Chapter Text
The camera shutter clicked a few times.
The warehouse district sprawled before them in shades of industrial grey, all corrugated metal and cracked asphalt bleeding into the gathering dusk. Kazuki adjusted the telephoto lens, bringing the loading dock into sharp focus. Third shipment today. He clicked off two more photos, the shutter sound muted to near-silence.
"Movement, east entrance," Rei's voice came through the earpiece, economical as always.
Kazuki swiveled left, catching the figure emerging from the side door. "Got him. That's our guy—matches the photo from the dossier."
They'd been at this for three hours now, perched in their respective vantage points like patient spiders. Kazuki had the high ground in an abandoned office building across the street, while Rei had positioned himself closer, tucked into the skeletal remains of a construction site with clear sightlines to the warehouse's blind spots. It was the kind of synchronicity they'd developed over years of partnership—an unspoken choreography of angles and timing that made their work efficient, clean.
Deadly.
"Logging vehicle plates now," Kazuki murmured, watching a black van pull up to the dock. His fingers moved across his tablet, recording every detail. License number, make, model, the particular way the driver favored his left leg when he stepped out. Information was ammunition in their line of work, and they were currently loading up an entire arsenal for whoever had hired them to dig into this particular target's operations.
"Two guards, armed," Rei noted. "Switching positions every forty minutes. Predictable."
"Predictable is good for us, bad for them." Kazuki allowed himself a small smile. This was what they did best—the observation, the patience, the slow accumulation of intelligence that would eventually form a complete picture. And when that picture was complete, when they knew every habit and vulnerability, every entrance and exit...
Well. That's when the other part of their job began.
But not tonight. Tonight was pure reconnaissance.
"Loading's almost done," Kazuki said, zooming in on the crates being transferred from warehouse to van. "Can you get a visual on the contents?"
"No. Sealed too tight." A pause. "Wait. One crate, northeast corner—damaged lid. Looks like... electronics. High-end, from the packaging."
"Electronics." Kazuki made a note. Their client had suspected smuggling, but hadn't specified what kind. This was useful. "Could be stolen goods. Corporate espionage haul, maybe."
"Mm."
That was Rei’s sign of agreement. Or acknowledgment. Or sometimes just proof he was still conscious. Kazuki had learned to read the various flavors of his partner's minimal vocalizations the way some people learned foreign languages—through immersion and necessity.
"Van's pulling out," Rei said. "You tracking?"
"Yeah, got it." Kazuki's tablet was already logging the route as the vehicle departed. "Heading northeast, looks like they're—"
His phone vibrated against his thigh.
He froze.
Not the vibrating that meant a message. No—this was the long pulse of an actual incoming call.
No one called him during work.
He pulled the phone out, screen already glowing.
Miss Anna.
Shit.
He answered before the second ring. “Miss Anna? Is something wrong, is Miri okay—?”
“Oh! Yes, yes, she’s fine!” Miss Anna rushed, warm and breathy as always. “Completely fine. No injuries or tantrums or runaway adventures today. She just… didn’t get picked up.”
Kazuki blinked at the skyline. “Didn’t—what do you mean? We’re not late, are we? I thought pickup was at six—”
“It was,” she said gently. “It’s… almost seven-thirty.”
Kazuki slapped a hand over his face, dragging his palm down slowly. “Oh my god, I am so—Miss Anna, I swear we didn’t forget—there was… traffic?” He winced at his own lie, glancing at the warehouse, the armed men, the target in the middle of illegal dealings. “Unexpected work delay?”
Rei snorted softly, which was insane because Rei didn’t snort. Ever.
“It’s alright. She’s not upset,” Miss Anna assured. “She’s playing with a friend. But we do need someone to pick her up. Soon.”
Kazuki pressed a hand to his forehead, suddenly nauseated. “Right. Right, of course. I’m coming now. Five minutes. No—seven. Traffic. But soon!”
Kazuki glanced out the window, where he saw Rei approaching his location with unhurried grace.
“I’ll be right there,” Kazuki promised, then hung up before the guilt could climb any higher in his throat.
Kazuki let his hand fall limply to his thigh, phone dangling between his fingers. His heart hammered with that familiar blend of guilt and parental terror, the oh god I’ve failed my child mantra already forming a rapid loop in his brain.
The door opened somewhere behind Kazuki. Rei’s steps grew louder until he stood right beside Kazuki.
“Sheesh,” Kazuki muttered, breathless. “We forgot pickup.”
Rei blinked. Once. Slowly. “We?”
Kazuki pointed at him. “Don’t you dare. We both saw the damn calendar.”
Rei’s lips curved—barely—into something approximating amusement. “You wrote it down. I watched you write it. That’s not the same thing.”
Kazuki groaned. “Okay, fine, yes, it’s my fault, please kick me later. But I need to go.”
Rei glanced at him again, side-eye sharp as a blade. “So you’re leaving the difficult part to me.”
“It’s intel gathering, Rei, not a ritual sacrifice.”
“Mm.”
Kazuki pressed a palm over his face. “Is that a yes-you-can-go mm, or a you-should-feel-guilty mm?”
Rei’s lips ticked upward by a breath. “Both.”
That, at least, eased the tightness in Kazuki’s chest. Banter meant forgiveness. Or at least tolerance, which was the Rei-equivalent of forgiveness.
Kazuki pushed to his feet, brushing dust from his pants. “I owe you. Again. I’ll pick up dinner on the way home.”
Rei adjusted the lens, eyes narrowing with predatory calm. “Get Miri something sweet,” he said, voice softer around the edges. “She might be upset.”
Kazuki snorted. “She’ll pout like we committed a federal crime.”
“She will,” Rei said, deadpan. “And she will tell us we are terrible fathers. But the sweets will fix it.”
Kazuki paused, watching Rei’s profile for a moment longer than he meant to. Something about the man tonight—something in the steady concentration, the quiet warmth tucked beneath his edges, pulled at him unexpectedly.
He shook his head and turned to pack up his portion of the gear. “Don’t let the guys see you. Or shoot you. Or stab you. Or insult you. You tend to escalate.”
Rei’s eyes flicked toward him, expression completely deadpan. “I only escalate when necessary.”
“That’s the problem!” Kazuki hiss-whispered, gathering his bag. “Your definition of necessary is—god, never mind—just text me if anything changes.”
“Drive safe.”
“I always drive safe.”
Rei didn’t dignify that with a response.
Kazuki gave him a grateful clap on the shoulder—light, careful, the kind of touch two alphas normally wouldn’t exchange without tension humming between them. But Rei didn’t stiffen or lean away; he simply absorbed the contact.
“Thanks,” Kazuki murmured, softer than intended. “Really.”
Rei shrugged, the movement minimal and dismissive in that infuriatingly calm way of his. “Miri comes first.”
Rei’s eyes flicked toward Kazuki for a fraction of a second—dark, unreadable, but with the faintest ripple of something hidden beneath. Something Kazuki didn’t have the mental bandwidth to decipher right now.
Then Rei shook his head, gaze returning to the warehouse. “Just don’t sprint the whole way there and pass out.”
Kazuki scoffed. “One time. I sprinted one time, and suddenly it’s my brand.”
Rei’s lips twitched again. “You tripped over a stroller.”
“It came out of nowhere!”
“It was parked.”
Kazuki opened his mouth to argue, then shut it, shoving the tablet into his bag with aggressive resignation. “When we get a third person, I’m going to tell them you bully me.”
“When we get a third person, I’m moving,” Rei said, and the joke made them both smile softly. They didn’t need a third person. They had Miri, and she doubled as three all by herself.
Kazuki swung his bag over his shoulder and headed toward the fire escape door, boots echoing faintly against concrete. Halfway there, he paused and looked back.
Rei was already absorbed in the job again, body angled toward the window across the street, posture relaxed but coiled. The scent-blocker patch on his neck caught the faint shimmer of neon, a transparent square reflecting light like a fish scale. Kazuki felt a strange pull in his gut—an odd little ache at the idea of leaving him here alone. Like instinct nudging at him, whispering something he couldn’t quite grasp. An awareness deeper than logic, an itch beneath the scent-blocker patch, like his body recognized something he consciously didn’t.
Weird. Later. Focus.
Kazuki slipped out through the stairwell, boots whispering against steel steps, heart still thudding with the kind of frantic, paternal panic he never imagined he'd be capable of.
Missions, he could handle. Bullets, he could dance around.
But Miss Anna telling him he was late for daycare pickup? That dunked him into a whole different circle of hell.
Despite the spike of parental guilt currently eating through his gut, Kazuki found himself grinning. This was their rhythm too, different from the work synchronicity but just as familiar. The banter, the brief exchanges that said more than their word count suggested. Partners in every sense that mattered.
He took the stairs two at a time, emerging into the alley where they'd parked the car three blocks away—far enough to avoid association, close enough for quick extraction if things went sideways. Their yellow Renault 4 was blessedly anonymous, the kind of vehicle that cameras skimmed over without retaining. Perfect for their purposes.
Kazuki tossed his equipment bag into the trunk and slid into the back seat, immediately shrugging out of his dark surveillance jacket. The messenger bag he'd stashed earlier contained his civilian clothes—a soft blue hoodie, clean jeans, the kind of outfit that screamed "harried single dad" rather than "professional killer." He'd gotten depressingly good at the quick change, at code-switching between his two lives.
Their two lives, really. His and Rei's.
The thought made him pause mid-shirt change, fabric bunched around his shoulders. When had he started thinking of their civilian life as shared territory? Probably around the time Miri had started calling them both "Papa," completely unconcerned with the unconventional nature of their household. To her, it was simple: two papas who took care of her, who made her breakfast and walked her to daycare and helped with her drawings, and read her stories at bedtime.
The fact that those two papas were also contract killers who shared an apartment out of professional convenience, and now parental necessity, was just... details.
Kazuki pulled the hoodie over his head and caught his reflection in the rearview mirror. He looked tired. Not surveillance-tired, but the deeper kind of fatigue that came from juggling too many high-stakes plates. The kind that came from trying to be a good father while also being a very effective hitman.
His hand went to his neck again, checking the scent blocker patch. Still firmly in place, but he could feel the slight tackiness at the edges that meant it was nearing the end of its effectiveness. How long had he been wearing this one? Two days? Three?
“Great. Exactly what I need,” he muttered.
They went through these things like candy, he and Rei both. Had to, really, living in close quarters. Sharing territory with anyone other than a beta was a recipe for disaster without proper precautions. The scent blockers kept their pheromones locked down, preventing the kind of instinctive territorial responses that could turn ugly fast.
Not that Kazuki thought he and Rei would actually come to blows or anything. They weren't animals, and they'd both proven capable of civilized cohabitation. But biology was biology, and alpha biology in particular had some inconvenient features. Better to just medicate around it. Keep things neutral.
He reached up under his shirt and peeled off the scent patch. The adhesive tugged at skin, and for a heartbeat, his own scent ghosted up—citrusy and enticing, like ripe quince and browned butter tart; the piece of him he mostly hid out of courtesy. He swore he could feel his shoulders loosen at the brief freedom of it, right before duty closed back over like a lid. He pulled a new square from the little travel box. There were two sets left.
He frowned.
No, one, because the other one had curled at one corner, and he didn’t trust curled corners. They were on their last package.
"Shit," he muttered. Tomorrow's problem. He had the thought in exactly the same tone as when he realized they were out of eggs and toilet paper.
Buy more tomorrow, idiot.
For both of you.
For the love of all that is sane, do not let the house go thirty-six hours without anyone patched, not unless you want to have a glare-off at ten paces because the dishwasher beeped.
He unwrapped the fresh set of patches and applied them to his scent glands, pressing firmly to ensure good adhesion. The coolness of it was immediately soothing, a signal that his pheromones were being properly suppressed. Locked down tight.
It should probably bother him more than it did—this constant pharmaceutical intervention just to make their living situation workable. But honestly? Kazuki was grateful for it. The alternative would be chaos. Territorial disputes, aggressive posturing, and the constant low-grade stress of having another alpha in his space.
Instead, they had... whatever this was. Partnership. Cooperation. Something that almost resembled a normal household, if you squinted and ignored the weapons cabinet and the bloodstained laundry procedures.
A family.
Maybe this setup worked because they'd both started on suppressants early. Kazuki had been taking them since his early twenties, back when he'd first entered this line of work and realized that losing a week to biology-driven madness could literally get him killed. The suppressants were strong; medical-grade, military-issue stuff that he probably wasn't supposed to have access to but did anyway because their profession had certain perks.
They shut down the rut cycle completely. No heat haze, no aggression spikes, no inconvenient biological urges that would make him want to fight Rei for dominance or mount the nearest—
Kazuki's brain skittered away from that particular thought path. Point was, the suppressants worked. Kept everything calm and controlled. He'd been on them so long he barely remembered what a natural rut felt like anymore.
And Rei seemed to be the same. They'd never discussed it directly, because they never discussed anything directly if they could avoid it, but Kazuki had seen the medication bottles in the bathroom cabinet. Seen Rei take his pills with the same routine as everything else in his life, never let them lapse. Which made sense for an alpha, especially one as private as Rei. The guy probably hated the idea of broadcasting his biology to the world.
Kazuki could respect that. Hell, he sometimes felt the same way. Their designations were nobody's business but their own.
He pulled on the hoodie, tugged the hood up far enough to shade the edge of the patch, and checked himself in the rearview. He softened his eyes, took the threat out of his mouth. The transition wasn’t exactly an act. It was just different lighting. He could turn toward the part of him that knew which snack Miri would ask for in the next fifteen minutes and could tell by the particular pitch of her whine whether she’d skipped nap.
He tucked the tiny earpiece out of his ear and dropped it into the cupholder. Rei would ping him if it was life and death. He trusted that. He trusted Rei. There were nights he wanted to hand Rei all the sharp things in his chest just to see how deft those long fingers would be at dismantling them.
But he didn’t. He made dinner instead.
He slid into the driver’s seat and checked the mirror. The booster seat sat haughtily, cookie crumbs sparkling on the fabric like a constellation. A child’s hat—pink with cat ears—occupied the passenger seat like an honored guest. He put the car in gear.
Traffic was a creature with moods. Tonight, it was sleepy and a little stubborn.
He slid between a taxi and a delivery truck with caution as he planned his apology: so, so sorry, meeting ran long, you’re all saints, I’ll bring cookies. He hated lying to Miss Anna more than he hated any part of the job, because lying to the people who extended them grace felt like borrowing time at interest. But the truth wasn’t for here. The truth was theirs, his and Rei’s, inside their peculiar, stitched-together home.
They made a damn good team, and that was clear. Had for years now, even before Miri had stumbled into their lives and turned everything sideways in the best and most terrifying way possible. Two professionals who understood the weight of silence in the right moments, who could communicate in glances and single words, who never questioned each other's loyalty.
He’d told Rei once, over takeout and a news anchor’s droning cadence, about his own secondary sex. It had been a practical disclosure, the way you tell someone you snore or you can’t eat shellfish. Rei had blinked, nodded once, and looked back at the television. He hadn’t shared his own designation. He hadn’t said much at all. Kazuki had filled the silence with assumption, and later with routines that fit assumption’s contours: the patches, the blockers, the unspoken agreement to be more lenient during certain days. He kept out of Rei’s way when Rei wore that particular blank expression that meant the world was too loud, and Rei left him to his stove when his hands needed to chop vegetables to feel like a person.
He’d drawn a map and lived inside it because it simply made sense. The way Rei carried himself. The rigid line of his spine, the gravity of his gaze when someone did something he considered stupid. The steadiness in fights. Obviously an alpha. Why complicate it with details when the map worked?
Kazuki laughed once, soft and private, at a red light.
Two alphas in a two-bedroom, on purpose.
People would expect scorched earth. Instead, they’d learned to stack quiet on quiet until it made something that sounded like peace. There were tense days, sure—two predators with their dull teeth hidden, bumping hips in a hallway. But nothing had burned. The blockers saw to that. Miri, more than anything, saw to that. It turned out there was no room to posture when a little girl needed her hair braided and her shoes tied and her pink hat located because the world would end without it.
By the time the daycare’s mural swam up—a parade of handprint animals marching around—his chest had unclenched some. The building glowed cheery in the early evening; a handful of kids still romped in the little play yard, their laughter a bright, chaotic thread pulling him forward on a spool. He pulled into a spot near the entrance, angled just so to make an easy exit.
He killed the engine. He rubbed a hand over his face and felt the day’s stubble, the grit of the job, all the edges he knew how to file down when he needed to. He grabbed Miri’s pink hat from the seat, because it would earn him points to show up holding it, because it pleased him to fix the smallest things.
When he opened the car door, the air was different. Sugar on the wind from the bakery down the block. Chalk dust. The faint, high note of bubble soap.
And underneath it all, barely detectable, the faint sweet scent that meant omega.
Kazuki's steps slowed fractionally as his brain processed the information. Not unusual—plenty of the daycare staff were omegas, and most of the mothers who did pickup were too. It was just biology doing its demographic thing. Omegas tended toward caretaking roles, though Kazuki tried not to think in those kinds of stereotypes.
Still, the scent was there, light and pleasant, mixing with the daycare smells.
The front room was mostly empty now, the usual after-hours quiet settling over the space like dust. Miss Anna stood near the cubbies, her professional smile strained in a way that made Kazuki's guilt intensify. And next to her, engaged in what looked like a serious conversation, was a woman Kazuki vaguely recognized from previous pickups.
She was petite, dark-haired, wearing a neat business suit that suggested she'd come straight from an office job. An omega, his brain supplied automatically, though he didn't need his nose to tell him that—she wore the designation with the same casual obviousness that some people wore expensive watches. Not performative exactly, just present. Comfortable in her own biology.
Miss Anna greeted him immediately with her gentle, slightly frazzled smile as he entered. “Oh, Kazuki, thank goodness. Miri’s been absolutely fine, don’t worry.”
Kazuki bowed deeply. “I’m so, so sorry. We got caught up with—uh—work.”
She patted his arm like he was the one who’d had a tough day. “It happens. Really. Just be sure to rest tonight.”
He nodded, throat tight with guilt.
"Miri is in the play area with Hana-chan. I'll go get them."
She disappeared through the doorway that led to the main classroom, leaving Kazuki alone with the omega mother, who had turned to regard him with open curiosity. He caught the whiff of her scent, sweet at the edges like honey and jasmine.
"Kazuki-san, right?" She smiled, warm and friendly. "Miri's papa."
"That's me." Kazuki returned the smile, shifting into his civilian-dad persona more fully. Friendly, approachable, definitely not a professional killer. "We've met a few times at pickup, I think?"
"Yes, though usually you're with the other one—" She paused delicately. "The tall, quiet one?"
"Rei. My partner." The word always felt slightly awkward in his mouth, laden with professional connotations that didn't quite fit the domestic context.
"Right, of course." The omega's eyes sparkled with something that might have been amusement. "My daughter talks about Miri all the time. They're quite the pair in class, from what Miss Anna tells me."
Kazuki felt himself relax fractionally. Safe territory: talking about the kids. He could do this. "Miri's mentioned a new friend she made recently. They did that finger painting project together last week?"
"The one that somehow got paint in places paint should never reach? Yes." The woman laughed, a light sound that probably would have been more pleasant if Kazuki wasn't quite so tired and guilty and generally overwhelmed. "I'm still finding purple splotches on Hana's clothes."
"Miri came home looking like she'd lost a fight with a rainbow." He chuckled. "Getting it out of her hair was an adventure."
"I can imagine." The omega tilted her head slightly, and Kazuki became aware that she was studying him with that particular attention that meant she was about to say something either very personal or very nosy. Sometimes both. "It must be a lot of work, balancing your job and childcare. Especially with Miri being so energetic."
"It's... definitely an adjustment." That was putting it mildly. "But we manage."
"Parenting can be a battlefield. Believe me, I know." Her smile widened. "Your mate couldn’t make it?"
Kazuki's brain stuttered like a scratched CD. "I'm sorry, my...?"
"Your mate? The tall, handsome one with the dark hair I mentioned?" She made a vague gesture indicating height. "I've seen him at drop-off sometimes. Very striking features, doesn't talk much. Rei?"
Oh god.
Of course she meant Rei. People always meant Rei when they said tall and handsome.
“Oh! Oh no—no no, we’re not—mates.” He raised both hands in frantic denial. “We’re just… co-parents. Partners. I mean—not that kind of partners—just parenting partners. Friends! He’s Miri’s other father. That’s it.”
God, why did he sound like he was listing off relationship options on a form?
The omega's eyebrows rose delicately. "Oh. I apologize, I just assumed—"
"No, it's fine, it's just—" Kazuki could feel the flush spreading to his ears now. "It's just me today. Rei had to stay late at work. We had a... project deadline." That was technically true if you counted "documenting criminal enterprise operations" as a project.
"Hmm." The sound was small and knowing, carrying layers of implication that Kazuki absolutely did not want to unpack. "I see."
There was a brief pause that felt loaded with something Kazuki couldn't quite identify. The omega was still smiling, but there was a quality to it now that suggested she didn't entirely believe his flustered denials. Which was ridiculous. They weren't mates. They weren't even—what would you even call it? Romantically involved? The concept was absurd.
He opened his mouth to change the subject, but she reached into her bag first.
“I actually wanted to ask—has Miri mentioned anything else about Hana-chan?” She angled her head toward the play area. “She talks about Miri all the time.”
Kazuki blinked through the fog in his brain. “Oh! Uh—yeah! Miri says Hana’s really good at puzzles. And that she ‘shares stickers nicely,’ which is apparently high praise.”
The mom beamed. “She adores Miri-chan. And she says she likes it when Rei-san picks Miri up, too. Says he’s very quiet but very gentle.”
Kazuki felt something stutter in his chest.
“Oh,” he said, unable to fight the tiny smile tugging at his mouth. “Yeah. He’s… surprisingly good with kids.”
The mother nodded, smiling softly.
"Anyway," the omega continued smoothly, "I wanted to thank you, actually. Or both of you, I suppose, when you see Rei-san next."
Kazuki latched onto the topic change like a drowning man grabbing a life preserver. "Thank me? For what?"
"Miri's been so sweet with Hana. You know my daughter is... she's a bit shy. Doesn't make friends easily." The omega's expression softened into something maternal and protective. "But Miri just walked right up to her on the first day and asked if she wanted to play. Just like that. No hesitation."
"That sounds like Miri." Kazuki felt his chest warm with pride, the same feeling he got whenever Miss Anna mentioned Miri's kindness or creativity or any of the hundred small ways she proved herself to be a genuinely good kid despite having two killers for fathers. "She doesn't really do shy."
"I've noticed." The omega laughed again. "Hana came home that first week and announced she had a best friend now. It was the most animated I'd seen her in months. So thank you. And please thank Rei-san too. You're clearly raising a wonderful little girl."
The words hit harder than they should have. Kazuki swallowed against an unexpected tightness in his throat. "We're trying. It's all pretty new to us, honestly. The whole parenting thing."
"You're doing wonderfully from what I can see." She glanced toward the classroom door, then back to Kazuki. "And it's lovely that Miri has two fathers who are so involved. Hana's father..." A shadow crossed her features briefly. "Well. Let's just say he's not in the picture anymore. It's just me."
"I'm sorry." Kazuki meant it. He couldn't imagine trying to do this alone, without Rei's steady presence to balance out his own chaotic energy.
"Don't be. We're better off, honestly." The omega's smile returned, tinged with something harder now. "Though I admit I'm sometimes envious of Miri having two parents who both show up, both participate. That's becoming increasingly rare."
The conversation continued, flowing into the comfortable territory of parenting logistics and childhood development milestones. Kazuki made appropriate responses, nodding and smiling and contributing anecdotes at the right moments.
But his mind was spiraling.
Your mate.
The words kept echoing, bouncing around his skull like a pachinko ball. The omega mom had clocked Rei from brief morning encounters and immediately jumped to that conclusion. Mate. Partner in the romantic, pair-bonded sense.
Did they really give off that impression? He and Rei?
Kazuki tried to see it from an outside perspective. Two men, both clearly involved in a child's life. Living together, presumably, given the coordinated drop-off and pickup schedule. Working together to manage parenting duties.
But surely the designation thing would be obvious? Two alphas together was... well, it happened, technically, but it was rare. Complicated. Most people assumed alpha-omega pairings because those were the statistical norms. Two alphas trying to cohabitate usually ended in territorial disasters.
Omegas especially should be able to scent designation, even through blockers. It was part of their biological programming, that heightened awareness of dynamics and social hierarchies.
So why had she assumed Rei was his mate?
Had she clocked them both as alphas and still thought they were together? Or had she just not bothered to check, making assumptions based purely on the visual and behavioral evidence?
Did they really look like a couple?
The thought made something uncomfortable twist in Kazuki's gut. Not unpleasant exactly, just... strange. Unfamiliar.
"—asking if they could do it this weekend, but I told her we'd need to check with Miri's family first."
Kazuki blinked, realizing he'd completely lost the thread of conversation. "Sorry, what was that?"
The omega's expression turned indulgent. "Hana wants to have a playdate with Miri. This weekend, if you're available? Just a few hours at the park, maybe get ice cream? I promise I'll supervise closely."
"Oh! Yes, that sounds great. Let me check with my partner—with Rei—" God, why did that word keep coming out? "—and we can coordinate schedules."
"Perfect. Here, let me give you my number." She pulled out her phone with practiced efficiency. "We can text about the details."
They exchanged contact information just as Miss Anna reappeared with Miri and another girl in tow, and Kazuki felt a rush of relief. Miri's face lit up when she spotted him, and she broke into a run, crashing into his legs with the full-body enthusiasm that made every late pickup worth the guilt.
"Papa!" She grabbed his hand, bouncing slightly. "You're here!"
"Sorry I'm late, sweetie." Kazuki scooped her up, settling her on his hip despite the fact that she was getting almost too big for it. Soon she'd be too heavy to carry like this, and the thought made his chest ache. "Work ran long."
"It's okay! I was playing with Hana-chan. We made a castle with blocks and it was this tall." She spread her arms as wide as they would go, nearly smacking Kazuki in the face.
"Sounds impressive." He glanced at Miss Anna, who had regained her professional composure. "Again, I really am sorry about the late pickup."
"These things happen." But her tone suggested they better not happen frequently. "Miri was very well-behaved."
"I'm always good!" Miri announced with the confidence of someone who had definitely not been good all the time.
“Say thank you,” he murmured into Miri’s hair, and she popped back to beam her gratitude at Miss Anna and then at Hana’s mom.
The omega mother laughed. "Hana, sweetheart, come say goodbye to Miri."
A small girl emerged from behind her mother's legs, dark-eyed and delicate. "Bye Miri. See you Monday?"
"Bye Hana-chan! And maybe this weekend!" Miri waved enthusiastically.
The mother dipped her head. “I’m Kato Sae. We live three blocks over. If you ever need someone to grab Miri on short notice, we can work something out.”
Kindness made his throat thick. “That would be…that would be a lifesaver. I’m Kurusu Kazuki. Thank you.” He readjusted Miri on his hip, bowed, and put her pink hat securely onto her head. “We’ll get out of your hair before we become the after-hours cleaning crew.”
“Bye Miss Anna! Bye Hana! Bye Hana’s Mama!” Miri sang.
Miss Anna handed him Miri’s bag. “Have a good night, Kazuki. And tell Rei-san we say hello.”
Sae added, with another amused glint, “Yes. Tell your… co-parent hello.”
They said their goodbyes—more profuse apologies to Miss Anna, promises to Hana about weekend adventures, a final wave from Miri that nearly threw Kazuki off balance—and finally escaped into the parking lot. The evening air was cooler now, the sun painting everything in shades of amber and rose.
Kazuki strapped Miri into her car seat, checking the buckles twice out of habit, then he pulled out of the daycare lot. Miri was humming happily behind him like she hadn’t just witnessed the most mortifying adult conversation of his entire life. His palms were still sweaty on the wheel. His eyebrows still hurt from how hard he’d raised them earlier. His dignity was somewhere in a gutter three blocks back.
He needed stability. He needed predictability.
He needed… Rei.
He thumbed open their message thread at the next red light.
KAZUKI:
Hey—mission OK?? Everything safe?? Please say yes.
Rei answered with his usual economical artistry:
REI:
Good.
Done.
Coming home.
Kazuki smiled in relief.
Reliable. Unshakeable. Concise to a criminal degree.
“Papa Rei’s on his way home,” Kazuki said as he smiled at Miri in the rearview mirror.
She kicked her feet happily. “Yaaay!”
KAZUKI:
Great!! Heading home with Miri. Want me to grab takeout?
Pause.
REI:
Yes.
Kazuki huffed, smirking.
KAZUKI:
Okay but you gotta actually tell me what, Rei. “Yes” is not a cuisine.
REI:
The usual.
Kazuki rolled his eyes affectionately—because “the usual” to Rei meant that exact combination of deep-fried chicken with a lemon sauce from the small place three blocks from home, miso soup with extra scallions, and rice on the side because Rei hated it when it got soggy.
KAZUKI:
Number 6 from Kiku’s?
REI:
Yes.
Kazuki stared at the screen for a moment, warmth settling in his chest despite the chaos chewing at the edges of his mind.
Okay. One more question. Pure logistics. Entirely neutral. Zero emotional implications.
KAZUKI:
And do you want… that cold sesame tofu you liked last time?
REI:
Yes. Thanks.
KAZUKI:
No problem! See you at home.
He smiled at the screen like a fool, which, if he were capable of self-awareness, should’ve been a sign of something—but Kazuki Kurusu was a gold-medal contender in the Olympic sport of Emotional Obliviousness.
He pocketed his phone and started the car, mentally calculating the route that would take them past the takeout place without adding too much time. Behind him, Miri had fallen into a contemplative silence, which was usually either a very good or very bad sign.
“Papa,” Miri said, sweetly lethal. “What is a mate?”
Ah.
There it was.
The universe preparing the shovel so he could dig his own grave.
He almost laughed from pure disbelief, which would have been a terrible response. “Where did you hear that word?”
“Hana’s mama said it. ‘Your mate?’”. Miri tried the word out like a candy. “Maaaaate. Like pirates.”
He inhaled. Okay. You can do this. Use small words. No Wikipedia. No charts.
Probably not in detail. Definitely not in detail.
But she'd asked, and Kazuki had made a personal policy of not lying to her when he could avoid it. Age-appropriate honesty, that was the goal. He could do this. Probably.
"Um. Okay. So." Eloquent start. "You know how there are... different types of people? Like some people have brown eyes and some have blue eyes?"
"Uh-huh. I have brown eyes and Papa Rei has blue!"
"Exactly. Well, when people grow up, their bodies also develop into different types. We call them secondary... um. We call them designations." God, this was awkward. "There are alphas, and omegas, and betas."
Miri hummed, processing. “Which one am I?”
“You’re just Miri right now,” he said with a small smile. “When you’re older, your body will tell you which one you are. All of them are good. It won’t change how much we love you.”
Miri nodded as if receiving ancient wisdom. “And then what?”
“And then… they get extra… um… responsibilities.” He winced at the word but committed to it. “Like, uh… alphas can protect people really well. And omegas can, um, connect really strongly with others. Very emotionally. And betas can… organize taxes?”
Why. Why did I say taxes.
Abort. Abort.
Miri tilted her head, unbothered. “So alphas are strong?”
Kazuki hesitated. “Sometimes! Yes! But not always. Some alphas are total weaklings.”
"Okay…" Mir’s eyes widened. "But what's a mate, Papa?"
Right. Back to the original question. Kazuki took a breath and tried to organize his thoughts into four-year-old-appropriate concepts.
“A mate,” he began, channeling every picture book cadence at his disposal, “is when two people, like an alpha and omega, really like each other. Like, really-really. They love each other and they decide they want to be together and make a family.” He kept his eyes on the road and his soul on a tight leash. “Sometimes they live together and cook together and have children.”
Miri’s face scrunched in concentration. "Like how you and Papa Rei are together? And we're a family?"
Kazuki nearly swerved into the next lane. "No! I mean—yes, we're together, but not like that. And yes, we're a family, but not because we're mates. We're just... friends. Who are raising you together."
“But,” she continued brightly, “you live together and cook together and take care of me together and Papa Rei always sits next to you when we watch shows and you always give him the last fish cake—”
"No, sweetie. Your papas love you very much, but me and Papa Rei—" Kazuki felt heat crawling up his neck again, worse than with Hana’s mother. "—we're not in love with each other."
"But—"
"Papa Rei is very..." Kazuki grasped for words. "He's a good person. And yes, we care about each other—" Wait, had he just said that out loud? "—but we're just friends. That's all we’ll ever be.”
"Oh… Okay!" Miri accepted this with the easy flexibility of childhood.
Kazuki let out a long breath and tried to get his heart rate under control. This was fine. Everything was fine. Miri would probably forget about this conversation by tomorrow, and he could go back to not thinking about Rei in any context that involved the word "mate."
"Papa?" Miri's voice cut through his thoughts again.
"Hmm?"
“You’re strong.”
Kazuki laughed at the sudden change of topic. “What makes you think so?”
“Because you carry me and my backpack!”
He puffed up like a smug pufferfish. “Well—yes—I do have impressive upper-body strength—”
“And you get the cookies from the high shelf.”
Kazuki preened.
“And you yell at wasps!”
“I do yell at wasps!” he said, triumphant.
Miri giggled so hard she hiccupped.
“Papa Kazuki is super strong,” she declared proudly after a moment.
Kazuki’s heart did a weird, fluttery ache. “Yeah? You think so?”
“Mm-hmm!” She tapped her forehead with her tiny finger. “Strong here.” Then tapped her chest. “And here. Are you an alpha?”
He smiled—warm, soft, fond to the point it almost hurt. “Yeah, sweetheart. I am.”
She beamed. “I like that.”
Kazuki swallowed against the sudden tightness in his throat and focused on the road, but the van felt warmer somehow—like the heater had turned on, or maybe like Miri’s words somehow sank into his bloodstream.
He cautiously relaxed, thinking—praying—that maybe the topic was finally drifting away.
Until Miri asked sweetly, blindsiding her poor dad:
“Would you want to be mates with Papa Rei?”
Kazuki shrieked internally.
Externally, he made a hideous sputtering noise worthy of a dying lawnmower.
“MIRI—WHAT—NO—WHY WOULD—WHERE DID—WHO TOLD YOU—”
He slapped a hand over his face. “Sweetheart, please—Papa’s going to crash the car if you keep asking terrifying questions.”
Miri burst into giggles, kicking her feet against the seat.
“You’re so red!!” she howled. “Papa, your face looks like a tomato!”
Kazuki stared desperately at the road, his entire body a live wire of embarrassment and heat.
“You’re being mean to Papa,” he said eventually, but his tone was soft, helpless, threaded with a reluctant smile.
She giggled harder, delighted. “You’re shy!”
“Miri,” he murmured, scrubbing a hand over his hair, “I’m trying to drive a giant metal vehicle and maintain at least one ounce of dignity.”
“Nope!” she chirped. “You lost it!”
He groaned, eyes dropping shut for half a second before he reached over and clicked on the radio with a dramatic decisiveness he absolutely did not feel.
Miri continued to giggle, breathless and delighted, and Kazuki only gripped the wheel and prayed for salvation.