Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

“Tadaima!” Fuma announces as the door of their home closes behind him with beeps indicating the locking of the pin.

He doesn't really have to say it since the only other person he lives with is in his arms but he does it to keep up their traditions from back home so Harua never forgets.

He drops the boy in his arms down on the ground and Harua jumps once in excitement, always loves it when Fuma carried him in his arms despite how much bigger he's grown over the years.

“Okaeri! Yay!”

He stands there just looking at Fuma while the man takes off his own jacket and hangs it up on the long rack near the shoe rack.

Fuma looks down and sees him standing there and sighs. They go through this every day; Harua will not take off his jacket until Fuma asks for it even though he knows to do so.

“Take off your jacket and hand it to me, Harua.”

“Okay, papa.” He smiles and unzips his jacket before shrugging off the jacket and handing it to Fuma's waiting hand. “Here you go.”

As Fuma hangs up the article of clothing, he turns to Harua who has now begun to take off his shoes and put them up on the shoe rack.

“How was school? Did you like the new place?”

He knows it's not easy moving from a different country to another and the limited Korean he taught Harua a year before his transfer was completed surely couldn't be enough for him to be socially adept.

He's worried about how Harua would settle into the school and the entire environment in general. Things would've been easier if Fuma had stayed back five years ago, just after he'd held Harua in his arms for the first time. If he had stayed back and made a life for himself here before moving to Japan and came back now, things would've been fine, perfect even, but as it is, he didn't.

On top of that, Harua just had to be a shy kid, which of course did nothing to help his socializing. Fuma seriously worries if he'll be treated as an outcast.

“It was okay.” The boy shrugs. He picks at a stray thread on his pants. They're getting a little short for him. Fuma should go shopping soon. If he finds time. He should also ask when the uniforms will be available. “I didn't make any new friends though.”

“Why not? Were you shy again?” He frowns to himself, not trying to scold Harua but knowing that the kid sometimes pulls into his own shell and avoids talking to people even when they seem interested in him.

“I wasn't!” He retaliates with a slightly pitchy voice. “I just— I just didn't want to speak to anyone yet.” He shrugs.

“It's alright. No rush, hm? It's only the first week.” He ruffles his hair a bit.

“Yeah. I'm gonna go change.”

Fuma nods. “Alright. You do that.”

Fuma folds his sleeves and heads to the kitchen. He calls out into the void of their house, hoping his voice travels through the corridor and into Harua's room tucked into the corner, right opposite Fuma's own room. “What do you want to eat, Ru? Should I make you some sandwiches?” When a response doesn't come back for a while like it usually does, both of them conversing through the silence of their house, Fuma calls out again. 

“Harua?”

A fluff of brown hair appears through the corner and the little boy stands next to the island in the kitchen.

“I'm back, papa. I don't want sandwiches. And the rice you made this morning had too much veggies.”

He thinks Harua would be a great food critic if that's what he wanted to be when he grew up. He has a way of picking at things and giving feedback especially on Fuma's cooking.

Fuma laughs. “Veggies are good for your body, Ru. You picked them out, didn't you?” He sighs exasperatedly as he opens the bento box and sees the plentiful vegetables he had garnished Harua's food with that morning staring back up at him. “Harua.”

“I'm sorry. I don't like them,” Harua says with a crestfallen face.

“It can't be helped, Ru.” Fuma sighs. “Come on, let's not start again, okay?”

“Okay, papa. What are you making for dinner?”

Fuma pinches the bridge of his nose and looks down at Harua after a thought forms in his head. “Um, should we just order something?”

He's feeling a little tired today and doesn't feel like dealing with the pickiness of his five year old.

“Japanese?” Harua perks up, his eyes growing wide with excitement as he starts to jump in his spot. “Please, let's get yakitori! Please, Papa!”

“Okay okay, settle down.” Fuma chuckles, taking a jumping Harua's hand and walking them off to the living room.

He fishes his phone out of his pocket and sits on the couch, Harua crawling on the couch and pressing his body against his side, peering into his phone to help him select a variety of food knowing very well they'll only end up storing the rest in the fridge but Fuma doesn't mind it, likes that they can have leftovers and he can warm them up the next day for Harua to take to school or for a quick breakfast.

Harua's tiny fingers reach for the screen as Fuma types in “japanese” into the cuisine he's looking for in the search bar and the app filters through restaurants to choose shops close to them and he picks the closest to them that pops up at the top.

It's a Japanese name that Fuma doesn't bother to read through, what with an excited Harua next to him telling him to papa, please scroll! Can I choose the desserts?. The boy points at various menu items, adding them to their cart and Fuma thinking of how he'll have to remove some number of apple pies Harua had picked.

He pays at the checkout inserting their new address that Harua proudly recites to him (“13, block A, Panaf Drive!”) and the delivery app tells him the delivery time is 10 minutes which means the place couldn't have been farther than a walk down the road from their apartment.

Fuma turns on the TV for the sake of getting Harua off his body for a second as they wait for their food to arrive. He contemplates cutting them some fruit or even playing a few cucumbers since that's the only vegetable Harua will eat.

He's just about to ask if Harua would like some when the doorbell rings and he checks his phone to see the tiny delivery bike on the map in the app suddenly move from the place they ordered from to his pinned location.

He makes an impressed expression at the phone for the quick delivery and then gets up from the couch. Harua is quick to ignore the animation playing on the TV to stand up and follow quietly behind Fuma as he goes to the door.

Just as they reach the door, the ringing comes again and Fuma has to call out a quick, “coming!” As he unlocks the door and when he opens the door, Fuma has to fight back a full body gasp. Both for the sake of Harua and for the sake of the beautiful man standing in front of him.

The delivery rider has his helmet held under his arm and his hair is a little sweaty so it sticks to his forehead and his large dark eyes that look up at him reminds Fuma of a little calf.

He's tall, taller than Fuma even and has these plush pink lips that spread to reveal a set of pearly whites. He looks pretty young too, probably younger than Fuma but he can't be sure.

Fuma absentmindedly wonders what his lips would taste like. Then he remembers Harua is clinging to his dress pants and he hasn't said a single word to the delivery guy so he clears his throat to but the man beats him to it.

“Hello. Good evening,” he says, tilting his head to a side a bit. He lifts the brown paper bag in his hand, reads the writing on it and looks at Fuma. Fuma takes note of the large and red letter ‘K’ that's printed on the paper bag, probably the name of the shop. “Order for Murata?”

Fuma nods, a little dazed. He blinks himself back to the present. “Ah yes. That's me.”

Fuma keeps looking at him, taking in his lean figure underneath the shirt and trousers he has on, the ease with which he handles holding the helmet under this arm and the food in another hand and still managing to make clear conversation with Fuma.

He has this air of confidence around him that pulls Fuma in despite his own shy demeanor. All of a sudden, Fuma, who hasn't kept a lot of friends all his life, an only child with a single child himself, wants to sit down with this man and talk to him endlessly, hear the way he speaks easily, carefully and prettily, watch him bat his eyelashes at him while his lips pull into a smile, poke his cheek and let his finger move under the give of the softness of his cheek.

He wants to know him, viscerally and Fuma is shocked to his core at how sudden this feeling of want, a feeling he has bottled up for so long, ignored and stored at the back of his mind, hoping he'd never need another reason to pop it open because he has his hands full with Harua already — everything he could want — and it consumes him whole and he lets it despite knowing that it's just going to leave him hollow because what is he even thinking?

This is just a delivery guy. In what world would their paths ever cross again? He's probably delivering on behalf of the app and not the shop so what chances does he even have in over a thousand that this same man would show up on his doorstep once again?

“Okay. Here.” He hands him the paper bag and then a small notepad that he asks Fuma to sign next to his name.

“Thank you,” Fuma says as he hands the notepad back to him, careful to not let their fingers touch lest he blows up.

“You're welcome,” the guy stuffs the notepad into his pocket and just as he's about to leave, he looks down to Fuma's leg and spots Harua. His face breaks out into a grin and he waves enthusiastically. “Hello!”

Harua waves at him with a small hand, his other hand still clinging to Fuma's thigh. Fuma looks down at Harua with an amused smile, surprised he's even responding to someone he just met.

He bows his head. “Good evening. Thank you for delivering our food.” Despite his small voice and shy demeanor, the other guy seems to appreciate just getting a response.

“You're welcome.” He says, cheeks bunching up with his smile.

Fuma turns Harua around with a hand on his head as he makes to close the door. “Let's go inside, okay? Thank you.” He directs that to the guy, chancing a glance that lasts too long but the man is too focused on waving bye to Harua to even notice how Fuma is trying to memorize each of his features in case he never gets to see him again.

“Bye-bye!” He says and Harua responds with a little more enthusiasm than before.

As they eat, Fuma tries really had to focus on the story Harua is telling him about the characters on the TV — alongside the comments he makes about the apple pie they got from the restaurant — but the sight of that man; sweaty forehead and kind eyes, plague his mind and he feels apprehensive about the replay of that short conversation they had that's playing behind his eyelids when he blinks because the thing with wanting what you can have is that your mind tries to play tricks on your mind to give you a little hope, telling you to expect something to happen.

Fuma knows the universe doesn't work that way, knows that the heavens look down at him with pity now that they've ignited a little spark in his otherwise stale life — he's not complaining, it's been alright so far — knowing very well they're gonna extinguish that fire any moment from now.

He's learned not to expect things from people or the world, he really has, but there's just something, something in the air that whooshes past his defenses and rests over the concrete, planting itself between the beginnings of a crack that has formed, fighting against all odds to bloom.

Days later at dinner, Harua is stuffing his face with stir fry noodles that Fuma made with less veggies just to get him to eat enough — it seems to be working since he's scarfing down his second bowl of the night without complaints, while Fuma is picking at the side of kimchi he has plated for them, he decides to ask again.

“How was school?” He throws the question out casually, noticing the way Harua keeps trying to lick into the bowl. “If you need more food, you should ask, Ru. Don't lick the bowl.”

Sometimes Fuma thinks Harua is the most easy to raise child, that he hasn't had it as bad as the other parents talk about but once in a while, he acts weird and disregards all of his manners that it shocks Fuma only for him to remember that it's his son so there's absolutely no weird aspect about him that Fuma hasn't undergone as well when he was growing up. And besides, he's just a child.

Harua settles the bowl back down on the table instead of putting his entire face into it. He nods to himself and drops his chopsticks to start using his fingers to pick at the remaining rice in his bowl. “I like our teacher. He's funny. Wijuu-ssaem.”

Fuma is half certain that's not the actual name of the teacher but he only nods. “Yeah? How about the students?”

Harua finally drops his bowl and sits back on the chair, recalling the people in his class. “There's Taki. His real name is Riki though. We have three Rikis so they all have nicknames.”

“Is he nice?”

He shrugs. “Yeah. He doesn't speak much but he drew me a flower!” His voice lights up towards the end as if just remembering the sweet gesture.

“How nice of him,” Fuma nods.

It's rare for Harua to be so honest about new people, especially when he's always been a quiet child in school. Fuma's glad he's at least interacting with the class even if it's just one person.

Harua reaches across the table to grab his cup with sticky soy covered fingers and takes a sip. “Mhm. There's also Maki. Maki follows him a lot though. He's also named Riki! He talks a lot too.”

Fuma hums to himself, starting to collect the dishes to take them to the sink, Harua turning on the chair towards him so he can keep talking. 

“I don't mind though. He's fun.”

“That's good, Ru. I'm glad you have friends now,” Fuma says as he rinses off some of the suds from his hands, washing the few bowls and cups in the sink and putting them to dry on the dishes rack next to the sink. He turns to Harua. “Come on, come wash your hands.”

Harua gets up and walks towards the sink, using the stepping stool placed there as he lets Fuma lather his hands with soap and he scrubs them thoroughly before finding them under the tap Fuma leaves open for him.  

“How's work, papa?” He asks with an extra chirp to his voice, using a cloth Fuma hands him to dab his hand dry.

Fuma helps him off the chair while looking down at him, amused from this question. Harua wasn't usually one to talk about other things than his own experience through the day and only when asked at that but the sudden interest in Fuma's own daily life has him shocked and a little concerned if he's being honest.

Fuma chuckles and moves both of them back to the table to sit down before they leave the kitchen.

“It's alright. It's not so bad,” he shrugs. Then he rubs his chin with his fingers, leaning on the table to give Harua his full focus. “Why'd you ask?”

“Our teacher said we should ask our parents about their day. Maybe they're tired sometimes.” He explains animatedly.

Fuma listens diligently like he always does when Harua has something to say albeit it being pointless because even if no one else would listen to him, Fuma should be the one to. He also likes that he gets off work early enough to pick Harua up and get them both home to listen to him chatter away.

The promotion he was offered from his office in Japan was a good choice despite it including him moving counties with a five year old. It came with better pay — enough to afford the move and the new apartment they lived in amongst other things, gave him more flexible working times and now, an additional reason not included in the contract; the plaguing memory of soft eyes belonging to the kind delivery man that showed up on their doorstep almost a week ago.

He's tried to manage his thoughts and compartmentalize them into storages of things that are really important to him and down to those that he shouldn't concern himself with. And really, he tries his best to push the thoughts of that man's beautiful smile and his voice like a lullaby speaking to him into one of the boxes that he shouldn't open ever again, left there to turn to dust eventually but time and time again, his own mind betrays him.

Late at night when he has tucked Harua into bed and has retired to his own room, snuggled into the empty sheets of a bed that feels far too large for himself, his brain offers comfort with memoirs of that day; flashes of sweaty hair matted to a forehead, glimpses of a set of straight teeth peeking from behind pink plush lips.

Fuma has to shake his head and try to think of anything but that man but it's the only thing that lulls him to sleep, the glimmer in his eyes as he had spoken to Fuma even though it surely was just a transactional interaction for him and it fills Fuma with shame to have such strong feelings towards someone he only met that day and someone he wasn't ever going to see again anyways.

He's not like this. It's not like him to want to know someone on such a deep basis. It's not like him to keep replaying a set of certain words spoken to him by one man until he has forgotten the timbre in his voice and has to hope his memory is providing him with the right tone.

It's happening now too, he can feel himself drifting into thought about him but he catches himself before he drives too far, remembers that Harua is waiting for a response from him.

“Oh,” Fuma nods. Harua's new teacher must really love his job if he's interacting with children on this level, enough to get them to connect with their emotions and especially in regards to people around them. He shrugs. “Well, work is okay, for me at least. I'm not so tired these days, you see?”

Harua nods solemnly, like he's listening to Fuma propose a deal. But all that seriousness is replaced with glee when he speaks next.

“Yeah. And you're less busy!” He claps his hands. “We get to talk a lot. Unlike in Japan.”

The words make a smile bloom over Fuma's face, striking and showing his full teeth, matching the smile on Harua's face, both of their bunny teeth appearing.

The thought that Harua likes spending more time with him now that he's less busy and less all over the place brings a sort of comfort to his heart.

He nods to himself. “Unlike in Japan. This is far better.”

“I like it.” Harua confesses.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. You're my best friend, you know,” he says it in a small voice, picking at his nails that reminds Fuma to trim some of them down when he falls asleep.

“I'm your father. How can I possibly be your best friend?” He chuckles to himself.

“I don't know. Does it matter?” Harua scrunches up his face into one of confusion. “I just like Papa a lot.”

Fuma shakes his head with a short laugh. “No, it doesn't matter. But maybe Maki or Taki will eventually be your best friends?”

Harua shrugs and mumbles to himself. “Maybe. They're okay,”

“That's a good start.”

It is. For both of them.

When Fuma's not sitting at his desk going over sheets of excel displaying rows and rows of numbers he has to blink through a lens to comprehend, he's clocking off by 3pm and headed to his son's school to pick him up and head home. It's routine and he's gotten it down to T by now.

But not all days go as planned and today is one of them. He'd been so busy in a meeting with a new client that he forgot they had a report to send over to the head office and since he was sort of the boss there, he has to stay till everyone had submitted their part and he had compiled them and sent it over before everyone was let go of.

By the time he looked down at his watch as he drove through shortcuts in town to reach Harua's school, it was already a few minutes past 4pm.

He groans to himself as he waits at a red light. He knows the school stays open for an hour or two longer after closing but all parents had been advices to pick up their wards at the time of closing and Fuma has kept to it, always punctual and never making it an inconvenience to the teachers that were on closing duty to stay out far longer than they needed to but it really couldn't be helped today.

As he drives into the parking lot of the school and pulls his gear into park, he hurriedly rushes out of his seat and heads towards the gate of the green grassed compound.

He walks in and immediately meets a tall, brown haired man with round eyes and even rounder cheeks. Fuma has seen him around, lingering in the front of the school building, peeling kids off his arm and legs while the other teacher — usually a lady — controlled the pickup of children at the gate.

“Mr. Murata,” he says, voice calm. “You're a little late today.”

Fuma bows his head in apology.

“I apologize. Work didn't let me leave early. Was it a bother?”

He looks around and doesn't see any of the other children out on the grass except a figure that's picking up their school bag and water bottle and starting to run towards them from the playground.

The man shrugs. “Not really. But the school does encourage you to pick your kids up early.” his voice is soft even as he reprimands Fuma. Fuma has the urge to listen and abide by whatever he says. “But you already know that. You're always on time too.”

“Like I said, work. I'm really sorry.” Fuma apologizes once again.

“It's alright,” he smiles. Then he holds Harua's hand as the child walks up to him. “Come, Harua.” He then hands him to his father, letting Fuma clasp Harua's smaller palm in his.

Harua tilts his head back to look up at Fuma with an indignant pout. “Papa! You're late.”

“I'm so sorry, Ru.” He says as sincerely as he can muster. And he doesn't even have to try so hard because he really does mean it. “I'll make it up to you.”

Harua’s pout dissolves into something more mischievous. He grins widely up at Fuma. “Does that mean I get a treat today?”

Fuma doesn't have it in him to negotiate. He's had a long day and clearly so has the teacher in front of him and Harua. He supposes he needs a treat as well so he nods and squeezes Harua's hand and starts to walk them off in the direction of the gate. 

“Sure. Let's do that.”

“Okay. Bye, Wijuu-ssaem.” Harua turns around to wave to who seems to be their class teacher, judging from the name Fuma has heard from Harua a few times now.

He understands now why Harua likes him. And why he's perfectly fit for being a teacher, especially at the early stages of children's lives. He's good at it. He's patient and he's kind and he knows how to reprimand you without sounding cruel. It's a hard task in this time. 

“Goodbye, Harua. See you tomorrow.” The teacher waves back from where he's still standing by the grass.

On their way out, Fuma sees another person walking in through the gate, their head bowed but he catches a side of blonde hair peeking out from under his baseball cap.

“Good afternoon,” He greets him on his way out with a slight bow of his own head. It's only respectful.

The man replies curtly, tilting down the edge of his cap in greeting. “Afternoon.” Then his voice gets louder and excited as he approaches the teacher, so much so that Fuma can hear him even as they exit the school gates. “Juju, let's go!”

What a weird nickname, he thinks to himself as he tucks Harua into his car seat at the back, the five year old leaning back against the seat to get comfortable.

Fuma turns on the radio and let's Harua dictate what he was busy doing before he came to pick him up and drives them home in relative peace.

Since his whole day has been thrown off balance, Fuma finds it a little hard to get back into his routine of cooking or reheating something up for their dinner.

Instead, he changes into a pair of sweatpants and a shirt and when Harua comes back from his room all changed as well, they plop on the couch with Fuma's phone in between them, trying to decide whether they should cook ramen or order in.

Harua makes the decision for them fairly easily.

“Papa, let's order in again. For my treat,” he adds, reminding Fuma of the promise he made an hour ago.

Fuma has absolutely no objections, in fact, you could even say he was a little excited about ordering in which shouldn't be normal but there's just this little spark of hope in his chest telling him that a good thing might come out of this.

His finger hovers over the ordering app’s search bar. “Japanese?”

“Yes! More apple pie please.”

The page instantly redirects him to that of the previous restaurant they had ordered from, showing them what's on discount and if they'd like to reorder their previous order.

Fuma selects what they want with the help of Harua reminding him every second to not forget the apple pies since they were in the last section of the page.

“I'll get you two and you can only have one tonight. It's quite late,” he tells him and Harua agrees with him, nodding rapidly.

“Okay!”

Fuma won't lie, he's excited. He doesn't know what it is that's making him a little jittery as he pays at the checkout and has to wait for it to arrive in the amount of time the app showed but he keeps having a little drop of hope in his chest dripping down to water that seed that had gotten stuck in the cracks.

It shouldn't be blooming, heck, it shouldn't even be there but it is and Fuma has no control over his mind anymore, so unlike him, uncharacteristic to his social way of life but his hands are tied and there's nothing he can do from his position right now.

Only wait for the —

“Papa, there's a knock.” That comes from Harua sat on the floor reading a book to while away time and his sudden jumps as he waits for Fuma to get up from the couch, his small legs making a run for their door.

Fuma's heart is quite literally on his sleeve, itching and praying to the heavens that the person on the other side is that dark haired man with kind eyes that could make the toughest hearts melt into a puddle.

His hands reach for the knob as he opens it, not bothering to look through the small display screen to check who it is, wanting the surprise to actually get to him.

He flings the door open with a smile and is only mildly disappointed to see that it isn't the guy his mind has been craving for all this whole but rather, a shorter man who has a snapback on his head, eyes hidden by his unruly cut black locks and a piercing on his lower lip.

But he's wearing the same shirt that other guy was and now that Fuma is looking down at him, (instead of being entranced and bewitched) he actually has the mind to notice the large letter K imprinted on this rider's shirt that matches the one on the paper bag their food is in. 

“Hello. Delivery for Murata?” His voice is cool and sharp and Fuma almost forgets to respond when the other tilts his head and lifts up the bag to his face, shaking it a little as if trying to bring Fuma back to life.

Fuma blinks and silently reprimands himself for being so distracted. “Y-yes. Yes, that's us.”

“Okay great,” the guy hands the bag to Fuma and then rummages through his pocket for a notepad, similar to the one he signed on some days ago. “You gotta sign here.” Fuma takes the pen and signs next to his name while the delivery guy preens down at the person holding tight on Fuma's pants. He lifts his hand and waves with a smile, his gums showing. “Hi, I'm Yuma.”

Harua, unlike he previous confidence and curiosity to the other guy, actually pulls on Fuma's pants to get his attention, biting on one of his fingers as he asks, “Papa, can I say hi?”

Fuma chuckles and nods. “Sure, Ru.”

Harua's face immediately breaks out into a grin. He waves back at the guy, now named, who basks in the attention. “I'm Harua.”

Yuma gasps and tells him his name sounds lovely and before Fuma loses his own spurt of confidence and bravery, he perks up and decides to ask, having connected the little dots.

He clears his throat and rubs at the back of his head sheepishly, a little shy now that he's actually saying it out loud. “Excuse me. Where's that other.. um delivery rider?”

Yuma takes the notepad from Fuma and tilts his head confusedly as he tucks it back to his pocket. “Who?”

“Tall?” Fuma gestures with his hand to a space higher than his head a little.

Yuma hums and thinks for a split second. “Jojo is tall. Maybe him? Did he have a mole here?” He points to a place over his chin.

Fuma didn't get that close to notice the fine details of his face. The mere thought of getting that close to his imaginary man makes his stomach do a weird thing. 

He chuckles and shrugs. “I don't know.”

He's surprised at the fact that they're having such a casual conversation despite just meeting. Something must've come over Fuma after coming back to Seoul, his ease to befriend and converse with new people steadily increasing with or without his own consent.

That or he's just never been relaxed enough to welcome new people into his life, too worried he's going to break off their friendships because he's too busy, because Harua fell sick, because he had to work two jobs to keep them afloat. But now he's handsomely paid and he has time for himself. Maybe it's his body and subconscious way of saying that he's doing far better than when he started.

Yuma then almost jumps in place as he claps his hands, having discovered something else. “Did he talk beyond your delivery details? Make more conversation?”

Harua jumps and raises his hand rapidly, grinning wide like he has an answer to the question. Which he does. “Yes! He said hi to me.”

Yuma nods with pursed lips. “Oh, that's definitely Kei hyung. He's in the kitchen tonight.” Then his expression turns questioning. “He delivered to you before?”

“Yes,” 

He shrugs. “Hm. Must've been a busy day. Thanks.” He waves to Harua. “Bye-bye!”

Kei.

Fuma tests it out on his tongue later when he's laying down on his back staring up at the ceiling, thinking back to Yuma’s confirmation.

It had to be him. They were both wearing the same shirts from the same restaurant.

Fuma can't believe the universe actually listened to him, actually gave water to the seeds it planted in his heart against his own will. He wonders just how long it'll take for him to reach a hand over the stalks and pull them when he receives the expected rejection that comes from crushing — this has to be a crush, no person wants to kiss someone they met just once — on someone so beautiful. He had to be taken, had to have someone to go home to. Even if he didn't, what would he do with someone with a child?

Fuma sighs dejectedly. He can't help it, he opens his mouth and dares to taste the name on his tongue.

Kei.

It sounds as beautiful as he looks.

Having moved into their house not too long ago, Fuma is only a little sad he didn't get to explore the area on foot earlier.

They were immediately met with back to back projects and setting up Harua in school immediately after they moved so exploring their neighborhood was totally out of the question.

But now it's been a couple of weeks — almost a month and Fuma has gotten the hang of the traffic on his way to work and Harua's school and on the way back, has found a market to buy fresh seafood since Harua loved a good seafood boil every now and then, he even went to a shopping mall with Harua last weekend to get some new clothes so overall, he can say they're both settling in nicely.

And the weather is not so bad either, having moved mid May, just after the cold whispers of the earlier months and just on the brink of the July summer.

All aforementioned things in consideration, Fuma decides this nice weather should not go to waste and immediately notifies Harua that they'll be taking a walk by the time the clock strikes five.

Harua, so puppy like, yells a joyous hurray, jumps and immediately rushes to his room to slip on some warmer clothes since the evenings get colder than the afternoon hours.

He's out faster than he went into the room and his hair is flying in every which way from changing clothes at such rapid speed. He meets Fuma at the threshold, all dressed and wearing his shoes. Harua does the same and stands back up, disheveled and pink cheeked.

“It's not like I was going to leave you behind,” Fuma laughs, so amused by Harua's excitement.

“I know,” Harua nods, a little breathless and then he sticks out his hand, letting Fuma know he wants to hold hands.

Fuma holds his smaller palm in his own warm palm that completely engulfs it and walks them out of the house, squeezing slightly to keep himself grounded.

It's a beautiful area where they live now. Walking around the place, Fuma realizes that the company really did a lot for him when he took them up on the offer of a new position with accomodations and transport included. 

All the houses look the same; tall and slightly bulky with yellow frames over the windows to trademark the estate company that built it and usually gray and yellow would not be a combination Fuma would go for but for a couple of reasons, he really doesn't mind. One being that he's not the one handling the housing and two, he can't see the outside colors while he's inside the house so there's basically no problem.

There's a small fenced park that they pass by ten minutes into their walk that Harua pulls Fuma towards, gasping at the large slide and swings that are occupied by two kids his size; one on the swing and the other pushing him.

He sits down at the bench and let's Harua have his fun for a timed thirty minutes. 

“Remember, thirty!” Fuma calls after him as he settles on the bench next to a woman who is suddenly putting her phone away and sitting on alert. He turns to her with a polite smile and a greeting after making sure Harua has heard him. “Hello, good evening.”

“Evening,” she replies casually, eyes wavering from Fuma to the set of swings and slide that the kids are playing on. She points in the general direction of the playground. “Your kid?”

“Yeah,”

She hums to herself and looks at Fuma, her eyes squinting at him and then back at Harua. Fuma sits there without saying a word. He's used to being sized up by people and despite her unsavory method of approach, she seems like a concerned mother just wanting to confirm if he's not some kidnapper.

“Yeah, the resemblance is there,” she seems to come to a decision and then her earlier frown melts into a smile. “I'm Kazuha. Never seen you around.”

“Just moved here recently,” Fuma informs with a bow of his head. “I'm Fuma. That's Harua.”

“Nice to meet you,” she nods. “You hardly see parents coming out of their homes for nice sunlight these days. Those two almost broke their mother’s furniture and that was enough to get them out of the house.”

“Yeah, the weather is amazing,” Fuma responds.

“I know rig—”

Then she suddenly turns to the children she seems to be with who are somehow tackling each other to the ground at the same time. “Hey! Both of you pack it up! We're going home since you can't behave. Come on!”

They both instantly get off of each other, one of them immediately spewing apologies and begging to stay while the other just points a single accusing finger at the other one.

“I really don't care who started it, we're going,” she snaps her fingers and instantly the boys deflate, both of them turning around and waving to Harua who is stuck at the top of the slide, probably waiting for them to finish tousling before he slides down.

“Bye-bye,” one of them says with a sniffle. 

Fuma watches as Harua waves back at them albeit confused and then the two kids walk towards Kazuha who has already stood up with her bag slung over her shoulder.

She herds them into one place and then turns to Fuma with her smile again. “It's nice having outdoor parents to sit with. Please come by often.”

“Sure thing,” Fuma nods and waves his goodbye as she holds a hand each of the children while simultaneously scolding them and walking them off in the direction of their house. Probably.

There's the sound of clothes sliding on metal and Harua is immediately next to Fuma.

“Papa, should we keep walking? I don't want to play anymore,” he says, tone deflated from his usual quip. Fuma wonders if it has something to do with the other two leaving.

He doesn't say anything though, just hums an affirmative and takes Harua's hand to keep walking them in the direction Kazuha and the boys left. It was a weird interaction, meeting Kazuha so unexpectedly and witnessing her blazing personality. It is sort of a shock to how Fuma is usually welcomed by other mothers. Then again, the two boys could be her nephews or something. Fuma decides not to ponder on it.

Harua is quiet the rest of their walk, Fuma filling in the silence with games like spelling things they spot on their way just to practice and improve Harua's immediate translation of hangul letters to hiragana. He's getting so much better.

“Papa, apple pie!” Harua suddenly stops spelling the “drive slow” signboard and points to a spot right opposite it.

Fuma is confused from the call of Harua's favorite pastry that he looks around to see if he saw someone eating it or a wrapper from the shop but they're the only people around save for an old lady seated outside her building on a chair and they have clean streets so the only other option has to be looking across from them where Harua has been pointing. 

It's a shop tucked under one of the buildings around the area, it's red and yellow color combinations shining through the dull gray and yellow of the units just above it.

It has that same large K letter on the sign alongside the other letters that Fuma hadn't ever bothered to read on the app but now he reads it clearly.

“Koga Eats”.

It's written in Japanese hiragana and only the letter K is in bold, a capital English alphabet. It matches the one on the brown paper bags slowly piling up in their home now.

Prior to moving here, Fuma hardly ever ordered in. Mostly because he prefers to perfect his cooking and they have a lot of leftovers any ways from all the cooking he does, still not used to the fact that Harua doesn't eat as much as he does.

Immediately everything dawns on him, Fuma's heart picks up its pace. He could just cross the road and walk through the doors and maybe, just maybe make eye contact with Kei. If the stars aligned in his favor, maybe he'd even get to speak to him.

So many thoughts cross through his mind as he stands there with a jumping harua begging to have some apple pie while Fuma stands there holding his hand, disoriented, wondering if he could actually push down his timidness and take them into the shop.

He doesn't take that long to come up with an answer, already crossing the street with Harua following next to him, a large grin on his face at the possibility of getting apple pies.

He has no idea when the obsession with it started. He only got it for him probably once or twice back in Japan but all of a sudden Harua has taken a crazy liking to or. Not that Fuma was complaining. He'd give Harua whatever he wanted as long as it didn't harm him and in moderate amounts as well.

He pushes the glass door open and a whoosh of warm air and the smell of food and pastry wafts through the air and hits Fuma's nose, the man welcoming it.

The place is empty, round red tables and yellow chairs sitting on each side of the entrance while the counter houses a long display box filled with foods of all kinds. There's a separate display box for pastries almost at the far end of the counter and then some brown paper bags on a metallic table at the far end, probably the pick up station.

There's someone behind the counter and when they look up from their phone to check out who walked in, Fuma is pleasantly surprised to recognize the face as Yuma, the delivery guy that they met days ago.

“Good evening!” He chirps before he suddenly recognizes Fuma's face, looking down to see Harua waving at him. His eyes light up. “Oh, Murata.”

Fuma chuckles and walks them up to the counter. It has a large screen on his side so he can see the choices of food there is alongside his final bill after it's been added.

“It's Fuma, yes.” He nods.

Yuma pays him no mind, leaning over to wave back at Harua. “Hi, Harua.”

Harua jumps excitedly and waves back even harder than he was. “Hi, Yuma! You work here?”

“Of course I do. I'm only here though cause Jo is out doing deliveries instead,” he gives so much unasked questions that leave Fuma wondering how he's so friendly. It's also made him a little curious as to who this Jo guy is. Yuma blinks at him. “What can I get you two?”

Fuma looks at the screen, searching for something simple. He didn't plan to order anything tonight, was thinking of throwing them a quick dinner but since they were already here;

“Um, let's have a half pack of onigiri and a full pack of yakisoba. And some steamed veggies. Does the pack of wings come with sauce?”

“It does. Do you want that too?”

“Yes, please. The BBQ.”

“To go?” Yuma asks. Fuma nods and he adds in a takeaway pack in their order list. “Let me just confirm this; half oni, full yaki, veggies and —”

“Yuyu!”

A voice suddenly calls out from the back of the building, a head popping out from the side of the metal door slightly opened to reveal the pristine cream colored walls of the kitchen.

The person comes out holding three trays, each of them filled and lined with folded dumplings and as he steps out of the kitchen, the door behind him slides back to close.

He turns to his side and flips his long black hair out of his face but even without doing that, Fuma wouldn't have ever mistaken those eyes and full pink lips for anyone else.

His breath hitches when he catches sight of those large beautiful eyes behind the raven bangs, Fuma having to raise his hand to his chest to calm his racing heart. He can't believe he's right here in front of him. He's as beautiful as ever and Fuma can't seem to look away.

“Yuyu! Come help me haul these into the..” He stops in his tracks when his eyes lift from Yuma’s face and his sight lands on Fuma, his eyes trailing over his face and then down to his chest where his hand is before clearing his throat.

“Huh?” Yuma calls, already leaving the counter to move towards Kei who seems to be in a daze as he hands him the trays, Yuma taking them with an oof. “Where?”

He absentmindedly dismisses him, waving in he general direction of where he wants him to take the trays, his feet walking towards the counter where Fuma is still somehow standing upright and staring back as much as Kei is.

“..fridge.” while Yuma busies himself with doing as Kei had instructed him, Kei walks up to the counter and places his hands on the large screen, replacing where Yuma's once were. “Hello.”

“Good evening.” Fuma says, releasing a deep breath from his nostrils at the amount of focused attention he's getting from this beautiful man in front of him.

For a long moment, they just stare at each other, unmoving, saying absolutely nothing. Kei is leaning on one leg, jutting out his hip and he's got a bit of his lower lip stuck between his teeth, lashes fluttering when he blinks at Fuma.

Fuma doesn't know if he's even breathing, too busy looking and admiring and memorizing everything about this man in front of him. From the smushed flour on his cheek to his dainty fingers and the veins decorating his arm, he's never been more entranced by anything in this life. Maybe Harua when he was just born and Fuma got to hold him in his arms but this comes as a close second.

They've been standing there for eons it seems like because Yuma is back all of a sudden and he's trying to slip back into his earlier spot to keep taking their order and hopefully get Fuma to finally pay and stop ogling so unabashedly at the other man but Kei takes it upon himself to say,

“I'll take it from here. Yuu, get the other trays of dumplings into the fridge please. Thank you.” Yuma grumbles something about it but still trudges to the kitchen to pick up the trays. Kei clicks on the screen and looks down at it before looking back up at Fuma. “Is that all?”

Fuma thinks Kei's eyes are so beautiful. And his voice is so sweet and soft, Fuma wants to hear him speak for the rest of his life. He's so perfect in every way Fuma can think of. He doesn't even know his full name, nor does he even know anything else about him but just watching him like this and their earlier interaction weeks ago just gives Fuma a little hope that he's at least a decent person.

Don't get it wrong, Fuma doesn't want to suddenly get on his knees and propose to this man right here and now. No. Even he knows that there is no such fairytale in real life.

He merely wants to know him, pry into this man's heart and learn all that he is. Know his worries and the things that bring him joy and hopefully add to it.

The thought of ever being with him could never conjugate in Fuma's mind. It was an impossible feat. It couldn't ever be. No one this beautiful could be single. Moreover, even if he were to be single, Fuma's not sure he would ever be open to being with someone with a kid.

With how young Kei looks, he could be in his mid twenties and absolutely no one wants to spend their best years saddling up with someone with a child.

“Um, that's about it.” he blinks and remembers to answer, too lost in his mind for a second.

There's a tug on his hand. He looks down and Harua whisper-yells, “Papa, apple pie.”

He chuckles. “I didn't forget, Harua.” He did. Kei does that to a person and Fuma is only one man. “Apple pie please.”

Kei nods and taps the screen. “Alright.”

Fuma pulls out his card to pay but sees that there are two extra apple pies instead of one and points at his side of the screen.

“Ah, just one.”

Kei smiles and Fuma almost turns to a puddle. “The others are on the house. You're probably the only person that orders it.”

“Really? Harua loves it. I do too. It's really good.” Fuma is surprised how easy it is to converse with Kei and he hopes he doesn't embarrass himself in the next few dialogues.

Kei perks up at that, his eyes getting bigger. “Thank you. I make it myself.”

“Really?! Wow, you're so talented. Good job!” Harua gives him an enthusiastic thumbs up, his bunny teeth flashing proudly.

Kei looks down at him over the counter and grins. “Thank you, Harua! I'm glad you like it a lot.”

Fuma finally makes the payment, Kei taking his card with his dainty fingers and processing the payment with then machine while his eyes flicker from Fuma's face to the screen in front of him. It makes Fuma's cheeks warm but he maintains composure as the machine ding, notifying them ofna successful transaction. 

“Here's your receipt,” Kei hands him back his card and receipt and then hurriedly slips on gloves and pulls up the face mask resting under his chin to cover his mouth.

He moves towards the display cases to start putting their food into the packs based on their order choice.

Harua follows him every step he makes as he loads the takeaway pack with yakisoba, full to the brim that the lid doesn't even close easily. Harua points to a weirdly shaped onigiri that Kei happily adds to their pack with a grin and by the time he has covered the pack of wings with it's lid, they're already at the end of the counter and all that's left is the pastry.

There's an array of them; scones, dango dipped in soy sauce, apple pies, egg tarts and custard cream puffs but those are just the ones Fuma recognizes, there's a whole lot more.

Judging from the arrangement of the shop, it's clear it's a takeout but Fuma wishes to sit here and indulge in some of the food sometime. He'll have to make sure he comes back every now and then.

As he watches Kei carefully put the apple pies into the paper bag and then fold the opening close, he feels eyes on his face and when he looks up, Kei is already watching him, looking away immediately their eyes meet and blinking down at the pastry in his hand, chi's cheeks pinning slightly. Or maybe that's just from the warmth of the shop.

He puts their food into the large brown paper bag they're used to and drops it on the metallic table where there are a few others like it, labeled with addresses. Definitely for delivery.

“Please pick up here,” he points to their paper bag while wiping his now bare hands on his apron, which Fuma hadn't even noticed earlier, too busy gawking at his beautiful face.

“Okay. Thank you so much,” Fuma nods and takes the paper bag. Harua asks to help but it's a bit heavy so Fuma assures him he'll be alright carrying it by himself.

“Of course,” Kei waves at Harua as they head towards the door. Fuma looks back at him after Harua has stepped out. It seems like Kei has something he wants to say and only blurts it out the moment Fuma puts a leg outside the shop. “Please stop by some more.”

Fuma gives a firm nod. “I will.”

So he does.

He makes it a routine, every three days — because he really doesn't want to make this a habit but Kei is well.. Kei and he makes amazing food and well, Fuma is weak and the way to his heart truly is through his stomach and even Harua loves it — they'd make their way down the path of their apartment, take a sharp left and walk towards the small park they'd visited the first time they'd gone on a walk.

Kazuha is almost always there, with the two kids who Fuma now knows as Jaehyun and Hyunjae, twin children of her sister that she helps babysit, and she fills him up on all the latest gossip she's gathered from either her sister at home or from her workplace — she's a nurse.

“— it seriously couldn't and wouldn't be me,” she's talking about a patient that had come to the hospital some days back with a stomachache and left with a child.

“Cryptic pregnancies are a shocker,” Fuma nods. He's heard of it online a few times and since he doesn't really know much about it, this is the best he can offer while simultaneously watching the children who are arguing between them who would be pushing Harua on the swing.

They're pointing fingers and shouting but Harua is already pushing himself back and forth on the swing without any of them noticing.

“Yeah,” she nods too, squinting her eyes against the sun to look at Fuma. Fuma can sense there's an incoming question for him. He braces himself. “Are we close enough for me to ask about Harua's mother? Pretend I didn't ask if it's a no.”

Oh.

To be honest, Fuma has stopped feeling bad about people asking him what had happened between him and Harua's mother. It wasn't an extravagant story, nor was it a bittersweet one. In fact, everytime he'd told someone about it — a total of three times; one being his parents, second being his neighbor back in Japan and the third was now Kazuha — they'd all been surprised at the lackluster of it.

“Really?” She asks when he's done telling her. “One night stand and she didn't contact you until a month till she was having him?”

He nods. It was a shock to him back then but he had gone through every possible scenario as to how he'd feel if the roles were reversed and ultimately just told her to send him the address of where she was going to have the baby so he could come meet her.

She has sent it along with a date of her EDD and Fuma had marked it in his calendar without even telling anyone about it. On the day of, he had gotten off work early, checked his phone to call her and ask if she needed a ride to the hospital but he was met with her message reading, “having baby,” which he deciphered to mean she was in labor.

He'd rushed to the hospital as quick as he could but by the time he got there, Harua had already been born, sleeping in a cot next to her bed.

There wasn't much to be said between them, he'd finalized the paperwork as the father, she'd told him her plans about giving him up for adoption or foster care along the way but Fuma had already made up his mind about taking Harua to be a part of his life forever so he did just that.

“Listen, I know it's wrong to assume but what if it wasn't yours? I mean, it clearly is but what if she was using you?” Kazuha asks carefully, clearly weighing her words beforehand.

Fuma shrugs. He'd thought about it. Hard. But it always came down to one thing; his child or not his child, every child deserved to be loved and cared for and if this was one less child out of the system then he'd take it.

Besides, it was his. Harua is his, through and through.

“It didn't really matter then or now,” he says. “After holding him in my arms, I couldn't imagine not having him there anymore.”

Kazuha hums softly. She doesn't say much after that, just reprimands the twins for pushing too hard on the swing and jumping too high on the seesaw and it happens to be the best response Fuma has ever gotten from talking about his past.

He never liked it when people would give their own opinions on matters they knew nothing of. He also didn't like when they'd judge his decision based on what they've perceived about him. He liked the neutrality of Kazuha’s response.

It was finally being listened to. Finally being seen. It was acceptance.

When the twins have tired themselves and Harua out, Fuma would wave them goodbye and promise to be out when they could and then take Harua's hand and walk them towards the glowing neon sign of Kei's restaurant.

It's been about a week since this arrangement started and every time they burst through the doors, Yuma was there to greet Harua with a large smile before even acknowledging Fuma's presence. The catlike man would then spend the rest of his shift — should the shop be empty by then — teaching Harua how to play a game on his phone while Fuma sat at the other side of the table they were on and watched them or go over work emails or better yet, watch Kei work around the place, eyes lifting from where he's cleaning the counters to meet Fuma's stare for only a half second before he backs out and looks away with pink ears. 

He'd also met Jo; a tall lanky guy with a soft smile and an even softer voice, his eyes dark and like a deer's, round just like Kei. Despite his shy demeanor, placed next to Kei, they appeared similar, their mannerisms the same.

When he wasn't doing deliveries around town, he was sat on one of the tables, going through some papers for uni or batting Yuma's hand away from his face or hair since the other couldn't help but bother whoever was in close proximity with him like a cat.

But the best part about all of this, the rewarding part of this routine that they've set up for themselves is the rare times that Kei isn't in the kitchen stirring up orders or shouting for Jo or Yuma to come in and help him with something, but seated across from the table Fuma and Harua now occupy more and more and he's got his cheek on his plan, head leaned to the side, a soft smile on his face, eyes crinkled at the corners as he drops tidbits of information about him should Fuma ask.

Which Fuma is always doing these days. He can't help it, the curiosity eats as his skin, nags at him to ask more and more, know more about Kei, soak up all the information he gives him like a sponge. 

Today is no different. He's lucky enough that it's a slow weekday and Kei has once again graced him with his presence while Harua is off to the side demonstrating to Yuma the skill the older one had shown him before in a game.

He's got a swab of flour on his cheek from making a batch of noodles the whole day and the rest of him looks cleaned up but he must've missed a spot.

Fuma doesn't tell him.

“Why a restaurant though?” He asks instead. They've been talking about work and how sometimes business is the way forward. Fuma had expressed his lack of a multitasking bone in his body while Kei had laughed loud and asked how he managed with Harua.

Kei was strongly pro-business. He had grown up in a family where everything that was brought to the table had been because of the multiple shops his father had owned and managed. So it was only fitting that Kei would do the same, despite it being in another country.

(Fuma had already had guessed from their names and the restaurant but it was nice for it to be confirmed that all the workers he'd met were Japanese, much like them).

Kei shrugs and pouts his lips. Fuma feels weak in his knees and he's not even standing. “Well, why not? I make a good set of dumplings, it's good money and I get to meet new and all kinds of people.” He points to Fuma at the end of his sentence which makes him flush.

It is because of this place that Fuma got the pleasure of ever being in the same breathing space as Kei. It feels surreal to think that had he cooked that day, he wouldn't have gotten his delivery by Kei himself. So many things had fallen into place just because of a single thing that he had decided to omit that day.

“You're a very extroverted person. I admire that.”

He couldn't put himself in that place. As much as he liked talking to people and having interactions with his clients, it just wasn't who he was to reach out personally and interact with people beyond the pleasantries of being polite.

This is why he likes talking to Kei, he's finally got enough interest in another person to want to sit with them all day and hope that he doesn't have more orders to sort so he can tilt hid head cutely and brush his soft long hair away from his face and laugh when Fuma tells a joke or so much as just looks at him for longer than necessary.

Sometimes its not Fuma who is caught up staring at kei bit the reverse. Sometimes Fuma lifts his head from the table or his food or Harua and looks around for kei only to see him looking at him with such earnest and yearning eyes, like he wants to be sat at the table next to him and make conversation about their daily life instead of sorting dishes and packing online orders for Jo to deliver.

Sometimes Fuma smiles back at him and then turns away quickly to focus on his face lest his face burns up. Other times, he waves and asks Kei if he's got some time to sit and talk— Kei mostly doesn't but he always find a way to sneak out of the kitchen and come to their table to place a complimentary snack or extra soy sauce that they definitely do not need just to send Fuma a glance or talk to Harua about his newly done nails.

“I did Papa's nails too!” Harua had said the other day, urging Fuma to lift his hands and show them to Kei.

They both had pink cheeks as Kei tried to navigate whether or not he should hold Fuma's hands in his to analyze the pink and purple variants on his nails or to look from afar so they'd settled on an awkward middle thing that had both of them laughing afterwards.

It's been a few weeks since their newly adapted routine; Fuma keeps to his word and brings them out on walks in the evenings and down to Kei's afterwards, sometimes dragging Kazuha along with the twins to grab a quick dinner and he's not sure if Kazuha is just being nice about it but he's sure the few looks she's sent him when he was talking to Kei was enough to let Fuma know she was definitely in on his big fat crush.

He's here today too, waiting with Harua's hand clasped in his to meet Kei who is coming out from the kitchen to meet them over the counter.

Fuma and Kei discuss business and work for a bit before Harua reminds him of the main reason they're here. He pulls on Fuma's hand and Fuma looks away from Kei's bunched up cheeks to Harua pouting up at him.

“Papa, can I ask him now?” He asks with large eyes.

Kei peers over the counter and tablet and leans down to look at Harua who turns his attention to him. “Ask me what?”

“Harua's wondering if you'll—” Fuma starts but then decides it's best if he encourages Harua to speak up for things he wants. Besides, it's just Kei. “Go on, Ru.”

He moves him closer to the counter with their clasped hands and lets Harua hold on to the edge with both hands before lifting himself on his tiptoes to reach Kei's bent down figure 

“Kei-kun, can I please come and see how you make the apple pies?” He says it all in a rush, the words jumbling up in a mix of Korean and Japanese because whenever they come here, Harua feels at ease speaking his mother tongue with the others and Fuma doesn't have it in him to stop him, he too indulges in that as well.

Kei's eyes brighten and his lips spread in a smile. “You want to see me make apple pies?”

Harua rocks back and forth on his tiptoes. “Yes please!”

“With that enthusiasm, it's definitely a yes!” Kei claps, returning the same energy Harua is giving him. “I'll be making a batch tomorrow evening so if you can get you dad to bring you, I'll show you how it goes.”

He looks up and stands back upright from his position and watches Fuma's face when Harua turns to him and taps on his hand.

“Okay! Papa, please let's come tomorrow. Please please please.” Harua has his hands clasped in a pleading manner, his large eyes and exaggerated pout already dissolving Fuma's resolve. He wasn't going to say no to begin with but this is very convincing as well.

He chuckles and ruffles his hair. “Okay, Harua. I'll see what I can do.”

Harua looks back at Kei. “That means yes! I'll see you tomorrow, Kei-kun!”

“Sure, Harua,” Kei waves as Harua waves back before he turns and starts walking towards the door, Fuma turning on his heel to follow begin him shortly, despite knowing Harua couldn't open the door if he tried. He wiggles his fingers in a wave manner. “See you tomorrow too, Fuma-kun.”

Fuma can only smile and try not to rip his heart out and hand it to Kei as a token of his appreciation.

“Of course,” he nods instead.

Fuma brings Harua over nice and early the following day — which happens to be a weekend — watching by the side as Kei handled him carefully, showing him how to fold the pastry dough and how to make the fillings.

They've been at it all morning and have finally finished up. There's a tray that's filled with the ones Harua helped made and the one Kei had made on his own because of course he's not going to sell apple pies made by a five year old to customers. That's a health hazard and Fuma knows that much.

Kei folds his arms over his chest and taps his finger on his chin in thought.

“Now, I'm looking for a strong able person to carry this tray of apple pies for me,” he looks down at Harua and then his dad who is leaning against the counter. “Who could possibly help? Could you do it Harua?”

Harua immediately shakes his head.

“I'm not that strong. But my papa is! Sometimes he carries me from the car when I'm asleep,” he rushes back to him and jumps to shake Fuma's arm, pulling him towards Kei. “Papa, Kei needs your help!”

Fuma gives Kei a look, a raised brow in question. “Does he now?”

“Yes yes, please help us.”

Fuma chuckles at their antics but still walks the short distance to where Kei is staring him down.

“Okay. I heard someone was looking for assistance?” He asks, looking around cluelessly.

“Yeah,” Fuma is sure he doesn't mistake the way Kei bites his bottom lip or the way his voice dips as he says, “Need a strong, able-bodied person to lift these trays for us. Are you the guy?”

Fuma chuckles. “I'm your guy, alright.” Then adds to the effect by flexing his arm only slightly but he knows it shows his muscle in just the right way.

After a pause, eyes flickering towards Fuma's arms and then his chest momentarily, Kei steps to the side to let him access the trays. “Then, by all means.”

Fuma lifts both trays full of apple pies and turns to Kei, asking where to put them. The chef directs him towards the oven but there's a little nick in the oven and it needs a bit of a trick to get the trays in so instead of letting Fuma slide it into the machine himself, he just makes him drop it beside it. 

Kei gives them some complementary breakfast gimbap he brought from home and let's Harua run off to Yuma who just clocked in while they wait for the pies to bake.

He indulges Fuma by letting him in on more stories about his life in Japan which leads to them finding out about more of what they have in common but their conversation is cut short by the apple pies being done with a ding! from the oven and Harua rushing in to declare he has to poop.

Which of course leads to Fuma grabbing him and giving Kei a rushed thank you before they're out of the restaurant, forgetting all about the pies.

Yuma does end up delivering them but that's long after Fuma has solved the issue with Harua's tummy — he had to go three more times after that — and he's settled into the couch to get some rest.

He'll have to drop by to give Kei his thanks.