Tooru has no chance. He closes the door behind himself and is one second into the flat, kicking off his shoes with the feeble hope of somehow making it upstairs. Should’ve known better. As soon as he bends down to tear his sneaker off, laces still tied because hurry, hurry, someone comes out of the kitchen.
“Sweetheart,” his mother says. She smiles. There’s an apron around her hips, the house phone peeking out of a pocket.
“Hey,” Tooru says, stretching the y-sound like a rubber band. “I’m home. Really tired, coach extended the spiking practice again – ”
“We’re having dinner,” his father calls from inside the kitchen. Tooru risks a look inside. The table is all set up with the best cutlery that his mother usually uses when grandma is coming over and has to be impressed with an immaculate house and manners so precise that Tooru feels like royalty for days after. The only other time that his mother makes that kind of effort is when there’ll be a family talk.
Tooru considers panicking, but then decides against it. He’s already in this situation and if this is about what he thinks it’s about, then he can’t escape anyways and getting it over with could make a lot of things easier.
He drops his sports bag and obediently walks into the kitchen.
The smile on his mother’s lips turns into a grin. “Fantastic.” Oh god. Tooru swallows. He sits down next to his father, hands in his lap, and then his glance catches on the big pot in the middle of the table. His favourite stew is simmering lazily, and next to it sits a bowl with milk bread for dessert.
“Mom, am I adopted?”
His father snorts. “You definitely didn’t inherit our sharp perception. You did get your mother’s obsession over your hair though.”
“Very funny. You’re my son through and through, we’ve been over this. Our son, I mean. You’ve got your father’s calves. Careful.” His mother fills their bowls with stew and hands the rice to his father, and everything is quiet and peaceful with the clatter of spoons and forks full of rice. Tooru bears with it for exactly four minutes. Then he can’t take it anymore.
“Training wasn’t extended. I was at Hajime’s place – ”
His mother puts her spoon down. “You know that we love you, honey. We really do. So it’s important to us that Hajime and you are using condoms when you’re together.”
Tooru doesn’t put his spoon down. He drops it into his stew instead, splashing pieces of carrot and leek everywhere. His father sighs. “Watch it, will you. Your mother tried very hard with the stew and I made you a double batch of milk bread. The least you could do is promise us – ”
“Oh my god.”
“ – that you two are going to be safe – ”
“I can’t believe you’re doing this to me.”
“We’re worried about you, sweetheart. We want you to have fun and get as intimate with dear Hajime as you’d like – ”
“ – when the big first is going to happen and all the times after as well, of course, and if you have any kind of question… well, I’m not an expert on the whole male on male thing, but from father to son, I could – ”
“I’m a good person,” Tooru desperately whispers. “I did my homework all school year. I tutored Kindaichi for his math test. I made Hajime soup when he was sick.”
“ – and as long as our dear Hajime is always wearing a – well, not that I’m assuming that he’ll be the one to, you know, that’s not our business,” his mother contemplates and pushes another bite of stew between her lips.
“None of this is your business!” Tooru raises his hands and voice, throwing both into his parents’ faces. “How did you even know? I’ve been going to his place for years, and we’ve only been together for – I mean. We’re not…”
His father stops chewing. His brows sink low, forming a dark line over bright eyes. “Is he not serious about your relationship?” He looks at Tooru’s mother. “That’s not what Miko told you.”
Tooru can’t believe this. “You called his mother?” He puts his face into his hands. “This isn’t supposed to happen. I was going to come out at some point, introduce him – ”
“Nonsense.” His mother’s hand touches Tooru’s shoulder, squeezes it gently. “We knew about your feelings, sweetheart, you’re not that good at hiding things from us. From him, maybe, but not when you’re in your room and swooning your soul out after a phone call from him. Miko and your father and I knew it was bound to happen. I hope she’s making sure that Hajime knows about protection as well.” She giggles and softly tugs at Tooru’s ear. “And if you two ever need the house for yourselves over a weekend, when you’re both ready, just ask.”
Tooru’s entire face is burning. He opens his mouth to say something. His brain is short-circuiting pretty impressively though, and nothing makes its way out. His parents seem to understand and damn it, why do they have to be like this, of course he knows how to do all of this. (They’re annoying and embarrassing and any other reaction would have terrified him to the bone. He loves them, he loves them.)
“Uh. Thanks then. Can we never talk about sex again from now on?”
“Sure, sweetheart. Do you want some more stew?”
He does. He also calls Hajime after dinner. It turns out that Hajime’s had a similar conversation with his mother and sister and his voice hitches a little bit around the word condom when he confesses that his mother had bought him some. Tooru buries his face in the pillow, smiling from ear to ear. “They’re so embarrassing,” he says.
“Totally,” Hajime says, and then whispers: “We have time though. Right?”
“Yeah.” Tooru closes his eyes, touches his mouth where Hajime had kissed him goodbye earlier. “We do.”
Moami 