Work Text:
It’s 7:34 PM when Giyuu finally gets their son down from the top of the couch.
The living room is a battlefield: scattered blocks, a toy firetruck flipped over like a crime scene, tiny socks abandoned everywhere like breadcrumbs. Giyuu has been in pajama pants since 4 PM, hair loose, soft and slightly messy. Her shirt has one mystery stain (likely yogurt).
Their 2-year-old, Natsu, with Sanemi’s messy white hair and Giyuu’s deep blue eyes, is currently holding a stuffed bunny upside down, babbling, “Babababa!!!” proudly like he has discovered language itself.
Giyuu sighs, but her eyes are soft. The kind of soft that exists only for family.
She taps her phone’s screen, and it rings.
Sanemi (Call)
It connects. Sanemi’s face fills the screen, dim hotel room behind him. He looks tired but brightens instantly.
“Hey,” he says, voice rough with travel and long work hours.
Giyuu’s voice is quiet, warm. “Hey. Did you eat yet?”
“No— WAIT—”
Because Natsu launched onto Giyuu’s lap like a space missile.
“PAPA!!! PAPAAAAA!!!”
He grabs the phone with both tiny hands, squishes his cheek against the screen, and starts making happy dinosaur noises.
Sanemi laughs. Loud. Real. The kind of laugh he only has at home.
“Oi! I see you, little gremlin! You miss me?”
Natsu gasps like it’s an emotional revelation.
Then holds up his bunny to the camera like presenting tribute to a king.
“BUN!” he declares, very seriously.
Giyuu murmurs, “Yes, that is bun,” like she has said this thirty times today.
Then Natsu climbs — literally climbs — onto Giyuu’s chest, trying to get closer to the phone, reaching with both chubby hands like he could pull his father out of the screen.
He presses his cheek against the camera and makes a long, affectionate squeak.
Sanemi melts. His voice softens in that way it only does for them.
“Yeah, I remember bun. I bought him bun. Smart kid.”
Natsu babbles proudly in victory.
Then — without warning —
smack
A very wet kiss is planted on the screen.
The audio crackles.
Sanemi freezes, breath catching.
“… I’m gonna cry,” he mutters.
Giyuu rubs Natsu’s back with slow, gentle circles.
“He’s been waiting for your call since after his nap.”
Natsu suddenly turns and hugs Giyuu tightly, wrapping little arms around her neck, bunny squished between them.
He buries his face in her collarbone, babbling softer now:
“Ma…ma… ma…”
Giyuu kisses the top of his hair automatically.
Quiet. Tender. Home.
Sanemi watches like he might dissolve.
“How was today?” he asks.
Giyuu adjusts the phone, her cheek leaning against Natsu’s head.
“Busy. He watched the frog cartoon five times. Then tried to feed the blueberries to the cat.”
Sanemi snorts. “Did the cat survive?”
“The cat stared at me like I should apologize to him.”
“That cat has been through it.”
Natsu lifts his head, looks at the phone — and suddenly reaches his hand out to Sanemi, tiny fingers curling as though trying to hold his father’s face.
“Papa,” he whispers, sleepy-soft.
Sanemi swallows hard.
“…Hey. Hey, buddy. I’m right here.”
Natsu’s eyes droop.
He crawls down into Giyuu’s lap and lays across her, cheek resting over her heart, bunny still tucked under his arm.
His breaths go slow. Warm. Trusting.
Giyuu shifts, supporting him securely — mother’s hands sure and gentle.
She looks at Sanemi again, and this time there is no wall behind her calm.
Just truth. Quiet and clear.
“We miss you,” she says, softly.
Sanemi’s expression cracks just slightly — the kind of break that happens when something tender hits deep.
“I miss you, too.” he breathes.
Natsu mumbles in his half-sleep—
“Love… Papa…”
Sanemi’s voice gentles to something fragile, aching.
“I love you too,” he whispers. “I love you both so much.”
Giyuu lowers her cheek to Natsu’s hair and watches Sanemi’s face on the screen like she’s holding it carefully in her palms.
Her voice is barely above a whisper, but steady and full:
“We love you, Sanemi. Come home safe.”
Sanemi closes his eyes for a moment, as if grounding himself in that warmth.
“I will,” he promises — not rushed, not dramatic.
Sure. Steady. Real.
And for a while, they stay like that: no talking,
just breathing together,
as if distance has no power over love at all.
*
It’s late in the afternoon.
The sky outside is pale and cloudy.
The house is quiet except for the soft, hiccuping cries of a tired toddler.
Natsu is in Giyuu’s arms, his small fists clutching the fabric of her shirt, face blotchy from crying.
He’s been saying the same thing over and over:
“Papa… Papa… Papa…”
Not loud — just broken little whimpers.
Giyuu rocks him gently, her hand rubbing his back in slow circles.
Her voice is warm and patient, even though she looks tired — eyes soft with worry.
“Okay. Let’s call Papa again,” she murmurs.
She taps the screen with one hand while holding him.
Sanemi (Video Call)
It connects after a moment.
Sanemi appears — hair a little messy, shadows under his eyes, hotel lamp on behind him.
He looks like he’s been working all day.
But when he hears that tiny crying sound — every muscle in him goes still.
“…Natsu?”
Natsu recognizes the voice instantly.
His head pops up from Giyuu’s shoulder, eyes swollen and wet —
and he just reaches.
Both arms stretched out toward the screen like he could pull Sanemi through it.
“Papa… Papa… Papa…”
His voice cracks on the last one.
Sanemi’s whole expression crumbles — not in panic, but in heartbreak.
He brings the phone closer, almost instinctively leaning forward.
“Hey— hey— I’m here, buddy. I’m right here. Look at me.”
His voice is soft, warm, gentle in a way only they ever hear.
Natsu puts his hand on the screen, tiny palm pressed flat.
Like he’s trying to touch him.
Giyuu adjusts her hold, letting him lean closer.
“He’s been asking for you since he woke up,” she says quietly.
She’s calm, but her eyes are sad in that soft, aching way.
Sanemi breathes in slowly, holding steady even though his own chest hurts.
“I’m sorry, sunbeam,” he says, voice thick. “I know. I know you miss me.”
Natsu hiccups.
He tries to kiss the screen but it comes out as a shaky little “mwah” halfway buried in sniffles.
And that’s the moment Sanemi has to look away for a second — eyes wet, jaw tight, like he’s anchoring himself.
“I’m coming home soon,” he promises. Not rushed. Not empty. Real.
“I swear. I will. As soon as I can.”
Natsu whimpers softly — the tears slowing — because he heard him.
Giyuu rocks him a little, bringing his forehead back to rest on her shoulder.
“He just misses you,” she murmurs.
Her voice is gentle — not blaming, just truth.
Sanemi gives a tiny nod, his throat visibly tight.
Then, softer — teasing, hopeful —
“Hey, what should Papa bring you, huh? What do you want for a souvenir?”
Natsu’s crying turns to soft little breaths — worn out.
His fingers curl in Giyuu’s shirt as he calms.
He murmurs one last, tiny, sleepy:
“…Papa…”
Sanemi smiles, small and aching. He huffs a tiny, watery laugh. “Good answer.”
“Sleep, little buddy. I’ll be home soon.”
Giyuu smiles, brushing a lock of white hair from their son’s forehead.
“We love you,” she says softly.
Sanemi’s eyes warm, even through exhaustion.
“I love you,” he answers — steady and full.
And the call ends softly.
No abruptness.
Just love lingering like a warm light.