Work Text:
Wayu is momentarily confused when Singto doesn’t come to greet him at the front door, but the soft sounds coming from the kitchen ease his worry before it even has time to flourish. There’s a brief moment where Wayu misses the feeling of Singto’s arms wrapping around his legs, but he pushes it aside as he moves further into the house, towards the kitchen. He thinks its a testament to what an incredible kid Singto is, and how much Wayu loves him, that the absence of his welcome hit so hard.
Wayu would have taken care of his sister’s kid no matter what, but he also instinctively knows that he won the jackpot with Singto. He feels incredibly fortunate to have entered fatherhood with a son like Singto, and with the addition of Krit, Wayu truly thinks he and Singto may be the luckiest people in the world.
Turning the corner, Wayu’s met with Krit and Singto in the kitchen, Krit holding onto Singto as Singto kneels on the counter, a wooden spoon in his hand. Wayu stops and leans against the wall, watching with a feeling in his chest he can’t quite name. Krit’s grip on Singto is steady but not overly firm, just an arm looped around Singto’s tiny frame like a safety belt, keeping him from falling backward or getting too close to the stove. Singto’s tongue is poking out the corner of his mouth as he stirs the contents of a steaming pot. Wayu can’t hear their soft conversation, but the fact that Singto is talking at all is enough to send Wayu’s heart soaring.
Watching his shy son open up to Krit over the weeks they’ve been staying with him has been incredible. Thinking about it too much makes the feeling in Wayu’s chest morph into something scarily easy to name, if one were so inclined. Which Wayu isn’t. Yet.
Sensing a presence, Krit turns his head with a frown that quickly morphs into a smile upon realizing it’s only Wayu. “You’re home,” he says, voice warm enough to make Wayu melt a bit.
Singto looks up, sensing Krit’s attention is now elsewhere. “Papa!” he exclaims in his tiny voice.
“What are you doing over there?” Krit asks, hoisting Singto into his arms and carrying him over to Wayu.
“Watching,” Wayu says, taking Singto from Krit. “Did you have a good day with P’Krit today?”
Singto nods, placing his hands on Wayu’s cheeks, patting gently like he’s making sure Wayu is real and did indeed return.
“What are you making?” Wayu asks Krit, who’s hand is rubbing circles on Singto’s back.
“A family recipe,” Krit says. “It doesn’t really have a name.”
Wayu shifts Singto’s weight as Singto continues his exploration of Wayu’s person, small fingers now grabbing fistfuls of Wayu’s hair. He’s glad he remembered to shower before leaving work today. “Well, is there room for one more sous chef?”
“Always,” Krit murmurs, taking Wayu’s free hand and leading him over to the stove.