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Takahiro might be an awful babysitter but that’s fine. It’s only one more weekend and then he never has to see this brat again.
When Oikawa and Iwaizumi told him they were having a kid he was happy for them. When Oikawa and Iwaizumi told him the kid was into bugs he was happy for them. When Oikawa and Iwaizumi told him the kid loves her Uncle Makki he was overjoyed. But this is too much.
‘I’m not going in that sandpit without lacing up my shoes!’ Aoi hollers. ‘My goodness, Makki-chan, be serious!’
‘This is ridiculous,’ Takahiro says. ‘When I was your age I went in the sandpit barefoot.’
‘When you were my age it was the nineteen hundreds!’ Aoi snaps. ‘So there was no littering!’
‘You know what, fine,’ he says, bad tempered. ‘Tie your own laces. Go on. Since you won’t sit still for a minute.’
‘I can sit still! You’re being unkind,’ she proclaims, and then proceeds to wriggle around on the bench for twenty seconds till Takahiro is done knotting her stupid neon blue shoelaces. Then she runs off without even saying good bye.
‘I hate you,’ Takahiro says into his palms, quietly but with feeling.
‘You’re better than me,’ says an amused voice to his left.
Takahiro turns and looks at the man, face still half in his hands.
He’s the kind of tall that looms and the kind of deadpan that used to excite him when he was twenty. Now it just fills him with a sense of unease. The goatee makes him feel better—it’s new for him, and Takahiro loves shiny new things.
‘I tripped my kid on his way out there,’ the man explains.
This is a bit more than moderately funny, so Takahiro’s lip twitches. ‘Right. But he’s actually your kid, so that makes you evil in a worse way. Me, I’m just a bad babysitter.’
‘You do look too young to be a father,’ the man agrees readily. Takes in the exposition all laid-back, cool as you please, as if he really had expected it. He’s still standing, hands in his sweatpant pockets. He’s got a crossbody bag slung over his broad shoulder, a single strap kind of backpack. It’s probably full of snacks and diapers and cartoon band aids but his dark eyes are still bedroom-low and his mouth tilts up smoothly. This makes his next line a thousand times worse when he tilts his head and drawls— ‘How old are you, darling?’
‘Thirty two,’ Takahiro says, after a long pause.
The man looks horribly embarrassed. ‘Oh.’
‘How about you?’
‘Thirty one,’ he mutters, cowed.
Takahiro’s lip twitches again. ‘Mhm. You can sit, if you like.’
‘Thanks.’
Hilarious.
He’s a real soldier, because he does sit down instead of running off, but he’s silent and generates an aura of shame and self-reflection. At ease, Takahiro watches the kids, notes Aoi seems to have found a corner of the sandpit that’s particularly interesting, taking to it with her tiny pink spade. His eye keeps being drawn to one brat who’s taking his shirt off on the top of the slide and hollering war cries at a small troop of younger, admiring minions. As if it isn't early February and snowing.
Wow, he thinks. Imagine having that at home. The free entertainment might be worth having to carry the lame diaper bag.
The sound of a throat clearing. ‘That one’s mine,’ the man points out, a long brown finger aimed at the shirtless warrior.
Takahiro’s eyebrows fly up and he looks at the man again, in disbelief. ‘No way.’
‘Yeah, you don’t see the resemblance?’ he asks, cheery in a somber way. Like he’s recovered from the earlier embarrassment but not entirely.
‘Take your shirt off and let's see,’ Takahiro says, and rewards him with a thin ghost of a smile when the guy flushes a bit.
‘Um, sorry. Listen, I’m not a creep, okay. You just look really.. I assumed—’
‘It’s okay,’ Takahiro says, now properly intrigued. He leans back on the cold park bench and puts his socked feet up, leaving his slides on the wet grass. He crosses his arms on his knees and fixes the guy with a teasing look. ‘I figured you were flirting weirdly with me, not just any possible jailbait.’
‘Well, now, you don’t look that young,’ the man says, giving him a dark eyed look right back.
‘And you don’t look like that kid over there,’ Takahiro says, glancing at the kid again, who is waving his orange t-shirt in the air passionately. He cracks a smile. ‘Come on. Like you would ever do some shit like that.’
‘You know me so well,’ the man drawls, looking at the scene and blinking lethargically. His mouth twitches and then he looks faintly, terribly fond. ‘No, I don’t know where he got all that. His name’s Kento, he’s seven. He’s like a walking talking TV.’
‘I’d put him in a box and just sit down,’ Takahiro agrees. ‘What’s his mom like?’
‘I don’t know,’ the man replies. ‘I’m gay.’
Takahiro gives him a look that he cowers at slightly, his giant frame shrinking. ‘My fault, we covered that.’
‘Yeah,’ he says dryly. ‘We did. Did you just assume I am too?’
The man straightens again and points out, brave, ‘Well, you’re humoring me and your hair is pink.’
‘I’m not humoring you,’ Takahiro says, sticking his chin up. ‘Go away, go away!’
The man grins, then, a real smile that’s wide and his eyes are brown and squinty and crinkling. ‘Sorry, I’ll go. Was nice meeting you.’
‘Wasn’t nice for me.’ He waits a moment, soaking in the eye contact which is fun, seriously. It’s fun giving this guy looks. Then says, ‘I’m Takahiro.’
‘Issei,’ he says, smile fading but face so warm. ‘Matsukawa Issei.’
‘How was she?’ Hajime asks, scooping her up. Aoi scrunches her nose at the kiss to her forehead and says, ‘I was great!’
‘She was okay,’ Takahiro decides. ‘Maybe the tenth best kid I’ve ever met. Or eleventh. Her manners are a little below my standard.’
‘Ha-ha, Makki,’ Tooru eyerolls. ‘My Aoi-chan is the most well mannered out of every kid I’ve ever met!’
‘Where’re all these other kids?’ Aoi wonders, making grabby hands for Tooru, who’s hooking up his coat and scrambles to get her. It’s like him and Hajime are playing volleyball with the kid and Takahiro momentarily amuses himself with the visual of Aoi being one-touched across a net.
She would probably cry, though, so he shucks off his layers and just breezes past the hallway to help himself to their pantry, sliding the door open and assessing his options. ‘Was honestly way easier than I thought,’ he admits.
‘Yeah, kids are no biggie,’ Hajime agrees, all World's Best Dad. ‘I mean, when you’re babysitting. You took her to the park, right?’
‘There was a guy there,’ Takahiro says, gaze casually darting between two different Calbee flavors.
Hajime is silent for a second. ‘You’re a shit babysitter.’
‘Do you guys wanna try that new cafe with the milk cake pastries?’ Takahiro inquires. He checks his phone. ‘Say, next weekend?’
The very next Saturday he basically spikes Aoi into the sandpit, and when he turns around, Matsukawa Issei is standing there with that little kid holding his hand.
Takahiro has been terribly excited to see him again, so at the sight of this unlikely duo, his heart stumbles in its rhythm.
‘Hello,’ Matsukawa Issei says sedately.
‘HELLO!’ shouts that little kid next to him. He’s waving furiously.
‘Your hand’s gonna fall off,’ Takahiro warns.
The kid stops waving, and peers up at him suspiciously. ‘Hey,’ he says, all accusatory. ‘You’re not supposed to say stuff like that to kids.’
Takahiro looks at Matsukawa and raises his eyebrows. ‘Am I not?’
‘No, they get scared easily,’ Matsukawa informs him, both hands stuffed in the pockets of his long black coat. He’d had a balaclava on, and he’d rolled it up into a beanie when they’d seen each other across the lawn. From a distance he’d looked more like a thug than a father.
And that’s amusing, really, the idea of this big old creep reading parenting books. What a hypocrite he must’ve felt, teaching his son about stranger danger.
‘Not me though, I don’t get scared,’ the kid reassures him. Takahiro crouches down because it must be paining the little idiot, especially stuck day after day with a guy as tall as Matsukawa. Once he’s down at eye level, Takahiro says, ‘Boo.’
The kid gives him the greatest fake scream ever, his watery cartoonish mouth so wide open it's like Tom and Jerry. It’s not too loud that anyone looks over, and it’s loud enough that Matsukawa winces, and it’s shrill enough that it amuses Takahiro greatly.
‘I’m gonna put you in a box,’ he says, excited.
‘I’m gonna go play!’ the kid retorts, scandalized. ‘Bye!’
He’s off like a shot. Takahiro straightens, and he wobbles a bit but that’s all planned, so it’s easy for Matsukawa to swoop in and steady his elbow.
‘Easy there,’ Matsukawa says, curls dangling over his eyes.
‘You’re so smooth,’ Takahiro tells him happily, and squeezes his bicep in reward. Matsukawa looks faint. Aoi-chan is digging bugs out of the dirt. Matsukawa-junior is punching some other kid in the gut. It’s all he’s ever wanted.
And they sit on a park bench and talk, and Matsukawa turns to Issei, and he learns his son is named Kento and that Kento calls him Dad, these days.
And he comes by the next evening, dutiful babysitter that he is, beloved by Aoi who nearly cries when he has to go home these days, from all the dutiful babysitting he’s doing.
And he sees Issei again the weekend after that, and then he’s mad.
Because that weekend, the third of knowing him as the snow starts to die, Takahiro is still single. It really shouldn’t take much, their first interaction being what it was. But this is what it is.
The plan is simple. Get into the kid’s head. Keep dangling himself in front of Issei. And pay off Aoi-chan with bugs.
The kids bump into each other at the entrance. They look adorably different, with Aoi-chan in a pink and blue ensemble of coat, shiny tights, puffy hat and a muffler. Her gloves are in her blue bucket and her bug catching net is slung over her shoulder like a rifle. Kento is wearing orange shorts and a t-shirt that says Geometry Dash.
‘You,’ Aoi says distastefully.
Kento is four years older than Aoi-chan, and many inches taller. He looks up at Takahiro with a dubious energy and pulls a face. Like you really expect me to play nice?
Takahiro widens his eyes menacingly.
‘Hey, Oikawa-san,’ Kento says reluctantly. Aoi sniffs, and turns to Takahiro for her customary play nice. Takahiro crouches and says dutifully, ‘Play nice, Aoi-chan. Even if the other kids are mean.’
She had gone on and on last night about how she loved the park, fuddy and muddy as it is, Oikawa had him on Facetime to review and compare notes about her many enemies. There was the girl who always tried to kiss her, the evil grandma who kept tossing birdseed too close to her playplace, and of course Kento, who had been crowned Meanie of the Park probably several years ago.
Iwa had been concerned about the girl who kept trying to kiss her. Oikawa had said it happened to him too, once. Takahiro had hung up with one last goodnight wish for his niece.
‘I’ll do my best,’ she says presently, longsuffering. Her shorts are neat and pink, her shirt a bit wrinkled under the coat so he fixes that, and quirks a smile at her little huff. She’s dressed herself today, all proud and nose-turned-up-Oikawa. Takahiro ruffles her tousled brown head and claps her back playfully. When he turns, Matsukawa is giving him a soft look and Kento is scowling.
Takahiro gives him a big smile in reward and Kento pulls another, sillier face in response.
‘Don’t make faces at your elders or you’re in for it,’ Matsukawa warns.
‘You made this face, not me,’ Kento says smarmily. Then he beams up at Takahiro. ‘Hi.’
‘Kenny, don’t you want to go play too?’ Takahiro wonders.
Kento instantly looks profoundly miserable. ‘I played the other day. I’m growing up, man, I can’t be seen playing all the time. Do you know how many of my friends live on this block? Too many. If they see me I’m done. Kabam. Destroyed. Cooked. It’s over.’
Takahiro feels blown away by the shit that comes out this kids mouth. He looks at Matsukawa, who merely smiles a bit and says, ‘He has too many friends, full stop.’
‘Says the loner,’ Kento eyerolls.
Matsukawa’s face goes red. ‘Pipe down already. God. You’re such a velcro kid, I can’t make friends with you hanging off my back.’
‘I’m not on your back, you couldn’t lift me, old man,’ he says cockily.
An idiot could guess what would happen next. Takahiro would’ve done the same, and he’s already laughing when in the next second, Matsukawa has wrangled Kento into his arms and up across his shoulders. He tosses Takahiro a reckless grin, that makes Takahiro’s body come alight.
Kento’s hollering at the top of his lungs. ‘Put-me-down you son of a—’
‘Do you wanna race,’ Takahiro says over the din.
Matsukawa pauses in tickling his kid’s sides mercilessly and gives Takahiro a look. Heated and a bit playful like a kid. ‘Yeah?’
It’s exciting and stupid. But he wants to so badly.
‘With Ken on your back, yeah. Or are you an old man?’ he inquires.
The race is short and mostly consists of Kento squealing and Takahiro giving Matsukawa little pushes, which he exaggerates his reactions to greatly. He pretend-drops Kento a total of eleven times and when they drop down on the grass, a far way away from the chilly brown benches and gate where they’d started, they’re both breathless and Kento’s groaning into the grass.
‘You’ve killed me,’ he bemoans.
Matsukawa leans back on his elbows, throat up and dark, lickable. He’s sighing, too. Hair rumpled and a bit sweaty at the forehead.
Takahiro runs a hand through his hair and holds his arms open when Aoi-chan comes running into them, and says excitedly, ‘Hana-chan, I didn’t know you moved from the laptop!’
Kento chokes on a laugh. Matsukawa gives him an endeared smile, so Takahiro doesn’t even try to pull her pigtails. Just pinches her cheek and says, ‘Too bad you never come work with me, right? Now you’ve missed the race.’
‘Nooooo, I want to race,’ Aoi cries. She flops down against Takahiro’s stretched legs, and her little jogger-ed feet hit Kento’s.
He kicks out lazily and says, ‘Shove over, kid.’
‘Kid!’ Aoi says hotly. She sits up and wags her finger. ‘I am Oikawa!’
Kento gives Takahiro another look. Takahiro’s really enjoying this now, and makes eye contact with Matsukawa, who’s clearly torn between scolding his kid and catching his breath.
‘Poopykawa,’ Kento says. Takahiro chokes on a laugh. He’s never even met Iwa, and he can’t explain the way even the tone was the fucking same, so he can’t answer Matsukawa’s raised eyebrow when he can’t stop laughing.
Aoi kicks him back. ‘You can’t call me that.’
‘I can too. ‘m older and better and allowed,’ Kento says smugly.
Matsukawa seems content to not reel him in, and Aoi stares at him sadly, as if miserable that someone could be such a terrible father, then grabs Takahiro’s shirt and shakes him. ‘Tell him, Hana-chan.’
‘Watch it, Kenny,’ Takahiro says lazily.
‘Nah, you’re not my dad,’ Kento says, just as bored. He’s still mushed into the grass, leg kicked out to be ready for Aoi’s vengeance. Takahiro holds up a palm for Matsukawa, so he doesn’t jump in.
‘But I could punish you,’ he says.
Kento finally sits up and gives him the stink eye.
Aoi crosses her arms, sets her back very straight and warns, ‘You don’t want Hana-chan’s punishments.’
‘And why don’t I,’ Kento says, and deliberates. ‘Poopykawa?’
Aoi gapes. ‘You said it again! You can’t keep saying that!’
Kento casts a look toward Matsukawa, who’s leant back on his elbows and just gazing at Takahiro, eyes deep and unfathomable. Takahiro strokes a calming palm down Aoi’s arm and says, ‘Hey, you’re Poopykawa too. Your surname’s the same.’
Kento’s face goes pale. Aoi glows. She hugs Takahiro tightly. ‘Is it really?’
‘It’s even lamer,’ Takahiro tells her. ‘You could call him Idiotkawa, Lamekawa, Sillykawa…’
‘Slow down, what’re you teaching that kid!’ Kento complains loudly. Matsukawa barks out a laugh, and says finally, ‘Say sorry, Kento.’
Kento shuffles over and holds out his hand grudgingly. ‘Sorry, Oikawa.’
Aoi-chan is huddled into Takahiro’s chest and she smells like dirt. She scowls at Kento. Kento sends Takahiro a pleading look, with a quick flit of his eyes to Matsukawa and an expression with his eyes shutting and his tongue poking out deadly. Takahiro smothers a laugh and says, ‘Alright, shake his hand, Aoi-chan.’
Aoi shuffles out and faces Kento warily. She gazes at him with suspicion, during which Kento keeps looking for help over at Takahiro and Matsukawa, who seems content to gaze back and raise his eyebrow unflinchingly.
She finally says, ‘Okay,’ and spits on her palm. Holds it out. ‘Friends.’
Kento’s face should be in museums. He looks outraged. Appalled. Disbelieving. Eyebrows raised and tiny forehead tight with lines. His eyes are small and nose all scrunched.
Matsukawa clears his throat.
Kento says, ‘Oh my god. No way.’
‘Spit in your hand,’ Aoi explains patiently.
Takahiro is gonna die.
Kento says, ‘This can’t be real. Who raised you? Who raised her, Hana-chan?’
‘Spit in your goddamn hand,’ Matsukawa says.
Kento spits in his hand and they shake on it firmly. Then Aoi wipes her hand on Kento’s Geometry Dash t-shirt and runs to go play without another word.
Kento holds the now sticky fabric away from his chest and says, bleak, ‘This is my lucky shirt.’
‘You’re lucky you wore it and I don’t hang you ass-first from the seesaw,’ Matsukawa says. Takahiro lets out a completely shocked laugh, and Kento grumbles under his breath.
He looks handsome, now leaning his forearms on his knees and stretching a big, broad hand out to firmly snag Kento by the elbow and yank him in. He’s scolding him, mild tone but casually scathing, getting the point across and ruffling his hair the whole time.
‘You don’t even know that kid, just getting comfortable ‘cause Hana-chan’s here…’ Matsukawa’s saying.
‘Don’t call him Hana-chan,’ Kento snaps. ‘He didn’t give you permission!’
Takahiro’s lip quirks up, amused. ‘Oh yeah? You respect me so much, is that it?’
‘Someone’s gotta, your kid doesn’t,’ Kento fires back. ‘She’s just scared you’ll roast her to death.’
‘Not my kid, and I could hang her from the top of the slide and make her go down,’ Takahiro says, reaching forward to tug his ankle so he slips. The kid flails loudly and fearsomely on his way down, now curled up between them, Matsukawa and Takahiro, like a newborn between his parents on the big bed. Takahiro’s cheeks flush. Kento’s frowning up at him.
‘Alright tough guy,’ Kento goads. ‘Carry me on the next race. Since you’re sooo him.’
Matsukawa leans in, head bumping against Takahiro’s as they both peer down at his son. ‘What’s that even mean? So him?’
‘Shut up, Matsukawa,’ Takahiro tells him, getting a palm to his waist for his troubles. Then pokes a finger into Kento’s squishy brown cheek, and says, ‘I couldn’t possibly.’
‘So you don’t lift?’ The kid’s tone is so smug.
‘Oh, no, you’re too heavy to pick up. From all those ice creams,’ Takahiro says.
Kento’s mouth opens. ‘You’re calling me fat! Dad, he’s calling me fat!’
‘You’re fat,’ Matsukawa agrees evenly, and pokes Kento in the stomach. Kento howls, and Matsukawa grins and Takahiro feels his firm chest brush against his shoulder and they’re getting way too cuddly, way too fast. His heart is racing like crazy.
Kento is giggling and Matsukawa’s stubble is almost brushing Takahiro’s cheek. Takahiro says, feeling weak and mellow, ‘You’re not fat, Kenny. You’re a little bodybuilder.’
The kid’s big brown Matsukawa-eyes bat up at him, squinty. ‘What? Shut up...’
‘Yeah, you’re a little footballer,’ Takahiro says, and starts pinching his calf. He bats at Takahiro’s hand but stays focused, gazing up at him intently. It stirs something in him, that wide-eyed gaze, his rapt attentiveness. It makes Takahiro feel warm and vulnerable. He says, not really knowing what he’s saying, ‘You’re gonna be on a school team. They’ll beg for you to join all their teams.’
‘Did they ever beg for you to join their teams?’ Kento says curiously.
‘Oh, they’d run after me like puppies,’ Takahiro says, and Matsukawa laughs quietly, soft against his ear.
‘I bet,’ Matsukawa whispers.
Kento sits up and all of their three heads bump together hard. Matsukawa groans and Takahiro’s hand flies up to Kento’s head, even as he’s already saying, ‘Freakin’ warn a guy…’
‘I wanted to know what he whispered!’ Kento whines, and he’s cuddling like a kitten into Takahiro’s palm. Matsukawa’s palm strokes up Takahiro’s side, soothing, and he says, ‘Rub my head, too, it hurts.’
‘Shut up, both of you.’ Takahiro is gonna faint, one of these days.
The next few days he misses them both something awful. Something terrible. He goes on a run in the morning on the fourth day and he’s at the convenience store, smoking and looking at a picture on his phone he’d snuck of Kento holding up an icecream excitedly while Matsukawa lifted him like in Lion King.
‘What the helly? You smoke that stuff?’
He lowers the phone and stares, cig in his mouth.
Kento’s holding two ice lollies and staring at him, excited.
Takahiro stubs it out immediately. ‘No I don’t.’
‘Awww, I wanted a hit,’ he whines, all nasal voice and shiteating grin. Takahiro grinds it under his flipflop for good measure and cuffs his ear.
‘What’re you doing here alone?’
‘Cool way of asking about my loser dad,’ Kenny says, face souring. ‘He sent me to get my own ice cream since he’s too lame to take me to get some.’
‘Why’s he too lame,’ Takahiro asks.
Kento inhales. And for the next minute and a half Takahiro is lone audience to a soliloquy which is as inflection-ful as Takahiro’s tone had been inflectionless when he’d asked. He’s full of gesture and drama and two palms that can do so many things, such as slap against the concrete, or his knee, or Takahiro’s forearm.
In the end, he concludes, ‘There are many reasons.’
Takahiro is winded just listening to him. ‘Your lungs probably take over your whole torso.’
‘Nah, baba says my stomach is the size of a crater,’ Kento responds.
‘All those ice creams,’ Takahiro agrees.
‘He’s weird though,’ Kento says, insistent, and his fist is tight on Takahiro’s sleeve now as he regards him solemnly. ‘He’s so weird. A few months ago was the worst. He made me jump up and down on the trampoline and recite jokes.’
He shouldn’t smile, but he does anyway.
‘It’s not even funny,’ the kid says, big brown eyes gazing up at him with total frustration. ‘Who does that! Trampolines are for girls!’
Takahiro cuffs his ear on instinct. ‘I loved trampolines when I was a kid.’
Kento looks him up and down.
He says, deeply self satisfied, ‘Well, that figures, Hana-chan. You’re kinda girly yourself.’
‘Pipe down,’ says Issei, irritated and dark and laden with groceries behind him. Takahiro tries to reach out and take a bag out of politeness but he holds it away and says, cool and relaxed, ‘Hi, Hiro. What’re you up to?’
‘He was smoking!’ Kento cries immediately, ducking away to grab a few bags which his father hands over easily, which Takahiro’s eyes narrow to see.
Takahiro flushes, put on the spot, feeling exposed and like an asshole. Issei says, ‘Great, can I bum one? I’ve got this headache…’ and jerks his chin unsubtly at Kento.
Kento gapes. ‘You smoke too!?’ he hollers.
‘Don’t be a bad influence,’ Takahiro scolds, even though he could die from how hard he’s smiling. Here he was, worried about smelling like cigs, how could he overlook Issei’s whole vibe? This is the exact kind of guy he would’ve slid up to in a bar and asked to go outside for a bit for fresh air and they would’ve made out in an alley if Issei hadn’t been raising a newborn at the time. As it is, Takahiro feels he’s been wasting all his adult years, by not being by his side.
‘You’re both bad influences,’ Kento marvels. ‘I might need to run away. Or I could bum one too and we can all be bad influences together.’
Issei puts a hand to his nape and says, ‘Go take the groceries to the car. Freaking.. Insufferable kid, god I wish I could just. Send him to boarding school and he’d come back with manners.’
His kid had scurried off at the first strict word and the rest of it is grumbled bad-temperedly under his breath as he readjusts his hold on the remaining bags.
‘You’re such a dad,’ Takahiro says, spellbound.
Issei looks at him, dark eyes. ‘Hi again.’
‘Hi,’ he says, and slides up to him. ‘We could have one while he’s putting stuff away.’
Issei’s eyes fall to his mouth, then between his eyes, like he’s deciding what to be seduced by first. Takahiro wets his lips to help him choose.
He groans a bit, and steps back. ‘You’re a tease.’
For some reason, perhaps ego, Takahiro feels compelled to say, ‘If I’d done that and we were younger you would have folded so fast.’
Immediately he’s in close again, crowding him, and Issei’s knuckles brush the underside of his chin, tilting Takahiro’s flushed face back up and he says, low and husky, ‘If we were younger..’ and they’re sharing a breath. He hears Kento’s darting footfall as the kid comes back for the rest of the groceries, so he leans in closer, steals a kiss, just a lazy peck on the corner of Issei’s slack mouth and then the rest of the bags in his almost as slack hand.
He helps Kento put them away and only just manages to convince them not to give him a ride home, no, seriously, he likes walking. Issei’s dumbfounded wave from the driver’s seat plays back like on loop.
And on the walk back to his place he wonders what’s going on in his own head.
‘I’m a prop,’ Kento says without preamble.
This is how Kento speaks. Without worry, without guilt. The world is his Sakanamachi park and he is the king of the slide.
Currently the king of the slide looks deeply grave.
‘Sorry?’ Takahiro inquires, almost choking on his strawberry matcha latte. It is altogether eighty percent strawberry, sixteen percent cream and four percent matcha. And not the real stuff. But it tastes like sweetness and that’s all that matters. It's better than yesterday anyway, when he was at the park alone in the morning, out on a walk and smoking, and Kento had materialized and demanded to have a puff. That’s the second cig he’s put out that fast in his life.
This kid.
‘Okay, so, hi, I’m a prop,’ Kento amends. ‘My dad’s prop. He’s using me in his evil schemes.’
‘Is he secretly a government spy?’ Takahiro says, and looks down at him dubiously. Kento is in orange football shoes, unlaced, baby-sized. He’s probably not that young though. Takahiro realizes all of a sudden that he doesn’t know how old Kento is. Thinking this, he says, questioning, ‘And you are a… smaller government spy? Like, tween or maybe younger..?’
‘No, you’re not getting it.’ The kid looks distraught. ‘Just listen to me. My annoying stupid dad, you know the guy—’
Takahiro almost chokes again but this time on laughter.
‘—he’s using me for something and we gotta figure out what. It’s been the billionth Saturday of us at this dumb park. I hate this park. It’s for little nappy kids. I hate bugs and I hate sand and I hate swings and I like football, bro,’ Kento insists, voice crawling higher in pitch and cracking in places with how much he likes football. ‘Why does he keep bringing me here? And he gets all fancy for it. What’s with the cool jackets? Whatever happened to Hello Kitty pajama pants?’
‘You could ask,’ Takahiro suggests, with the confidence of a guy who knows he’s the reason. Hello Kitty, he thinks gleefully.
He’s steamrolled over. ‘And I can’t ask!’ Kento says passionately. ‘Because my dad will turn into baba, that evil guy who never lets me have two cups of orange juice and doesn’t like Fall Guys. He’s gonna lose all the chillness and be strict. It’s been two months of him not being strict at all. I can’t ask, man. I can’t.’
‘Okay,’ Takahiro says. And he nods. ‘I think I know what’s going on.’
‘What,’ Kento says, desperate. ‘Tell me. Please.’
‘You had two cups of orange juice, didn’t you,’ he says disappointedly.
Kento looks up at him bleakly. ‘It’s over,’ he says. ‘I’m cooked. You’re a lost cause too. I hate adults. And now I have to hang out with stupid Oikawa and her bug army. My god. Just strike me where I stand. Have you ever played Monster Hunter?’
His head spins a bit. ‘Yeah, I have. Have you? Your dad would not let you play that.’
‘Nah, I saw it on YouTube shorts,’ Kento says. ‘I’ve been imagining it to get through this stupid park day though. Now I think I’m the one getting reamed though.’
‘What kind of language are you teaching this kid?’ Takahiro wonders, looking up at Issei as he approaches, one hand in his pocket and the other holding a plastic shopping bag full of ice baggies and ice cream cones.
‘Probably the bad kind,’ Issei admits, handing Kento the shopper and ruffling his hair, not noticing the miserable look on his face. He grins at Takahiro. ‘Not a very strict father, me.’
‘Yeah, he’s been telling me what a cool baba you are,’ Takahiro agrees, trying not to laugh. Kento looks totally spooked. ‘He can have an ice cream now, can’t he?’
‘You can have two, Kenny,’ Issei says generously, patting Kento’s floppy head none too gently. Kento meeps and wrangles a lolly out of the bag, shuffles away, toward the slide.
‘Such a cute kid,’ Takahiro sighs, smiling up at him.
Even to him, Issei looks besotted. ‘Half of me, you know.’
He flutters his lashes. ‘Yeah, you’re cute too.’ Hook, line and sinker.
And that’s Issei’s plan, clearly. Using Kento, though it’s not working at all. Because the next time Takahiro interacts one on one with Kento is the same evening, as Issei starts his car up and puts away random assorted toys that include but are not limited to a blue frisbee, a jar (?) and a plastic spade with Naruto’s face peeling off the back.
‘I don’t even like Naruto,’ Kento sneers.
‘Alright, you’re soooo cool,’ Takahiro says, eyerolling. ‘What an edgelord. Too fly for me.’
‘What does fly mean,’ Kento inquires.
Takahiro feels like an unc or whatever it is the kids say these days. ‘Nothing of any concern to you,’ he says severely. ‘Now answer me this—does your dad talk about me?’
Kento gives him this look, and this is where the plan can go terribly wrong, the kid is astute. Like, a brat who doesn’t like Naruto and doesn’t like bugs and really likes his orange shoes should not be by any rights this astute but that’s the way it is. He’s smart enough that he squints up at Takahiro with Issei’s dark brown eyes, a touch hazel in the iris, reflected back at Takahiro’s own. Takahiro stares back beedily.
‘Does he ever,’ Kento says, flat, then holds his hands to his own throat and pretends to choke himself. ‘Ewww, man! Hana-chan, yo. He won’t shut up.’
Vindication. His ego swells. ‘Oh, really.’
‘He likes you bad, Hana-chan.’ The kid shakes his head.
‘Does he now.’
‘Oh, yeah. This dude, bro. He said yesterday that we should skip Seinfield night and go to bed early with a glass of milk ‘cause we don’t wanna be late to Sakanamachi tomorrow.’ He pauses here, squints and waggles his narrowed, incredulous eyes, as if to say I know, right?! Takahiro is spellbound as Kento continues, ‘Like it’s an appointment at the doctor!! Well guess what, bucko, I’m eating apples! Sakanamakki, more like!’
‘What’s my brat saying,’ Issei says, evenly.
Takahiro’s smile blooms all on its own. He’s just so handsome when he’s all intimidating and looming. Kento squeaks in shock like a rubber duckie. Takahiro cracks up and ruffles his hair, and Kento buries his face in his leg and hides from Issei, who turns those dark eyes to Takahiro, all flat and resigned and hiding amusement in the crinkles under his brows.
‘He’s just saying what a cool, funny, handsome dad you are,’ Takahiro fibs shamelessly. ‘And he’s so lucky to have such an awesome father.’
‘Who raised me so well,’ Kento mumbles.
‘Who raised him oh so well!’ Takahiro agrees, stroking his soft brown head. Kento’s little warm hands grip and he burrows deeper, then peeks out at Issei, who’s giving them this look now, like You’re both liars.
‘You’re both liars,’ Issei says darkly, and tugs Kento off him by the elbow, scowling down at him. ‘Get in the car, you insufferable little piece of—’
‘Bye, Kenny,’ Takahiro says sweetly, pinching his cheek.
Kento grimaces and mouths, I’m dead!
Issei gives him a long look, over the back of one broad shoulder, and Takahiro plays innocent, hoping he doesn’t get Kento to squeal like Takahiro just did.
Then Issei does something unfair. He winks, unsmiling, jaw tight and face tan from the evening sun. And it’s crazy hot. And Takahiro is dizzy all the back to Oikawa-and-Iwaizumi’s house. Dizzy like he’s been hit in the head.
‘Matsukawa Issei is probably gonna ask me out,’ he tells Aoi dizzily.
Aoi eyerolls, both her muddy hands in her pink shorts pockets, Iwa’s attitude on Oikawa’s face. ‘I could’a told you that five weeks ago.’
However many more but it’s happening. Takahiro has never felt this way in his life.