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It started innocently enough — if anything in the Tomioka–Shinazugawa–Sabito household could ever be called innocent.
The clock struck nearly midnight, the living room lights still burning warm, half-empty bottles and baby toys scattered across the floor.
Sabito had Tanjirou balanced easily on his hip, the toddler giggling uncontrollably as his tiny legs kicked in the air.
“Stinky,” Sabito teased, wrinkling his nose dramatically.
Giyuu, very drunk and sitting cross-legged on the rug with his hair slightly frizzed from humidity and bad decisions, gasped like Sabito had just committed treason.
“No!!! Don’t be mean!!!” he cried, voice wobbling, pointing a scolding finger that missed its target by several inches.
Across the room, Sanemi bit his lips, but he still couldn't hide the slight tug of a smile making itself known.
Sabito only grinned wider — the kind of grin that said oh, I’m going to make this worse on purpose.
He lifted Tanjirou higher, swaying the toddler gently back and forth like a pendulum of chaos.
“Stinky bastard man,” he declared with fake gravitas, as Tanjirou squealed with laughter.
“No!!!!!!!!” Giyuu shouted again, staggering to his feet and nearly tripping over a discarded blanket. He looked heartbreakingly serious — cheeks flushed, eyes glassy, and an unsteady righteousness blazing within him. “He’s a child, Sabito! Don’t—don’t teach him such things!”
Sanemi sat slouched on the couch, scrolling through his phone like he’d seen this movie a hundred times. Without even looking up, he muttered lazily,
“Naughty boy. Brat kid.”
The effect was immediate.
Giyuu turned toward him with utter betrayal, mouth falling open in shock, tears threatening to spill from his already shimmering eyes.
“Nooooooooo!!!!!!!” he wailed, the kind of drawn-out, operatic despair usually reserved for tragic plays and broken hearts. He stumbled forward, clutching his chest dramatically, as if Sabito’s teasing and Sanemi’s indifference had physically wounded him.
Tanjirou blinked, wide-eyed, then reached toward Giyuu like a tiny hero trying to save the damsel in distress.
“Papa Giyuu, don’t cry!”
That was it. Sabito completely lost it, laughing so hard he had to set Tanjirou down before he dropped him.
Sanemi finally looked up, phone forgotten, smirking helplessly at the ridiculous tableau in front of him — Giyuu on the verge of tears, toddler Tanjirou trying to “protect” him, and Sabito wheezing on the couch like he’d just witnessed the best comedy show of his life.
“...you’re all idiots,” Sanemi muttered, smiling despite himself.
Giyuu sniffled. “I’m the only nice one here.”
Sabito wiped tears of laughter from his eyes. “That’s debatable.”
Tanjirou, still hugging Giyuu’s leg, nodded solemnly.
“Papa’s kind and stinky!”
Sanemi burst out laughing.
Sabito wheezed.
Giyuu simply whispered, in tragic disbelief—
“Not you too…”
The laughter finally died down, leaving the soft hum of the ceiling fan and the faint buzz of cicadas outside the open window. Tanjirou is now tucked safely in his own room.
Giyuu sat dazed in the middle of the living room carpet, clutching a throw pillow to his chest like a shield. His eyes were droopy, his voice small.
“You’re all so mean to me…”
Sabito crouched beside him, still smiling, brushing a stray lock of hair from Giyuu’s forehead. “We’re not mean, sweetheart. You’re just adorably drunk.”
Sanemi snorted from the couch. “He’s a damn mess, that’s what he is.”
Giyuu turned toward him, lip trembling like an offended cat. “You’re not even helping.”
“I am helping,” Sanemi said, setting his phone down and standing up, stretching. “I’m helpin’ by not throwing you over my shoulder and teasing you further.”
Sabito perked up. “Actually, that’s not a bad idea.”
Before Giyuu could protest, he found himself scooped up — one arm slung around Sabito’s shoulders, the other caught by Sanemi’s grip.
“Wha—wait— nooo, I can walk!” he whined, kicking uselessly.
“You can’t even stand,” Sanemi said flatly, steering him down the hall. “Last time you said that, you face-planted into the laundry basket.”
Sabito grinned. “And broke the basket.”
“That basket was weak,” Giyuu mumbled indignantly. “I was powerful.”
Sabito snorted. “Sure, mighty warrior. Let’s get you to bed before you declare war on furniture again.”
They guided him into the bedroom — or rather, tried to, because Giyuu decided halfway there that he was the one in charge.
He stopped abruptly, squinting up at them both.
“You’re both so… pretty,” he murmured, tone suddenly serious.
Sabito blinked. “Oh no.”
Sanemi’s hand froze on the doorknob. “...The hell did you just say?”
Giyuu leaned closer, swaying. His voice dropped to a whisper, soft and heartbreakingly earnest.
“You heard me. So pretty.”
Sabito wheezed out a nervous laugh. “Okay, he’s definitely gone—”
But Giyuu, undeterred, pressed a hand to Sabito’s cheek with the most dramatic tenderness. “You too, Sabito. I like your face. It’s... symmetrical. While Sanemi's face is so cute. Squishy cheeks. Squishy, squishy.”
Sanemi was trying so hard not to laugh. “Symmetrical and squishy, huh? That’s romantic as hell.”
“Yeah?” Giyuu slurred, turning to Sanemi with sudden seriousness as his hand left Sabito's cheek and is now squishing Sanemi's cheek. “Well, your face makes my heart fluffy fluff.”
Sabito lost it. He actually bent double, laughing so hard he had to grab the doorframe for balance.
“Fluffy fluff?! What does that even mean?!”
Sanemi, red-eared and grinning helplessly, muttered, “He’s drunk outta his damn mind.”
But Giyuu just blinked up at him, eyes heavy-lidded and sleepy-soft. “It means... I like looking at you too much.”
And then, without another word, he dropped face-first onto the bed and passed out immediately.
The silence that followed was deafening.
Sabito and Sanemi just stood there, the weight of that drunken confession hanging in the air.
Then Sabito broke the quiet with a low whistle. “Well, well. Didn’t expect our drunk sweetheart to get poetic.”
Sanemi rubbed the back of his neck, trying to look anywhere but at Giyuu’s sleeping form. “He won’t remember a damn thing in the morning.”
“Mm,” Sabito hummed, grinning. “Then we should definitely remind him.”
Sanemi shot him a warning look. “Don’t you dare—”
Sabito was already pulling out his phone. “Smile!”
The shutter clicked.
“Sabito.”
“What?”
“Delete that.”
“Not a chance.”
And just like that, another night in their chaotic little household ended with laughter, soft sighs, and a very drunk Giyuu snoring peacefully between the two idiots who adored him more than they’d ever admit aloud.