Chapter Text
At first, Madara thought he had done something wrong- that he had made one overly energetic comment on the evening's mission that Kohaku had decided to give him the silent treatment as punishment; then he decided to pay more attention.
Kohaku’s movements were always graceful, practiced, and precise; tonight, however, their moves looked delicate, almost phantom-like, as pink hair appeared and disappeared in the confines of the alleyway. Madara was so distracted by his ghost of a partner that he almost missed an attacker making his way toward him. “Pay attention!” Kohaku hissed from where they stood, stepping back to put more distance between them and their own fight.
Madara was going to quip something back, but Kohaku's step felt too big, almost as if he were stepping back into the light he had once been bathed in. This light had radiated around him the first time the two performed together, before Madara pulled him down to join him in the darkness which now enveloped them both.
Landing at the steps of one of the alleyway bars, Madara saw Kohaku for what felt like the first time that night. Kohaku’s lilac eyes looked hazy and almost tired as they focused on the target before them. Kohaku’s left cheek had a new scar that Madara didn’t remember being there before, and though not close enough to hear, Madara knew there was something off with their breathing.
With trained swiftness, the target slumped to the ground before Kohaku’s feet, muttering something about “regrets” and begging for forgiveness. Still, it didn’t matter, for Kohaku’s part of the mission was finished, and now all he had to do was wait for Madara so they could go home.
Waiting felt worse than being in pursuit. Returning Kohaku’s attention to the cramping, throbbing ache inside of them, they pressed themselves against the alleyway wall and closed their eyes.
In a hushed, far-away voice, Kohaku hears their name being called by someone whose tone is usually more joyful and full of air when calling for them. Why now did the voice sound so hushed, so concerned?
Kohaku opens their eyes to the alleyway again, yet this time the bodies before them have multiplied, and Madara stands with an outstretched hand.
“Let’s go home,” Madara says gently, as if speaking to a soft, childlike thing, not whoever or whatever Kohaku had turned out to be- but Kohaku takes his hand.
“Home,” Kohaku says as if it were their first word all evening, slumping against Madara’s side; they let themselves be carried all the way back “home.”
Kohaku knows they aren’t going home, since it’s been a long time since they’ve returned to the Oukawa residence. Kohaku also knows they aren’t heading back to the dorms; it’s too late at night to return and act like the evening’s events were nothing.
For a moment, they wonder if they’ll go to Madara’s dorm instead, but cringe at the idea of being in a room with anyone who isn’t Madara right now; they brush against Madara’s side again.
“Easy, easy, we’re almost there, almost home.” Madara’s voice cuts in, a welcome break from Kohaku’s internal monologue. Kohaku nods as they lean further against the other man, attempting to orient themselves to their surroundings. They start to understand where they’re going, where exactly this “home” is meant to be.
A safehouse. The safehouse that had been Madara’s first apartment in his teen years, and that slowly became the one place the two could always go after missions, or to get away from the world. That was home.
“We’re here, little blossom,” Madara said without thinking. Kohaku pressed their head against his shoulder, waiting for him to unlock the door before being guided inside.
“Do you want to freshen up?” Madara asked plainly as Kohaku slipped away from him and carefully made his way to the couch.
“You go ahead…” Kohaku answered noncommittally as they eased back and lay across the especially soft couch cushions. They bite their lip as the sharpness in their stomach rises again, hoping Madara won’t notice as they press themselves deeper into the pillow.
Madara raises a brow, but the mix of sweat, grime, and blood against his skin decides for him as he hums in acknowledgment and walks toward the closet for a towel and some sweatpants. “I’ll go first then…” he declares, towel in hand. “Feel free to turn on the television as you wait,” Madara adds, trying to distract from whatever has made the other so quiet.
Kohaku hums their own acknowledgment, but the thought of moving from their spot is too much for their pain-ridden body to hold at the moment, so they try to close their eyes again and return to the endless waiting.
In the shower, Madara goes over everything that could be wrong, retracing his steps from the morning’s mission brief to how Kohaku wordlessly leaned into him as they walked home, and comes up empty.
That is before he realizes he forgot to do an injury check, as they usually would after a mission like this.
The thought is nearly powerful enough to send a soaking wet Madara back to the living room so he can assess any damage. Still, he has his own inventory to attend to and settles for taking care of himself for now, hoping Kohaku won’t have disappeared by the time he’s cleaned himself up again.
Toweling himself off, Madara swears he hears sniffles coming from the other room. The sound is faint enough that he thinks he’s just picking up the muffled noise from his neighbors, but after a moment he hears it: that small, tired voice calling for “Mama” into the apartment’s air.
Madara eases into his boxers and sweatpants, then swings the towel around his shoulders to catch the wetness of his curls and walks out of the bathroom. Instantly, he sees Kohaku hugging themselves as they tremble, mumbling and whimpering for “Mama” and about the pain they’re in.
“Mama’s here, little blossom, Mama’s here.” Madara uses his soft assurance to announce his presence before kneeling beside Kohaku’s place on the couch.
“Mama, it huurts,” Kohaku whines, elongating their words in the childlike way they clung to when they were small.
“Where does it hurt, baby? Can Mama check for injuries, little one?” Madara asks as the caregiver headspace settles over his tone, each sentence more sincere than the last.
“Noooo,” Kohaku whines. “It’s gross,” they say with a huff.
Madara hums as he listens, his heart catching at the sound of Kohaku speaking about themselves that way. “Gross, baby bee? What’s gross?” Madara asks as gently as he can.
If Kohaku were big right now, he would have no trouble recounting all the times they've seen each other’s “gross” or less-than-becoming injuries after a mission, but Kohaku isn't big right now, and Madara knows better than to mention it.
“Bloody.” Kohaku says as they stare up towards the ceiling, “Bloody… and icky,” they mumble to themselves. Madara tries not to let panic overcome him as he takes in what Kohaku’s shared, his mind replaying the evening’s events over and over for any signs of a critical hit.
“Mama?” Kohaku asks after a moment of silence, sounding even shyer than before.
“I’m here, baby bee, Mama's here,” Madara assures quickly as he thinks about what to say next. “Is it your cheek, sweetheart? Mama can clean that up for you in no time, honey.” Madara asks sincerely as he tries to think of anywhere else Kohaku could be hurt.
Kohaku shakes their head, and Madara feels his palms grow sweaty. “Talk to me, love. Where is Mama’s little love hurt, hmm? You won’t be in trouble for telling me, baby.” Madara speaks in the steadiest caregiver voice he can manage.
“On… the inside…” Kohaku says quietly, “’m bleeding on… on the inside… I… got my period.” Kohaku admits with all the strength they can find, and Madara hears himself sigh with relief.
“Oh, honey,” Madara coos, “That’s why you’ve been so quiet today, love? You’ve been holding all your hurt inside all day, haven’t you, Mama’s brave boy.” He continues, watching Kohaku nod along until Madara says “boy” and suddenly shakes their head.
“Not a boy… boys d-don’t… have periods,” Kohaku says, sounding defeated.
Madara shushes the thought before it makes it out of the little one’s mouth. “Shhh, shhh, little blossom, having your period doesn’t make you any less of a boy, sweetheart. You’ll always be Mama’s sweet boy, Kohaku.” Madara promises, and Kohaku whimpers, easing the hem of their shirt to their lips as they listen.
“Let’s get you cleaned up, little love. Mama will make you feel all better.” Mama says sweetly, and Kohaku shakes their head, a blush creeping onto their cheeks. “N-not little…” they mumble, and Madara smiles. “Okay, sweetheart, that’s okay. Can Mama help Kohaku get out of their icky mission clothes? You can wear some of Mama’s clothes if you want, honey?” Madara tries, softening his tone as Kohaku settles into headspace.
Kohaku’s blush grows deeper as they listen to Madara’s offer, clinging to the idea of wearing Madara’s clothes; they nod their head.
‘Help, please, Mama?” Kohaku asks as they teethe on the hem of their shirt. “Want Mama’s clothes… comfy,” they continue to themselves. “Okay, sweetheart, Mama’s here to help you, little love,” Madara affirms gently,
“Can Mama hold you, honey?” Madara asks softly as he opens his arms in invitation. Kohaku leans their head against Madara’s chest for a moment as they think, “uppies?” they ask tiredly against him, each word tickling Madara’s skin.
“Uppies, sweet boy. Mama’s boy is so sweet using their manners while they’re feeling icky. I’m so proud of you, honey,” Madara praises as Kohaku wraps themselves around his frame and is cradled to his chest as the two make their way toward the closet.
“S-sorry… ‘s gross,” Kohaku mumbles as they feel their body press against Madara’s. Madara soothes them gently as he holds them in front of the hall closet, letting Kohaku decide which towel and shirt of Madara’s they want to wear.
“Does Mama’s sweet boy have boxers they want for tonight?” Madara asks as Kohaku hides back against his chest. “Y-yeah,” Kohaku says quietly. “The-the ones… next to my shirts.” Kohaku makes a small pointing gesture with the hand closer to the closet, as the other tightens its hold against Madara’s frame. Madara reaches for the plain black boxers neatly folded beside the pile of Kohaku’s pajama shirts and waits for Kohaku’s nod before adding them to the pile with the towel and his shirt.
“Can Mama’s little bee shower on their own? Mama will wait right out here in the hallway, sweetheart.” Madara asks, free of judgment, feeling as Kohaku presses their face deeper against him.
“Okay, Mama,” Kohaku answers, and Madara gently eases them to their feet again, keeping still as they keep their arms wrapped around him for a moment longer.
“I’ll be right here, sweetheart. If you need Mama, all you need to do is call for me, honey. I’m right here.” Madara assures them.
Kohaku glances between the bathroom door and Madara’s chest, eventually accepting the towel, sleepshirt, and boxers before walking into the bathroom.
“Supplies are under the sink, love,” Madara answers before Kohaku thinks to ask, and Kohaku nods, setting down the items they brought with them and moving to shut the door. “Stay?” they ask, unsure.
“Mama’s staying,” Madara affirms. “Mama’s brave little love.” He continues as Kohaku leaves the door slightly ajar and begins to undress.
The shower goes smoothly, with Kohaku calling for Madara in the spirit of an “Are you still there?” more than an “I need help,” which both are grateful for, and as the shower ends, Madara prepares for what comes next.
“Mama?” Kohaku calls as they walk to the door. “What if… what if I get the towel icky?” they ask nervously. “Mama will wash it, love; it’s okay.” Madara answers without a hint of judgment.
Kohaku hums from their place in the bathroom, still extra careful as they towel off. “All dry,” Kohaku announces as they guide Madara’s oversized T-shirt over their head. “Dressed too,” they add happily.
“Good boy,” Madara praises. “Does baby bee want Mama’s help with the rest?” Madara asks carefully and waits for Kohaku to respond. “Y-yes please… I’m sorry,” Kohaku manages, the small glimpse of joy in their tone replaced by shame in an instant.
Madara gently knocks on the door. “May I come in, sweetheart?” he asks as Kohaku opens the door from the inside.
“Hi, sweet boy,” Madara says as he sees the tears building in Kohaku’s eyes. “Look at Mama, baby bee; focus on me, sweetheart.” Madara guides, and Kohaku sniffles, shaky hands holding out the boxers and pad Kohaku had gotten from under the sink. “Good job, honey.” Madara praises. “Thank you, sweetheart,” he adds, gently taking the items.
“Mama’s going to get your boxers ready for you, hun. Do you want to watch Mama do it, or do you want Mama to tell his little blossom when he’s done?” Madara asks, hoping his options are as straightforward as they sounded in his head.
“T-tell me…” Kohaku answers, and Madara turns around. He swiftly assembles the boxers and pad, then announces, “All done!” with a kind smile as he presents Kohaku with the undergarment.
Kohaku looks up at Madara with a look stopping slightly short of bewilderment. “What’s that face for, little love?” Madara asks curiously, “Did Mama do something silly, honey?” he asks, with the undergarment still in his hands.
“Y-you’re not… you’re not grossed out… by it?” Kohaku asks, and Madara quirks a brow before shaking his head. “Not in the slightest. It’s perfectly natural, and nothing to be ashamed of, sweetheart.” Madara begins, “I know it’s taking a lot of courage for you to be here with me right now, little love. I’m honored to have earned your trust.” Madara continues, and for an instant, Kohaku’s bigger headspace pokes through just enough to scrunch up their nose before they soften again, humming as they take in Madara’s words.
“Okay, Mama,” Kohaku says with a bit of brightness returning to his tone, “Can Mama help me with what’s next? It’s o-okay if… if it’s icky and Mama doesn’t want to…” Kohaku adds in a rush. Madara shakes his head.
“Mama will help you, sweet boy.” Madara assures, “Does Mama’s brave boy want to sit on the counter or the toilet, little love?” Madara asks, noticing how flush Kohaku’s cheeks go again.
“C-counter,” Kohaku says quickly, dropping their eyes from Madara’s as they fidget with their sleepshirt. “Okay, honey, sit up for me, please.” Madara guides them, and Kohaku eases onto the countertop, shivering as the cool marble meets their lower half.
“Cold, Mama,” Kohaku says, trying to think of something other than what’s about to happen. “Mama will make you feel all better soon, honey,” Madara promises, and Kohaku nods, widening their legs so that Madara can stand between them.
“Good boy. Mama’s right here. Look at Mama, sweetheart.” Madara coos, “Can Mama help baby bee put their boxers on?” he asks with familiar, judgment-free steadiness.
Kohaku nods, pinching their eyes shut. “Hurry, Mama,” they whimper, and Madara nods. “Mama’s got you. Hold still for me, please, baby.” Madara guides as he delicately eases the boxers up Kohaku’s legs, letting Kohaku finish the process once they're ready.
“Good boy, that’s mama’s good boy,” Madara praises as Kohaku looks up at him with wide eyes and finally exhales. “You did such a good job, baby. Mama’s so proud of you, sweetheart,” Madara continues, and the last of Kohaku’s resolve melts away.
“Mama,” Kohaku says softly as they reach out for Madara’s frame, nuzzling against his chest again. “Thank you… for helpin’ me” Kohaku mumbles as Madara pets their head.
“Thank you for trusting Mama to help, baby bee,” Madara replies in earnest.
“All done?” Kohaku asks softly after a moment, and Madara nods above them.
“Bedtime, Mama?” they ask with a small yawn between their words. “Bedtime, little love,” Madara agrees, gently easing Kohaku into his arms again as he carries them toward the bedroom.
Kohaku nuzzles against Madara’s hold all the way down the hall and through the bedroom door, letting go only long enough for Madara to settle them into bed before reaching up for him again.
“I’m here, baby bee, Mama’s right here,” Madara assures with a laugh, giving Kohaku’s hands soft squeezes before moving to his side of the bed and welcoming Kohaku back into his arms.
“Mama’s so proud of you,” Madara says to fill the void where “thank you” or “I love you” should be and smiles to himself as he feels Kohaku nod in acknowledgment against him.
Madara feels Kohaku’s soft breaths against his chest, and thinks of how, just for one night, a safehouse became a home, and he was able to make one person feel less alone.
“Goodnight,” Madara whispers into the air.
“Goodnight,” Kohaku whispers against his chest.