Haru stared at the faint tan line on his ring finger, a ghost of what used to be there. It was barely noticeable now, two years after the divorce papers were signed, but sometimes—like this morning—it caught his eye and dragged him back. He flexed his hand, shaking off the memory, and focused on tying Ichigo's shoelaces. The kid was wiggling like a worm, excited for the day ahead.
"Papa, why you sad face?" Ichigo asked, tilting his head, bright brown eyes full of innocent curiosity. His black wavy hair was a mess, and he clutched his favorite stuffed bear, ready for preschool drop-off.
Haru forced a soft smile, the one that came easy around his son. "Not sad, my buddy. Just thinking. Let's get you to school, okay? Chris will pick you up later."
Ichigo nodded, grabbing Haru's hand as they headed out. The morning routine was Haru's anchor—wake up at 6, breakfast of oatmeal or toast, pack the lunchbox with apple slices and PB&J, then the walk to preschool. It kept him grounded, away from the what-ifs that haunted quiet moments.
At the gate, Ichigo hugged him tight. "Love you, Papa! Tell Chris we make cookies today?"
"Love you more, little man. Will do." Haru watched him run inside, that protective instinct kicking in strong. Ichigo was the best thing from his marriage—the only thing that didn't break his heart.
Work was a grind. Haru sat at his desk, sleeves rolled up on his button-up, dark brown eyes scanning spreadsheets. His medium build felt heavier today, the slight athletic tone from occasional gym visits not enough to shake the fatigue. Dark circles underlined his tired look, a badge of single-dad life.
Lunch break hit, and Haru stepped out for air. His phone buzzed—Chris.
Chris: How's the office grind? Ichigo said cookies. I'm in. What flavor?
Haru: Chocolate chip, his fave. Day's dragging. You?
Chris: Classes done early. Picking up the munchkin soon. Can't wait to see you later.
Haru smiled, pocket leaning against a wall. Chris's texts were like a shot of energy—playful, warm. But today, with that ring line bugging him, doubts crept in. Was he ready for this? For someone new sneaking into his heart?
The afternoon blurred. Haru wrapped up early, heading home. Chris and Ichigo were already there, kitchen smelling like fresh-baked goodness. Flour dusted the counters, Ichigo's face smeared with chocolate, and Chris in his apron, light brown hair messy but charming, hazel eyes lighting up when Haru walked in.
"Papa!" Ichigo yelled, running for a hug that left sticky prints on Haru's trousers.
Haru laughed, ruffling his hair. "Looks like fun. Smells awesome."
Chris wiped his hands, blushing slightly as he met Haru's gaze. "We saved some dough for you. Team effort?"
The evening routine kicked in—dinner of stir-fry veggies and rice, bath time with bubbles everywhere, then bedtime. Ichigo conked out fast, chocolate coma hitting hard.
With the apartment quiet, Haru and Chris cleaned up. Chris's energy was lively as always, but he noticed Haru's distant vibe. "You okay? Seem off today."
Haru sighed, drying a plate. "Yeah… just old stuff bubbling up. The divorce. Ichigo's mom—ex-wife, I mean."
Chris set down his towel, leaning on the counter with an open posture. "Wanna talk? I'm a good listener."
Haru hesitated, his reserved side kicking in. But Chris's genuine smile, that innocent caring shine in his eyes, cracked him. They moved to the couch, sitting close. Haru stared at his hands. "Her name was Aiko. We met in college—young, dumb, thought we had it all figured out. Got married at 22, Ichigo came a year later. It was good at first—lazy weekends, family picnics. But work piled up for both of us. I was climbing the office ladder, she was in marketing, long hours."
Chris nodded, hand resting on Haru's knee—a subtle, comforting touch.
"Arguments started small—money, chores. Then bigger. She felt neglected; I felt pressured. One night, it exploded. She said I was too closed off, never let her in. I accused her of not understanding the stress. Next thing, she's packing bags, saying she needed space. Turned out, there was someone else—a coworker. Hit like a truck."
Chris's eyes softened. "Oh my god, Haru-san. That's brutal."
Haru shrugged, vulnerability showing in his tired eyes. "Custody battle was hell. I fought for Ichigo—he's my world. She got weekends at first, but then she moved cities for a new job. Now it's sporadic calls, holidays maybe. I don't badmouth her to him, but it hurts seeing him ask why Mommy's not around."
Chris squeezed his knee. "You're an amazing dad. Ichigo's lucky. And… you're opening up now. That's huge."
Haru met his gaze, the air thickening. "With you, it's different. You make it easy."
Chris blushed, leaning closer. "Good. 'Cause I like being here."
The moment shifted. Haru cupped Chris's face, thumb brushing his cheek. Chris's breath caught, eyes fluttering as Haru closed in. The kiss was slow, exploratory—lips soft, parting gently. Chris's hands slid up Haru's arms, gripping lightly, pulling him nearer.
They shifted, bodies aligning on the couch. Haru deepened it, tongue teasing, drawing a quiet sigh from Chris. Hands wandered—Chris's fingers unbuttoning Haru's shirt partway, tracing warm skin. Haru shivered, his own palms slipping under Chris's tee, feeling the slim, healthy build, the way Chris arched into the touch.
Chris swung a leg over, straddling Haru carefully. Hips settled, friction sparking through clothes—subtle rolls that built heat slow and sweet. Haru's mouth trailed to Chris's jaw, kissing down his neck, nipping softly at the pulse. Chris gasped, fingers tangling in Haru's black hair, tugging just enough to send shivers down his spine.
Shirts pushed up, skin meeting in warm presses. Haru's hands explored Chris's back, waist, pulling him flush. The rhythm grew—bodies rocking, breaths quickening, soft whispers of names and wants filling the space. Chris's cheeks flushed, hazel eyes half-closed with desire; Haru's serious expression melted into pure affection, worries fading in the haze.
Time stretched, the living room glowing soft from the lamp. Touches turned more intimate, clothes shifting, the connection deep and electric. They moved together, lost in sensation—kisses heating, hands mapping every sensitive spot with care and need.
Eventually, they eased back, breaths evening, still tangled. Chris rested his forehead against Haru's, smiling shyly. "That… helped chase the shadows away?"
Haru chuckled breathlessly. "Yep. Big time."
They talked more—Haru sharing funny marriage stories, the good before the bad. Chris listened, sharing bits of his own past, the bond strengthening.
Next day dawned with routine—Ichigo's giggles, Chris's arrival, park plays. But Haru felt lighter, the divorce scar less raw. Chris's subtle glances hinted at more, a slow-burn love growing.
By evening, as Chris left with a lingering hug, Haru knew: the past was done. This—whatever it was—felt like a fresh start.