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It had been weeks. Weeks since Ichiji's mood seemed to have had a turn for the better. Not that his usual personality was like hell itself, he was just….
closed off, quiet, and would try his best to not interact with anyone.
But a few weeks ago, maybe two months? He seemed to have done a complete 180, he smiled more than twice a week now so something was definitely off.
But every time his siblings tried to pry he'd say the same thing "Can't I just be happy?" No. Because he was Ichiji, he was everything but sunshines and rainbows.
All that in mind, there was only ONE solution- his siblings formed a plan: stalk their brother until they found out what or who made him turn into a borderline Sanji.
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The plan was in action, the only problem was that they had no idea where Ichiji was, and when they called him, he didn't pick up. Bastard.
"So, what now? We wait till he comes back?" A voice was heard followed by the smell of cigarette smoke, Sanji.
"I'm not waiting for him to come back! Fuck knows where that tomato haired fuck is" ahh Niji and his insult laced phrases-
"I'm sure he'll be back soon, he's been gone since 10am as far as we're concerned. It's 9pm, he's already walking on thin ice by missing dinner without telling Mamma or Zeff" Reiju, the voice of reason, spoke.
And she was right. Sora and Zeff, especially the old man, were pissed that Ichiji missed dinner without so much of a warning. Sure, he was an adult but he could have been a bit more thoughtful. Every meal was sacred in their household.
"Wonder what pops is gonna tell him-" Yonjis spoke before being cut off by the sound of a really loud motorcycle.
The four siblings looked out the window of their kitchen and-- there he was, in all his glory- their brother, getting off someone's motorcycle.
And that someone was HUGE, like an impossible level huge. Ichiji looked like an ant next to him, and the redhead wasn't exactly short.
Ichiji's, ahem, ‘friend’ wore a leather jacket, one stereotypical of a bad guy from a corny 2000’s movie, together with some black jeans and heavy black army boots, not to mention the amount of spike adorned accessories he had.
They were still inspecting the mystery man when Ichiji got off the bike, took his helmet off and lifted the other’s face shield to plant a kiss on his nose, before walking towards the house, a small smile on his face.
"What. The. FUCK?!" Niji was the first one to utter a word, the other three seemingly still in shock over the 'Ichiji was romantic with someone' event.
Speaking of the devil, there he was, waltzing through the door like nothing happened.
"Evening. Sorry I didn't call, my phone died"
The redhead spoke, not towards his siblings, but their step-dad who was standing right at the entrance. The other four hadn't even noticed him standing there.
“That excuse won't fly around here, radish. Your mother and I were worried sick.” Zeff spoke harshly, although a hint of concern was clearly present. “Who was that man anyway? He looked like a punk. I don’t want you hanging around that type of crowd” The older man said looking out the window that stood beside the door, just in time to catch the mystery man driving away, a deep frown forming his face as he did.
“He's a friend of mine” The redhead said as he was taking off his jacket and putting it on the coat hanger that stood by the door “And he's not a ‘punk’, it's just a clothing style, old man. Not that you'd get it.” The last last was said in a near whisper but Ichiji was sure Zeff had heard it nonetheless, that cranky old man had a sharp ear.
The redhead then stepped away from the convo and towards his room, going at a relatively fast pace to avoid his sibling’s Totally Not Invasive Questions.
The sound of a door closing echoed through the house and then-
“That was NOT a friend! He fucking KISSED the guy!!” Niji's voice ruptured. His arms swaying in the air like a madman.
“Certainly not a friend, no. But at least now we know why he's been so happy” Reiju’s voice now. She walked away from her spot next to the door towards the kitchen, taking a seat at the large table.
Yonji, the youngest brother, followed her, sitting next to his sister in the most obnoxious way possible. “We can just follow him. We were talking about this earlier”
Seems the plan was finalized….
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Ichiji’s room was quiet, save for the faint hum of his desk lamp. He leaned against the wall, one boot still on, phone pressed to his ear.
“Yeah, I had dinner already, don't worry your big head over it.” His voice was softer than usual—almost… relaxed.
A low voice rumbled from the other end. “Your family saw me, didn’t they?”
Ichiji exhaled through his nose. Finally taking off his remaining boot and changing into something more suitable for bed. “They didn’t just see you. They practically conducted a full forensic analysis from the kitchen window.”
A brief pause—then a quiet chuckle.
“I told you I stand out.”
“You’re massive, Katakuri. Of course you stand out.” The redhead stated.
“…You don’t seem to mind.” The voice from the other line said in a low voice, almost sounded like he was talking to himself.
Ichiji’s lips twitched upward. “I don’t. Quite the opposite actually. You're very gifted in loads of areas-”
The redhead was interrupted by a cough coming from the other line.
A softer silence followed after. Comfortable.
“So,” Katakuri continued, “will they be a problem?” a slightly worried tone could be heard.
“They already are,” Ichiji muttered, glancing at his door. “But I’ll handle it.”
“Good.” A pause. “Tomorrow?”
Ichiji finally laid down on his bed, letting the soft texture of his mattress seep into him. “…Yeah. Same place.”
“Wear something warm.” Katakuri warned.
“I always do-” Ichiji was cut off.
“I know. I just like making sure. Don't want you to catch a cold or worse” ah Katakuri, always so worried. Ichiji had always assumed that trait of his came thanks to the loads of younger siblings he had to take care of over the years.
The redhead then rolled his eyes—but he was smiling again.
“Night, Kuri.”
“Goodnight, dear.”
The call ended. Ichiji’s heart was pounding, he was such an idiot in love.
Outside his door—four shadows scattered in different directions.
---------------------
The “plan” had escalated. Badly. Who would’ve thought that four idiots with no previous expertise in stalking would be good at it? Probably no one. And for a good reason.
“Why are we hiding behind a bush again?” Sanji hissed, cigarette dangling dangerously as he crouched.
“Because YOU insisted we follow him!” Niji snapped back, branches scratching his face. “I still think putting a tracking device on his jacket would be a lot better.”
Reiju sighed, arms crossed. “Less arguing, more observing.” Turning her head back to analyze the area in hopes of seeing her younger brother.
Yonji peeked through the leaves. “There he is—” pointing straight towards a man with striking red hair. He was wearing a black turtleneck, a pair of light brown slacks, black shoes, a white scarf and a light brown winter coat to top it all off.
Pretty fancy. Very Ichiji
Across the street, Ichiji stood near a quiet café. Hands in pockets. Waiting.
And then—
The motorcycle.
The same deafening engine. The same towering figure. This time wearing something more casual, no spikes in sight.
Katakuri stepped off the bike, removing his helmet. Even from afar, his presence was overwhelming—calm, intimidating, impossibly large.
Ichiji walked up to him like it was nothing.
“Hey.” The redhead started.
“You’re early.”
“You’re late.” ouch.
“…By two minutes.” Katakuri said, in a low tone.
Ichiji shrugged. “Unaceptable.”
Katakuri huffed–amused. Then, without hesitation, Ichiji reached up, standing on his tip toes, and fixed the man’s scarf, fingers lingering just a second too long.
And behind the bush–
“OH MY GOD THEY’RE DISGUSTING,” Niji whispered harshly. A hand quickly covering his mouth.
“They’re adorable.” Reiju corrected calmly.
Sanji looked deeply conflicted. “…I don’t know whether to be proud that Ichiji finally has someone to talk to or start smoking two cigarettes at once.”
Yonji was vibrating. “That dude has some serious gains! I wonder what his workout routine is…”
“No one cares about that, lettuce head” Niji said. “And stop getting distracted, we have a mission here-”
A sudden voice interrupted the blue haired man’s dialogue. “Excuse me but you can't just hide behind bushes, you're scaring the customers….” Oh…the cafe owner. Welp no more stalking— for now at least.
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They didn’t go far—just a quiet walk, then a small dessert shop tucked between two dimly lit buildings, its warm glow spilling onto the sidewalk like an invitation. The bell above the door chimed softly when they entered, the scent of sugar and fresh cream wrapping around them instantly.
Katakuri sat awkwardly at a table clearly too small for him, his long legs slightly cramped beneath it, shoulders nearly brushing the wall behind him. He looked wildly out of place—like something far too large for such a soft, delicate setting.
Ichiji sat across from him, completely unfazed, as if this contrast was the most normal thing in the world.
“You're staring ya’know?” The redhead said, not looking up from the strawberry shortcake he had ordered a few minutes earlier. He carefully cut into it, dragging the fork through the soft layers with unnecessary focus.
“Can I not admire you?”
Ah there it was. Flirting like it was nothing. Effortless. Dangerous.
Seriously, how was Ichiji supposed to act like a normal person when this was the man he was dealing with?
With a face as red as his hair, Ichiji just huffed and shoved another piece of his dessert into his mouth, chewing a bit too fast.
“You're such a sap…”
Another pause. Comfortable again. The kind of silence that didn’t demand to be filled—only shared.
Then—
“Ichiji.”
“Mm?”
“You’ve been… happier lately.”
Ichiji slowed, his fork hovering mid-air before he placed it down. He looked at the table instead, tapping it once with his finger.
“What makes you say that? I've always been as happy as a child on Christmas day.” The sarcasm could be felt from miles away.
“You know what I mean—” Katakuri paused, taking a slow breath before continuing, choosing his words carefully. “You're smiling more… I like that. Seeing you so happy to be around me.”
A beat.
The noise of the café seemed to dull around them—distant chatter, clinking plates, the hum of a coffee machine—none of it mattered anymore.
“…I— well, when you put it like that! I…” Ichiji could hear his own heartbeat drumming in his ears, loud and insistent. He had not expected his partner to say such a thing. What was he supposed to say in return?!
“I… I like being around you. You're different from other people— i-in a positive way!” he said quickly, words tripping over themselves as he avoided Katakuri’s eyes.
Katakuri’s gaze softened—barely noticeable, but there. Then a small, quiet laugh followed.
“I'm glad.” The other had smiled, although it was barely noticeable if you weren’t looking for it. But Ichiji knew, he was always attentive when it came to the older man. “When you're done with that,” he said, pointing at the long-forgotten strawberry shortcake, “do you wanna go for a ride? I'll let you drive later. Maybe.”
With that, Ichiji’s brain seemed to finally come back online.
“YES— I mean. Yes, sure, I'd love to.”
What a save.
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The bell above the dessert shop door chimed softly as they stepped outside, the warmth of the shop quickly replaced by the crisp bite of evening air. The sky had begun its slow descent into night, painted in muted oranges fading into soft purples and deepening blues. Streetlights flickered on one by one, casting long shadows across the pavement.
Ichiji pulled his coat tighter around himself, shoulders tensing slightly. Whether it was from the cold or something else entirely was debatable.
Katakuri noticed immediately.
Without a word, he reached up—large hands surprisingly gentle—and adjusted Ichiji’s scarf, tugging it just a bit higher around his neck, careful not to be too rough.
“You’re shivering.”
“I’m not,” Ichiji shot back immediately, bristling on instinct. Then, quieter— “…It’s just a little cold.”
Katakuri hummed, clearly unconvinced, but didn’t push further.
They reached the motorcycle, its dark frame gleaming faintly under the streetlights. Ichiji ran his hand along the seat, eyes lighting up in a way he didn’t allow most people to see—something softer, almost boyish.
“Still think it’s unfair you don’t let me drive more often.”
“You drive like you have a death wish.”
“I do not—” The redhead began his defense.
“You tried to overtake a truck on a narrow road.”
“There was space!”
“There was not.”
Ichiji scoffed, but there was no real heat behind it. Sure he was a bit reckless at times, but who could blame him? He was just having fun.
The high he got from driving around with the older man was on another level.
Katakuri handed him the helmet, their fingers brushing for just a second too long.
And then—
Silence.
Not awkward. Not tense. Just calm.
Ichiji hesitated, then stepped closer. Close enough that the space between them felt charged, like the air itself had thickened.
“…You said something earlier,” Ichiji muttered, gaze drifting somewhere near Katakuri’s shoulder. People circulated around them but Ichiji paid no mind. It was as if it was only the two of them present at that moment. Nothing to interrupt them.
Katakuri tilted his head slightly. “I said many things.”
“Don't act dumb—” the redhead inhaled sharply “You said something about… me being happier.”
A pause.
“I meant it.”
Ichiji swallowed, his usual sharp edges softening, just a fraction.
“…It’s because of you.”
Katakuri stilled. Completely.
The world seemed to quiet around them—the distant hum of traffic, footsteps, voices—everything faded into the background.
Ichiji exhaled shakily. And then the rambling started.
“You’re— you’re annoying, and, and— and too smart. And too big. And you hover like some overprotective—thing—”
“…Thing?”
“And you worry too much,” Ichiji pressed on, words spilling faster now. “But—”
He stopped.
Katakuri waited. Patient. Still.
“…But I like it.”
That did it.
Something in Katakuri’s expression shifted—subtle, but unmistakable. Softer. Warmer.
He reached out again, this time not for Ichiji’s scarf—but his face. His fingers brushed against Ichiji’s cheek, thumb resting just below his eye.
“You’re blushing.”
“I am not—”
“You are.” Katakuri’s gaze was soft. A loving feeling adorned the two lovers. Long gone were the sounds of the traffic, the people, the animals all around them. Only their breaths and slight movements were important.
Ichiji huffed at the pink haired man’s gesture, but didn’t pull away.
That alone said enough.
Katakuri leaned down slowly—giving him time, space, an out if he wanted it.
Ichiji didn’t take it.
Instead, he grabbed the front of Katakuri’s jacket, tugging him down with surprising determination whilst pulling aside his scarf, just enough for him to see his scared face.
Their lips met.
Clumsy at first—Ichiji clearly inexperienced, a bit too forceful—but Katakuri adjusted, steadying him, guiding without overwhelming.
It wasn’t rushed.
It wasn’t perfect.
But it was real.
When they pulled apart, Ichiji’s face was burning. Katakuri quickly pulled his scarf back up, though his own faint flush didn’t go unnoticed.
“…So umm…about that ride”
“I’m still driving.” Katakuri said whilst finally putting on his helmet and mounting on his motorbike. Looking at Ichiji whilst doing so, waiting for him to also get on.
“That wasn’t—! whatever. Move aside, Dog tooth.”
Ichiji then copied Katakuri’s previous moves. Putting on his helmet as well and mounting on the vehicle, his arms snaking around the bigger man’s waist for security. And then— A beat.
“…Can we do it again?” Ichiji’s voice was low. Only Katakuri being able to hear it. “The kiss, I mean”
Katakuri smiled—small, but genuine.
“Of course.” Katakuri then looked around “But somewhere with less people”
Ichiji nods, hugging the other man tight before taking off into their ride. He was definitely arriving home late again, but that's a thought for later.
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Ichiji had finally arrived at his house. The night had settled into a heavy quiet, the kind that made every small sound feel louder than it should be.
He checked the time on his phone.
‘00:32am’
“Fuck. Didn't mean to come this late.”
Not that that mattered now.
He stepped onto the porch, boots dull against the wood, and reached for the door. The moment he stepped inside. The door hadn’t even fully closed behind him before—
“WHO IS HE.”
Niji's voice echoed through the house like a gunshot.
Ichiji didn’t flinch. Already used to his younger brother’s short temper. He did, however, close his eyes briefly—like someone gathering the last threads of their patience before they snapped.
“…Good evening to you too.”
“DON’T ‘GOOD EVENING’ ME,” Niji snapped, already halfway into a full interrogation stance. “First of all, it’s ‘GOOD FUCKING NIGHT’ have you even checked the time!?—”
A sharp inhale—fuel for the rant.
“You disappear for hours, come back smelling like *engine oil and romance*, and expect us to just ignore it?!”
Sanji leaned against the wall, cigarette in hand, squinting slightly as he studied Ichiji like a suspect.
“…You went to see him again, didn’t you?”
Ichiji’s silence was answer enough.
Yonji practically sparked. “YOU DID—”
“Alright, that’s enough.” Ichiji’s voice cut through cleanly. Sharp and controlled, like always
They paused.
He looked at each of them in turn—expression unreadable, but firm.
“…Yes. I’m seeing someone.”
A beat.
“And that’s all you’re getting.”
Niji scoffed. “Oh no, you don’t get to just—”
“It’s none of your concern.”
The words landed heavy. Not loud. Not aggressive. Just final. Frankly the redhead just didn’t have the patience to talk to his siblings, of all people, about feelings, his feelings. It wasn't any of their business.
Niji hesitated. Not really having more comebacks, like usual.
Sanji studied him for a moment longer, then exhaled slowly, smoke curling upward.
“…He makes you happy.”
Ichiji didn’t answer. He didn’t need to.
“…Tch.” Sanji looked away. “About time.”
And then—
A soft creak came from the hallway.
Everyone turned.
Sora stood there, robe loosely draped over her shoulders, clearly having been woken up by the noise. Zeff stood just behind her, arms crossed, expression already irritated—though not entirely awake.
“Well,” Sora said gently, her voice immediately cutting through the tension like warmth.
The room shifted before her gaze landed on Ichiji—soft, knowing.
“I’d like to meet him.”
Ichiji blinked. Once. Slowly.
Zeff stepped forward, grumbling.
“If you’re serious about this,” he said, voice rough with sleep and authority, “then bring him over. I want to see what kind of man he is.”
“…You don’t want to see what kind of man he is,” Ichiji muttered under his breath.
Zeff’s eye twitched. “What was that?”
“Nothing.”
Sora clasped her hands together, already smiling like the decision had been made.
“Dinner, perhaps? Something proper.”
The word *proper* echoed louder than it should have. Ichiji hesitated. Not because he didn’t want to.
Because he knew exactly what kind of chaos that would bring.
Then he sighed, dragging a hand down his face.
“…I’ll ask him.”
His eyes flicked toward the stairs. He needed his room.
Immediately.
------------------------
Katakuri’s apartment was quiet.
Not empty—just… still.
The kind of stillness that came from someone who valued control, routine, and solitude. Everything was in its place, surfaces clean, lighting soft but minimal.
Ichiji, however, disrupted that entirely.
He was sprawled across the couch like he owned it, boots kicked off somewhere near the door, one arm lazily draped over the backrest.
Katakuri sat beside him—initially upright, composed.
That didn’t last long.
“…You’re tense.” Ichiji muttered, glancing sideways at him.
“I am not.”
“You are.”
A pause.
Ichiji shifted slightly—then, without asking, leaned sideways until his head rested against Katakuri’s shoulder.
Another pause.
Katakuri froze for exactly two seconds.
Then—slowly—he relaxed. One arm came up, hesitant at first, before settling around Ichiji’s shoulders, pulling him just slightly closer.
“…Better,” Ichiji murmured.
“…Better,” Katakuri agreed quietly.
A comfortable silence followed as Ichiji traced absent-minded patterns against Katakuri’s sleeve, fingers brushing over fabric, occasionally catching on the edge of a seam.
“…My family wants to meet you.”
Katakuri stilled. Not dramatically—just enough for Ichiji to notice.
“…I see.”
“It’s not a big deal,” Ichiji added quickly, though his tone suggested the opposite. “You don’t have to go if you don’t want to. They’re—”
“A lot?”
“…Annoying.”
A brief pause. Then—
“I’ll go.”
Ichiji blinked, lifting his head slightly to look at him.
“…You will?”
Katakuri looked down at him, expression calm—but there was something underneath. Something careful.
“Yes.”
“…Are you sure?”
Another pause.
Katakuri’s hand shifted, moving from Ichiji’s shoulder to his hair, fingers threading through it slowly, almost absent-mindedly.
“If they are important to you,” he said, voice low and steady, “then it matters.”
Ichiji stared at him.
For once—completely quiet. Then, softer—
“…They are.”
The words felt heavier than expected. Another pause.
Then—barely above a whisper—
“…So are you.”
Katakuri’s hand stilled for a moment in his hair. Then resumed, gentler this time.
“…Then I will make a good impression.”
Ichiji snorted, dropping his head back onto his shoulder.
“Good luck with that.”
“…You lack faith.”
“I have experience.”
A small huff—almost a laugh—escaped Katakuri.
Ichiji shifted again, turning slightly so he was more comfortably tucked against him now, one arm loosely resting across Katakuri’s torso.
“…If Niji starts something, don’t kill him.”
“I make no promises.”
“…Katakuri.”
“…Fine.”
A beat.
“…Can I stay a bit longer?” Ichiji muttered, already half-settled.
Katakuri’s arm tightened just slightly around him.
“I wouldn’t want you to leave so soon..”
Ichiji smirked faintly against his shoulder.
“…Good.”
The apartment fell quiet again. Only the faint sound of a random movie and their soft combined breaths could be heard.
-----------------------
The motorcycle’s roar echoed louder than before—like a warning.
Inside the house, tension coiled tight.
The door opened.
Ichiji walked in first—composed, but alert. Katakuri followed behind him, nerves crawling all over his body. Even ducking, he barely fit.
The room fell silent.
Yonji leaned toward Reiju. “He’s HUGE.”
“I can see that.”
Zeff stepped forward. Even if his stature was nothing compared to Ichiji’s partner, he still had a very intimidating nature to him. It made Katakuri sweat. “You’re the punk.”
Katakuri met his gaze, unwavering. “…If that is how you perceive me.”
“Oh, don’t mind him,” Sora chimed in, stepping forward with a bright smile. A complete opposite approach from that of her husband. Her next words surprised Katakuri.
“You’re magnificent.”
The room froze. Ichiji blinked slowly. Katakuri… blinked once.
“…Pardon?”
“The height, the posture—oh! And that scarf! It suits you beautifully.”
Sanji whispered, stunned, “She’s already adopted him.”
Niji looked betrayed. “Unbelievable.”
Sora beamed. “You must stay for dinner!”
Katakuri glanced at Ichiji.
Ichiji shrugged. “…Told you.”
“…Very well.”
Zeff grunted. His face slightly twisted“…Sit.” And although his tone sounded rough, Ichiji could tell his step dad had somewhat liked Katakuri. And that was enough for him.
Taking a hold of Katakuri’s hand, Ichiji guided him to the dining room. A small smile on his face.
---------------------------
Dinner was chaos. to say the least. Not loud chaos, no— more so the typical one that comes with a big family. A bit much at first, but very inviting nonetheless.
Every movement Katakuri made was watched. Studied. Judged. Sora asked endless questions, her curiosity warm and genuine. Yonji leaned forward too much, eyes practically sparkling. Sanji tracked everything like a hawk. Niji looked like he was one wrong answer away from starting a fight. Reiju? Thoroughly entertained.
And Ichiji— He was… relaxed. Not guarded. Not irritated. Not distant. Just completely and utterly relaxed.
At ease in a way none of them had ever seen before.
At one point, under the table, Katakuri’s hand brushed against his. Ichiji stilled. Just for a second.
Then—he didn’t pull away. Instead, he turned his hand slightly—just enough for their fingers to intertwine. Brief. Subtle. Hidden from everyone else.
A small thing. But meaningful.
Across the table, Sora sat, smiling at them. She couldn’t be happier for her beloved son