Chapter Text
Shuuji comes into the world screaming bloody murder, as babies tend to do.
Chuuya can't find it in himself to be annoyed, more than anything he’s relieved that his labor from hell has finally ended after almost twelve hours of non-stop torture. The horror stories he was told against his will about giving birth paled in comparison to the real thing. Worst off is the fact that the people allowed to know of his “condition” can be counted in a coal miner’s hand.
(Only three people know.)
(Like a baker’s dozen but instead of bakers it's underpaid immigrants risking life and limb for fifty cents an hour.)
(He’s a little high on painkillers.)
But Chuuya hardly wants to get into such depressing matters, as topical as they may be. This is a happy moment, or it’s supposed to be. Chuuya is a sweaty, aching mess, his crying baby making a valiant effort to blow his eardrums. Someone should let Shuuji know this is a happy event, it’s his birthday! Where’s the confetti though?
Chuuya asks Akutagawa this and receives an amused half smile, which is as wide and carefree as he gets.
He turns to Shuuji. “Your uncle is a very serious person, y'know? Takes a lot to make him smile, and you’ve managed to do it in the first hour of your life.”
Maybe the drugs are getting to him, or maybe it’s the lack of sleep, a miner’s dozen. (Three.) Shuuji screams his tiny lungs out, Chuuya wants to know how he learned to use it to its full capacity so soon after being born. Is there a manual they’re given in the womb? Is there orientation in the nine months inside his belly? So many questions, so little time. His eyes dip.
Mori is there, but his existence is inconsequential in the grand scheme of things. Ane-san was there a minute ago, but she left to get him another blanket. The heart monitor clipped to his pointer finger beeps and beeps and beeps. An IV drip sits in the crook of his arm. From so much sweat produced, Chuuya is sure he has lost half his body weight in fluids expelled. Shuuji hiccups on his sobs, not expert enough to cry until the end of time apparently.
His slimy head rests on his collarbone, tiny fists curled tight against his chest, his cries get distant. Above all, Chuuya is just glad they survived this, Shuuji and himself.
The nine months of pain and suffering nearly did his baby in, the poor guy must have been stressed, just as Chuuya has been since that bastard’s defection. Again, it’s not the time to think about depressing topics. This is supposed to be a happy time. The baby continues to cry, both indignant and enraged. Chuuya can’t help but sympathize.
A trembling hand, the one with the heart monitor attached, rests on that small head that nearly ripped him apart a few minutes ago. His finger strokes the bridge of Shuuji's little nose, tracing the shape of his tiny lips. The baby whines and cries but it lessens in volume.
“Ah, there we go. That’s it.”
His hand shakes from exertion so he lets it rest by his side. Exhausted from minimal effort. He could sleep forever.
Akutagawa lays a hand on his shoulder. “You can rest, Chuuya. I’ll keep watch. Kouyou will be back in a moment also.”
Chuuya raises his left arm now, cradling the baby to his chest. His muscles burn. “Leave him on top of me, okay?”
The response is lost under kilometers of lost sleep. He dips down into the abyss, and it’s a restless slumber.
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One month in and Shuuji is still just as small as the day he was born. In the months expecting him, Chuuya bought a store’s worth of supplies, he baby-proofed the entirety of his apartment. His windows are bulletproof, his security is ridiculously complex and expensive. The guest bedroom was turned into a nursery six months ago. It was painted and repainted, now it’s the typical baby blue, airplane themed.
At the moment, Shuuji’s nursery is nothing more than a pitstop in his morning and night routine. They sleep in Chuuya's room, with the blackout curtains, the white noise machine, and the little nightlight permanently attached to the wall closest to the bassinet.
Shuuji likes to sleep during the day for some reason. They share that in common, Chuuya thinks. A pair of night owls. Maybe someone let his baby know that business hours for him are reversed, maybe that’s why he’s wide awake come one in the morning and dead asleep by noon.
That’s not to say Shuuji sleeps continuously throughout the day—not at all. Shuuji comes and goes in sporadic bursts of sleep. Chuuya does his best to sleep with the baby but his job doesn't do maternity—paternity?—leave. He has work even if his stitches pull uncomfortably against his skin. A familiar feeling but less than welcome.
Shuuji also runs through piles of diapers like it’s his job. Chuuya wonders how people without much money in the bank do this. He feels like his income is depleting faster than when that bastard was mooching off of him.
(Ah. there he goes again with unpleasant thoughts.)
It’s noon, but by the darkness of his room no one would be able to tell. Shuuji lays on his back in the blue bassinet, mouth open, sleeping soundly. Chuuya is on his side, peering inside the crib parked directly next to his bed. Sneaking between the bars his finger nudges the baby’s mouth closed.
“No son of mine will be a mouth breather,” he scolds quietly.
Shuuji mumbles and whines a bit, but settles thankfully.
The white noise machine has an almost pavlovian effect on Chuuya now, with how often it's used during nap time. Violent whispers are permanent residents in his head, namely those seeking destruction and chaos, but with the white noise to keep them company Chuuya can almost deem it peaceful inside his crowded head.
Shuuji wrinkles his little button nose, and kicks his little socked feet. The onesie he had on this morning is pending for a good washing. What the hell do babies do to their milk after ingesting it? Because there is no way in hell that what Chuuya is feeding him can come out as a gargantuan pile of sh-
Hm.
Some help would be nice, he thinks, resting his head on his right forearm. He lets his left arm settle inside the crib, playing around with the soft bedding. Shuuji fusses a bit more, Chuuya lends him his finger to grip and it's clutched with ferocity that can only come from his genes.
“How strong,” he says. The grip is tight, but it barely curls around his pointer finger.
His baby is so small.
Chuuya closes his eyes and hums.
₊˚｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊
It’s the second month and Shuuji is better acquainted with his environment. When Chuuya goes to wake him up from his nap the baby smiles a toothless, gummy smile. His arms go up immediately, ready to be picked up, rushing him to pick him up.
Chuuya laughs under his breath at the sight, curling his hands under his baby’s arms and laying him on his shoulder that is covered in a towel in an effort of defense against spit-ups. One too many good shirts have been lost to the cause. When Shuuji is settled on his chest his chubby legs automatically curl up, as if convinced he’s still inside his belly, contorting to fit right back in.
The air conditioning hums, keeping the bedroom pleasantly cool. He hums to himself, keeping the fussy baby distracted as he goes to pick up the day’s clothes. The diaper station was moved into his room because babies, like himself, aren’t fond of getting a face full of sun immediately after their afternoon nap. (And a diaper change is a must after every nap.)
Changing a diaper is as gross as always, though after the millionth time nothing more surprises him.
(He thinks back on the time Shuuji thought it ideal to let his bladder go after his diaper was disposed of, raining pee on Chuuya like a sprinkler.)
Shuuji wiggles around as he’s cleaned and changed. Chuuya shrugs off his own sweaty, long sleeved shirt, keeping a constant hand on Shuuji’s belly in case he decides to roll over at the worst possible time. Yeah, he has heard stories like that too.
“Is today a shirtless day?” he asks Shuuji, who just smiles back. He chuckles to himself. “Of course you would say that, kid. You would live your life naked if you could, with no respect to my white couch or my expensive rugs.”
He picks Shuuji up again, keeping a hand on his back and crouching to retrieve the discarded towel, placing it neatly on his shoulder once more.
Shuuji wiggles while Chuuya warms his milk in the kitchen, intent on chugging down the bottle with no regard to the water boiling on the stove or the bottle submerged partially inside the saucepan. Chuuya leans away from the stove, stopping Shuuji's attempts at snatching the bottle. His baby grumbles again.
“What is it with you, kid? Are you that determined to hurt yourself, Christ you’re definitely related to-”
Ugh. Again with this.
“That guy,” he finishes sullenly. Inside his huge apartment the words echo and scatter. It's just him and his baby here. And no one else.
The reminder that he's alone gets to him this time. He can never pinpoint what will set him off, it's almost always a tiny detail that unravels his tight composure. This time it's an off hand comment, yesterday it was a forgotten shirt he found inside the closet.
In any case, his heart decides to drop to his knees, and his ears buzz like TV static. That elephant that so often likes to step on his chest has apparently taken up tap dancing, making him choke on his breathing. Anger or something else he does not know. Whatever he may be feeling, it's like an avalanche of emotions warring, clawing for the honor of making him lose it.
He quickly turns off the stove, leaning even further away from it. His head spins and spins. Panic attacks and raging hormones don't mix well. Who knew?
It's exhausting and it’s been happening more and more, these panic attacks. Maybe now that his brain thinks they’re out of immediate danger—after months of painful pregnancy, of arduous labor and slow recuperation—it thinks it’s time to let go.
Shuuji wiggles in his grasp, and Chuuya is scared of letting him fall, so he slides down the counter slowly until he’s sitting and his knees are curled up, bracketing Shuuji and lending him lumbar support.
The baby whines.
Chuuya laughs bitterly. “What a great parent I am, huh, Shuuji?”
The baby doesn’t understand, obviously, but Chuuya likes to think that on some level he does because, in response to his little fit, Shuuji places chubby hands on his forehead, clumsily tapping it, reminiscent of what Chuuya often does to lull him to sleep. Though when he does it, it’s a finger running down the baby’s nose. When Shuuji does it it’s tiny slaps that miss their mark fifty percent of the time. It's definitely not on purpose, this comfort-tapping, but Chuuya finds that the attempt warms his heart anyway.
“You’re too sweet,” he says. “That particular trait I don’t know where you got from.”
Can't be from him, or the… other one. Perhaps one of their parents. There’s no way to know though.
“It’s just you and me, huh?” he whispers, resting his forehead against Shuuji’s, rubbing their noses together.
“Wah!” Shuuji exclaims.
“Yes, yes. Your milk, I did not forget,” he rolls his eyes. “So impatient.”
Chuuya read somewhere that it’s good practice to talk to one’s baby, even if they won’t understand for some time. So he speaks to Shuuji as if they’re old friends.
“Akutagawa is coming over, he’s a real stoic man. You remember him, right?"
Shuuji coos.
"Hm, you were barely a day old, so it’s possible you won’t recognize him. He will know it’s you, though. I send him updates sometimes, with pictures. I know he’s not the sentimental type, maybe he even finds my messages annoying but don’t let his scowl fool you, Shuuji, he’s nice enough to humor me and respond.”
Minutes later Chuuya lounges on the far corner of his comfy couch, baby Shuuji on his lap happily sucking on his bottle. The baby's two hands try to hold the weight of his bottle, though Chuuya is definitely helping. They watch the TV in mute, Chuuya’s head is being split open with a headache, Shuuji is content to observe the moving colors, the people, the words on screen. He’s fascinated by the toilet paper commercial, the one with the teddy bear family. Shuuji makes little sounds as he drinks, tiny hiccups and coos at the TV.
Akutagawa enters the apartment with his spare key, bypassing the countless security passcodes, holding a folder to his chest. Chuuya rests his head against the back of the couch, rolling it to the side and smiling tiredly at his friend.
“Just in time.”
Akutagawa shrugs, “Good to be punctual.”
He sits next to Chuuya and passes him the folder.
“Hold him for me,” he says and settles Shuuji on Akutagawa’s lap.
Akutagawa stutters around awkwardly, hands fidgeting with the baby that has made himself comfortable already.
“Don’t be shy now, Akutagawa. You’ve met before, right?”
Akutagawa snorts but plays along. “In passing, yes. Nice to meet you, Shuuji.”
“Bah.”
“Uh-huh.”
Chuuya settles against the arm of the couch, opening the folder and skimming through the files. It’s been a long time since they last saw each other, the poor guy has been picking up his slack these days. Along with Kouyou, who has taken over his high clearance cases along with her own workload, it’s been a very stressful few months for everyone.
The folder here had to be delivered due to extraneous circumstances, a result of that bastard’s actions.
Shuuji gurgles and babbles, squirming around. Akutagawa, for what it’s worth, rolls with the punches. His ability works wonders for a baby’s limited attention span. His son's lack of experiences molds everything into a grandiose, larger than life, spectacle. A coat floating around and making shapes, tickling his feet, is like the eighth wonder of the world. Chuuya would personally just settle for peek-a-boo but to each their own.
He focuses on his work, confident that Akutagawa knows what he’s doing, or at least knows enough to improvise. By the time he finishes the entire report, his next step is clear. “I’ll have to go,” he says quietly.
Akutagawa has one pinky in each of Shuuji’s hands, moving them around aimlessly. His gaze is cemented in his lap. “...Yes.”
It’s a complicated task, one that went from the Black Lizard, to Kouyou, to the boss and finally to him. It’s an off the record case, one that was, at first, the responsibility of a certain someone else and himself.
He sighs deeply. “When do I have to leave?”
“Tomorrow I’m told.”
The elephant is back. Chuuya settles the folder on the coffee table, curls into himself and presses the heels of his hands against his eyes. His knee bounces, an anxious tick he’s too tired to stop. His eyes burn, and he knows that Akutagawa won’t think less of him if he lets his distress be seen, but there’s an instinctive recoil from showing vulnerability. The last person he showed it to left, so confidence in the good will of others is shaky at best.
“Kouyou tried her best to deal with it herself, but…”
“Yeah.” Chuuya raises his head again, eyes no doubt bloodshot. Shuuji slobbers all over Akutagawa’s pinky, his new and improved binky. “I’ll survive,” he says softly. “I’ve come this far, right?” Chuuya swipes a knuckle across Shuuji's soft cheek.
Akutagawa pushes down on a rueful smile, it’s endearing in a way. Somehow it’s better than a full smile, it softens his features making him look his age. "That you have, Chuuya."
“I want you to take care of Shuuji while I’m gone. And,” he continues. “I want you to be the baby’s godfather.”
Akutagawa stills. A statue. His weird not-smile vanished. Chuuya knows though, that this is the person he trusts with his son. He’s gentle enough, and as hard as that bastard tried to beat it out of him, Akutagawa is a kind soul. He holds tender care for his sister, and for this baby and for Chuuya. He will be good to his son in the improbable case Chuuya never comes back. He knows this.
A deep sigh, not weary or tired, but a fortifying one. One that gives him strength too. “As you wish, Chuuya.”
“Kouyou will be the godmother, even if I never told it to her directly she knows. So you won’t be alone, kid.”
That not-smile again. “Of course.”
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Chuuya has his heart ripped out before he boards the plane. Akutagawa holds Shuuji in his arms, rocking him back and forth but the baby is inconsolable. Shuujis sobs, big fat tears rolling down his cheeks.
Chuuya takes off his choker, placing it in the baby's lap. Little fingers curl around it. "Keep this safe, okay?" he tells Shuuji.
His baby sniffles. He looks up, then down and then pops the chocker in his mouth, slobbering all over it.
"Ah, good thinking. Hide it in your tummy." He shoots Akutagawa a look. "I'm kidding. Don't let him eat it."
A scoff. "Who do you take me for?"
He waves goodbye and boards the plane. The flight is long, tiresome, and annoying. He lands and all he wants to do is catch a flight right back home. The entire ride to his hotel room he spends thinking of baby Shuuji.
When he was born Shuuji kept his eyes shut, concentrating all his energy into his screams that rang loud and full of life. Eventually though, Chuuya got to see those beautiful eyes. At first it was hard to pin down a color, leaning more towards an odd mix of gray and dark green. As time went on and Chuuya woke up each morning to those innocent eyes of his, the color got darker. After a few weeks the color settled into a familiar shade of brown.
The realization that the bastard had taken something else from him stung.
Even after leaving him behind, that bastard's presence is felt strongly. Or maybe his absence is the more appropriate word. It's laughable. Chuuya being hunted by the one person he wishes to forget, but at the same time he's so in love with the constant reminder personified? His baby, his Shuuji, an exact copy of his other parent. It’s hard to reconcile those two polarizing instincts that clash against the other with heated vigor.
How he loves Shuuji, and yet it hurts so much remembering how he came to be. He’s a product of what he once had, of someone he was so sure would never leave.
He wonders what it would be like if he had tied his tubes years ago, but the thought of never having his son… it’s not worth the heartache, as complicated as the situation is. People often say he’s too soft for his own good. And maybe they’re right. He would brave all nine circles of hell to keep Shuuji. No matter the cost, that baby is his.
The memories don’t stop there, because it’s just his luck that he’s visiting the last place he and the bastard ever visited as a team. Russia is cold as balls, his ears burn from the cold because somehow that’s how it works. He wants to go home already. But orders are orders and this one is too important to delay.
Last time he was here it was with the purpose of doling out warnings. A conglomerate run by a long line of rich assholes with years of experience with white collar crimes had dipped their toe in mafia hunting grounds.
Mafia-owned offices littered around Russia that had been tasked with meeting a certain quota by means of phone scams were all cornered into foreclosure. And sure, some might cry out ‘karmic retribution’ but swindling old ladies of their pension, while despicable, is a lucrative business.
During his last visit the head honcho drove home how sorry he was for the misunderstanding, he didn’t know those offices he forced to close were theirs, his people were in dire need of empty offices, you see? It’s all just a huge stupid mistake.
Mori deemed the pathetic show of remorse good enough, and a few broken kneecaps later, they were on the next plane home. And because they let the rats roam free, they’re now knee deep in an infestation.
In the time since their last visit, those assholes have taken over multiple shell companies used by the mafia for money laundering. Absorbing them into their ever-growing, tumor-like business empire. A good percentage of the PM’s profits are cleaned through these shell companies, without them they’re dead in the water, easy prey for Interpol to swallow whole. And yes, maybe law enforcement could never fully extinguish the Port Mafia’s flame but a drawback is a drawback.
The audacity of some no-name, superficially squeaky clean, group of asswipes is a complete slap in the face to Mori and the entire organization. The embarrassment alone has bought them a one way ticket to hell, the mocking they subject Chuuya to in their meeting the next day is crossing a line, but beyond that what really does it is the delay of his return home. Instead of forking over what isn’t theirs to have—certificates declaring ownership be damned— they decided to double down on their fatal mistake.
“The Port Mafia has no place to stand on here. Do send our regards to your boss. Goodbye.”
Out in the cold ass streets, far away from his son, with a mountain of work in front of him, Chuuya is beyond pissed.
Dismantling a long line of legally certified businesses without alerting any type of authority is tricky, it’s burdensome. It takes so much work and patience, two things he does not currently have.
He texts Akutagawa that it’s the worst case scenario he’s dealing with. As unlikely as the good one was, Chuuya held out hope. He’s crushed that this is not the case.
Chuuya has managed to contain his anger, the hatred, the betrayal, all those little emotions that have been building ever since his car was blown to smithereens. He kept his cool, he didn’t lose it as most would have expected him to. He was nineteen years old, that meant he would no longer be considered a kid. He was an adult now. Tantrums? Mental breakdowns? Those childish things just took up precious time.
And yet…
And yet, and yet, and yet…
This was his breaking point. Away from home, alone in a foreign country, his body unrecognizable to his own eyes, the mess of hormones and wayward emotions. Chuuya went back to his hotel and set up a timer for twenty four hours.
He was giving himself one entire day for crashing and burning.
It would have to be enough, he'd make it enough.
Chuuya used up every second, treating it as the precious gem it was, because after this there would be no stopping. He would work and focus and get shit done. He would turn off the irrational part of his head that screamed about leaving a piece of his heart back in Japan, he'd power down any useless emotions and do his damn job.
That entire night Chuuya sobbed until he couldn’t breathe. He clawed at his arms and his stomach, he punched his mirrors for daring to show him his reality—of everything he was robbed.
His body, his identity, his own baby was tainted by that fucking bastard.
And then he'd sink into agony once more because that’s a horrible thing to think about. Shuuji isn’t tainted, he’s innocent, he’s beautiful, he’s... a reminder.
It’s not fair.
Chuuya gave his life for him, he gave him everything! Every little thing he could spare, even what he couldn’t. And what did Chuuya get in return?
Fuck. Even he doesn't know if he's talking about his baby or him.
It’s just not fair. It’s not. It’s not. It’s not.
The timer reaches zero. The room is a mess but Chuuya is not. He is showered, dressed and ready to face the music with a stoic mask and rage simmering under his skin.
Shuuji turns three months without him.
He turns four months old.
Five months.
Six.
It’s four months since his arrival to this cold ass fucking country when Chuuya is finally done.
He rushed the last part to be home for Shuuji’s seventh month alive. Akutagawa had been sending him updates, just like he used to do to him. Ane-san visited a lot too, spoiling Shuuji rotten. She films videos of all his milestones, scheduling video calls whenever Chuuya can spare the time. Chuuya has hidden behind dumpsters and taken refuge in lonesome warehouse roofs just to catch a glimpse of his son.
More than once he fears Shuuji will not remember him. This is a time he will never get back with his baby, moments so precious and unique he will never have a chance to enjoy ever again. Tranquil nights with him babbling at the cutesy mobile twirling on top of his crib. The bothersome tummy time Shuuji so greatly detests. Chuuya remembers from the baby books he read that the adorable scrunch his baby used to do when being picked up is long gone by seven months. His heart breaks, his sanity shot to hell, he is an emotional mess. Postpartum depression had been an overarching monster clawing at his back ever since Shuuji was born, but as with every other weight bearing on his shoulders, Chuuya took the medical condition in stride.
Now, with months having passed, an eternity in his opinion, a frayed thread holds him together.
The flight back is as long as the flight to. He fidgets with his gloves. He’s too nauseous to sleep, he can’t ask for alcohol, and the constant chatter in the plane grates on his raw nerves. He spends hours and hours staring straight ahead, doing his best not to lose it.
They land, he’s the first one out. His carry-on is full of trinkets and expensive gifts, all of them a lackluster attempt at a thank you for taking care of Shuuji. For once, he’s almost giddy. A hop in his step, a rapid beating to his heart. Boss even promised three months of paid leave in exchange for the four months of work he put in. In front of him is rest, actual recuperation. And most important of all: His baby.
At the gate he zeroes in on Kouyou, holding a bundle to her chest. She’s dressed in casual clothes, one would certainly mistake her for the baby’s mother, the thought alone crushes him. He shrugs it off anyway.
Chuuya rushes to her, his carry on almost forgotten. He hugs Kouyou tight, thankful for everything she has done in the last three months. Inside her embrace Chuuya circles his arms around Shuuji, bringing him closer. Kouyou makes no comment of the uncharacteristic show of clinginess, she keeps her arms around him, rubbing his arm in soothing lines. Shuuji is sleepy, his eyes are mostly closed. It’s almost six in the morning after all, he should be in his crib. But Kouyou had told him, ‘if you need him at the gate then I will get him there.’ And Chuuya, on his last legs, yearned to hold his baby close.
His eyes sting again, and this time there’s the coos and babbles he so terribly missed. Shuuji is still a bit confused, Chuuya didn’t give him enough time to search his face before taking the poor boy in a bear hug. He rests his forehead against Shuuji’s. He rubs their noses together.
“Hello again, Shuuji.”
The baby searches his face, chubby fingers take hold of his cheeks, pulling a bit on his hair and he... laughs.
He laughs.
His baby, his beautiful son, laughs!
Chuuya’s heart skips a beat and his face burns hotter than the sun. He smiles wide enough that it hurts. His eyes sting and boy, there’s no keeping it in now. Chuuya cries into Shuuji’s fluffy, brown hair, and isn’t that unfair?
“I carry you and birth you and you have the gall to look like him?” he asks between lungs full of air, crying still.
Kouyou chuckles delicately into her hand. “Welcome home, Chuuya. We’ve missed you terribly.”
So maybe Shuuji did forget him, maybe his laugh is just a knee jerk reaction to receiving cuddles, maybe all of Chuuya’s fears became true. But what does it matter? He’s here with his baby safe in his arms. They can get to know each other again. From now on Chuuya will not leave Shuuji’s side.
Chuuya rubs the tears off his face with his shoulder, one arm supporting Shuuji and the other playing with his little hand. “Let’s go home,” he smiles.
Back home they reacquaint themselves, Akutagawa greets them when they arrive. He was tidying everything up, he even ordered food to celebrate his homecoming. After that though they will have to leave, a few loose ends Chuuya shouldn’t worry himself about. Chuuya is too busy playing with Shuuji’s hands to get overly worried and paranoid, prominent characteristics of his. He knows that this last one wasn’t his most clean job, but it was one he had to do.
Who else could put the fear of god in people but him? Who else had the experience, the capability to deliver on the threats made more than a year ago. It had to be delivered personally too, because ever since the famous defection Mori hasn’t let it slip that they’re down one executive. Kouyou is doing the work of two, Chuuya is an executive now in everything but name, with a few liberties taken due to his condition (ie. Shuuji) and Akutagawa has gone above and beyond what his title implies. The attack dog himself busy with delicate jobs that were usually left under the jurisdiction of a demon with a silver tongue. The upper crust of the mafia are running themselves ragged to keep up their 'unbreakable' facade. Anyone under them is none the wiser to the crumbling foundations. Mori himself lives in his office nowadays.
Chuuya knows he should feel guilty for taking it easier than most, but the time spent apart from Shuuji hurt worse than any physical wound. He needs the time off the field. Chuuya will still work, he’s just not going to be given the tasks with legwork attached. That’s what underlings are for, right? He doesn’t even have to see them either, almost every grunt is under the impression he’s off on some overseas mission with that bastard. Reports can be sent through email, video calls only show what he wants them to show, delegating work to others will be an exercise in self restraint. He’s been called a control-freak and a workaholic enough times to accept it as a useful flaw. Maybe now he will finally learn to take it easy.
For now though, Chuuya can be content with his favorite meal, with the closest people in his life, with the one little baby he loves most of all. Everything else can wait, this one singular moment is for him alone.
Shuuji is three years and five months old when the bastard comes back to haunt them.