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“Dad, I’m gay.”
Hidaka Seiya blinks. He blinks again. His son is still standing in front of him, beet-red and unable to meet his gaze. “Okay? You’ve told me this already, Hocchan.”
Hokuto splutters, and the blush already covering his cheeks spreads to his neck and the tips of his ears. “W-well, I was seven! I didn’t think you remembered! Or took me seriously!”
Seiya raises an eyebrow. “Didn’t you also kiss a boy during the play your mother and I attended in your first year?”
Hokuto splutters again. It’s a little adorable, how flustered he is. “He was playing the part of a woman, and it was a stage kiss! How could I have assumed you—” He coughs into his fist, his flustered expression still incredibly evident despite his obvious attempts to hide it. Idly, Seiya wonders if Hokuto’s improved his acting at all since the last performance he watched, or if Hokuto’s embarrassment is simply more powerful than the acting prowess he’s carefully obtained over the years.
“Anyways, that’s beside the point,” Hokuto continues. “I wanted to ask if I could invite my partners over to meet you and Mother.”
Seiya’s other eyebrow joins the one that’s already creeping up towards his hairline. “Your… partners. Plural.” Hokuto nods. “I wasn’t even aware you had one.”
Hokuto suddenly can’t meet his father’s eyes. “I don’t have to tell you every single thing that happens in my life, do I? And I’m telling you now, at least. So that they can meet you properly.”
Seiya hums, lacing his fingers together before resting his chin atop them. “And if I were to ask your grandmother if you told her about your partners before today…”
“Leave Grandmother out of this!” Hokuto says, voice harsh and defensive. He immediately realizes his mistake and looks everywhere in the room but at Seiya, which, well. What did he expect when he provoked his beloved Hocchan? “So, um — would you like to meet them?”
“Of course,” Seiya says, noting Hokuto’s initial surprise, before he manages to school his expression into one a little less disbelieving and a little more relieved. “You know your friends— and partners— are always welcome here, Hocchan.”
Hokuto, bless his little heart, is trying very hard to hide how excited he is by that statement and — in Seiya’s honest, Super Idol™ opinion — failing miserably. “A-ah. I, uh, I appreciate it. Dad.”
Seiya grins. “Now, if I try to guess who your partners are before Friday, you won’t get mad, right?”
“ Daaad—”
-
“You want us to meet your parents?”
Makoto is the first to break the silence after Hokuto says, with that same uncertain-yet-determined, borderline flustered voice he uses whenever he’s not sure what the response to his outburst will be, that his family will be having dinner on Friday and that he would (Hokuto’s words, not Mao’s) ‘appreciate it if you three would accompany me to dinner, in order to properly introduce you to my family’.
(Hokuto’s so proper, so much of the time. Mao might now be the president of the student council, but some of the less-than-proper parts of him want to see what it’ll take to get Hokuto to be less than proper.) (Luckily for Mao, Subaru usually doesn’t have nearly as many concerns about propriety. Or personal space. Or—)
Subaru hums, fingers tapping restlessly against the floor of the practice room. “We already met your dad, though?”
No matter how many times it happens, or how easy it is to provoke him, Mao doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of the way Hokuto looks when he gets flustered, cheeks tinged pink and brows furrowed adorably. Said expression rises to Hokuto’s face now as he stammers out, “The time he appeared without telling me beforehand right before the Autumn Live doesn’t count , for the record!”
Mao shrugs from his own spot on the practice room floor. “I don’t know, Anzu and I spent a pretty long time chatting with him while explaining our situation. And he seemed pretty familiar with Subaru already, once we all got to the hotel.”
Hokuto — who stood up to make this announcement for reasons beyond Mao’s understanding; it’s not like they don’t hold their official Trickstar meetings sprawled across the practice room floor, not unlike how they’re sprawled right now — buries his face in his hands. Makoto, who is the closest to him, gently reaches up to grab Hokuto’s arm and tug him until he lets himself collapse to the floor, face still buried in his hands. “Every part of this endeavour has been miserable and embarrassing beyond reason,” Hokuto says, voice muffled. “If I didn’t love you all so much I would leave this practice room and never come back.”
Subaru gasps, and Mao’s not fully sure if it’s to be dramatic or genuine. “And betray Trickstar? Again? Hokke, how could you be so cruel—”
“I thought the DDD stuff was water under the bridge!”
“Do I really have to be the one to tell you that wounds leave scars? And your betrayal was a knife in my heart…”
Makoto finally succeeds in prying Hokuto’s hands from his face, lacing one of Hokuto’s hands in his. “You’re going to give him a heart attack, Subaru,” Makoto says. “And then how will we re-meet Hokuto’s dad?”
“Not you, too,” Hokuto groans, falling backwards to lie down on the floor and dragging a very surprised Makoto with him.
Mao laughs, and Hokuto turns his head to the side to meet his gaze. “If you’re all like this during dinner, I think my heart is going to give out,” Hokuto says, voice incredibly serious, and Mao has to hold back another bout of laughter.
Subaru is uncharacteristically quiet for a few moments, which is always a recipe for disaster. Sure enough, he practically leaps across the floor to grab Hokuto by the shoulders, (which looks pretty strange, if Mao’s being honest, since Hokuto’s already lying on the floor, and now Subaru is halfway straddling him and pinning his shoulders to the ground as Hokuto looks more and more like he’s going to combust with every passing second,) eyes sparkling as he asks, “Does this mean we get to meet Mama Hokke , too?”
Hokuto groans. Subaru cheers. Makoto presses a soft kiss to Hokuto’s temple, and the smile on Mao’s face widens as he laughs, heart full enough to burst.
-
“Wow, Hokke! You didn’t tell us your mom is so beautiful—!”
Hokuto blinks. He opens his mouth, like he’s going to say something, and then he closes it and blinks again. He looks a bit like a fish, Mao muses.
Hokuto’s mother laughs, the corner of her eyes crinkling as her lips spread in a wide grin. “Oh, you’re too kind!”
Mao has to admit, Hokuto’s mother is beautiful. Her smiles are as bright and shining as Subaru’s, the bubbly lilt of her voice just as effective in drawing your eyes to her, and her alone. After meeting Hidaka Seiya for the first time, Mao had assumed that Hokuto got his composure and propriety from his mother, since his effusive, smooth-as-silk father was much less reserved than Hokuto. Mao realizes now that he could not have been more wrong.
(Hokuto’s reserved, proper nature being his own doing makes it even more charming, if anything. Mao makes a mental note to tease him about it later.)
Hokuto had told them to dress nicely, which then lead to what doubles as both a Trickstar group chat for official work and the group chat where Subaru sends dog pics and Makoto sends Twitter memes and Mao sends — reactions to the first two things, mostly, devolving into a two hour conversation about what constitutes “dressing nicely” and whether the Hidakas will kill them if they all just show up in their school uniforms. (The consensus, to Hokuto’s slight chagrin, was that the dinner was close enough to the end of school hours that they could get away with school uniforms. Hokuto did make Subaru and Mao promise to not wear the same well-worn hoodies they always wore under their blazers, though, so Mao has on a nicer cardigan in a similar shade to his favourite hoodie and Subaru forewent the hoodie entirely.) However, Mao hadn’t been prepared for what Hokuto’s parents deemed proper attire for meeting their son’s three boyfriends.
Hokuto’s father, much like the first time Mao met him, is wearing a simple black suit, the top button of his white shirt undone and doing much to transform what would otherwise look like an overly formal, stuffy outfit into that of a super-idol, just approachable enough that Mao feels like he knows him and just put together enough that Mao feels drab in comparison. His mother is wearing a simple dress, in a blue that nicely complements her eyes — it’s so simple that it shouldn’t look as elegant as it does, but the matching jewelry she’s paired it with somehow elevate the look entirely, giving it an element of whimsy that seem to match her personality perfectly.
Subaru and Hokuto’s mother start talking properly, and Mao feels almost dizzy trying to process the back-and-forth of their conversation. Makoto, on his other side, is making stilted conversation with Seiya, and Mao would swoop in to rescue him — he looks two seconds from passing out, and his voice is shaking so much more than it should be — if he wasn’t certain that Seiya would control the flow of the conversation no matter how much he tried to butt in.
“Mother,” Hokuto says, voice just loud enough to cut effectively cut into both conversations and saving Makoto while also getting Subaru’s attention, “you forgot to introduce yourself properly.”
Hokuto’s mother gasps. “Oh, did I? Silly me! I’m Hidaka Masami, feel free to call me Masami-san! It can get quite confusing with this many Hidakas in the household, can’t it?” Her introduction is just as overwhelming at the rest of her, and it’s only the fact that Mao walked into this house deadset on making a good impression that lets him respond at all.
He barely manages to get out a, “It’s very nice to meet you, Masami-san, I—” before Masami is cutting him off again with a sparkling grin.
“You must be Isara-kun!” she says, and then gestures to Makoto with a similarly effusive, “and Yuuki-kun, so cute! Your glasses give you such a special charm, you know?”
Makoto looks frozen in place, eyes as wide as dinner plates.
“Right,” Hokuto says, cutting into what could have easily built into an awkward silence, “why don’t you show them around the house?”
Masami and Seiya both brighten at that, somehow effortlessly slipping into the roles of gracious tour guide along gracious host, and Mao tugs Makoto along lightly to un-stick him from the Hidakas’ foyer floor, watching with some amusement as Subaru asks question after question to Hokuto’s parents. The answers all seem to be embarrassing Hokuto, if the expression on Hokuto’s face and the red building in the tips of his ears and cheeks are any indication.
“You good?” Mao asks as Makoto and him follow the group, trailing just slightly enough behind that he can talk to Makoto under his breath without the rest of the group overhearing.
“Yeah,” Makoto replies, and his voice is less shaky. “They’re, um. They’re a lot .”
Mao snickers quietly. He grabs Makoto’s hand in his, entwining their fingers and squeezing lightly. “Yeah,” he agrees. “They’re both really beautiful, though. I see where Hokuto gets his good looks from.”
Makoto lets out a shaky breath that’s halfway to a laugh, and Mao smiles. “I think Hokuto would object to that statement,” he says, and Mao’s smile only widens.
“C’mon, have you seen them? Maybe I went after the wrong Hidaka,” Mao murmurs into Makoto’s ear as they follow the Hidakas around the house, Seiya launching into yet another enthusiastic story about a young Hokuto, and Hokuto predictably telling his father to please stop talking about his child self.
Makoto makes a choked noise that’s halfway between a laugh and a sob. “Are you talking about his dad or his mom?” he whispers furiously, expression somewhere between horrified and amused.
Mao grins. “Both?”
Seiya takes them up the stairs, and Hokuto falls back from his position at his father’s side to keep pace with Mao and Makoto. “If I overhear you making another joke about dating my parents,” Hokuto hisses, “I’m breaking up with you during dinner, my desire for everything to go smoothly be damned.”
Mao barely manages to choke down his laughter, Makoto not faring much better if the way his face is steadily turning red is any indicator. “Your parents,” Mao says, trying his absolute best to keep a straight face (and failing miserably, he’s sure), “are a bisexual’s dream.”
Hokuto briefly looks like he’s considering murder as a valid solution to his problems.
-
“So,” Hokuto says. “Dinner went… well.”
Currently, all four of them are curled up on Hokuto’s bed. Hokuto has a double bed, which means that four people is a tight-but-doable squeeze. Hokuto is somewhere in the middle of the pile, one arm tucked underneath Makoto’s neck in order to hold him closer, his hand a comforting weight and warmth around Makoto’s shoulder. Mao is lying between Makoto’s legs, his head resting comfortably on Makoto’s chest and back pressed against Makoto’s torso. Subaru keeps switching where he’s sitting every two seconds, because he’s Subaru and can’t seem to stop moving for long enough to cuddle properly, but mostly he’s going back and forth between lying on top of Hokuto the way Mao is lying on Makoto (which makes Hokuto complain that Subaru’s making it hard for him to breathe) and rolling off of Hokuto to attempt to spoon him (he’s nearly fallen off the bed three times already).
“You sound like you don’t believe that,” Mao says dryly, and Hokuto splutters.
“Do you want me to list everything that went wrong?” Hokuto says, voice just flustered enough that there’s no real bite to the words.
Subaru shifts his position and nearly falls off the bed again , saved only by Mao and Hokuto both reaching out a hand to grab Subaru and haul him back up. Subaru seems to give up on trying to spoon Hokuto, instead wriggling until he’s mirroring Mao’s position but flipped, his cheek pressed flat to Hokuto’s chest and arms splayed outwards. One of his arms falls against Mao’s chest, and Mao reaches a hand up to tangle his fingers with Subaru’s. “C’mon, Hokke,” Subaru complains, voice only slightly muffled by the way he’s laying, “it didn’t go badly! You’re just a meanie.”
Hokuto lets out a soft huff of air that might be a laugh, and Makoto tucks his head into the crook of Hokuto’s neck, pressing a soft kiss to the junction of his neck and shoulder. “Subaru kicked me under the table,” Hokuto says, and he lifts the arm that isn’t trapped by the collective power of the other three to start counting on his fingers, “and every time Mao made a joke I was worried he was going to hit on one of my parents. Which they would have played along with, so that’s the real crime. Makoto was so nervous that he knocked three pieces of silverware and his own glasses onto the floor.”
Makoto makes an offended noise. “He’s not wrong,” Mao says.
“Your family is just so,” Makoto mumbles, “so…” He trails off, because there really isn’t a single word that encapsulates how overwhelming it can feel to be in the same room as all three Hidakas — between Seiya’s perfect idol presence, Masami’s beauty and energy levels to rival Subaru, and Hokuto’s… Hokuto’s everything , being in the same room as them feels like drowning, just the slightest bit. “You can’t blame me.”
Hokuto, by way of response, cranes his neck at what has to be an uncomfortable angle to press a kiss to Makoto’s forehead. “That was less bad than Subaru kicking me,” he acquiesces, and now it’s Subaru’s turn to make an offended noise. The offended noise turns into bickering, as it so often does between those two, and Mao tips his head backwards (which sort of digs into Makoto’s sternum uncomfortably, but it lets him look into Mao’s green, green eyes, so it’s fine) to meet Makoto’s gaze, a half-smile and amused expressions shared between them.
“But it wasn’t bad , right?” Makoto asks, if only to halt Subaru and Hokuto before someone gets thrown bodily off the bed.
Hokuto pauses. “No,” he says finally. The hand he was using to count falls to Subaru’s back, rubbing in small circles. “It wasn’t bad. Thank you guys for— for agreeing to come to dinner.”
They all go silent for a moment, and Makoto can’t focus on anything but the places in where his skin meets all of theirs — the warmth of Hokuto’s arm around his shoulders and the smooth, pale skin of his neck, the dip of his collarbones under his slightly-unbuttoned school shirt; Mao’s weight, almost like a blanket, the way one of his hands rests near Makoto’s knee and brushes against it every so often, sending flutters of nerves through him; Subaru, who’s somehow managed to tangle his legs with Makoto’s in an almost impossible way, the impossible heat of him bleeding through their school clothes and making up for how Subaru is otherwise touching Makoto the least, at the moment. He loves them all a lot, more than he could probably say, a comfortable heat spreading in his chest.
“Do you,” Hokuto says, and Makoto can feel the way his shoulders tense slightly, so he drops his head and presses a kiss to Hokuto’s sculpted collarbones, which makes Hokuto’s breath hitch in his throat in a most beautiful way, “do you want to meet my grandmother? The next time I go visit?”
Understanding shoots through Makoto like a rocket, the ricocheting sparks from a firework. “Yes,” he says, resolute, and his voice is joined in chorus by Mao and Subaru, just as immediate and just as determined.
Hokuto flushes, which Makoto can only really see because he flushes so deeply it travels into his neck. Red’s a good colour on him , Makoto absently thinks. “Okay,” Hokuto says. “Okay. I love you guys.”
“We love you,” Makoto replies, and because he’s the only one close enough to do it comfortably, he lifts his head just slightly and stretches his neck until his lips are pressed against Hokuto’s. Once, twice, three times, all soft and sweet.
Hokuto blinks down at him, cheeks dusted light pink. “Three?” Hokuto says, and Makoto smiles.
“For Subaru and Mao,” he explains. Subaru crows that it’s unfair Makoto got to kiss Hokke three times, even if once was for him, and the carefully constructed equilibrium of cuddles they constructed shatters as Subaru leaps up to press his own lips against Hokuto, nearly kneeing Makoto in the side. And then Hokuto leans down to let Mao kiss him directly as well, and their cuddle pile falls thoroughly apart, until Subaru’s nearly falling off of the bed again and Makoto’s got someone’s elbow in his ribs and ended up sandwiched between Mao and Hokuto’s bodies.
“I’m excited to meet your grandmother,” Makoto says to Hokuto, voice barely more than a breath.
Hokuto smiles, pleased and flushed and beautiful, so beautiful. “I can’t wait to introduce you,” he says. “The most important people in my life meeting. I can’t wait.”
Makoto kisses him again, then. He can’t wait, either.