Archive of Our Own

Fuma bolted awake.

The feeling of a looming presence had caused him to stir in his sleep.

Harua’s small figure stood by the edge of his bed, hugging his stuffed bunny close to his chest. The sun had barely risen, casting a soft dark hue over his son’s face. Before Fuma could question him, Harua sniffled loudly.

“Papa,” Harua whined wetly. “I don’t feel so good.” 

His eyes filled with tears, and Fuma was quick to sit up and scoop his son into his arms. The sleep immediately vanished from his system as he cradled his son close. Harua was warm to the touch as he curled up against his papa's shirtless chest, eyelids already drooping — the skin to skin contact alone seemed to ease something in him, the way it always did with omegas when they were distressed. Small and instinctive, the need to be held by someone who smelled like home.

“Oh no,” Fuma rasped. “What’s wrong, baby?” 

“I don’t know,” Harua murmured, curling up even further in his arms. He looked impossibly tiny — Fuma felt his heart clench at the sight.

“Why don’t you sleep next to mama?” Fuma suggested gently as he turned them to face Yudai who was knocked on cold in the center of the bed. He had a bad habit of curling up right in the middle when the kids weren’t sleeping with them. 

Not that Fuma minded much.

Harua whined into his neck. 

“No?” Fuma frowned. Harua usually never declined a cuddle session with his mama. The pull toward Yudai was strong even on good days — omega to omega, something quieter and more instinctive than Harua could articulate.

“Wan’ you,” Harua muttered. His words slurred together, arms going weightless against his chest.

“I’ll be right next to you,” Fuma reassured gently.

Harua whined once more, wiggling in Fuma’s arms as he protested. From the slow droops of his eyelids, the alpha could tell his son was seconds away from falling back asleep. 

He snuffed a kiss against the crown of Harua’s head, quietly reassuring him that they’ll stay as is. Still his son underneath the fever, still that same sweet scent, just muted and wrong in a way that made Fuma's chest ache.

But once Harua’s breathing evened out and the wrinkles between his brows disappeared, Fuma shuffled over towards his mate and gently laid Harua down next to him.

As if Yudai had sensed one of his pups nearby, he murmured something in his sleep and shuffled over back to his side, allowing more room for Harua.

Yudai’s eyes gently peeled open, sleep evident in the. His eyes studied the small figure next to him before he drew Harua in close and went back to sleep. Fuma snorted at the sight. The omega probably won’t remember any of that when morning comes.

Fuma scooted in to sandwich Harua between them. He pressed a gentle palm to his son’s forehead, brows furrowing from the warmth. 

Harua needed more sleep before he would wake him up again for medicine, so Fuma stayed awake the rest of the night, watching over his pup.

The restlessness in his chest never disappeared, even when Harua slept soundlessly through his slumber. Every twitch, every hitch in breath, Fuma’s head would snap up and scan his son’s face, silent worry washing over him. 

As the sun rose over the horizon, and their bedroom slowly welcomed orange sunrays, Fuma realized that something else was also abnormal.

Yudai’s breathing went from steady and soft to rough and irregular over night. Soft puffs of air blew out his nose in irregular intervals, causing Harua’s soft bangs to fall up and down from their close proximity.

Then it dawned on him — they were both sick. 

Not only did that mean he would have to take care of the both of them, but it also meant that the three alpha pups would have a full on meltdown not being able to be near their mama and omega brother. Pack separation, even brief, even necessary — the kids were young enough that it still registered somewhere instinctive. Harua and Yudai were the heart of the pack's scent, the warm center of it. Without them accessible, the alphas would feel it

He swept the sweaty bangs out of his mate’s face, admiring the features he had fallen in love with over and over.

Yudai stirred, brows furrowing and a low, raspy groan followed. He rolled onto his back, one arm remained trapped under Harua while he raised his other and laid a hand on his forehead. 

“I feel like shit,” he muttered sleepily, eyes still glued shut.

Fuma chuckled. “You’re not the only one.”

Yudai blinked awake, head lifting up to stare down at his son. He frowned, caressing a soft finger against Harua’s cheek. “My baby,” he murmured. 

“He did seem a bit off yesterday,” Fuma muttered as he watched the two.

Yudai hummed in agreement. 

“They’re not gonna be happy,” Yudai added, a small smile gracing his face.

 “I know.” Fuma sighed, running a hand down his face. “Shouldn’t be too bad, right?” He stood up and stretched his arms high above his head.

“Just need to keep them distracted for a while today. We can stay indoors — have a lazy day, and —”

“Honey,” Yudai cut him off with a sharp, knowing look on his face.

“What?” Fuma froze midstretch.

“They have soccer practice today.”

Fuma dropped his arms, groaning.

“And they need new swimsuits for their playdate tomorrow.”

Fuma groaned again.

“And also, we need groceries.”

Fuma dropped to his knees. He pressed his face against the edge of their bed in despair. The pups usually did well running errands with their mama — always obedient, never loud — but with their papa, they tend to be a little more wild.

“You’re going to wake him up,” Yudai scolded. He rubbed a hand up and down Harua’s back as he squirmed in his sleep.

Fuma quietly apologized, but before he could say anything else, their bedroom door slammed open. Three tiny alphas stood by their door, hair wild and pajamas barely on properly, and… they all looked near the brink of tears.

“Papa!” Taki wailed, clutching his gray wolf plushie to his chest. “Rua’s missing!”

At the loudness, Harua flinched awake. His chest heaved in a big breath from the scare and his eyes frantically searched the ceiling. Yudai and Fuma watched as a quivering frown formed on his face, before he broke out into loud sobs.

Yudai immediately pulled him onto his lap, voice low and steady, letting his scent do the work alongside the words. The sound of a distressed omega pup set off something instinctive in the three at the door — they recoiled with wide eyes, bodies going tense the way young alphas did when a packmate was hurting and they didn't know how to fix it.

Fuma softened at the sight. The worry they had for Harua was astronomical.

He gestured them in, and the two youngest climbed the edge of the bed, while Nicholas pressed his face deep into his papa’s thigh. His pajama shirt hung loosely around his neck, arms somehow no longer in the proper sleeves.

Fuma ruffled his eldest’s head, cooing at how adorable he was.

Yudai sneezed, bringing Harua to an abrupt stop with his sobs. 

Slowly, the pups turned their head towards their mama who smiled sheepishly at them.

“Mama’s sick too!” Maki exclaimed.

“Nooo,” Taki whined.

Nicholas hurried to join his siblings on the bed. They crowded in, asking questions, patting at Yudai and Harua with small, urgent hands — scenting without knowing that's what they were doing, reassuring themselves that the smell was still right, that their pack was still intact underneath the fever.

Fuma could only stand by the edge and watch as a teary eyed Harua giggled softly at his siblings' antics, and the domestic feeling in his chest blossomed at the sight of his beautiful family.

But of course, Maki managed to roll off the edge of the bed, landing with a loud thud before wailing in pain. 

Fuma ushered the three alpha pups out the room before anyone else could get hurt.

—

Getting three small alphas dressed and out the door by himself was an entirely different experience without Yudai. His mate had that tenderness to him that Fuma did not. With their mama, the kids stood still, gaze soft on their mama. Their tiny hands would be wandering all around Yudai’s hair and smooth skin, unknowingly scenting their mama.

However, with Fuma, they didn’t have that same energy. He felt like he had approximately zero authority.

“That’s not your shoe,” Fuma said flatly.

Taki looked down at feet. One shoe belongest to him, while the other one was clearly Nicholas’ with it being one and a half sizes too big. Despite them being born only a couple minutes apart, Maki and Nicholas grew the fastest. 

Yudai said it was because of the milk Taki refused to consume, and Taki blamed it on the fact that Maki was a fat baby — even in the womb.

“It fits,” Taki insisted.

“It does not fit.”

“It fits enough.”

Fuma sighed in amusement, crouching down and pried the wrong shoe off. He handed it back to Nicholas who had been standing beside them the whole time — though standing was generous. He was shifting his weight from foot to foot in a slow, continuous rock, hands moving against the sides of his thighs in a quiet rhythm, the kind of movement that looked like nothing if you didn't know to look for it. A way of keeping himself contained while the morning sorted itself out around him.

“Thank you,” Nicholas said, very seriously, and then went to put his shoe on properly. It wasn’t often that Nicholas took his eldest child role seriously. He was often seen teasing his siblings and chasing after them through the halls, but with Harua being sick, Nicholas was falling back into his shell of being the responsible one.

Fuma counted only two heads. His gaze whipped towards the door that was wide open. He stood up with concern. “Where’s —”

“He went to pet Mister Tanaka’s cat,” Nicholas answered before Fuma could finish his sentence. He was back on his feet now, hands finding the hem of his jacket to worry at. Not anxious — just moving. Always just moving.

Fuma exhaled through his nose. He grabbed the soccer bag off the hook, checked that Taki had on the correct shoes this time, and went to collect his youngest from whatever he was doing to the neighbor’s cat.

By the time he wrangled Maki back into the house, Fuma stopped by the bedroom doorway and just stood there for a moment. 

Yudai had settled back against the headboard with Harua tucked against his side, both of them drowsy and soft in the early morning light. His mate’s clean baby powder scent was almost too overpowering now that he was scenting Harua like crazy.

Yudai looked up at him from across the room, eyes soft and glassy with fever, expression fond and unfocused in a way that came out when he was too tired to keep it steady.

We’ll be fine, he mouthed, then gently flicked his wrist towards the door.

Fuma couldn’t leave before he crossed the room, pressing his lips to Yudai’s forehead for a second longer than necessary. Then Harua’s, who had stirred just barely without waking.

He'd smoothed the blanket back over his son's shoulders. Looked at his mate one more time.

Go, Yudai mouthed again, softer this time. Almost fond of him for stalling.

Fuma made himself leave.

—

The drive to the soccer field was loud. Not fighting loud, more like all three of them being at full volume simultaneously loud. Maki explained something elaborate to Nicholas about a dream he had, his hands waving wildly in a way that kept breaking into Taki’s personal space. Taki would battle back without breaking his own commentary. Nicholas attempted to listen while also responding to Taki, but he got easily distracted with the fast cars and dogs outside the window.

The eldest also had his knee bouncing against the back of Fuma’s scent steady, unconscious rhythm. He wasn’t doing it on purpose — Fuma could tell by his split attention. 

Fuma didn’t say anything about it. Neither did his brothers. 

Fuma watched them in the rearview mirror when he could.

There was something about seeing all four of them together — same face in four different expressions, four different ways of inhabiting the same small space — that hadn't stopped feeling remarkable, even after all these years. He'd mentioned it to Yudai once, early on, and Yudai had laughed at him in that gentle way he did when Fuma said something he found genuinely sweet.

You're going to feel that way forever, Yudai had told him. I already do.

He hadn't been wrong.

Filing out of the car was easier than expected, and soccer practice went mostly fine. 

Fuma stood by the sidelines with his arms crossed and watched Nicholas run drills with a quiet intensity, while Taki made three new friends within the first ten minutes. Maki bounded up and down the field, endless measures of energy that Fuma wasn’t so sure soccer could use up completely before they got back home.

The coach was a retired beta woman with a grey bun, loud voice, and the particular patience of someone who had spent decades around children. She gave Fuma a look at the end of practice — warm and recognizable. 

“Lively bunch,” she said. “But one’s missing.” She looked at him.

“Harua’s sick today,” Fuma said. “And so’s their mama.”

She nodded like she understood completely. “They’re a lot more concentrated without Harua here,” she chuckled just as Taki ran past them on the field chasing a dragonfly. “Well — for the most part.”

They laughed and watched as Maki tried to demonstrate a trick to Nicholas who had that I can do it better look on his face.  Fuma felt something fond and tired move through him simultaneously.

By the time practice ended, he had hoped they would’ve all been tired, but that wasn’t the case. As he buckled them in, Maki got a little too handsy with Nicholas, who in return shoved him a little too hard. 

Maki paused a short second before bursting out into tears, clutching his shoulder that had only mildly bumped against the car door.

It wasn't really about the shoulder. Fuma knew that. They were restless in the particular way of young alphas separated from their pack's center for too long. He switched Nicholas and Taki's seats, promised Maki a snack at the grocery store, and got back on the road.

“Swimsuits next,” Fuma announced.

“Can we get the ones with sharks,” Taki started.

“Let’s see what they have.”

Taki interpreted this as yes. Fuma could tell by the way he sat back, satisfied.

—

The store was big and bright, and the swimsuit section was in the very back, past every rack of things his children did not need and would immediately need.

They made it past the inflatable pool toys only because Fuma kept a hand on Taki’s shoulder and propelled him forward at a pace that didn’t allow for proper consideration. Taki craned his neck backwards as they passed, an expression of sorrow, but he went.

Nicholas walked alongside Fuma, but his attention snagged on things as they passed — a spinning display rack he reached out to stop with one hand and then forgot about, a floor mat he stepped on deliberately to hear it crinkle, a hanging tag he flicked twice before his hand dropped back to his side.

Maki was the first to reach the boys’ section and pulled a bright yellow swimsuit off the rack.

“This one,” he announced.

“Do you want to try —”

“This one, papa.”

Fuma looked at Nicholas, who had crouched down to look at the suits on the lower rack and was now running his thumb along the texture of a striped one, not particularly interested in wearing it, just noticing it. He looked up when he felt Fuma's eyes on him, and shrugged, which communicated that Maki was Maki and this was simply how things went.

"Okay," Fuma said.

Taki had drifted two racks over and was holding up a swimsuit with cartoon sharks printed across it, looking at Fuma with an expression of barely contained hope.

Fuma pointed at it. 

Taki made a sound that could only be described as triumphant.

Nicholas held a plain navy blue one against himself, considered it for approximately four seconds, deemed it acceptable, and placed it in the basket. The whole transaction took no time at all.

Harua's, Fuma picked out himself. He stood in front of the rack longer than he meant to, running through what he knew — Harua liked soft colors, didn't like anything scratchy around the waist, had gone through a phase of only wanting things with animals on them that he may or may not still be in. 

He settled on a pale green one with small white stripes — simple but adorable. Harua would either love it or hand it to Taki, and either way was fine.

He was still holding it, looking at it, when he felt a small weight against his arm.

Taki had wandered back over and was leaning against him, shark swimsuit already in the basket. Not asking for anything. Just resting against his papa's side while Fuma stood there holding his sick brother's swimsuit.

"He's gonna be okay, right?" Taki said.

Fuma looked down at him. The hope from a minute ago had given way to something quieter. Something his son was working at.

"Yeah," Fuma said. "He just needs rest."

Taki nodded, absorbing this. Then, after a moment added, "can we get him something?"

Fuma thought of Harua's face that morning — the way he'd startled awake and gone immediately to tears, the way he'd gone soft and boneless once Yudai had him. The look on Yudai's face when Fuma had pressed his lips to his forehead. The sound of Harua's small voice in the dark.

"We'll see what they have up front," Fuma said.

Taki accepted this and wandered back to his brothers.

Fuma added the pale green swimsuit to the basket and followed.

Down the aisle, Nicholas had found a small open space near a support pillar and was doing a slow, absentminded circle around it, one hand trailing along the surface as he went. Not bothered. Just moving, which meant he was fine.

At the front of the store there was a small display of those soft foam toys — animals, mostly. The kind made for pools, the kind that dried fast and were easy to hold in small hands. Taki found it without being directed to it, like he'd known it was there.

He deliberated for a full minute, which for Taki was an eternity.

He came back with a small foam bunny, pale grey, close enough to the color of Harua's stuffed one that it had clearly been intentional.

He held it out to Fuma. "For the bath," he said seriously. "So he has something to play with."

Fuma took it. "Good thinking."

Taki's expression cycled through pleased, and then trying not to be too obviously pleased, and then just pleased again.

Maki looked at the bunny, then at Taki. Then climbed up onto the bottom rung of the display and reached for something on the upper shelf. He came back with a small green frog.

"He should have two," Maki said simply.

Nicholas had drifted over by this point. He considered the display for a long moment. Then he reached over and selected a yellow duck, very deliberately, and placed it in the basket without comment.

Fuma looked at the three of them.

Something moved through his chest that he didn't have a word for. Big and quiet at the same time.

"Okay," he said, and his voice came out a little rougher than intended. "Let's go."

—

Yudai had sent the grocery list as a voice message because typing made his head hurt. Fuma listened to it twice in the parking lot.

They got a cart. Taki took the side rail. Maki stationed himself at the back, one hand hooked around the edge, watching the store with the alert expression of someone on a mission. Nicholas walked beside Fuma, close enough to be alongside him, far enough that he had room.

Fuma pulled out his phone and took a photo of the three of them at the cart — Taki mid-sentence, Maki looking at the camera with great seriousness, Nicholas caught in a moment of stillness that had taken visible effort — and sent it to Yudai.

The response was a single laughing face, the same small default yellow circle they'd never changed, and it made Fuma smile more than anything clever would have. He could picture Yudai's face making that exact expression — tired, fond, a little undone by them.

He pocketed his phone and turned the cart.

Taki stopped walking without warning, and Fuma almost didn't notice until Nicholas, who had been tracking Taki with the peripheral attention he gave his siblings without seeming to, put a hand briefly on Fuma's arm.

Just a touch and a look.

Fuma looked.

Taki was standing in front of the marshmallow cereal — the special occasion one, the sick day one — very still, in a way that was unlike him. He wasn't performing. He didn't know either of them were watching. He was just looking at it with the particular expression of someone doing quiet math about someone they loved.

"For Harua," he said, when Fuma came to stand beside him.

Fuma took the box off the shelf and put it in the cart.

Taki pumped his fist once, at his side, small and private. Then he caught Fuma watching and went sheepish.

"I just thought —"

"I know," Fuma said.

Nicholas had drifted up on Taki's other side. He looked at the box in the cart, then at Taki, and something passed between them that didn't need words — the particular economy of siblings who had been each other's closest company from the very beginning.

He bumped his shoulder against Taki's once, and Taki bumped back, and that was that.

—

The house smelled like the candle Yudai sometimes lit when he was resting — something soft, barely there. Fuma noticed it and felt the last of the tension in his shoulders go.

He sent the kids to wash their hands and went down the hall.

The bedroom door was cracked. He pushed it open.

Yudai had shifted since morning — less upright, more settled into the pillows, though still propped enough to see the television. Harua had migrated so his head was tucked under Yudai's chin, one small fist curled against his collarbone. The room held that particular warmth of two omegas who'd been resting close together for hours — layered and quiet, a scent that settled something at the base of Fuma's brain he hadn't realized was still wound tight.

Yudai looked up.

He looked better, not well, but better. The fever-thinness still around his eyes, but something clearer underneath it.

"How bad," he murmured.

"Medium," Fuma said.

The corner of Yudai's mouth lifted.

"Taki got Harua the marshmallow cereal."

Yudai's expression did the thing it did — fond, quietly taken apart by it. He looked down at Harua tucked against him and his hand moved more deliberately to rest on his son's back.

"They got him bath toys too," Fuma said. "All three of them. Separately. A bunny and a frog and a duck."

Fuma crossed the room and pressed his hand to Yudai's forehead. 

"Better," Yudai said, before he could ask.

"Sleep. I've got them."

Yudai looked at him — that steady, unhurried look that had nothing to prove and nothing to ask, that was just Fuma in a doorway at the end of a long day, and Yudai seeing him there, and that being enough.

Fuma leaned down and kissed his temple. Held it there and breathed him in — familiar, underneath everything, still just him. The scent that had meant home to him for years now, that he didn't think he could ever separate from the word.

He pulled the blanket up over Harua's feet.

From down the hall came a small crash, and then Taki's voice, very quickly, "It's fine."

Yudai's eyes were already closing.

"Go," he murmured.

Fuma went.

—

Harua woke up slowly.

The room had gone a deep amber, the kind of light that made everything look warmer than it was. He was alone in the bed, which was unusual enough that he lay still for a moment, blinking at the ceiling, trying to orient himself.

His throat hurt, his head felt thick and far away, but underneath that, something else — lighter than this morning, like a weight he hadn't noticed carrying had shifted somewhere.

He heard voices down the hall. His papa's low rumble. His brothers arguing about something in the specific way they argued when they weren't really upset, just loud. The sound of the kitchen, cabinet doors, water running.

He sat up slowly.

The door opened before he'd fully decided to call out.

It was his mama, in soft clothes, hair still a little flat from sleep, carrying two mugs. He stopped when he saw Harua sitting up, and his whole face did something quiet and relieved.

"Hey sleepyhead," he said softly. 

Harua rubbed at his eye with the back of his hand. "Mama."

"How do you feel?" Yudai crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed, pressing his palm to Harua's forehead with practiced ease. His hand was warm. Harua leaned into it and then, instinctively, into his mama's side — seeking the scent of him.

"Okay," Harua said. Then, more honestly, "Tired."

"That's okay." Yudai smoothed his hair back from his face. "You've been asleep a long time. You hungry?"

"Maybe."

Yudai smiled and handed him one of the mugs — warm, something mild, broth maybe. Harua wrapped both hands around it and just held it, not drinking yet, just feeling the warmth travel up through his palms.

"Are you sick too?" Harua asked, looking at his mama properly for the first time. He still had that look — the one that meant he wasn't all the way better either.

"A little," Yudai admitted. "Getting better though."

Harua accepted this. He leaned sideways and pressed himself against his mama's arm, and Yudai shifted to accommodate him, and they sat like that for a moment in the amber-lit quiet.

Then, from down the hall, a door opened.

His papa’s voice, "— don't all go in at once, let him wake up first —"

And then the sound of feet, quick and slightly too loud, and the door swung open and all three of them were there, crowding the doorframe in a tangle of elbows and pajama sleeves, because apparently none of them had listened even slightly.

the air in the room shifted when his brothers entered it, the particular charge of three young alphas whose packmate had been wrong-scented and out of reach all day. Something in all of them settling, at the same moment, just from being in the same room again.

Harua looked at them. 

They looked at Harua.

Taki made a sound that was almost a word and then abandoned it entirely and crossed the room at a run, climbing onto the bed without ceremony and throwing both arms around his brother. 

Harua barely had time to lift the mug out of the way before Taki's chin was on his shoulder and Taki was squeezing him with everything he had. 

"You were sick all day," Taki announced into his neck, like this was something Harua had done on purpose.

"I know," Harua said.

"It was so long."

"I know, Taki."

"We had to do all the errands without you."

Harua giggled, a little, which came out scratchy. He felt Taki hold on tighter at the sound of it, and something in the grip shifted from greeting to something more earnest. Taki pressed his nose briefly against the side of Harua's neck, seeking and reassuring himself. The scent was still right, still his brother, just muted and warm with leftover fever.

Maki came next, more measured than Taki but not by much. He sat on Harua's other side and pressed his forehead against Harua's temple, which was his particular way — not a hug exactly, just presence, contact, here.

"Hi," Harua said.

"Hi," Maki said back. He didn't move his head away.

Nicholas was last. He'd come in when the others did but he'd hung back, let them go first, and now he stood by the edge of the bed with his hands working slowly against the hem of his shirt. Not hesitant — Harua knew the difference. Just waiting for the geometry of it to settle before he found his place in it.

Harua looked at him over Taki's shoulder and held out one arm.

Nicholas sat down on the bed and leaned into it — not quite a hug, more like he was just slowly transferring his weight sideways until he was resting against Harua's side. His knee found its rhythm against the mattress, quiet, automatic. Harua could feel it against his hip.

"You feel cooler," Nicholas said, after a moment. Matter of fact.

"Mama said I'm getting better."

"Good." Nicholas said it simply, but he didn't move away. He stayed leaned in, solid and warm, his knee doing its quiet thing, and Harua understood without needing to be told that this was Nicholas saying everything he wasn't going to say out loud.

The four of them sat there in the warm amber room, a tangle of limbs and blanket and three mugs that kept having to be relocated. Yudai had been edged to the side slightly by the redistribution of bodies but hadn't gone anywhere, one hand resting on Taki's back.

"We got you stuff," Taki said, pulling back enough to look at Harua's face. His expression had settled into something between proud and shy. "At the store."

"What stuff?"

"Bath toys," Maki said.

"And the cereal," Taki added. "The good one. With the marshmallows."

Harua's eyes went wide. "Mama only gets that when —"

"When someone needs it," Taki said firmly. "And you needed it."

Harua looked at his brothers — at Maki still warm against his temple, at Nicholas's knee still keeping its patient rhythm against his hip, at Taki's face, which was trying very hard to look casual about it and not succeeding even a little.

His throat hurt and his head was still far away and he was tired in a way that went all the way down to the bone.

But sitting here, in the warm amber light, with all of them pressed in close around him —

"Thank you," Harua said.

It came out smaller than he meant it to. 

Taki pulled him back into the hug immediately. Maki's arm went around his back. Nicholas didn't move but his weight shifted incrementally closer, which for Nicholas was the same thing.

Down the hall, Fuma appeared in the doorway. He took in the pile of them on the bed, Yudai tucked to the side with his mug, and he stood there for a moment with one hand on the doorframe, not saying anything.

Yudai looked over at him, and held out his free hand.

Fuma crossed the room, took it, and sat on the edge of the bed and looked at his children all in a heap around their smallest, who was already drooping again — not the sick droop of this morning, but the loose, comfortable kind that came from being exactly where you were supposed to be.

Harua's eyes found his papa's, heavy-lidded, warm.

"Did you get in trouble today?" he murmured, meaning his brothers, the way he always did when Fuma took them out alone.

Taki started to protest. 

Fuma said, mildly, "medium amount."

Harua smiled. It was slow and a little crooked and it was the best thing Fuma had seen all day.

"Okay," Harua said, satisfied, and closed his eyes.

His brothers stayed exactly where they were.