Haru sat at the kitchen table, laptop open, spreadsheets glowing in the dim light. It was late—Ichigo long asleep, the apartment quiet except for the tick of the wall clock. Chris was curled on the couch under a blanket, scrolling his phone, but his hazel eyes kept flicking to the window like he expected shadows to move.
Three days since the street confrontation. Three days of jumping at every car door slam, every late-night text buzz. They'd filed a police report—harassment, threats—but the officer had been honest: without physical violence, options were limited. "Keep records. Change routines. Call if they show up again."
Haru closed the laptop, rubbing his tired eyes. He'd crunched numbers all evening: his savings, bonus potential, a possible personal loan. Enough to knock a big chunk off Chris's debt, maybe scare the collectors into backing off. But Chris kept stalling—"I don't want you paying for my mess."
Stubborn kid.
Haru stood, stretching his medium frame, sleeves rolled high. He walked over, sitting close on the couch. Chris immediately leaned into him, head on Haru's shoulder. "Can't sleep, huh?"
Chris shook his head. "Every noise outside… I keep thinking it's them."
Haru wrapped an arm around him, pulling tight. "They're not getting near you. Or us. Trust me."
Chris looked up, vulnerability raw in those lively eyes. "You say that, but what if they do? What if they hurt Ichigo to get to me?"
Haru's jaw clenched, protective fire flaring. "Over my dead body."
The air thickened—fear mixing with something fiercer. Chris shifted, swinging a leg over to straddle Haru's lap, hands framing his face. "Make me forget for a bit?"
Haru didn't need asking twice. He pulled Chris down into a kiss—slow at first, comforting, then deeper, hungrier. Chris sighed into it, fingers threading through Haru's messy black hair, tugging just enough to spark heat.
Bodies pressed flush, Chris rocking subtly, friction building fast through thin sweatpants. Haru groaned low, hands sliding under Chris's tee, palms gliding over warm, smooth skin. Every touch felt urgent—reassurance and want tangled tight.
Shirts came off quick—Chris's yanked over his head, Haru's pulled free. Skin met skin, hot and electric. Haru's mouth trailed Chris's throat, sucking slow marks along the collarbone, feeling Chris shiver hard. Chris arched back, hands braced on Haru's shoulders, nails digging in as Haru's lips moved lower—kissing down chest, tongue flicking sensitive spots that drew breathy gasps.
Pants pushed down impatient, kicked aside. Bare now, bodies slick with faint sweat. Haru flipped them gently, laying Chris back on the wide couch, hovering over his slimmer frame. Hands intertwined above Chris's head, Haru kissed him deep—tongue stroking, claiming.
Lower now—Haru's mouth exploring Chris's stomach, hips, inner thighs. Chris bucked, moaning soft, legs spreading to give more access. Haru took his time, kisses and licks teasing until Chris was trembling, begging in whispers.
When Haru finally moved back up, their bodies aligned perfectly—hard lengths sliding together, slick and hot. Haru's hand wrapped around them both, stroking slow and firm. Chris's hips rolled up to meet every motion, rhythm building steady and intense.
Sweat beaded, breaths ragged. Haru released their hands to grip Chris's thigh, hitching it higher, angle deepening the friction. Chris's free hand clawed down Haru's back, leaving faint red trails. Eyes locked—Chris's hazel wild with need, Haru's dark brown burning fierce.
The pace quickened—strokes tighter, hips grinding harder. Pleasure coiled sharp and overwhelming. Chris came first—body tensing beautiful, spilling hot over Haru's fist with a choked cry muffled against Haru's shoulder. The clench and sight pulled Haru right after—thrusts stuttering, release crashing hard as he buried his face in Chris's neck.
They stayed locked together through the aftershocks, hearts hammering in sync. Haru rolled to the side, pulling Chris half on top, legs tangled, arms tight.
Chris's voice was hoarse. "I needed that. I Needed you."
Haru kissed his damp forehead. "Always got you."
They dozed lightly, wrapped in the blanket. But reality crept back too soon—Chris's phone buzzing on the coffee table. Unknown number.
Chris tensed. Haru grabbed it first, answering cold. "Who is this?"
A rough voice laughed. "Wrong number, daddy. Just reminding your boy—five grand by month's end. Or we come collect in person. Maybe start with the kid's toys."
Click. Line dead.
Haru's blood boiled. Chris went pale. "They have my new number. How?"
Haru pulled him close again. "Doesn't matter. Tomorrow we go to the bank. I'm transferring what I can—ten grand to start. We pay a chunk, show we're serious, buy time for a real plan. Police get the recording."
Chris started to argue, but Haru kissed him quiet. "No more solo. We're family now—you, me, Ichigo. Family fights together."
Tears pricked Chris's eyes, but he nodded. "Okay. Family."
Morning came with forced normalcy—pancakes, Ichigo's giggles, preschool drop-off. But Haru's eyes scanned every car, every stranger. At the bank, he wired the money to the account Chris gave—ten grand gone, but worth the breathing room.
Chris texted later: Paid. They confirmed receipt. Quiet for now.
Haru exhaled, relief short-lived. Quiet never lasted with sharks.
Evening brought routine—park swings, dinner, bath. Ichigo sensed the tension, clinging extra at bedtime. Once asleep, Haru and Chris collapsed on the couch again, just holding each other.
"We'll get through this," Haru murmured.
Chris nodded against his chest. "With you? Yeah. We will."
The shadows lurked closer, but their light burned brighter.