Chapter Text
Baths are nice.
Don’t worry—he’s already had his cold shower after his casual evening 5K in the neighborhood park. Checking the box of being a great and diligent athlete during the off-season, he’s permitted some respite in warm waters.
His phone rings.
He pulls his head out from under the water, bubbles on his cheeks and hair. He flicks water off his hand and reaches over the tub’s edge.
“Ah, shit!” he murmurs as he grabs it, only to drop it on the tile. Droplets hitting the floor, air getting cold—all while the phone rings. He grumbles and tries again. Now in his grasp, the phone stops ringing as his fingers slip. He unlocks it and calls back.
“Oh, good,” Yoichi sighs when the call connects. “Thought you were sleeping.”
Michael checks the time. “It’s not even 10. Hey,” he realizes, “why are you up so early?”
“Ah,” he groans. “To catch you, partially,” he confesses. “Actually, I’ve had a bit of a sleepless night.”
He wrinkles his brow, turning on the speakerphone and setting the phone down beside him. “You should have called sooner.”
“I was busy thinking.”
“Dear God, help us all…”
“Shut up,” Yoichi protests. Not like he’s banterfully annoyed, but like he’s been depleted.
Michael sits up, sliding around in the tub. Once steady, he asks, “What’s wrong? Was the funeral okay?”
He hums, yawning slightly. “My connecting flight was delayed. Almost cancelled, but thankfully, we managed.”
“Oh.” Michael’s head falls back. “Sorry about that.”
“No, it’s fine. I knew I’d be cutting it close anyway. Mom and Dad said it was…as good as good can be, I guess…”
“Yeah?”
“Mm.” A long pause. (Wait any longer, and Michael will start turning into a prune.) “Say, my parents aren’t getting any younger.”
“Don’t do that, Yoichi,” he warns.
“What the fuck? I’m not talking about them dying! Listen to me.”
“What is it? Sure, they’re getting older—what of it?”
“Well, it turns out my mom’s cousin had a child.”
Michael’s heart falls.
“Not even two yet. And, now that her cousin and his wife are gone, the kid’s all alone.”
“The neighbor?” Michael asks. “The one who found them and put together the funeral?”
“Elderly, recently became a widower. At least temporarily, we’ll all go back to Saitama since we’re the next of kin.”
His fingers drum the tub’s edge. “There’s something you’re not saying.”
“Put two-and-two together, will you, Mihya?” he exclaims, stress, grief, and sleep-deprived frustration blurring together.
“Tell me,” he demands. “I need to know what I can do.”
“I want to look after the kid.”
His heart stutters.
“I don’t know if the mom has family or what else, and I have better resources than my parents do to do this. But I don’t know for how long,” he admits.
Michael wipes his face. “Then, you’re talking about raising a child, Yoichi.”
He can imagine his husband puffing his chest at the ostensible taunt. “Yeah, I am!”
“What happens when the off-season’s over? They’ll want you back as soon as possible, so you probably won’t even get the full two months to stay in Japan. What then? Have you thought about that, Yoichi?”
“I have! I really, really fucking have! You think I’ve been up all night jacking off?” He drops into a whisper-yell when he realizes his increasing volume and acerbic tone. “Mihya, this is all new for me. For my parents, too. I really don’t have all the answers, but I can’t just walk away—this is, like, my last family.”
(Getting Yoichi to beg is fun, but not like this, not about this.) He sighs. Exasperated, he clarifies, “Two years old?”
“The neighbor said a year and two months or something. Eikō,” Yoichi says.
“Huh. That’s the name?”
“Yeah. Sweet kid. A little distraught and confused, but you know…”
“Sure,” he agrees. “Okay. I still need to wrap up a few things for us before I start my off-season, so the earliest I can be in Saitama is in a few days.”
“Okay,” Yoichi says warily. “Okay!” he repeats with more vigor.
“Great. Then, I’ll see you then.”
“Yup.”
“Oh, and good morning, Yoichi.”
He chuckles, sleepy but awake. “Thanks. Good night, Mihya.” He kisses the receiver, then hangs up.
Michael leaves the tub, dripping wet and far from satisfied.
A kid. (That’s one way to ruin his warm, calming bath.) He’s supposed to raise a kid? Well, Yoichi didn’t say that in so many words. If anything, he seemed convinced that he’d be doing this alone. Which is so stupid to Michael that he can’t help his temper, water droplets evaporating from his skin.
Like Hell he’d leave his husband to raise a kid on his own. Poor, stupid Yoichi’d probably fail, anyway. (Michael would certainly fail.)
How’s he supposed to help raise a kid? Michael doesn’t know the first thing about good parenting. Sure, some of their teammates became dads, but, as long as it never affected their football, Michael didn’t spend an extra second thinking about it. Yoichi’s parents are good, though. But God forbid these sweet, older people end up parenting this kid because Michael can’t get his shit together. (God, he already knows what his dad’s issue was.)
Half-dried off and still nude, he wanders into the living room. Eiko. A quick search says it’s a feminine name meaning prosperous, glorious, or long-lived child. Maybe this name is right if the little girl dodged the collapsing building that killed her parents.
God, what a shit show!
Still, he expedites days of concluding deals and signing documents to get on a plane before the weekend’s even begun.
He’s totting two massive suitcases and two bags over his shoulders into a cab, speaking broken Japanese to the driver to get him to Yoichi’s family home. He’s forgotten that he sticks out in this sea of dark-haired, dark-eyed people, earning him his driver’s excitable ranting; he shuts up and endures it.
For a picture and a signed hanky, he gets enthusiastic luggage service right up to the door and a hospitable, but unwanted, discount for the ride upon his arrival.
He knocks on the door several times. It’s only early June, but standing in direct sunlight after a long flight sucks, and no one is answering. Exhaustion begets irritation, so he raps on his in-laws’ door a little more, a little faster, and louder.
“Michael!” Issei grins. “Come in, come in!” He opens the door wider, reaching for one of the suitcases.
“Thank you, Issei,” he manages, stepping into a comfortably warm house.
In the living area and dining room, there are stacks and mounds of things—blankets, clothes, papers, books. Anything and everything. Following Issei into the kitchen, there’s a different kind of mess, the inevitable one where you’re thirty minutes into making lunch for the family.
“How was the flight, Michael?”
“Oh, you know…” he says noncommittally. “Long.” He traps a yawn in his mouth with a tight fist.
“It was a direct flight?”
He hums.
“Then, you should rest. I know it’s messy here—“ Issei gestures widely as he stirs a pan of vegetables, “—but Yoichi’s room should be slightly cleaner. Or you can always lie down in our room for a nap.”
Michael shakes his head. “I don’t think I can nap right now. I fell asleep on the car ride here.”
“At least sit down,” Issei encourages.
Instead, he counters, “Is there something I can do?”
His father-in-law seriously ponders the question, eyes glancing over the state of his house. He waves smoke rising from the pan away from his face. “You know, I think Yoichi has it the hardest right now.”
“Huh? Where is he?”
“He’s trying to get the baby to take a nap. Just as you came in, he went to the backyard, hoping the fresh air would settle him.”
“I’ll start on the laundry,” he suggests instead, already moving the luggage against the wall to pick up the stray clothing.
“You’re a guest!” Issei counters. “You can’t possibly!”
“When I’m done with the first load, then we can eat,” he unilaterally decides. “I look forward to your lunch, tousan.”
He sighs good-naturedly. “It’s good to have you back, Michael.”
He might think it’s good to be back, too, but it’s under less than ideal circumstances. Technically, the family is still in their mourning period. After Yoichi’s maternal grandmother passed only a couple of years earlier, these were the last of Yoichi’s family. Except, of course, for the baby that the young couple left behind.
Said baby is wailing in the backyard, unsatisfied with something—the air, the clothes, the smell, the touch. Michael can’t guess what as he ducks his head away from the window to the yard and loads the easing machine.
Yoichi is finally done with whatever it was he was doing at the same time Iyo returns home. Having picked up some things from a friend whose grandson was too old for these clothes and toys, her living area is much cleaner, ready for all these new items.
“Oh, Mikkun!” Iyo exclaims, hands outstretched. “Wow, what a kind son I have!” She kisses his cheek and pats his arms. “Oh, I’m so happy you’re here!” she squeals.
“Hey, Mom,” Yoichi starts, nudging into Michael’s space, “this is my husband, you know.”
“Yes, I know, you married a great man, but you do live with him, Yocchan. Share him for a moment, won’t you?” She grins into Michael’s face. “It’s going to be so good to have you around!”
“I’m glad to be here, Iyo.”
She pats his cheek once more and turns to finish Issei with the table preparation.
Yoichi turns slightly, shoulder digging into Michael’s arm. “Doing alright?” he whispers in German.
He rests his arm over his back, squeezing his shoulder lightly. He mumbles, “Long flight.”
Yoichi hums. “Thanks for being here.”
Michael kisses his eye, then smooths his ruffled hair. Always, he hopes to silently convey.
“Come on, boys,” Issei calls. “Let’s eat before it gets cold.”
“Ah, thanks, Dad.” Yoichi sits, deftly picking up his chopsticks, matching the itadakimasu his parents say. He begins shoveling food in at record speeds.
Michael, stomach slow to return to regular altitudes, stares appalled at his husband. With how vigorously he’s eating, Yoichi’s certainly eating enough for the two of them. “Slowly, Yoichi,” he chides, hand on his back.
Iyo and Issei eat at a moderate pace, slightly fast, but nothing quite like Yoichi. Rather than worrying about the food going cold, there must be something else.
“Agh!” Yoichi groans all of a sudden, discordantly harmonizing with a baby’s wailing. “Coming, coming…!” he yells, bumping into the table as he pushes his chair back and strides away.
“You should eat,” Iyo reminds Michael. “The little one’s been a grumpy thing since we’ve had him.” She sighs, hand on her cheek. “He makes it tough to even have uninterrupted meals once or twice a day.”
Michael frowns but complies. His stomach isn’t settled, but it’s nothing compared to his mind. (This baby has way more power than it knows—scary…)
Yoichi returns with it in his arms, fussy but tired.
“Here, I’ll take him,” Issei says, setting down his chopsticks and stretching out his arms.
The baby groans.
“Oh, it’s just Ojiichan,” Yoichi reassures it.
Issei smiles. “Hi, baby!” he coos. “Jiiji has you, I promise.”
Michael blinks. “Fourteen months?”
Iyo nods.
(It’s bigger than Michael thought it’d be. A year and change is not that much time.)
“Eikō, sweetie, do you know Obaachan brought something home for you?” She strokes its cheek.
“Whuv you geh im?” Yoichi asks.
Iyo hands him a napkin. “Books, toys, clothes. They should fit him in a month or two.” She frowns and tells her son-in-law. “He’s been having trouble eating recently, Mikkun. The neighbor said he usually ate well.”
“It must be all the stress,” Issei says as it sucks Issei’s finger with an ardent, tiny grip.
“I hope this doesn't last too long,” Iyo continues, picking up a bite of small, soft veggies and offering it to the baby. “He seems a little underweight right now. We’ll check with the doctors soon, but we want him to grow up big and strong, don’t we?” She smiles, pulling away her spoon before the kid can swipe it away.
Michael nods slowly. The baby’s fussing, but it’s quiet, subdued. Being here is— It’s a lot. Too much for Michael to process all at once. Michael realizes and freezes. “He?”
Yoichi swallows and translates, “Day?”
“Er,” he hisses.
“Air?” Issei blinks.
Michael sighs. “It’s a boy.” He looks around the table.
Yoichi nods slowly. “Eikō’s a boy.”
“I thought Eiko’s a girl name.”
“Eikō, not Eiko,” Yoichi corrects.
Michael stares at Yoichi.
(What the fuck?)