns his head, cheek brushing Eri’s hair, and takes a second look at Fake Papa. If it’s because of that politician I took in as a patient, then good. My cover ain’t blown. Operation Strix is still a go. The corners of his mouth tighten though. I fucking told those pencil pushers at HQ, Eri hears him grumble. The hell did they choose a psychiatrist for? Plenty of other jobs out there that ain’t half the headache this one is. I don’t have time to diagnose shitty people and their even shittier personalities.
Eri smiles into his shirt. It’s nice hearing Papa rant again.
“Anyway, have a good day!” The policeman hauls the bound Fake Papa over his shoulder like a sack of rice and marches out the door. His partner waves at Eri and follows. The door slams shut.
Daddy walks up to them. He glances at the grocery bag and moves to take it from Papa. “You went to the store?” he asks, looking inside the bag.
“Yeah. I wanted to make waffles, but we ran out of eggs and flour.”
Eri perks up. “Waffles?” she asks eagerly. “Can you make cat-shaped ones?”
Daddy’s eyes widen. “Can you?” he asks, turning to Papa. They both peer up at Papa.
Papa looks pained. “What’s wrong with normal waffles, huh?” he complains. “They taste exactly the same.” Slipping his shoes off, he walks through the foyer and passes the living room. He scowls at Bond on the coffee table. “In fact, they should taste even better since they're not shaped like the furball over here who keeps shredding all the toilet paper in the house.”
Papa still has not forgiven Bond for that Saturday when he went into the bathroom, and not only was there no toilet paper but there was also no one in the house to get any more.
Eri pouts. “Things taste better when they’re cute,” she argues. Daddy nods in agreement and sets the grocery bag down on the dining table. Papa throws him a deeply exasperated look. She tugs Papa’s sleeve to grab his attention again. “Pretty please, Papa?” she pleads.
Papa clicks his tongue. “What if I draw furballs on the waffles? Is that cute enough for you, brat?”
Eri thinks it over for a moment. Cat faces on waffles are cute too. She nods and holds out her pinkie. “Deal.”
Papa sighs but hooks his pinkie with hers. “Am I cooking or building a menagerie in the kitchen?” he grumbles. He jerks his head to the messy living room. “So what happened? What’s this about a thief?”
Eri exchanges a look with Daddy.
“He pretended to be you,” Daddy starts.
Eri nods and waves her hands. “With your hair and eyes and face and everything!”
Papa blinks. “What —”
“He turned the apartment upside down looking for something. He must have thought you were gone,” Daddy muses.
“But we knew he wasn’t you,” Eri adds. “Right, Daddy?”
Daddy nods. “He was nothing like you,” he says firmly. His lips press together, and a shadow of the anger from earlier darkens his expression.
Papa pauses, eyes flicking to him.
“And Bond attacked him,” Eri continues. She raises her hands and flexes her fingers, mimicking paws and claws. “Like this!”
Daddy nods again. “Cats are very protective of their owners,” he says sagely.
“And then Daddy killed him,” Eri finishes solemnly. She heard the screams echoing through the door.
Papa stares, face completely blank again.
Daddy starts to nod before he jerks with a start. “No. I didn’t kill him,” he protests. “I . . . I neutralized him.” His voice is stilted, his body even more wooden. His eyes shift between them and the sofa. “Like how they taught us in yoga class.”
Daddy is a very bad liar.
Papa raises an eyebrow.
She reaches out and pats Daddy’s head. “It’s okay.”
Daddy’s cheeks redden. He clasps his hands in front of him, thumb running over his knuckle. “I may have broken his arm,” he admits.
Papa opens his mouth, closes it, and then finally rubs his temple. He looks a lot like he did when she studied the whole day with Grandma Rei and Grandpa Enji (much to Daddy’s unhappiness) only to realize that she won’t be tested on French this year.
“Think I need someone to run through that again,” he says finally. And a drink.
Eri pats his head too.
“How did you know he wasn’t me?” Papa asks after they finish retelling the story. He leans back into the sofa and combs his fingers through her hair.
“That’s easy,” Eri mumbles into his leg, cheek pressed against his thigh. Daddy curls up on her other side with Bond in his lap. She likes it, being snug and cuddled between the two of them like this. It sort of feels like one big hug.
She tilts her head up into Papa’s touch. The repeating strokes tingle. It feels nice. This must be what Bond feels like when she scratches him in his favorite spots, and he purrs, always asking for more. “Papa isn’t messy. You know where everything is.” She kicks up her feet and waves her hands in the air. “Even my hair clips and Daddy’s shoes!”
Daddy shifts. He looks embarrassed again. “I don’t always lose my shoes.”
Eri pauses. She thinks for a moment. “Sometimes you lose your socks,” she agrees.
Papa’s eyes glitter with amusement. “You’d lose your pretty head if it wasn’t attached to you, Half-and-Half,” he drawls.
Daddy flushes, and Papa smirks, noticing.
The familiar sight makes Eri beam. “And there was no food on the table when I woke up!”
Papa snorts. “You two are going to starve without me one of these days.”
Eri nods. “Daddy can’t cook.”
The last time he tried to make dinner, Daddy burnt the food, the frying pan, and the ceiling. The sprinklers turned on, raining down on everything and everyone. Bright red trucks came zooming down their street with flashing lights and shrieking sirens.
Papa laughs. His leg shakes, and the sound rumbles into Eri’s ear, thrumming with her heartbeat and warming her from the inside out. A wide grin spreads across his face.
This, Eri thinks, is how Papa is supposed to look like. This is her papa. Fake Papa did not even try to copy him. He —
“Fake Papa was . . . ” She grips Papa’s pants at the memory. “He was scary,” she whispers aloud.
Papa’s fingers still. The grin slips from his face. A broad palm cups the back of her head, reassuring and protective. “Was he?” His expression turns serious.
Out of the corner of her eye, Daddy sits up. Concern creases his face.
Eri fidgets. She feels a bit bad now. She does not want to worry them. Not meeting their eyes, she nods. “Mm.”
“How was he scary, Eri?” Papa asks, voice steady. Not looking away, he waits.
She shrugs, not wanting to answer. She turns her cheek and buries her face into Papa’s leg.
“Eri,” Daddy says softly. His hand finds hers. Papa strokes her forehead. “You can tell us,” Daddy says, thumbing over her palm. “It’s okay.”
“He yelled at us,” Eri blurts out. “Really loud.” She didn’t like that. She liked it less that he looked like Papa while he did it. “And he hurt Bond.” The back of her eyelids suddenly burn again. She bites her lips, upset now. “And he hit Daddy.”
“What.” Papa tenses. His jaw clenches visibly. There is a fierce scowl on his face, and his eyes blaze with anger.
It does not scare her though because she can hear Papa’s thoughts. His fury streaks through, flaring the same burning red of Papa’s eyes, but all of his thoughts revolve around her and Daddy being hurt. Papa is mad, but he is mad for them.
“That bastard hit you?” Papa turns to Daddy. He surveys him, eyes cataloguing any visible injuries and mind whirring through the possible scenarios.
Daddy blinks. “It was — I thought he was you. So I —” Daddy stops again. His gaze flits from Papa to her. His brow dips, expression troubled. He raises his hand. The reddened mark on his skin fades compared to earlier. “He only smacked my hand. It’s not a critical injury.”
Eri frowns. She still does not like it. Fake Papa should not have hit Daddy. Also, she remembers the hurt look on Daddy’s face when Fake Papa slapped his hand away and the sting in her chest when Fake Papa yelled at her.
Sometimes people hurt where no one can see.
Papa’s gaze locks onto Daddy’s hand. He scowls again.
“You should kiss it better, Papa,” she says because it is what Daddy and Papa do when she trips and skins her knee. That always makes her feel better. “Fake Papa tried to do it,” she says unhappily, remembering. She makes a face. “But it won’t work because it’s not you.”
Daddy shakes his head. “I’m alright, Eri. It doesn’t — Katsuki?”
Papa’s palm curves over Daddy’s hand, thumb stroking up the underside of a pale wrist. Daddy’s eyes widen. Eri watches on in fascination. Papa slowly turns Daddy’s hand over and rubs the faded slap mark. The pinkness whitens under the soft caress of his thumb, and the color seemingly reappears on Daddy’s face instead, blushing his cheeks and the tips of his ears.
Papa laces their fingers together and brings their clasped hands to his lips. He brushes a gentle kiss over the mark. “Does it hurt?” he asks, voice low and eyes on Daddy.
Daddy swallows. His eyes dart from their linked hands to Papa. He shakes his head. “Not anymore,” he says quietly.
Papa nods before he blinks rapidly. Shit, Eri hears him curse. He lets go abruptly, dropping Daddy’s hand like a hot sweet potato. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have grabbed your hand without asking,” he says brusquely. “Didn’t mean to —”
“I don’t mind when it’s you,” Daddy blurts out. His mouth snaps shut right after though, like he did not mean to give that away.
Papa’s eyes widen ever so slightly. His head jerks up. He clears his throat. “Yeah?”
Daddy bites his lips. “Yes.”
Their gazes meet. They both turn away at the same time, looking off in opposite directions.
Daddy presses a hand to his reddened face, fingers over his mouth. Papa rubs the back of his neck, his ears tinged pink.
Eri’s gaze swings back and forth between them. Wait. This is like episode thirty of Spy Wars. She sits up. Hands pressed to her cheeks, she asks excitedly, “Are Daddy and Papa flirting again?”
Papa and Daddy immediately whip their heads back.
“No!”
“No.”
Eri giggles into her hands. Papa is not a very good liar either.
As if he can read her mind, Papa stands up and strides to the kitchen. “Alright, that’s it. I’m making waffles before brunch turns into dinner.”
Eri bounces up on her feet. “Can I help with the batter?”
Papa grunts. “Wear your apron,” he says, already taking out the ingredients. He nudges the stepping stool over to her with his foot.
“What should I do?” Daddy asks, tilting his head.
Eri blinks. “Um.” What can Daddy do? She pauses, utterly stumped.
Papa cocks an eyebrow. “What? You wanna invite the firefighters up for brunch too?” he drawls. A teasing smirk curves his lips. “The weather report said blue, sunny skies, Half-and-Half. Didn’t mention anythin’ about a sudden shower.”
“Katsuki,” Daddy complains. “It was only one time.”
Oh! She knows! Tugging Daddy’s sleeve, Eri beams up at him. “You can make the orange juice! So you don’t have to use the stove, Daddy.”
Papa’s smirk widens. “Yeah, no fire there.”
“Eri, I can use the stove,” Daddy protests.
She pauses. She reaches up on tiptoe and pats his arm. “It’s okay. I can’t use it either.”
Daddy’s face falls. He looks a bit betrayed for some reason.
Papa snickers behind them.
Eri blinks. “What’s so funny, Papa?”
Daddy sighs. He shakes his head. “Nothing. I’ll make the orange juice.”
Eri stares, bewildered. Bond pads over to her and headbutts her leg. She leans down to pet him and frowns.
Daddy and Papa can be so strange sometimes.
The waffles are perfectly golden and fluffy. They taste even yummier because Papa keeps his promise and draws cat whiskers and eyes on them with the chocolate syrup.
Daddy’s orange juice is sweeter than Eri expects, but she likes it anyway. She makes sure to tell him that because Papa keeps teasing Daddy today, and if Daddy gets any redder, then he might get a fever.
She also catches Papa sneaking Bond extra treats, so maybe he has forgiven Bond for the toilet paper.
Eri smiles.
It is a very good day.