Work Text:
“...How many is he missing?”
Iwaizumi Hajime put down his training stats, a chill running down his spine. In the living room, just one narrow corridor away, his husband was on the phone with their son’s teacher. He didn’t know what they were talking about, but he knew from Akaashi’s tone that it was serious.
In stark contrast to him was his seven-year-old son, Hideo, sitting across from him at the kitchen table and happily eating a bowl of grapes for his afterschool snack. He looked a little too nonchalant considering that his father was probably talking about him.
“Ah, I had no idea. I’ll make sure to discuss it with him, thank you. I’m sorry for the trouble.” Akaashi promptly ended the call and walked back into the kitchen.
Iwaizumi quickly glanced at Hideo before focusing on Akaashi. “What was she calling about, Kei?” he asked calmly, patting down the seat next to him.
“She tells me Hideo hasn’t been doing his writing compositions.” His voice was scarily calm, striking fear into both the little boy and his father. “He’s missing six of them.”
“Hideo,” Iwaizumi scolded. “Why aren’t you doing your writing homework?”
“I don’t know…” Hideo mumbled, looking down and crossing his arms. “I don’t want to.”
Akaashi frowned. “Why not?”
The boy huffed angrily and rolled his eyes before pivoting toward Akaashi with a deep pout. “I-I don’t know! I can’t write, tou-chan! Get it?!”
The ensuing silence was deafening to both of the parents. Akaashi merely stared at his son, eyes blown wide. Outbursts like that had no place in his house. He knew Hideo knew that – he had Iwaizumi’s temper, after all. But he also knew the issue here was much bigger than just respect. How was he to address this?
Iwaizumi, meanwhile, wasn’t having any of it. “Iwaizumi Hideo, you don’t talk to your tou-chan that way.”
“Sakai-sensei talks to me like that all the time,” Hideo barked in response, tightening his arms over his chest. “I can say whatever I want.”
Ah.
Now that Akaashi was hearing the reason his son was acting up so much, it made sense. Hideo was supposed to come home with a writing assignment every week, each time with a different prompt. The issue of him not liking writing was very familiar to him; he’d been on the phone with Hideo’s teacher enough times to know that. Hideo was very smart for his age, she said, but why were his compositions so unfocused and messy? There had been a time when Akaashi helped him with his assignments, but it was news to him that he’d been hiding the last few.
Hideo’s teacher always said that smart kids didn’t need to ask for help. Smart kids could write better than him. If they did ask for help, they just weren’t thinking for themselves.
No matter what, Hideo had no excuse because Akaashi Keiji was his father – was there really any hope left if one was bad at writing while being the son of the most famous editor in Japan?
As far as Akaashi could see, Hideo had endured too much of that same negative talk.
Iwaizumi opened his mouth to reprimand his child further, but Akaashi stopped him with a soft look. He let out a shaky sigh, closing his eyes for a moment to ground himself. Unbeknownst to him, Hideo was tensing up. All his seven years of life flashed before his eyes as he tried to push back his guesses for what his consequence would be. “I… I know I’m in trouble,” he squeaked timidly, curling up to shield himself a bit. His parents never hit him, but his teacher always made him feel like she would.
“Don’t worry, Hideo, you aren’t in trouble,” Akaashi assured. He leaned forward and put his hand on his shoulder. “I think you know that your tou-san and I are disappointed that you hid this from us.”
“Mhm... I know,” Hideo mumbled, his bottom lip quivering as he nodded. His eyes hesitantly met his father’s, still searching them. He knew he was mad. He knew he was in for a bad punishment any minute. With both of his fathers staring at him, he felt stupid. Ashamed. “S-sorry, Tou-chan,” he sniffed. He quickly moved his head down as he felt tears streaming down his face - not that he was trying to cry or even wanted to, but because he’d felt so scared for the past six weeks, and the thought of his parents finding out that their stupid son couldn’t write well… he couldn’t help it. He bit down on his bottom lip, trying to keep himself from making noise, and didn’t wipe away his tears. His parents wouldn’t be bothered by him crying if he didn’t let them see, right? That was what his teacher always said.
“Oh dear.” Akaashi turned over his shoulder and exchanged a look of concern with Iwaizumi. When he mouthed ‘he’s crying’ as discreetly as he could, Iwaizumi stood up and moved closer to his husband and son. It hurt both of them to think that they were villains in their baby’s mind when they just wanted to care for him. “It’s alright. Try to calm down.” Hideo launched into his father’s chest, burying his face in the fabric of his sweater as he tried to settle himself.
After taking a few minutes, he calmed down and sat up, looking at his parents with a puffy face and tear-stained cheeks.
“Do you feel better now, baby?” Iwaizumi asked.
“Mhm… y-you still love me, right…?”
Akaashi gently cupped his son’s face with crinkled brows, starting to thumb away his tears. “Dear heart,” he cooed in the warmest tone he could muster. “Of course we do. It was very wrong of you to lie, but your tou-san and I still love you very much.”
Hideo whimpered and held on tightly to Akaashi, as if he doubted that answer a little. “Mm… did Sakai-sensei say anything else?” he asked in a small voice, burying his face against his tou-chan’s sleeve.
“Yes, she did. She said you wouldn’t have to make up the compositions you didn’t do if you do well on this one.” Akaashi looked down at his son and rubbed his back slowly. “I think that’s a good deal. Should we take it?”
The little boy let out a sniff, the wave of his wrongdoing washing over him. He was silent for a moment, almost looking indecisive. “...Yeah. I guess. Will you help me, tou-chan?”
Akaashi smiled down at him, nodding slowly. “Yes, of course. Go get some paper and pencils, and we can work on it together.”
Hideo sighed quietly before getting out of his chair. “Okay.”
Akaashi sat at the table and sighed as he watched him trudge out to the living room, folding his hands together over the wood as he waited for his return. Sakai-sensei wasn’t entirely wrong; she probably just told everyone that they had brilliant parents to make them do their work, even if that wasn’t completely true.
Unfortunately for him and Hideo, it was. Akaashi had no idea what it was like to struggle in school, much less with writing, but that didn’t mean he didn’t feel bad for him – especially since he’d mostly struggled alone thus far, aside from the few assignments he’d actually asked for help on. Hideo was his baby, after all, and the last thing he’d want to be for him was some standard that was impossible to meet.
But here they were.
He put his hands together against his forehead, squeezing his eyes shut.
“Sakai, that grunch,” Iwaizumi grumbled.
Akaashi thought there was no truer way to put it. “I know,” he sighed, opening his eyes and squinting into space.
“The nerve she had to compare him to you, too!”
“Mhm. I just hope he lets me help him while I have the chance.”
“Hey, he will. You’re smart, he’s smart, and at least you’re not like that… that…”
Akaashi raised a brow. “Hajime?”
Iwaizumi huffed. Of course Akaashi was too proper to cuss out their kid’s teacher. “I know, Kei.” He pushed his husband closer to his body and kissed him on the cheek. “You know what I’m trying to say, though, right? God, if I had a teacher like you, I don’t think I’d fail anything.”
Though his lips remained unamused and straight, Akaashi managed a loving eye-roll at that last comment. “Thank you… but I think that may just be you, Haji.”
–
It took five minutes before they finally heard the quiet pitter-patter of little feet hesitantly coming back into the kitchen. Hideo was standing forlornly in the border of the kitchen and the living room with his eyes trained toward the ground.
“Did you bring everything?” Akaashi asked.
Hideo nodded, reluctantly waddling back to the table with his school composition notebook and his “lucky” penguin pencil. He knew he’d need luck; maybe the pencil would help him feel brave.
He leapt forward into Akaashi’s lap when he finally reached the table, nearing another fit of tears. “Tou-chan... I don’t want to do this,” he whined.
The sight broke Akaashi’s heart. Even if he’d never had this experience, his precious son’s face told him everything he needed to know about how it felt. He reached down to rub Hideo’s back as he calculated what to say. “I know. It’s alright to feel that way. I didn’t like writing when I was your age either. Neither did your tou-san. Right, Hajime?” Iwaizumi nodded.
“That’s different!” Hideo protested, pouting up at his father and sniffling quietly. “Sakai-sensai says you’re smart... but... but... I’m stupid.”
Akaashi opened his mouth to speak, but his husband beat him to it. Iwaizumi sighed deeply. “You’re not stupid, Hideo.”
“How would you know?” The young boy sniveled.
“It doesn’t matter what Sakai-sensei says about your writing. You’re good at a lot of other things. Like reading. You love reading. You got your tou-chan’s brain for that.”
“So?”
“So, there are a lot of kids in your class who aren’t that good at reading, right?”
“Yeah…”
“And you read the best in your class, right?”
“...Yeah.”
“Exactly.” Iwaizumi grinned. “Everyone is good at some things, but not that good at other stuff. Like, you’re good at reading, but some kids aren’t. But they’ll learn someday. Someday, you’ll know how to write too. I promise, your tou-chan and I will make sure you do,” he chuckled. “Do you get what I’m saying?”
“But I have to know now,” Hideo protested. “Sakai-sensei said.”
“That’s bullsh-” Iwaizumi began. Akaashi cut him off with a glare. “I mean, that’s wrong. Listen to me. People learn all the time, and that’s how they get better at stuff. You’re just still learning how to write. It’s okay.” He shrugged. “I don’t want to hear you say you’re stupid, okay?”
Hideo wiped his nose with his sleeve. “Okay.”
“Okay. Now sit down with your tou-chan and get your homework done.” As if on cue, Akaashi patted the seat next to him, which Hideo took reluctantly before halfheartedly throwing the notebook and pencil on the kitchen table.
“What do you have to write about for your assignment?” Akaashi asked, eyeing the pencils and paper on the kitchen table. His son seemed to be looking anywhere but there, interestingly enough.
“My name,” Hideo grumbled.
Akaashi’s brows furrowed, confused. “Your name…?” he questioned slowly.
“Mhm. I have to write the story of my name, tou-chan,” the boy repeated with a nod, giving his father a pointed look as if he were stupid. “How come my name is Hideo?”
“Well, because-” Akaashi took a minute to understand, putting it all together in his head. It wasn't even half a second before his utterly confused look relaxed. He got it: the answer to that very question was what Hideo needed to write. He and his husband exchanged a knowing smile from across the table as both of them came to that realization. This would be a very easy assignment; they could talk about the meaning of their baby’s name forever. They’d been meaning to tell him for that long, too. Maybe now was their time.
Their memory of the night they settled on Hideo’s name began with a walk to Oikawa’s apartment. Oikawa often invited them over for dinner while Iwaizumi was pregnant, but he remembered this walk in particular like it was yesterday. He could still feel Akaashi’s hand in his, and the cool breeze of that summer night against his face as they walked (or, in Iwaizumi’s case, waddled). It was definitely a bittersweet occasion; on one hand, he wanted to savor this last dinner as much as possible since he was due in a week or so and knew this wouldn’t happen as often after their son was born.
On the other hand, though, Hideo had grown from a formless bean into a whole little person in a matter of months, and feeling him fluttering around excited Iwaizumi, if not also making him somewhat nervous about actually bringing him into the world.
No one was more nervous than Akaashi, though. Seeing his husband look the slightest bit uncomfortable always set him a little on edge, and he made him swear to tell him if he was hurting at all.
“Kei, relax,” Iwaizumi snorted. “It’s dinner with Shittykawa. We’re here every week, and you tell me the same thing every single time.”
“And every time, I mean it just as much as the last,” Akaashi quipped back.
Iwaizumi rolled his eyes affectionately, rubbing his thumb over the side of Akaashi’s hand. “Yeah, yeah, I know you do,” he mumbled as he opened the door. “Don’t worry, I’ll tell you if anyth-”
“Took you two long enough! SURPRISE!” An ever-familiar voice teased.
It was Oikawa, joined by a whole group of both Akaashi and Iwaizumi’s teammates from high school. Iwaizumi turned bright red and squeezed closer to Akaashi, nearly hiding behind him. Normally he would’ve felt like he was overreacting, but his emotions were cranked up to the maximum at the moment, which was something he couldn’t really control.
“W-what the hell’s all this for?”
“It’s for you and the baby, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa helped. “It was Kei-chan’s idea.”
Iwaizumi had felt hot tears sting his eyes as he looked over the group, standing motionless. All the guys who were close to himself or his husband were before his very eyes, wanting nothing more than to share in the excitement about their son.
Scared by the reaction, Akaashi babbled to save himself.
“We can leave if it’s too much,” he whispered. “I know you didn’t want to do anything too elaborate, but I thought it’d be nice to celebrate somehow.”
Iwaizumi felt a few stray tears spill down his cheeks and turned to hug his husband as tightly as his stomach would allow.
“Kei, thank you… I want to stay. It’s perfect.”
Akaashi merely smiled and helped Iwaizumi sit down at the table, utterly relieved that he’d taken the surprise well. Iwaizumi leaned against his husband’s shoulder and made conversation with him and their friends while Oikawa got to work in the kitchen. They shared guesses about how big the baby was going to be, which of his fathers he’d look more like, and even who his favorite uncle would be.
Iwaizumi hissed at the harsh kick he felt to his stomach, one aspect of pregnancy he could’ve done without. Akaashi let him cling to his arm while their friends repeatedly asked if he was alright in a panic.
Once Hideo calmed down, Iwaizumi let out a soft exhale to decompress and catch his breath. “I’ve been dealing with this for months, guys. I’m good.” He started to rub his hand over his stomach, looking completely fond of his son even despite how hard he’d kicked him. “But one thing’s for sure–I’d better be his favorite dad.”
Akaashi simply laughed and nodded. He knew not to contest that.
(Akaashi had grown very wise over the course of his husband’s pregnancy.)
After they finished eating, Bokuto brought out a small box with little slips of paper in it. Some of them were full-size and had short notes written on them, but others had clearly been torn off of a bigger piece of something else – maybe poster board or cardstock. The one commonality they all shared, however, was that they had boy names on them.
Iwaizumi smiled dreamily as he reminisced about the feeling of holding that box in his hand. Some of the suggestions stood out in his memory.
Koutarou Junior – why.
Haru – maybe?
Keitai – good.
Anything but Wakatoshi – he knew who came up with that one.
Daisuke, Itsuki, Yukio – all of them did have nice meanings.
Then, he noticed one handwriting style that stood out from all the others.
He recognized it right away. This hand argued via sticky-note on the bathroom mirror after long fights and left affirmations next to the coffee machine when Iwaizumi had to get up early for work.
Hideo.
That was the one. He was set with the name just as quickly as he’d fallen in love with the person who suggested it; Iwaizumi Hideo just felt right.
Iwaizumi looked over at his son, watching to see how the story was received. Hideo was writing slowly but steadily, with Akaashi pointing out words that were misspelled. “So that was how I picked out your name.”
Hideo’s eyes went wide. He dropped his pencil and darted around to face Akaashi with a sense of pure wonder filling his face. “Tou-chan, is that true?”
Akaashi only smiled and nodded, then lifted his finger off the paper to ruffle his son’s soft curls. “Yes. If your tou-san says it’s true, then it is absolutely true.”
“Thank you,” Iwaizumi replied, laughing lightly.
“Tou-san, keep going.” Hideo tugged on Iwaizumi’s arm, pulling both of them out of their little moment. “How did you know?”
“I can tell you that,” Akaashi cut in. “Your name is from a story I read to your tou-san, long before you were born. A handsome young prince was turned into an ugly princess because of a wicked spell. No one wanted to marry him as the princess, so he ran away and hid in a small village. Then, one day, a poor archer boy named Hideo lost an arrow in the village. He looked everywhere for it, but he found the prince instead. And as soon as he saw his face, something strange happened – he fell in love.”
Hideo looked up from his notebook, utterly confused. “But the prince was ugly.”
“Hideo didn’t care,” Akaashi replied. “He still loved him, and he believed the truth that he was really meant to be a prince.”
The boy seemed content with that answer. “Did the prince fall in love with Hideo-chan too?”
“Eventually, but nobody knows if they fell in love at the same-”
“No, I know the story too,” Iwaizumi cut in. He turned his head to face Hideo and nodded. “He did, baby. The prince loved him so much.”
“Ah… my mistake, he did,” Akaashi chuckled. “People said that all their troubles flew away when they saw each other, because they both cared for each other so much. And when they gave each other their love, the curse melted away.” He smiled as he remembered the first time he’d told this story to Iwaizumi. What he’d said was still clear as a bell in his mind.
“And I think I know how it was, Iwaizumi-san, because that young archer was like me – just a boy in love with a man for exactly how he is.”
When he looked up, he was greeted with Iwaizumi beaming at him with a face flushed as pink as the first cherry blossoms of spring, and the beginnings of happy tears glimmering in his eyes – not too far a departure from his first reaction back in high school. Hearing Akaashi tell the story again brought back memories of the first time he’d heard it, of being a boy with a boyfriend who he knew didn’t fully understand what it was like to identify the way he did, but did believe without a doubt that he was just who he was supposed to be. He couldn’t help but get a little emotional.
And when Akaashi brought the name back up some seven years ago, it came at the perfect time. It was only fitting that they named the culmination of their love after someone so significant back when it was still developing, back when they were still awkward high schoolers with no awareness of the concept of love beyond feeling it for each other.
Iwaizumi smiled, sniffed, and wiped his eyes with all the fondness in the world in his eyes. “Yeah. That story, right there, is how I knew what to name you.”
Hideo whipped his head over to Akaashi with a gasp when he saw the tears.
“Tou-san is crying!” he said, as if Iwaizumi couldn’t hear him. He dug a grape out of his bowl and held it out to his teary father as a sort of peace offering. “Don’t be sad, tou-san.”
Iwaizumi chuckled down at his son and put the grape back in its place. “It’s okay, Hideo, I’m not sad. It’s a different kind of crying,” he was happy to reassure.
“Oh. Okay.” Hideo reached up and made grabby hands for his father, who in turn leaned his head down so the little boy could wipe his tears. “Well, tou-san, you have to stop crying, ‘cause… ‘cause I’m done.”
Iwaizumi sniffled the rest of his tears away while Akaashi glanced at the notebook. “You’re finished?” he asked, his voice gentle.
“Mhm.”
“Can I see–” Akaashi began, but Hideo cut him off.
“I want to read it. Don’t look. Just listen.”
Akaashi and Iwaizumi exchanged a glance before laughing softly. “We will.”
With his fathers’ approval, Hideo’s tiny shoulders rose and fell as he took a breath, then began to read back his account of the story of his name.
–
Two days passed, and it was finally Friday, the best day of the week, both in Iwaizumi and Hideo’s opinion. As per usual for the end of a week, Sakai-sensei told the class to pack up their backpacks and make sure they had everything they needed.
Hideo’s backpack was nearing full. The inside was packed to the rafters with his homework folder, pencils and erasers, and storybooks that he’d borrowed from the classroom library. Just like usual. The accumulation of notes he’d passed with his friends during class this week littered the front pocket. Also like usual.
But this week, one thing was different. This week, for the very first time, he wanted to take his composition notebook home with him too.
When the bell rang, he tucked his notebook under his arm and walked out with the rest of his classmates to greet the small crowd of parents. Hideo spotted his fathers in the group and ran out of line to get to them.
“Hi, baby.” Iwaizumi beamed. “How was school?”
Hideo didn’t answer with words immediately, instead holding up his composition notebook to his chest. “I want to show you something.”
Iwaizumi’s brows furrowed. “...What’s this? Your notebook?”
“Mhm.” He looked down and proudly opened it up. He pressed his thumb against the lower right corner, letting go when he found the right page. “Look, tou-san. It’s where I wrote the story of my name.” He made a quick shuffling motion with his feet, turning slightly to face Akaashi as well. “You too, tou-chan, look.”
Akaashi and Iwaizumi crouched down to look at the page, and sure enough, Sakai-sensei had pressed a sticker on the space above the first line. Next to it, two number fives separated by a slash glistened in bright red pen, impossible to miss – five out of five, a perfect score.
“Pfft… what’d I tell you, Sakai-sensei doesn’t know what she’s talking about,” Iwaizumi said, ruffling his son’s hair with a wide grin. “I’m so proud of you, kid.”
Akaashi leaned down and kissed the underside of Hideo’s chin, not even caring which parents or kids saw. “So am I. We knew you could do it.”
With a wide smile, Hideo hugged one of each of his dad’s legs, attempting to join them together by hugging as tightly as he could.
“What’s he doing?” Iwaizumi whispered to his husband.
Akaashi, however, had taken the hint. He was wearing a fond smile of his own as he made a hugging motion with his arm, moving in closer to Hideo. When his husband’s confused expression turned into a red face and lips sloped up into a grin, Akaashi knew he understood. Without much more delay, they both turned, arms wide, to hug their son with all the pride that they could contain. Both sides of his face fit in perfectly with the curves of each of his fathers’ bodies, which he buried his face in with love for them and pride in himself.
Even when he eventually pulled away, he kept his grip on the fabric of each of his dads’ pant legs, refusing to really let go. “I’m ready to go home,” he said. “Can I go on your back, tou-chan?”
Akaashi opened his arms and nodded. “Yes, you earned it today. Come up, Hideo.”
Hideo thanked his father with a small smile, excitedly climbing onto his back and settling in, wrapping his arms around his neck. He watched their little neighborhood go by through half-lidded eyes as his fathers walked down the sidewalk toward their home.
“Tou-chan,” he asked in a hushed whisper about halfway through the walk, “do you think I can do this again…?”
“Do what again?” Akaashi asked softly, rubbing his son’s back.
“Get a good grade on my writing homework,” Hideo replied in a drifting voice. “What if… it was a fluke?”
“I don’t think it was,” Akaashi whispered. “Your tou-san and I didn’t do much. We just told you our story, and you only spelled a few words wrong. You’re very smart, Hideo. You just have a little more to learn, and that’s perfectly alright.”
“Mm… I liked it when you and tou-san helped me. So… can you help me from now on?”
Akaashi chuckled. “Of course.”
Hideo tightened the hold of his arm around Akaashi’s neck, keeping a waning grip on his notebook with the other. Iwaizumi took the notebook out of his hand, met with no resistance. “Okay, tou-chan.” With a hum, he fell asleep just like that on his father’s back.
“I told you you’d be one hell of a helper,” Iwaizumi teased, resting his head on his husband’s shoulder as they turned into their small neighborhood.
“I suppose,” Akaashi conceded playfully, “but I know my best strategy will only ever work on you.”
“You haven’t used it since I was in school,” Iwaizumi said. “You never know. It might be outdated. Maybe you should try it out. Make sure it’s still… effective.”
Akaashi rolled his eyes lovingly. He knew this particular trick was something that would never go out of date, and so did his husband. Smiling wryly, he turned and slotted his own lips against Iwaizumi’s, pecking them with the utmost sweetness right in front of the gate leading to their house.
Iwaizumi’s face quickly warmed into a dark blush. “Y-yeah… It’s still good,” he sputtered. “C’mon. Let’s go home.”
A different conversation was going on in Hideo’s mind. He saw Sakai-sensei telling him he shouldn’t have asked his parents for help, that someone who was Akaashi Keiji’s son should be able to think for himself.
This time, he saw himself as the faithful archer boy from the story Akaashi had told him. This time, even though the Sakai-sensei of his dream was towering over him, casting a dark and foreboding shadow underneath, he wasn’t scared. No, he retorted, he liked learning from his tou-chan and tou-san, and he could ask them for help. He scrunched up his face and shook his head slowly, both in his dream and into his tou-chan’s shoulder. He was an archer, after all, and archers weren’t scared of anything! Not cursed ugly princesses, and not teachers. Nothing. He didn’t need to be.
He would learn to write well, he reminded his dream-self, and he had his tou-chan’s brain to boot. He was going to be okay.