Waiting for a Forever
All three of them had sat down on the couch when he had asked them to. A mother, a father, a sister; his mother, father, sister. They hadn't quite known what to make of it at first, his mother asking what was wrong, saying they were there if he needed them, telling him reassuring things, not sure yet which applied. He had taken the seat opposite them. So had Ryou.
They had all known Ryou for years, having watched him play on the court next to their son, having fed him countless dinners like one of their own, and having let him stay the night innumerable times. He was almost family, but almost is still not quite, and his presence had caused confusion. There was a look of crisis in Choutarou's eyes.
They had all sat in silence long enough for each to have worried just a little at the fringe, at the very edge of their minds, before he had moved any of his pieces. They had watched Ryou's finger's wrap around their sons, as he had told them that Ryou was more than just a friend. He had been for a long time now. That they were old enough to make decisions for themselves. His family-- a mother, father, sister --had watched in stunned and frightened silence as their son had told them that he was not asking for their permission, but rather telling them that they could either accept it or not. He had had tears in his eyes, he really had been afraid.
And they had watched it all passively, like an audience at a show, their son up on a stage, but now it was time for them to interact with the scene and join in. To take action, to accept of condemn.
A few long, long seconds, a pregnant pause on hold.
In a few seconds the first tear would slide down his mother's cheek, in a few seconds his eyes would helplessly flick between his beloved parents once again, in a few seconds his older sister, idol as a child, would simply clear her throat, and in a few seconds his father would stand and leave the room. They would hear him grab his keys in the kitchen and slam the door as he left the house. But right now they are still locked up in those few, heavy, unsure seconds, not even thinking yet.