The faint hum of cicadas filled the humid summer air as the early morning sun filtered through the windows of the small but well-kept apartment. It was one of those rare moments of tranquility—the kind that didn’t come easily in their lives. Kisaki Tetta liked these moments. He needed them, craved them in the chaos that often consumed his world. But, of course, it wasn’t destined to last.

“Kisakiii~!” The familiar, sing-song voice dragged his gaze from the stack of papers he’d been studying at the table. Before he could protest, long arms encircled him from behind, pulling him against a chest that felt far too solid for comfort.

“Hanma,” Kisaki growled, his voice sharp and edged like a blade. “Get off me. I’m busy.”

“Busy being cute,” Hanma Shuji purred, resting his chin atop Kisaki’s head. At 192 centimeters, Hanma towered over Kisaki’s smaller frame, and he never let him forget it.

“I said, get off,” Kisaki snapped, shoving at Hanma’s arms, though it was like trying to push a tree off its roots. “I have work to do.”

“You always have work to do,” Hanma said, whining like a child. He crouched, sliding his head down to nuzzle against Kisaki’s neck. “Don’t you have time for your beloved Shuji?”

“Not if you keep pulling this nonsense,” Kisaki retorted, though the slight pink tinge creeping across his cheeks betrayed him.

“Oooooh, you’re blushing again,” Hanma teased, grinning so wide it was a wonder his face didn’t split in two. “You’re so cute when you’re annoyed, you know that?”

Before Kisaki could unleash a scathing reply, a small voice interrupted them.

“Papa? Daddy?”

Both men turned their heads to see their daughter.

Kisaki rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide the faint curve of a smile tugging at his lips. It was these moments—the messy, loud, infuriating moments—that reminded him why he put up with Hanma’s antics. Somewhere in the chaos of their lives, they had managed to build something resembling a family. And though he’d never admit it aloud, Kisaki wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world.