Chapter Text
Shion is four years old now, and he is loud.
Not just the normal kind of loud that fills a house with giggles and tiny footsteps but the kind that echoes off walls, spills into every room, and somehow still finds a way to exist even when he’s asleep, like the air remembers him. He sings constantly, off-key and fearless, tiny voice stretching every note of the Goosey theme song like it’s the most important performance of his life.
“Goooosey fly high~ no fall down~!” he belts from the living room, standing on the couch like a stage.
Sae doesn’t even look up at first. He’s learned. Reacting too quickly only fuels it.
But then, a thud. Then silence. And then, “Mamaaa… Shion okay!”
Sae exhales slowly, already pushing his chair back. “You better be.”
Working from home used to mean quiet efficiency, clean schedules, controlled focus. Now it means keeping one eye on spreadsheets and the other on a four-year-old who will absolutely, without hesitation, attempt to sprint into danger the second he’s unsupervised.
Because Shion doesn’t walk. He runs everywhere all the time. To nowhere, sometimes everywhere. To places that don’t even make sense.
If Sae looks away for more than ten seconds, Shion is suddenly halfway out the front door, one shoe on, yelling something about Goosey needing help.
So Sae has adapted.
His laptop sits open on the dining table, emails half-written, meetings taken with one earbud in while his free hand casually hooks into the back of Shion’s shirt like a leash whenever the boy gets too close to escape velocity.
“Shion,” Sae says flatly, catching him mid-dash toward the hallway. “Where are you going.”
“Shion go!,” he declares, wiggling. “Goosey say go!”
“No, Goosey did not say go outside alone.”
“Goosey say ‘be brave!’” Shion insists, puffing his cheeks. “Mama no brave.”
Sae stares at him. “…I’m extremely brave.”
Shion shakes his head, utterly unconvinced. “Mama scared.”
“Of what?”
“Of Shion,” he says proudly.
There’s a pause. Sae exhales through his nose. “…that’s not entirely wrong.”
Somewhere along the way, Sae isn’t sure exactly when Shion shifted. He used to be sweet. Quiet. Clingy in a soft, gentle way. The kind of toddler who would press his face into Sae’s shoulder and hum sleepily.
Now? Now he is chaos wrapped in tiny limbs and stubborn opinions. Every “no” is a personal betrayal. Every refusal is met with immediate outrage.
“Shion want choco!”
“No.”
“WHY NOOOO!”
And then comes the full performance—tears (sometimes real, sometimes suspiciously strategic), dramatic flopping onto the floor, tiny fists pounding like the world has ended over denied chocolate.
Sae blames Ryusei. Entirely. Because somehow, between his own quiet parenting and Ryusei’s… everything, Shion learned that being loud gets attention—and worse, it works.
Ryusei, unfortunately, finds it hilarious.
“Look at him,” Ryusei is saying now, leaning against the kitchen counter with a grin that Sae absolutely wants to erase. “That’s my son right there.”
Shion is currently on the floor. Face down. Wailing. “Shion wants chocoooo!” he cries into the tiles. “Mama mean! Mama no love Shion!”
Sae crosses his arms. “I said you can have it after dinner.”
“NO AFTER! NOW!”
Ryusei snorts.
“Don’t encourage him.”
“I’m not,” Ryusei says, clearly encouraging him. “I’m appreciating the performance.”
Shion suddenly lifts his head, eyes watery but sharp. “Papa give Shion choco?”
“No,” Sae cuts in immediately.
Ryusei opens his mouth. Sae looks at him. Ryusei closes his mouth. “…No,” he says, coughing. “Listen to Sae.”
Shion gasps like he’s been betrayed by the entire world. “Papa bad too!”
“Hey—”
The tantrum escalates. Volume increases. Limbs flail. And Sae pinches the bridge of his nose, already exhausted.
“You did this,” he mutters.
Ryusei grins. “I gave him personality.”
“You gave him audacity.”
“Same thing.”
Sae doesn’t argue, because at this point, it feels accurate.
Despite everything, though, despite the noise, the chaos, the endless energy that never seems to run out, there are moments. Small and quiet ones. Like now.
Shion is curled up on the couch, finally worn out, Goosey playing softly on the TV. His earlier tears have dried, replaced with sleepy hiccups. One of his hands clutches his stuffed Goosey toy, the other loosely gripping Sae’s sleeve like he might disappear if he lets go.
“Shion no tantrum tomorrow,” he mumbles, half-asleep.
Sae glances down at him. “We’ll see.”
“Shion good boy…”
“…sometimes.”
Shion hums, satisfied with that answer. A few seconds later, he adds softly, “Mama stay.”
Sae doesn’t respond right away. He just shifts slightly, making sure Shion is comfortable, his laptop forgotten on the table. “…I’m not going anywhere,” he says quietly.
.
.
.
And the new conflict rising, It started as an innocent thing, a tiny finger reaching curiously toward the glowing buttons in the elevator. The first few times, Sae didn’t think much of it. Shion’s fascinated by everything lately; it’s just part of being a toddler. But then it became… a thing.
Every trip up or down the building turned into a Button Parade. and this old apartement can't undo the button that victimized by Shion's little fingers.
“Shion, only the five, okay? That’s our floor,” Sae would say, holding his son on one hip and pressing the correct button himself.
“Ooo, buttons.”
But before he could pull his hand away, click click click click click. Shion’s other hand was already on the move, smacking every glowing circle within reach with terrifying precision. Every. Single. Floor. The elevator lit up like a Christmas tree, and Sae felt his soul leave his body for the seventeenth time that week.
The first time it happened, he’d frozen mid-sigh, clutching the groceries bag and mentally counting how many stops that meant before their floor. Eleven. Eleven entire stops. The second time, he tried to block the panel with his arm. Shion somehow wiggled under it. By the third, Sae started apologizing to every stranger who got caught in the ride of shame with them.
“I’m sorry. He’s just learning cause and effect,” he muttered one morning to a woman holding a chihuahua.
She smiled kindly, thankfully distracted by Shion’s bright eyes and dimples. “Oh, it’s fine! He’s adorable.”
Pretty privilege. Sae sighed internally. It wouldn’t last forever.
Ryusei, of course, found it hilarious. He once recorded the aftermath, Sae dead-eyed in the corner of the elevator while Shion cheerfully chanted, “Up! Down! Push push push!” like some kind of lift conductor.
“Look at him, he’s a born leader,” Ryusei laughed. “He’s got vision.”
“He’s got no respect for efficiency,” Sae grumbled, jabbing the ‘Door Close’ button out of habit, though the elevator clearly didn’t want to listen either.
By the fourth week, Sae had reached his breaking point. The morning commute took twenty minutes because Shion pressed every button and the emergency alarm for good measure. Sae bowed his head in apology to their unfortunate co-riders, including one old man who chuckled, “Ah, my grandson used to do that too.”
“...Congratulations,” Sae muttered flatly, stepping out on the fifteenth floor even though they lived on the fifth, just to breathe again.
That night, while Ryusei scrolled on his phone beside him, Sae stared at the ceiling and said, “We need a house.”
“A house?” Ryusei blinked.
“Yes. With stairs. And no buttons.”
Ryusei started laughing but stopped when he saw Sae’s face. “…Oh. You’re serious.”
“I’ve apologized to twenty-seven tenants in one week, Ryusei.”
“You counted?”
“Of course I counted.”
The next day, Shion proudly pressed the elevator button for their floor only after Sae bribed him with a banana chip. Sae thought — maybe, just maybe — they were improving.
But then, on the way back, Shion found out the elevator also had a “door open” button.
Click. Click. Clickclickclickclick.
The doors opened and closed four times in a row, trapping three weary tenants and one visibly done-with-life Sae in an endless loop.
By the time they finally reached their apartment, Sae set Shion down, crouched to meet his mischievous gaze, and said very calmly, “You’re grounded from buttons.”
Shion just blinked up, grinning. “Mama funny.”
Ryusei lost it. Sae didn’t.
He opened his laptop, went straight to a real estate website, and muttered, “That’s it. We’re getting a house.”
House hunting, Sae quickly learned, was not a relaxing weekend activity — it was a full-contact sport.
It started with optimism. Coffee in hand, Shion strapped into his car seat armed with Goosey plushie and Rin’s old iPad, and Ryusei whistling cheerfully behind the wheel. Sae had a folder of printed listings, meticulously highlighted, labeled, and color-coded.
Their requirements weren’t many, Sae thought just four simple, reasonable things.
- Not too far from Ryusei’s training facility (because heaven forbid his husband drive more than 20 minutes).
- Not too far from Sae’s favorite grocery and imported goods store (because quality produce mattered).
- A backyard, at least 5x5 meters, enough for Shion to run around and for Ryusei to hang laundry like a domestic husband he is.
- Preferably close to a good school for Shion, because someday their tiny chaos toddler would be a tiny chaos student.
Simple, right? Wrong.
The first house looked promising, it looks modern, nice driveway, big windows. But when they walked in, Ryusei pointed out, “The backyard’s smaller than my locker.” And he wasn’t exaggerating. Shion could barely take three steps before hitting a wall.
The second house had the perfect backyard with sunshine spilling everywhere and all. But Sae took one look at the kitchen and said flatly, “The stove is electric.”
“...And?”
“I don’t cook on toy flames.”
“You barely cook.”
“I know.”
The realtor blinked. Ryusei laughed. Shion tried to eat a pebble because it looks like candy.
The third house was near perfect cause it was close to everything, nice layout, plenty of natural light. Until they realized there was a train track right behind it. The moment a train passed, the floor vibrated like a minor earthquake. Shion clapped. Ryusei said, “Free entertainment.” Sae said, “We’re leaving.”
By the fourth, Shion was over it. He refused to leave his car seat and started saying “No!” to everything, even the good parts.
“Look, Shion! Backyard!”
“No.”
“Bedroom!”
“No.”
“Banana?”
“…yes.”
At least someone knew his priorities.
By lunchtime, the car was full of snack crumbs, half-empty coffee cups, and the collective sound of defeat. Sae rubbed his temple, scrolling through listings on his phone. “They all look good online,” he muttered.
Ryusei leaned back, smirking. “You’re being picky.”
“I’m being efficient. I refuse to live somewhere that doesn’t meet our needs.”
“What needs? You mean your needs.”
“My needs are this family’s needs.”
“Uh-huh,” Ryusei said, glancing in the rearview mirror at Shion, who was currently licking Goosey’s beak. “What about our little man here?”
Shion kicked his legs, looked at his parents, and proudly declared, “Goosey home!”
Both Sae and Ryusei paused.
“…See?” Ryusei said softly, smiling. “He just wants somewhere that feels like home.”
Sae sighed, finally cracking a small smile too. “Yeah. Preferably with good insulation and a gas stove.”
They laughed — tired, but genuine. And even though they didn’t find the one that weekend, they found something else: a reminder that maybe home wasn’t just about the perfect floor plan or the right distance from Sae’s favorite organic store. It was about Shion babbling in the backseat, Ryusei humming beside him, and the warm, messy feeling of wanting to build something.
Still, when they got home, Sae opened his laptop again. “We’ll check again next weekend.”
Ryusei groaned. “You’re unstoppable.”
“I’m,” Sae replied calmly, scrolling. “I have to be.”
The next weekend, the house hunt began again, this time with less hope and more caffeine. Sae had already set his expectations lower (a house that didn’t collapse when the wind blew would do), but fate had a sense of humor.
Because that’s when they found it.
A clean, modern house with wide glass doors, a perfectly trimmed backyard, and a driveway that looked like it belonged in a real estate commercial. It even had a little tree by the porch — Shion immediately run toward it, clapping his hands like he’d just seen Goosey in real life.
“...This one’s perfect,” Ryusei said after three minutes of walking around.
Sae squinted. He heard this before. Perfect houses usually hid demons — cracked plumbing, mold, or mysterious neighbors who screamed at 3 AM. But the more he looked, the more he couldn’t find a single flaw.
Gas stove? Check. Spacious living room? Check. 5x5 backyard? Actually 7x7. Close to the facility, his favorite grocery, and a decent school? All check.
Sae folded his arms, suspicious. “Alright. What’s the catch?”
The realtor smiled that polite, deadly smile people used before dropping bad news. “The monthly rent is ¥450,000.”
There was a full three seconds of silence.
“...You said four what?” Sae asked, blinking.
“four hundred and fifty thousand yen.”
“Per month?”
“Yes, Itoshi-san.”
Sae slowly turned to Ryusei. “That’s half of your salary.”
Ryusei just shrugged, unbothered. “So?”
“So?” Sae’s voice rose an octave. “That’s not a so, Ryusei. We’re not paying that much for rent.”
Ryusei looked around the place again, hands in pockets, casual as always. “But look, Sae. It’s beautiful. Shion has space to run. You can cook in a real kitchen. There’s even a bathtub that fits two people.”
Sae narrowed his eyes. “You’re not helping your case.”
Meanwhile, Shion was running in circles, yelling “Home! Home! Home!” as if the universe itself was siding with his father.
“See?” Ryusei gestured dramatically. “He already claimed it.”
Sae sighed, torn between logic and the sight of his baby happily slapping the hardwood floor like it was the best thing he’d ever seen. He took another slow look around. The sunlight poured through the wide windows. The air felt quiet and safe. The thought of Shion’s laughter echoing here— okay, fine, maybe it was a little perfect.
Still.
“Ryusei, we can’t just rent something that expensive,” he said, more softly this time.
Ryusei grinned. “Then we don’t rent it.”
Sae frowned. “What do you mean.”
“We buy it.”
Sae blinked at him, face frozen mid-expression. "You're joking."
Ryusei shrugged again, that infuriatingly easy grin on his face. “Nope. We’ve been saving. I’ve been saving. I can afford it.” Ryusei said, walking over and wrapping an arm around his waist. “And honestly, Sae-chan,” he leaned down, pressing a kiss to his temple, “you deserve to have a home you love.”
Sae was speechless for a long moment. Then he sighed, the corners of his mouth twitching despite himself. “You’re impossible.”
“I know,” Ryusei said cheerfully. “But I’m rich, too.”
From across the room, Shion yelled again, “Home!!” and waved Goosey in the air like a victory flag.
Sae finally gave up fighting it. “Fine,” he muttered. “But you’re paying the utilities too.”
“Deal,” Ryusei said immediately, pulling him close.
And just like that, it was settled, their chaotic little family finally found home.
Though later, when Sae saw the down payment number, he nearly in shock. But that was a problem for Future Sae. Present Sae was too busy watching Shion run through the empty rooms, giggling like the sun itself lived in his chest.
.
.
.
.
It really came down to simple math. Fifty million yen for a house, or another year of letting their toddler press every single button in the elevator until the ride to the 10th floor felt like a slow descent into madness.
Sae picked the house.
“Fifty million yen is cheaper than therapy,” he muttered while signing the paperwork, and Ryusei laughed.
The following week was pure chaos, moving chaos. Their apartment looked like a battlefield made of cardboard boxes and misplaced socks. Shion thought the entire process was the best day of his life.
“Box!” he squealed every five minutes, trying to climb into one.
“Not that one, that’s the plates.” Sae yelped, grabbing him just in time before a disaster happened.
Ryusei was… not helping. Or helping too enthusiastically. He taped everything. Literally everything. Sae’s laptop charger, the remote control, Shion’s plushie— all sealed neatly in a box labeled miscellaneous.
“Where’s the tape?” Sae asked.
Ryusei looked around innocently. “Uh. Packed.”
By day three, Sae looked like he was running a logistics company while Ryusei was doing interpretive art with bubble wrap. Shion, meanwhile, had found the one box full of soft clothes and decided it was his nap pod. Goosey joined him, obviously.
Still, amid all the noise and clutter, Sae couldn’t deny the weird excitement in his chest. A real house. A backyard. No more apologizing to strangers in the elevator while his son proudly pressed every button like a chaos.
When the movers finally came, it was raining. Shion watched, babbling happily about the trucks and boxes being rolled out. Ryusei kept going in and out, drenched but grinning, while Sae supervised every last item like a general watching his army.
“Did you pack the bathroom things?” Sae asked.
“Yes, Captain.”
“The kitchen knives?”
“Affirmative.”
“The Goosey collection?”
“Double-wrapped and emotionally protected,” Ryusei said solemnly.
By the seventh day, the apartment was empty — quiet for the first time in years. Sae stood in the living room, holding Shion on his hip as the toddler sucked his thumb and looked around curiously.
“You used to press that button every day,” Sae murmured, glancing toward the elevator down the hall.
Shion just giggled and waved, like saying goodbye to his old playground.
Ryusei came up behind them, setting a gentle hand on Sae’s shoulder. “Ready to go home?”
Sae turned to him — a little tired, a little emotional, but mostly relieved. “Yeah,” he said.
“Let’s go home.”
And as they stepped into the car, Sae decided that maybe, just maybe, a fifty-million-yen investment was still cheaper than dealing with one more elevator ride with his button-happy baby boy.
The new house was finally theirs — though, at the moment, it looked less like a home and more like an echo chamber with perfect acoustics.
The delivery trucks hadn’t arrived yet, meaning the rooms were still completely empty. Not a couch, not a rug, not even a chair. Just clean wooden floors, blank walls, and a wide, hollow quiet that carried every sound tenfold.
And of course, the first thing Shion did when his tiny shoes hit the floor?
He screamed.
A loud, joyful, unhinged baby scream that bounced off every surface and came back louder than before. His eyes widened in wonder — then he screamed again, just to test it.
“AAAAAAAAAA!”
The sound echoed around the room, doubling, tripling, filling the house with laughter-like chaos. Ryusei nearly fell to his knees laughing. “He’s testing the acoustics!” he said between snorts.
“I was hoping for five minutes of peace.” Sae sighed.
But Shion was on a mission. He ran into the next room and did another test. “AAAAAA!”
The echo replied dutifully, like the house itself was greeting its new resident.
“Shion,” Sae called dryly, “stop screaming.”
Shion turned around with the brightest grin, cheeks flushed, and yelled even louder, “MAMAAAAA!”
Sae sighed in defeat.
Meanwhile, Ryusei picked up Goosey from one of the unpacked bags and waved it like a flag. “Goosey says it’s tradition! First noise in the new house sets the vibe!”
Shion ran back and forth across the living room, his little sneakers thudding against the floor, voice echoing like a happy ghost haunting an empty mansion. Ryusei joined in because of course he did.
“PAPA!”
“SHION!”
“GOOSEY!”
Their voices bounced everywhere. It was absurd. It was loud. It was ridiculous.
When Shion finally got tired, he flopped down in the middle of the floor, giggling and kicking his feet. Ryusei lay beside him, both staring at the high, white ceiling like they’d just conquered the world.
“Big house,” Shion said proudly, patting the floor.
Ryusei smiled. “Yeah, baby. Big house.”
Sae crouched next to them, running his hand through Shion’s hair. “It’ll feel smaller once our stuff comes,” he said softly.
Shion just blinked up at him, then raised both arms for a hug. “Mama up.”
Sae sighed, but picked him up anyway, pressing a kiss to his round cheek. “Alright, come here, noise machine.”
Ryusei grinned, pushing himself to his feet. “Our first day in the new house,” he said, stretching. “We should mark it somehow.”
Sae gave him a skeptical look. “If you’re thinking of screaming again, I swear—”
But Ryusei just leaned over and kissed him. Soft, slow, grounding.
And somewhere between the echoes, the laughter, and the baby squealing “Shion kisss!” at his parents kissing, Sae realized, Yeah, This house was already home.
But then The delivery delay was the universe’s way of humbling them.
By noon, the movers called to say the truck was stuck in traffic, and it’d be “just a few more minutes.” Sae didn’t even bother asking how many exactly “a few” meant, he could already tell by Ryusei’s raised eyebrow that it would be a long wait.
So there they were. Three people, one goose plushie, zero furniture.
The sun poured through the big windows, highlighting just how empty the house was. Shion’s mini bag sat abandoned near the doorway, and all their bags were half-unpacked in random corners like they’d just crashed at a friend’s place.
And then came the hunger.
Ryusei’s stomach growled first. “Okay,” he said, flopping dramatically on the floor. “I’m dying. We moved into a mansion and have no food. Is this how rich people starve?”
Sae didn’t even glance up from his phone. “You’ll live. I’m ordering.”
“Get something good,” Ryusei said, propping his chin on his hand. “This is our first meal in the new house. It has to be symbolic.”
“Symbolic?” Sae snorted. “Fine. Chicken. It symbolizes protein.”
Shion, who was busy stacking plastic cups from one of the boxes, looked up at the word chicken and chirped, “Chikin!”
Sae’s lips twitched. “Yeah. Chicken for you too.”
Thirty minutes later, a delivery rider showed up at the gate, and soon enough, they had an entire spread of takeout containers — chicken, rice, fries, and enough sauce to feed a small army. With no table, no chairs, and no utensils unpacked, they sat cross-legged on the floor in the middle of the empty living room.
It looked ridiculous.
Sae in his neatly rolled-up sleeves, Ryusei sitting like he was camping, and Shion plopped between them with his tiny box of fries, munching happily.
“Look at us,” Ryusei said with a grin, raising a fry. “Eating on the floor like broke college students.”
“We technically own a fifty-million-yen house,” Sae deadpanned. “You just haven’t bought a table.”
Ryusei smirked. “So? This is more romantic. Minimalist lifestyle.”
Sae gave him a flat look but didn’t argue, mostly because Shion was trying to feed him a fry with his greasy little fingers.
“Here, Mama!” Shion said proudly, pushing the fry against Sae’s lips.
Sae accepted it, biting half and letting Shion giggle at the crunch. “Thanks,” he murmured. “Good job.”
Ryusei was filming the whole thing with his phone. “First meal, first grease stain on the floor, first memory,” he said, zooming in dramatically.
Sae groaned. “You’re not posting that.”
“Too late,” Ryusei said, already typing something.
Sae reached for the phone, but Ryusei dodged, laughing, nearly tipping over the sauce cup in the process. Shion joined in the laughter, his squeaky baby giggle echoing around the vast, empty room.
When the chaos finally settled, they all leaned back, full, content, tired. Shion leaned against Sae’s leg, thumb in mouth, eyes droopy. Ryusei stretched out on the floor beside them.
“Next time,” Sae muttered, brushing Shion’s hair aside, “we’re unpacking the table first.”
Ryusei grinned, eyes half-closed. “Nah. I kinda like it this way.”
And so the three of them, sitting on the floor of their new home, surrounded by empty boxes and the faint smell of fried chicken, laughing quietly into the warm, golden afternoon.
An hour later, the rumble of the delivery truck outside was like thunder in the still air of their new home.
Sae had just finished cleaning up the remnants of their floor picnic when the low hum of an engine rolled to a stop out front. Ryusei peeked through the window and grinned. “The cavalry’s here.”
Finally. The timing, however, could not have been worse. Right in the middle of the empty living room, where earlier there had been laughter, fries, and chaos, lay Shion, fast asleep. A small blanket covered his tiny form, his fist curled loosely around Goosey’s wing. His chest rose and fell in slow rhythm, and his little mouth was slightly open, making the softest puffing noises.
Sae crouched beside him, smoothing a hand through his hair. “Of course,” he murmured. “He’d sleep now.”
Outside, heavy footsteps thudded against the front steps, followed by the unmistakable rattle of a dolly wheel and someone calling out, “Delivery for Itoshi-san?”
Sae winced. He stood quickly and met the first mover at the door. “Yes, that’s me. Please be quiet. My son’s asleep.”
The man blinked, then nodded slowly. “Got it, sir.”
But “quiet” was clearly a relative concept. The second mover tripped on the doorstep, the dolly clanked, and one of them muttered something that sounded suspiciously like a curse. A moment later came the unmistakable crash of something wooden being unloaded.
Sae closed his eyes and sighed through his nose. He should’ve known.
Ryusei leaned against the wall, smothering a laugh. “Babe, you’re fighting a losing battle. They’re not ninjas.”
“I’m aware,” Sae muttered.
He glanced back at Shion, who stirred slightly, brows furrowing, and his heart squeezed. No way he was letting the movers wake the baby now, not after that peaceful nap. So, with a quiet determination, Sae bent down and scooped Shion up, blanket and all. Goosey dangled from the crook of his elbow as he stood, adjusting the sleepy weight against his chest. Shion made a faint sound, a half-whine, half-sigh, then settled again once Sae’s hand began patting his back.
“Where’re you taking him?” Ryusei asked, watching with a grin.
“To the car,” Sae said simply. “At least it’s quiet there.”
Ryusei opened the door for him, chuckling softly. “You’re such a mama.”
Sae didn’t even look back. “That’s the point.”
He carefully carried Shion out to the car parked in the driveway, the late afternoon air warm and golden. The moment the door clicked shut, the chaos of unloading dulled into a distant hum.
Inside the car, it was peaceful again. Sae laid Shion down on the backseat, tucking the blanket snugly around him, Goosey positioned by his side. Shion sighed in his sleep and nuzzled into the plush toy, his little hand finding its wing without even opening his eyes.
Sae lingered a moment — just to watch. His lips softened.
When he went back inside, the movers were hauling a bookshelf through the door, and Ryusei was directing them with far too much enthusiasm.
“How’s our prince?” Ryusei asked when Sae reappeared.
“Sleeping,” Sae said, brushing a bit of dust off his sleeve. “In peace. Don’t ruin it. I'm not closing the car door.”
Ryusei smirked. “Wouldn’t dream of it, Sae-chan.”
Sae rolled his eyes, but there was a hint of relief in his smile. Even with all the noise, all the chaos, and a half-empty house turning into a home, his little family was safe — and that, really, was all that mattered.
By the time the last furniture was dragged through the door (it took like four hours to finished), the house finally looked like a home—if you ignored the cardboard mountains and the awkwardly bare corners where furniture hadn’t yet bought (Ryusei's problem). The living room had their old couch, now comically small against the wide walls; the kitchen was spotless but echoey; and the hallway felt like it went on forever.
Ryusei stretched, groaning dramatically. “We officially live here, babe. Look at us, grown adults with space.”
Sae, balancing a mug and a box cutter, only raised an eyebrow. “You make it sound like you’re surprised.”
“I am surprised. I didn’t think we’d make it this far without murdering each other or losing Shion in a box.”
“Don’t jinx it,” Sae muttered, cutting open another box marked kitchen things (important!!) in Ryusei’s messy handwriting.
The sound of tires crunching on gravel outside made Ryusei perk up. “Oh! reinforcements are here!”
A moment later, the front door swung open and Rin stepped in first, looking like he’d been bribed into coming. Meguru followed, carrying a paper bag that smelled suspiciously like snacks.
“We brought food!” Meguru chirped. “And oh my god, this place is huge!”
Rin looked around, unimpressed but mildly approving. “It’s decent.”
Sae rolled his eyes. “Don’t act like you’re not impressed.”
“I’m not,” Rin said flatly, but his gaze lingered on the sunlight spilling across the new hardwood floors.
Shion, meanwhile, had just woken up from his car nap and was toddling out of the guest room, his hair all puffed and his Goosey plush tucked under one arm. His eyes were wide at the unfamiliar space.
“Morning, sunshine,” Ryusei said, crouching down with a grin. “Welcome to the new house.”
Shion blinked sleepily, then turned his head, scanning the room until his eyes landed on Rin and Meguru. His whole face lit up. “JIi! Guu!”
Meguru immediately melted. “Shion-chaaan!” He swooped Shion up, spinning him in a careful circle until the baby squealed.
“Meguru, don’t make him dizzy,” Rin sighed, though his lips quirked slightly.
The four adults (and one very chatty toddler) soon turned the unpacking process into organized chaos. Rin was quietly unwrapping plates while Meguru tried to assemble a bookshelf without instructions. Ryusei was being Ryusei, moving boxes but getting distracted every five minutes by something he “just had to test” and Sae, of course, was supervising.
At one point, Shion ran over to a stack of bubble wrap and made it his mission to step on every single piece. The sharp pops filled the room.
Meguru giggled. “He’s helping!”
When the living room and the bedrooms finally started to resemble something livable, Ryusei dropped onto the couch with a loud sigh, patting the space beside him. “We did it. Mostly. Look, there’s even room for everyone.”
Meguru plopped down next to him, dragging Rin with him. Sae hesitated before sitting on the edge—his gaze inevitably drawn to Shion, who was now ran around the floor, proudly dragging Goosey by its wing and sang his usual Goosey Themed Song nonsense.
Shion stopped, looked around at all the adults sitting together, and let out a gleeful, “New home!”
Sae’s lips curved into something softer than his usual calm composure. “...Yeah,” he murmured, glancing around the half-furnished room, the family scattered across it, and the sound of Shion’s laughter echoing off the new walls..
.
.
That first night in the new house, everything felt a little too big. Too new. Too quiet.
Shion’s little room, painted soft cream with his favorite Goosey plushies lined up neatly, looked perfect in theory. His small bed was by the window, nightlight glowing, soft lullabies playing. But for some reason, he just couldn’t sleep. He rolled. He kicked. He hugged Goosey. He even tried babbling to himself (“mama… papa… goosey…”) but nothing helped. The shadows on the ceiling looked funny in the new room, and every creak of the house made his tiny eyebrows furrow in confusion.
So, naturally, Shion did what any sensible four-year-old would do. He started crying.
From down the hall, Sae’s instincts activated instantly. “...Ryusei.”
Ryusei was half-asleep, mumbling into the pillow. “Mmph… what?”
“Your son’s crying.”
“Our son,” Ryusei corrected weakly before sitting up, hair sticking in all directions. “Okay okay—I'm going.”
But before he could leave the room, Shion’s cries already turned into loud wails echoing through the new house. Sae sighed, got up, and met Ryusei at the door. The two of them peeked into Shion’s room to find the toddler lay on the floor, arms stretched toward them, fat tears rolling down his cheeks.
“Aw, buddy, what’s wrong? Don’t like your new room?” Ryusei whispered, scooping him up. Shion immediately buried his face into his papa’s neck, hiccupping softly.
Sae smoothed his baby’s back, whispering, “You’re supposed to be a brave boy, remember?”
Shion only made a sad little noise and held on tighter. “No brave boy.”
“Okay,” Sae sighed. “He’s not sleeping here tonight.”
Ryusei grinned, already walking back toward their room. “Oh nooo, what a tragedy~”
Sae gave him a look but followed anyway.
They set Shion between them on the big bed, wrapped in his blanket, Goosey plush tucked beside him. The moment his head hit the pillow between mama and papa, Shion gave a sleepy hum of approval, nuzzling closer to Sae’s chest.
“See? He just wants company,” Ryusei murmured, already lying back down.
“He’s getting used to the new space,” Sae replied softly, brushing hair off Shion’s forehead. “It’s a lot for him.”
“Yeah, same. I miss our small apartment already,” Ryusei said dramatically. “At least back there, if I screamed, everyone could hear it.”
Sae flicked his forehead. “Don’t start.”
Shion made a small noise, something between a sigh and a giggle then rolled toward his mama, pressing his little hand on Sae’s cheek.
Ryusei cooed quietly. “He picked his favorite.”
Sae shot him a half-hearted glare but leaned closer, kissing Shion’s tiny fingers. “Go to sleep, Shion.”
The baby’s eyes fluttered slowly, the room finally feeling warm and familiar. Between the soft hum of the night and his parents’ voices nearby, Shion relaxed completely—his breathing evening out as Goosey slipped from his grasp.
Ryusei whispered, “He’s out.”
Sae looked down at their sleeping son, snuggled between them, and smiled faintly. “Yeah.”
.
.
.
Shion loved the new house. It was so big, he could run and scream and echo all over the halls like his own personal concert. The living room had so much space that even his walker got tired halfway through the journey.
But the real treasure, the one Shion had been eyeing since day one was the backyard. It was visible through the glass doors, all shiny sunlight and green grass with a bunch of crunchy-looking dried leaves scattered everywhere. To Shion, it looked like heaven. To Sae, it looked like a potential chaos zone that needed sweeping.
And so, the grand rule was declared, no backyard playtime until Mama says it’s clean.
Shion didn’t understand what clean meant, but he knew that whenever he waddled near the glass doors and tried to touch the handle, Mama would go, “No.” And if Mama said no, then Papa couldn’t say yes (most of the time).
One sunny afternoon, Sae stood in the kitchen, leaning against the counter, arms crossed as he stared outside. The leaves fluttered dramatically in the wind. It looked like an autumn movie scene, except it was all just work.
“Should I sweep that?” he muttered, mostly to himself.
Ryusei, who was sitting nearby with Shion on his lap, eating banana slices together, looked up. “You’ve been saying that for three days, babe.”
“I’m thinking about hiring Rin.”
Ryusei snorted. “You think he’ll come sweep leaves for you?”
Sae shrugged, completely serious. “He owes me for existing. I can make him do it.”
Ryusei grinned. “You mean you’ll guilt-trip him until he shows up with a rake.”
“That’s called delegation,” Sae replied flatly.
Meanwhile, Shion with his banana cheeks puffed out like a squirrel was pointing his sticky finger toward the glass door.
“He wants to go outside again,” Ryusei translated.
“No,” Sae said instantly. “He’s not stepping foot there until it’s safe.”
“Safe from what? The evil leaves?” Ryusei teased.
“Yes,” Sae said, without blinking.
Shion, however, took his father's smirk as permission and wriggled down from his lap, running toward the backyard door. "Play!"
Sae intercepted him like a goalie. "Shion. Not yet."
The toddler froze. Then the face began to crumble. Not slowly. Not with warning. It was like watching a building collapse in real time. First the eyebrows dropped. Then the nose scrunched. Then the mouth opened—not to cry yet, but to prepare.
"Oh no," Ryusei whispered, already grabbing his phone to film. "Here it comes."
Sae sighed. "You can cry all you want, you're not—"
"NOOOOOOOOOOOO!!! "
The wail didn't just echo. It shattered the peace.
Shion threw himself backward like he'd been struck by lightning. His tiny body hit the floor and immediately began rolling. Arms flailing. Legs kicking. He spun across the kitchen tile like a possessed tumbleweed of pure fury.
"SHION WANT OUT! SHION WANT OUT NOW! "
"No—"
"MAMA MEAN! MAMA NO LOVE SHION! "
Sae pinched the bridge of his nose. "Shion, get off the floor."
"NOOOOOO! " Shion screamed, directly into the floor tile, then lifted his head just to scream again at the ceiling. "SHION LIVE HERE NOW!”
Ryusei was filming. Definitely filming. He had the zoom on and everything.
"GOOSEY WANT OUT TOO! " Shion continued, pointing wildly at the stuffed toy on the couch. "GOOSEY CRYING! LOOK! GOOSEY SAD! "
Goosey, who had fallen over from the vibration of the screaming, lay motionless on its side. It looked less sad and more like it had given up on life.
"GOOSEY SAY SHION NEED BACKYARD! " Shion sobbed, kicking his feet against the floor so hard his little slippers flew off. One hit the couch. The other hit Ryusei in the shin.
"Ow—" Ryusei winced, still filming. "Good aim, kid."
"GOOSEY SAY MAMA IS A BIG MEANIE PANTS! "
Sae's eye twitched. "Goosey didn't say that."
"GOOSEY DID! GOOSEY TOLD SHION! GOOSEY WHISPER! "
"Goosey is a stuffed animal."
Shion gasped like Sae had just committed a hate crime. His face went from angry to devastated. The tears—which had been strategic up until this point—suddenly became real. Huge, fat droplets rolled down his red cheeks. His chin quivered violently.
Then, the final boss move. Shion stopped rolling. Stopped kicking. Stopped screaming. He went limp. Face-down on the kitchen floor.
Completely motionless.
For a full five seconds, Sae felt a genuine spike of panic.
"Shion?"
Silence.
"Shion, get up."
Nothing.
Ryusei lowered his phone slightly. "Uh. Is he okay?"
Then, without lifting his face from the floor, Shion spoke. His voice was muffled by tile, but the drama was crystal clear, "Shion... dead."
Sae stared.
"Mama no love Shion," the tiny corpse continued, voice thick with fake tragedy. "No play. No Goosey. No love. Shion gone forever."
Ryusei snorted. Sae closed his eyes. Drew a slow breath. Counted to ten. Then twenty.
"...You're not dead."
"Shion is dead," came the muffled reply. "Shion ghost now. Ooooooo." He even did the ghost noise.
Ryusei lost it. He doubled over, wheezing, phone shaking in his hand.
"Stop laughing," Sae hissed.
"Ooooooo, Shion ghost haunt Mama forever. Ooooooo. Mama never sleep again."
Sae looked down at the small, limp, absurdly dramatic child pretending to be deceased on his kitchen floor. Then he looked at Ryusei, who was crying with laughter. Then back at Shion, who was now peeking one eye open to check if his performance was working.
“Okay, okay, fine!” Ryusei said between laughter. “We’ll go out after Mama cleans it, yeah?”
“Papa can clean!” Shion pointed at Ryusei like a tiny boss.
Ryusei gasped.
And that’s how Shion got his wish granted halfway. Papa outside with a broom, Sae sipping iced coffee at the door, and Shion pressing his face against the glass, cheering, “Papa! Papa!” every few seconds like his father was performing a grand act of heroism.
The leaves didn’t stand a chance.
Shion pressed his palms against the glass door, nose squished flat, eyes sparkling with awe like he was watching the most important man alive. On the other side, Ryusei was dramatically sweeping the backyard—shirt half-tucked, slevees rolled up, and moving with the intensity of a man who’s been wronged by nature itself.
From Shion’s perspective, it was like watching a wild papa in his new habitat. From Sae’s perspective, it was like watching his husband overacting a minimum-wage performance.
“Papa!” Shion squealed, bouncing on his tiny feet and smacking the glass. “Paaapaaaa!!”
Ryusei stopped mid-sweep and turned dramatically toward the window, leaning on the broom like a tragic movie hero. He mouthed “for you, my son,” before resuming his exaggerated movements—each sweep grand, emotional, as if every leaf symbolized a new beginning.
Sae, standing behind Shion with his coffee, deadpanned, “He’s acting like he’s trying to earn bread for the family.”
Shion gasped like it was true. He looked back at his mama with huge eyes and pointed. “Papa work!”
“Yes,” Sae sighed, “Papa’s… working.”
Outside, Ryusei was really committing. He wiped imaginary sweat off his forehead, straightened his back like a tired laborer, and dramatically glanced at Shion through the glass. “This breadwinner life isn’t easy, little man,” he said, pretending to be out of breath.
Sae slid the glass door open halfway, unimpressed. “You could’ve just used the leaf blower.”
"That's soulless," Ryusei said, still sweeping. "This is for the bond. He's learning the value of effort."
"He's learning his father is insane," Sae replied, but there was a small smile tugging at his lips.
Ryusei pointed the broom toward Shion, voice muffled through the door. "This is for you! So you can play outside soon!"
Shion gasped. "FOR SHION?!"
"All for you, little man!"
"PAPA BEST PAPA!" Shion screamed, then turned to Sae with wide, accusing eyes. "Mama hear that? Papa do work! Papa save the backyard! Mama stand!"
Sae crossed his arms. "I'm supervising."
Shion squinted at him. "Super...?"
"Supervising. Watching to make sure Papa does it right."
Shion thought about this for approximately half a second. Then he pointed at Ryusei through the glass. "Papa do okay. Mama no need watch. Mama can go... um..." He waved his hand vaguely. "Go do Mama things. In the room. Far away."
Sae raised an eyebrow. "You're trying to get rid of me."
Shion's eyes went huge and innocent. "Noooo. Shion love Mama."
"You literally just called me mean mama.”
"That was before," Shion said, as if this were obvious. "Now Papa save leaves. So Papa good. Mama... okay."
"...Okay?"
Shion nodded seriously. "Mama okay. Not mean anymore. If Mama say no to outside. Then Mama mean again."
"So I'm only good if I let you play outside."
Shion tilted his head. "...yes."
Sae stared at him. Shion stared back, completely unbothered. Shion was such an Itoshi it made Sae cried a little.
From outside, Ryusei's muffled voice called, "Did he just negotiate your entire moral standing?"
"Don't help him," Sae muttered.
And then Ryusei finished his masterpiece and struck a pose, broom held high like a warrior. Shion went wild, bouncing, babbling triumphantly, pressing his face to the glass again as if trying to join him.
Then Ryusei came in, sweaty and grinning. “See, babe? All clean.”
Shion pointed outside. “Play now??”
Sae looked at the spotless yard, then at his dramatic husband and their cheering son. “…Fine. But you’re both bathing after.”
Ryusei grinned. “Deal.”
And just like that, Papa the Breadwinner and Shion the tiny Itoshi went outside, hand in hand—one proud of his hard labor, the other believing his father had just saved the entire planet from leaves.