Haru leaned back against the headboard, the bedroom lamp casting a warm glow over the rumpled sheets. It was a lazy Sunday evening, Ichigo tucked in bed after a day of park adventures and Mia playdates. The apartment was quiet, the kind of peaceful hush that came after a full, happy day. Chris was curled up beside him, head on Haru's chest, light brown hair tickling his skin as he traced lazy patterns on Haru's arm.
They'd been talking about old times—Chris sharing funny college mishaps, Haru opening up about his high school days. It started with the photos Chris had found a couple weeks ago, and now Chris was hooked on hearing more.
"Tell me about the debate club," Chris said, hazel eyes looking up with that innocent curiosity mixed with a playful glint. "You in a uniform, arguing like a boss? Sounds hot."
Haru chuckled low, his dark brown eyes softening as he ran fingers through Chris's hair. "Hot, huh? It was more sweaty palms and nervous prep than anything glamorous. But yeah, I loved it. Joined sophomore year—teacher saw me arguing with a kid in class about some history fact, recruited me on the spot."
Chris propped up on an elbow, slim frame shifting closer. "What was your first debate? Did you win?"
Haru smiled faint, memories flooding back. "First one was local tournament—topic 'Should school uniforms be mandatory?' I was pro. Spent nights researching—stats on discipline, equality, all that. Opponent was this cocky junior from another school, slick talker. I was reserved back then, didn't chatter much, but on stage... I came alive."
He paused, voice dropping like storytelling mode. "Opening argument: I hit with facts—uniforms reduce bullying, boost focus. He countered with freedom, individuality. Rebuttal round—I slayed. 'Individuality isn't in clothes—it's in actions, ideas.' Crowd clapped. We won by narrow margin. Felt like king."
Chris's eyes widened, blush creeping. "Badass Haru-san. Bet you looked intense—serious face, sleeves rolled like now."
Haru laughed. "Uniform sleeves weren't rolled—strict rules. But yeah, intense. One debate got heated—topic 'Technology harms society.' I was con. Opponent went personal, said I was 'out of touch.' I fired back with balanced view—tech connects, advances, but moderate use. Won big. Coach said I had 'quiet fire.'"
Chris grinned. "Quiet fire—fits you perfect. Any funny fails?"
Haru rubbed neck embarrassed. "One time, nerves hit—forgot my closer. Stuttered, but recovered with improv. Lost that round, but learned: prepare, but adapt. Made me stronger."
Chris's fingers traced Haru's collarbone. "Love hearing young Haru stories. Makes me... wanna celebrate your fire."
Air charged—Chris leaning in, lips soft. Haru kissed back deep, hands waist, pulling flush. Tongues brushed urgent, breaths quick.
Shirts shed quick—Chris's tee yanked, Haru's button-up tossed. Skin met hot, slim pressing medium. Haru's mouth neck—sucking marks claiming, soothing story vulnerability. Chris arched, gasp breathy, grinding hard.
Pants undone impatient, pushed away. Bare, sweat-slick. Bodies aligned—Haru's hand wrapping firm, stroking rhythm rolls. Chris bucked wild, moans soft, legs tight.
Haru's free hand pinned wrist gentle, deepening friction. Pleasure coiled intense—eyes locked, hazel admiring, brown burning love. Whispers: "Your fire hot," Chris panted; "For you," Haru growled low.
Climax crashed shared—Chris tensing beautiful, release spilling hot muffled cry. Haru followed, shuddering deep.
Tangled after, breaths evening. Chris smiled lazy. "Debate king."
Haru chuckled, kissing temple. "With my queen."
Morning routine: pancakes, Ichigo giggles demanding "Papa debate story!" Haru retold clean versions, kid pretending argue with dino.
Week flowed—Haru sharing more club tales over dinners, Chris loving glimpses of young Haru. Bond deeper, stories bridging past and present.