Title: Family

Genre: Humour

Summary: Parents. Who'd have them? At the rate they keep embarrassing him and his boyfriend, Yao Wang certainly wouldn't.

Warnings: Mentions of sex.

Notes: There are some cultural things in this chapter.

Shushu: A Chinese term for 'uncle', but also commonly used when you're referring to or addressing your friend's dad. Kiku uses it with the name because he is being formal – he's used to this and he likes politeness. Most people, however, would only use the term 'shushu'. On the same vein, he's also using the polite form of 'you'. The term for 'auntie', used in the same way, is ayi.

In China, when invited to someone's house, you don't eat all the food you are given. This is to make your host at least feel like they have provided more than enough, and this in turn makes them feel like a good person. In older times it was linked to having a lot of money to be able to provide for others. It's also for this reason that you say 'I'm full' rather than 'I'm finished' when at someone's house. In Japan, however, it's polite to the cook to eat everything you're given.

"You only managed one bowl of rice." – It's thought that boys are able to manage two, or that one will not be enough for them.

Kiku is surprised that Yao and his father clean up after dinner because in Japan, it is mostly the wife/mother who does the housework, and Kiku has been brought up in this kind of environment. However, in China, men help out around the house too.

Baba qu na'er (Dad, where are we going?) is a Chinese TV show that seems really, really popular. It features (celebrity?) fathers taking their sons to rural places.

Yao's mother finds Kiku's name amusing because in Chinese slang, 菊花 (chrysanthemum; and of course Kiku's name is 菊) means 'anus'. Of course it has more romantic and nice connotations, but her son has a boyfriend, and they just discussed condoms and sex. A recipe for disaster.

Sake is of course Japanese alcohol, brewed from rice. Apparently it's more similar to a beer than a wine. The alcohol volume generally ranges from 15%-20%, while baijiu (Chinese rice alcohol) has about 40%-60%. Be lucky you're not drinking the latter, Kiku. By the way, he has bought it with him because in China and Japan you are meant to bring a gift when invited to someone's home, especially when that's the home of your partner's parents. He also took some quality tea.

'Ganbei' (干杯) is cheers in Mandarin, and literally means 'dry cup'.


If there was anything his mother and father had to say about him bringing home a man, a Japanese one at that, they kept it well hidden, and for that, Yao remained endlessly grateful. What he did not appreciate, however, was their continued attempts to put both him and Kiku into positions of the utmost awkwardness. He supposed it was their way of making sure that they could trust Kiku, and in all honesty he suspected embarrassing your children and their potential partners came under the most basic rules of parenting, but it was not at all easy on the nerves.

For example, there was the absolutely mortifying experience when (after months of being pestered to do so) he had finally introduced Kiku to his parents. It was nothing fancy, just dinner at home, and at first, it had not gone too badly. There had been, as he had expected, a few comments about how often and how frequently Kiku bowed, but that was not strange. Kiku had found it harder than him, also as he had anticipated, sitting up very straight on the edge of his seat all afternoon and responding to almost everything his father said in little more than a mumble and with more of those anxious and hopefully placating bows. "He's nice," his mother had said as they prepared tea in the kitchen, while his father sat trying and somewhat succeeding to instigate conversation, "but don't you think he's a little shy for you?" Yao had shrugged it off as nerves and Kiku's almost obsessive need to worry incessantly over everything.

It was when dinner had been served that it really started. After the standard topics ('what do you do?' 'How do you like China?') had been exhausted, his mother had seen fit to commence with the truly awkward and inescapable questions. Stupidly, he had not seen it coming. In hindsight, he should have known that something was going to go wrong. "So," his mother said as he passed a good piece of meat to Kiku, who looked rather overwhelmed by the amount of food before him, "you two have been together for some time now." Yao set down his chopsticks, and took a sip from his glass. "You are using protection, right?"

Yao choked on his drink. It did not help that tea was hot, and nor did he want to soak anyone or his food. "M-Mum! Don't ask about that sort of stuff! At least not when Kiku's right here!"

Kiku, on the other hand, could do very little but simply look on and wonder if he had indeed heard correctly. He remained frozen in place for several seconds before he realised he was staring and turned away to look instead at the plate of broccoli. Why did meeting your boyfriend's parents have to be so hard? They were nice people, and he liked them, but he had been so nervous all day, and now this? He wanted to vanish.

"Don't get angry, Yao," Yao's mother replied, sounding slightly stern. "I just want you to be careful, that's all. It's best that you take precautions."

"Even so!" his protests fell on deaf ears. He was sure he was scarlet, and Kiku was faring no better, managing only to stare down at his bowl of rice and poke weakly at the contents. Yao knew he was trying to work out how to disappear, and could empathise perfectly. The table suddenly seemed very interesting indeed. The possibility (and the fact) that they had not yet slept together seemed to have escaped her mind, and Yao found himself embarrassed at their lack of activity. It was not for lack of want, but more because of the whole, well… intimacy of the thing. His mother had not thought that he could be shy, too. "You don't... It's not something you need to know about."

His mother frowned then, looking at him disapprovingly. He felt a rush of burning embarrassment and a sense of childlike frustration, and was reminded bitterly of the fact that he was still somewhat treated like he was three. "I just want to make sure you're safe, that's all," she said, a slight air of superiority and dismissiveness in her tone. "There's no shame in sleeping together as long as you're protected."

"It's not like we're stupid, seriously," he complained, fully aware that she would likely not take that as an answer, but determined not only to prove he was an adult but also to get off the subject as soon as possible and save them any extra embarrassment. "We know how to take care of ourselves."

"Alright, but if something happens—"

"Nothing will happen!"

"I'm just saying," his mother raised her hands defensively, "if it does, you've only got yourselves to blame."

At the same time as Kiku reached to put a hand on Yao's elbow to calm him, his father, who until now had remained silent and passive, coughed once, as though trying to get attention. Unintentionally, nerves made worse by the almost-argument that had risen out of nowhere – he hated fighting, so much – and now bought to a peak with something so sudden and unexpected, he started.

It happened in slow-motion.

His hand, in its surprise, knocked one of his chopsticks. The chopstick, dislodged rather violently from its place on top of his bowl of rice, cartwheeled across the air to strike the door, whereupon it fell to the floor and rolled, almost limply, back towards them. It hit his chair, and stopped.

Almost instantly, there was a flurry of activity: apologising immediately and repeatedly, he got up at the same time as Yao, both of them intending to pick up the offending utensil but instead finding themselves in a stalemate, reaching to get it and drawing back at the same time; Yao's mother stood up to reassure them that there were plenty more in the kitchen, and that they didn't have to worry about it; and Yao's father found himself torn between laughing at and pitying his son's partner's almost extreme discomfiture. It ended with the chopstick being returned to the table and then replaced, with Yao's father trying and failing to hide his snickering, his mother trying to act as though everything was normal and nothing had happened, and Kiku, very red-faced, staring down at his hands and wishing more fervently than ever that he could indeed disappear.

Silence reigned for a few minutes, and aware that there needed to be some sort of transition, lest Kiku end up remaining forever unwilling to communicate with the family that he quarrelled with frequently but loved very much. "What were you going to say, dad?" he asked, clutching at the only thing he could think of.

His father finally managed to stop laughing, and Kiku's shoulders relaxed a little. "I was going to say that you should listen to your mother. Safe sex is important, Yao."

Yao wondered why he had even bothered. "Dad, not you too –"

"So, you are making sure to keep safe, aren't you, Kiku?"

Kiku shifted uncomfortably on his chair and, with a deep breath, decided that the issue had best be addressed. He admired Yao for being able to stick to his guns for so long, and for trying to protect their privacy, but it seemed that in the end it could not be avoided. "Well, Wang shushu, we haven't… haven't actually—"

"Haven't what?" Kiku stopped automatically, much to Yao's silent annoyance. Yao knew he had a hard enough time as it was trying to get heard, and didn't need interruptions adding to it.

"Anou," Kiku hesitated somewhat, unsure if it was right to feel embarrassed about their not having done anything so sexual, "well, we haven't actually gone that far, and…" upon seeing their surprise, he trailed off. A silence lingered, one that said he had not said enough, and he rushed to reassure them. "But if we actually had, we would have been safe. We're… just not rushing things, that's all."

Again, everyone was quiet. But this time, it seemed that it was more satisfied than anything, and Kiku relaxed once more. The meal resumed in peace, everything else apparently forgotten. But if either of them thought they had had the last of being so thoroughly embarrassed, they were wrong.


"Are you sure you don't want more?" Yao's mother looked practically ready to pounce and feed Kiku the extra rice by force, so certain was she that he was still hungry. In reality, Yao had simply forgotten to tell Kiku that eating everything given to him would only result in being fed more – it was a matter of face, after all. Not being able to provide enough food was (understandably) quite shameful in China. But in Japan, it was the other way round; not eating everything would cause one's hosts to lose face, and despite at least three attempts to explain this to his mother, she was still not convinced that Kiku did not want to eat more.

Laughing in what was obviously discomfiture, Kiku bowed weakly. Yao wondered what his parents made of it. "Thank you, but it was my mistake," he replied, very grateful indeed when Yao's mother lowered the spoon and decided to believe them.

"You're so skinny, though. There's nothing of you," Kiku smiled feebly at her words. Maybe this was why Yao kept trying to overfeed him. Like mother, like son. "You only managed one bowl of rice."

"Thank you very much, but I really have eaten enough…"

She gave him a look as though to say 'if you're sure' (which he was), and finally gave in, returning the rice to the kitchen and apparently deciding to free him from the responsibility of having to eat more.

With dinner finished, they split up. Somewhat to Kiku's surprise, it was Yao and his father who went to clear up, leaving him to once again sit perfectly upright on the edge of the sofa and make conversation with Yao's mother. The day had been arranged very carefully, Kiku thought, aware that he was probably not supposed to realise these things. He had been scrutinised and evaluated very carefully in their attempts to make sure that he was suited to Yao: firstly as his own person, by Yao's father, while Yao and his mother had made dinner; then as a unit with Yao over dinner, disastrous though it had been; and now, again, as his own person, by Yao's mother. Or maybe he was just looking too deeply into things again. He had been known to do that.

But something told him that although they had apparently accepted that Yao had a boyfriend without a word, he was not going to enjoy the same treatment. He supposed that if he stopped to consider it, he didn't mind. It was better that they at least knew who their son was seeing (he could not say the same for his own parents, after all), and he knew that Yao did love his family, very much. Coming between them would be bad, and strangely, something like a sin. Their family was like a picture, one where everyone looked right, one where everyone fit, and to cause a fracture would seem wrong. He just wished it wasn't so intense.

So, very aware that this was not quite as casual as it seemed, and very aware that he had to make a good impression, he tried his best to follow the episode of 'Baba qu na'er' and make conversation with Yao's mother, who kept looking at him disapprovingly, as though he might blow away in even the slightest breeze. Kiku said nothing, waiting for her to comment instead. But she avoided that topic too, and, perhaps inevitably, the conversation took the more obvious course.

"So, you've been with Yao, what… six months now?"

"Seven," he corrected, and Yao's mother nodded. "But we've known each other for longer than that."

"He did make sure to apologise for breaking your arm, didn't he?"

Thinking back to how they met was always… interesting. It seemed very strange to think that they had met because of a broken arm. They always got funny looks when they said that, but the reality of it was very simple. Yao had been in a rush, he had been in a rush, corners were blind spots, and arms, it turned out, were more fragile than one thought. Perhaps motivated by a sense of duty, Yao had accompanied him to the nearest hospital, offered to pay what he could of any necessary fees (Kiku had, as a matter of principle, turned this down), and even taken him home. Conversation had been inevitable, despite rather difficult to achieve amongst Yao's many fervent apologies, and enjoyable nonetheless. Yao had been friendly and polite, but not too forward, and that had been enough to leave a lasting impression. Unbeknownst to him, he had been so intriguing and yet so humble that Yao had been captivated. That they decided to meet each other again had not been a surprise, and, he supposed, neither had their relationship. "For a while," Kiku said with a slight smile, "he didn't do anything else."

"Well, I'm glad to see he's learnt some manners, at least," his mother clicked her tongue in disapproval, and registered Kiku's surprise with a laugh. "He's grown up now, certainly. But it when he was young—"

"I can hear you, you know!"

His mother waved her hand dismissively. "Anyway, he used to be terrible. Whenever I took him on the bus he'd comment – out loud – on how people smelt. I remember very distinctly one time he said 'mum, that lady smells like pee!' I was mortified."

"So am I!" Yao called from the kitchen. "I'm pretty sure Kiku doesn't want to be hearing those sorts of stories, mum."

"That's not the half of it," his mum said, "once we went shopping and he tried to smuggle some sweets out of the shops because we wouldn't buy them for him. You can imagine it was quite embarrassing to make him turn out his pockets in front of the door, with the security guards watching."

Kiku laughed weakly, uncertain how to react. On one hand, Yao certainly did not feel at ease with him knowing these things, and on imagining his parents doing the same thing (a highly unlikely circumstance; his father never reminisced), he could understand why. But on the other, these people had something he would never know, sad as it was: a lifetime of Yao, his childhood and past, and he wanted to share in it too. It was strange imagining Yao as a child; Kiku kept thinking of someone with the same personality, contained in a child's body. Maybe when Yao was not around, he could ask to see photos. Yao's mother seemed to have picked up on his quiet interest, and smiled very fondly.

"I'll let you see tomorrow," she whispered, and did not fail to notice the hint of enjoyment in his eyes. Though she left it unsaid, Yao really had found someone quite wonderful. "And you know," she added, "he's really got the most awful sense of timing – we were going to see my parents in Tianjin, and just as we got on the train—"

"Mum." Yao poked his head around the door and shook his head, blushing crimson and struggling hard to keep his composure, something that seemed doubly hard with a soapy ladle in hand. "Please. Not that one. You can even tell him the one about how I threw up at New Year's. Just… not that one."

Raising her eyebrows, his mother exchanged glances with Kiku. Much to Yao's utter horror, his boyfriend did not seem apologetic as usual, merely curious, and faced with such an utterly adorable and such an innocent lookYao found he could not help but give in. "Fine," he said, knowing that he would probably never live it down, "at least let me shut the door so I can pretend this isn't happening."

In the kitchen, alone with his father, Yao waited.

"Just accept it," his father said, not as helpfully as Yao would have liked. "Remember, there's no use in being proud."

He mumbled an irritable and incoherent agreement, too embarrassed to argue.

"He's not laughing," his father said, as though trying to console him.

"Yeah, but that means nothing. He doesn't laugh, not unless you try for hours and have known him for months," Yao complained, knowing that Kiku's lack of expression of it did not mean his lack of amusement.

"Are you alright with that?"

He looked at his father, who had had his back to him the whole time, working otherwise silently on cleaning the rice cooker. "Alright with what?"

"With someone who doesn't show things like you do."

He stopped to think, taken off guard by his father's question, and thought of Kiku. At first, it had been worrying, because he had thought it meant that Kiku did not like him, or was uninterested in what he had to say. But it had become more apparent that Kiku was just shy, and that Japanese culture was different, and that he had nothing to fear. And then he remembered finally making Kiku laugh aloud, finally seeing a gentle and sincere smile that had been very much worth the months of wait. "Yeah," he said finally. "Yeah, I am."

Deciding that he might as well get it over and done with. He opened the door and tried to ignore his mother's snickering. Kiku, as rightly predicted, was not laughing, but he did struggle to keep a straight face as he met Yao's eye. "Ha-ha," he said, and Kiku shrugged, still fighting to remain composed.

"Well…"

"What?"

Kiku began to speak, as though savouring the moment, and Yao held up one hand. "On second thoughts, I don't know if I want to hear it."

"If you've got to go," his mother said, and if Yao had not been covered in soap he would have buried his face in his hands.

Yao stared at them, torn between wanting to retort and not being able to. With a look of great disapproval, and a small sigh of acquiescence, he returned to the kitchen, where his father was cleaning down the sides. "Sit down if you like," his father said, "There's nothing else left to do."

Wordlessly, Yao took the cloth from his father, finishing up before returning to the lounge and, tired from the whole stress of the day more than anything else, and sat down next to Kiku. Without three seconds having passed, the momentary peace was broken. "Don't slouch!" his mother complained, swatting his shoulder lightly. "Your boyfriend is here; at least try to look respectable in front of him! And for that matter, when are you going to get your hair cut? It's far too long, don't you think, Kiku?"

Yao was almost amused at the sudden reversal of positions. He knew that Kiku did quite like the current length of his hair, but politeness decreed that doing anything other than agreeing would be wrong. "Either is fine," he said, looking down at his hands. "It's kept tidily, so…" Diplomatic, Kiku.

"So, Kiku, what's Japan like?" his mother asked, apparently not having registered Kiku's response at all. Yao was grateful for the change in subject. Responding with all the 'yes mum's that were necessary and trying to not let any of his exasperation show had proved to be a more exhausting feat than he had expected, and he sincerely hoped they would not repeat this sort of behaviour every time Kiku was over. Nonetheless, they seemed to be taking to him quite well, if the way they were trying to engage him meant anything, and he was glad for that. On that front, everything was actually going quite well. Kiku seemed to have calmed down too, and as long as nothing like the events at dinner happened again, he thought things might actually go quite well. "How did you say your name was written again?"

"With the first character from 'chrysanthemum flower'," Kiku said, smiling somewhat awkwardly.

"That's a lovely name," his mother said, but something in her voice sounded rather amused. She met his eye, looking at him in both disbelief and silent laughter. "Oh Yao, come on. A boyfriend. Whose name is written with 'chrysanthemum'?"

"Mum!" he hissed as he realised what she meant – it was unfortunate; the chrysanthemum flower had been prized throughout history, starting out as a plant renowned for its medical uses before coming to be associated with scholars, grace and gentlemanliness. But it was a euphemism too; and Yao's cheeks burned in shame, aware of the fact that he would eventually have to explain this to Kiku, who was looking at him as though merely meeting his eye would help him understand. "What are you, five?!"

She laughed and squeezed Kiku's shoulders, and he jumped at the sudden contact. "Is there something wrong with my name?" he asked, aware that there was a joke and that he was missing out on it. Yao felt he could empathise with the sense of insecurity that that brought with it. "I know it's old-fashioned, and it's kind of feminine, but…"

Almost desperate to get off the topic, he tried to reassure him that it was nothing, all the while glaring daggers at his mother, who seemed quite amused by the whole thing. "Honestly, Kiku, it's not anything like that, my mum's just being ridiculous. Ignore her."

"I don't get it," Kiku said with an apologetic laugh, "my Chinese isn't that good, maybe." Yao felt a hot surge of adoration. His mother was teasing him and all he thought was that he was not good enough. Kiku would never agree, but he was too sweet, too modest.

Yao settled for shaking his head. "It's fine. Nothing to worry about at the moment," he said, making sure to silently remind his mother by means of a silent glare that continuing was not an option. She looked incredibly amused, maybe at his protectiveness, maybe at his annoyance. He sighed heavily. Did she really have to act like she had the mentality of a five year old? She could at least keep those things to herself! It really was just one thing after another today. His words, however, seemed to have been enough for Kiku to accept it and move on. He really is wonderful, Yao thought, knowing that Kiku had stopped not necessarily out of sated curiosity but rather to stop any further embarrassment for him. Quietly and discreetly, he brushed Kiku's hand with his own.

"You know, Yao, you really ought to practise Japanese with Kiku," his mother said suddenly, apparently having decided to follow his direction and change the subject.

"We do speak it, mum, just not all the time. Besides, you and dad don't understand a word of it."

"Your mother's right, though," his father added, almost redundantly. Yao knew full well that having Japanese as a third language would be more than beneficial, even though Japanese was not part of the primary school curriculum. There was no harm in having contingency plans. "It'll help you get a good job."

"Go on, say something. It won't hurt. After all, you spent two years there, so you should be good."

Turning to his sympathetic and placating boyfriend, Yao fought for something to say. It was always the case; whenever anyone asked him to say something, he never knew what was best. "I'm sorry," he said in Japanese with an exasperated sigh, "my parents are so annoying."

Kiku smiled in what he knew to be amusement shrouded by embarrassment and nervousness. "It's alright. I'm sure they don't mean any harm."

"So," Yao's mother looked at him eagerly, "what did he say?"

Kiku stopped short. Obviously, there was no way he could not directly translate what Yao had said, but improvisation was not his strong spot. "Um," he said, fighting to maintain his current position, lest they know he was lying. "He asked if I liked dinner."

"Oh," there was a moment of collective understanding and then the interrogation resumed. "Did you? I hope you did." was followed with things like "How's his pronunciation? Does he have an accent?" and "What does he need to work on?" With great uncertainty, Kiku answered their questions, a small heat at the back of his neck where he was tense. Finally, the subject was dropped, much to his enormous relief.

Unfortunately, that did not last very long. "I know," Yao's father said during one of the advert breaks, clapping his shoulder and making him jump. Yao's father chuckled. "Let's have some of that sake, shall we? You don't mind, do you?"

A slight panic overtook him. On the one hand, he could not turn Yao's father down – and that meant joining in the proceedings. Everyone else looked more than willing, after all. On the other, getting drunk – which would be very easy given that the sake was high-quality – would definitely make him look bad in front of Yao's parents. What if they decided he was too rowdy when drunk? What if they thought it disgraceful, or shameful? "Um… no, but…"

"Excellent! Do you heat it?" The older man seemed oblivious to his dilemma, and also to Yao's attempts to explain.

"Not this sort, but, um…"

But before he could finish, Yao's father had gone, and, not long after, he had returned, bottle and cups in hand. Kiku watched with horror, knowing that he had to say something but unable to find the right time – should he say it when the cups had been set out? Now, as Yao's father opened the bottle? Now, as he poured the first one, which would undoubtedly be for him, the guest? "Um." Yao's father looked at him, and he bit his lip. "Um, sorry. Sorry. But I can't really drink."

"Nonsense! Just the one won't hurt, will it?" He made to hand him the cup, pushing it towards him when he did not accept.

Kiku was very aware that he had to join in; not doing so would be an affront to their hospitality, an insult to their home. He looked despairingly at Yao.

"Kiku gets drunk really easily, dad."

"I'm sure he'll be fine," his father said, almost forcing the cup on him. Not wanting it to spill, Kiku took it. With a very dry swallow, he looked down at the clear liquid. The smell of alcohol assaulted him, and he wrinkled his nose. But it was irredeemable now. His fate had been sealed.

With a hearty cry of 'ganbei', everyone else drunk. Only Yao remained on guard, watching him closely and hand moving behind him, an unconscious and minimised gesture of protection. "If it gets too much," he whispered, while his parents commented on how good it was, "say you're tired from the journey. I'll take it from there."

Kiku shook his head, determined to stick it out (Yao was right when he called him stubborn), and then realised that Yao's parents were watching him. Hurriedly, he glanced at Yao and then downed the drink, regretting it almost immediately. It was good, but much stronger than he had anticipated – he had bought high-quality sake on purpose, having been completely unaware that he would be drinking it, and aiming to impress. He drunk it too quickly, and it caught like fire at the back of his throat and he coughed, tears forming like pinpricks at the corner of his eyes, as though he had just encountered stars. Yao clapped his back, and he took a deep, steadying breath. He had not imagined it being that strong, and he wondered how Yao and his parents could hold it. All he knew was that he was not touching another drop, and that he was currently very red-faced. Everything in the room seemed funnily lucid, except him. "There," Yao's father patted his back. "That wasn't so bad, was it?"

Bordering on tipsy but thankfully still aware of his surroundings, he managed to keep a somewhat straight face and survive through until eleven o'clock, when tiredness from the journey actually did set in. He was quite proud that he had made it so far, but then he was not actually aware of the fact that he had been mixing up near-homophones ever since. Yao, however, had, and had made sure to keep a close eye on him, understanding that although Kiku quite enjoyed drinking, he did not enjoy being drunk. So when his mother suggested that everyone go to bed – she and his father had work in the morning – he was very grateful.


Kiku was staying in his room, of course, though he only had a single bed. He, therefore would (as was polite to the guest, however familiar that guest might be) be taking the sofa while Kiku got the bed. Kiku had protested this, saying that that would be unfair, but Yao had refused. They changed, quietly, Kiku falling rather inelegantly and having to hop to save himself as he attempted to put on pyjama trousers. Together, also quietly, they sat on the bed, looking down at each other's feet. It felt strange to have him there, in the house where he had grown up. Strange, but not uncomfortable. It felt as though he could have been there forever, and it made the past seem lonely in comparison.

"They like you," Yao said, in answer to the unspoken question between them. He kissed Kiku's temple, gently, inhaling the scent of his hair. "They do. They like you a lot."

Kiku's small smile was one of relief, but it faded quickly as he remembered their numerous moments of embarrassment. He felt bad for Yao, who had lost a lot of pride. He needed to be reminded that he was loved more often than he realised, and was not as secure as he liked to pretend he was. "I'm sorry if you didn't want your mum telling me those stories."

Yao smiled, reflecting that what his father had said was true. Pride was small, after all. "It's alright. But in return I get to see your baby pictures."

"I don't think there are that many," Kiku said, and this time his smile was of apologies, and regret. This was a disappointment to Yao; he was sure that Kiku had been an adorable child, but he knew that his parents were not in a particularly happy marriage, and that despite the fact that his mother adored her children, his father was cold and unrepentant. It was a shame. He did not in any way deserve to be treated with the disinterest his father sometimes deemed fit to honour him with.

A silence ran between them, in which they sat preoccupied by thoughts the other might be thinking. It went on for a long time, characterised only by the fact that their little fingers were touching. Finally, it had to be brought up; the subject could not be avoided any longer. "I'm sorry about dinner." They said it in unison, and felt the same awful shreds of humiliation.

"I can't believe they did that," Yao said in exasperation at the memory. "Of all the things they could have done, they had to ask us about well…" he waved his hand in a roundabout motion. "That."

Kiku sighed, for much the same reason. "I've never been so embarrassed in all my life."

"Tell me about it," Yao joined him, and shook his head. "I just can't believe they did that. I really can't."

With a murmur of agreement, Kiku shifted from side to side, holding softly onto the bed sheets and feeling strangely intrusive – this was Yao's place, not his. Sleeping here would be almost unimaginable, and almost impossible. There was a slight impression in the middle of the thankfully very thin mattress, where Yao slept, stretched out, larger than life. "It's not… worrying you, is it? That we haven't, well…"

"No," Yao replied without having to hear the rest of the sentence. "I'm probably not ready for it either." Besides, he thought, looking down at their feet again. Why rush? The little steps count too. What's important is being together. Side by side.

There was a knock at the door, and his father called. "Yao?" Slightly annoyed at having their only private moment of the day interrupted, Yao made to open it. But before he could open it all the way, his father was pressing a thin blue box into his hands.

"In case," he said, with a wink.

Yao barely knew how to respond. Of all the things… In his hands, small and unassuming, was a box of condoms. "What am I meant to use these for?" he asked, incredulous, but he was talking to a closed door. He turned to face Kiku, who was looking rather concerned.

"Are you alright? You're bright red."

"They gave me a box of condoms," he replied, holding it up. "A box of – can you believe them?! What do they expect me to do with these?! Actually, don't answer that. I just… Oh man, they're so embarrassing." Kiku gave a consoling smile as he lay down on the bed, still holding the offending box. "You know," he added, looking at the back of Kiku's neck, "I've a good mind to fill them with water and leave them all over the house."

In a rare physical gesture of affection, Kiku touched his knee, and then, a little ashamed, turned it into pretending to dust something off of his leg. "Honestly," he said, pushing him a little. "You're as bad as them. Besides, your mother would probably just empty them all over you."

"Too right I would," there was another knock and Yao (who was beginning to believe that there was nothing else his parents could do to him) pressed a hand to his forehead, trying to rub away reality. It seemed they would go to any lengths just to embarrass him, and it seemed privacy was a concept that was foreign to them.

"Mum," Yao's tone had reached breaking point and Kiku knew it did not take a genius to figure out that they were laughs of total, utter defeat rather than amusement. "You were listening?! What about privacy? For heaven's sake, I'm twenty-three, not five! Stop doing stuff like this!"

Yao's mother, on the other hand, looked almost like she was going to break into laughter. "Last time I checked, filling condoms with water and putting them in the kitchen was rather childish."

"Mum, it was a joke. I'm not stupid, I wouldn't do that."

"Of course. Now give them back."

Yao was fighting for words, and stood up to match his mother. Kiku remained seated, analysing. He had only just met Yao's parents and had no idea of how well they usually got on, but he knew Yao, and he knew that he was near his limit. But he had to remain cautious; there was a limit to how much he could intervene, lest Yao's mother think he was undermining her authority. Yao, meanwhile, had handed them over even before he had figured out how to respond. "Why'd you give them to me if you were just going to take them away again?"

"If you weren't going to be silly with them, I wouldn't take them away," his mother replied, and Kiku could see the thought going through Yao's mind even as it formed in his own. She really was treating him like a child. "Give them here."

"But I said I was joking!"

Kiku knew that Yao did not want the condoms, but it had become a point, something too frustrating to ignore. He and his mother clashed. Kiku sincerely hoped he was not going to go down the route of asking what they would do if they wanted to use them. That would only be adding fuel to the fire, and would definitely not go down well in Yao's parents' books.

"Hey," she reached out to ruffle his hair. "So were we."

It seemed that just like that, the argument was over, without him needing to say anything. Yao's mother bade them goodnight and left, and Yao sunk to the bed looking terribly exhausted and weary. Kiku recognised it as dying frustration, and moved to sit next to him, placing a hand on the back of his neck to remind him that he was there. He knew that Yao was by no means a calm person; he was excitable and lively and did not hide his annoyances, but he was not an angry person either. They had argued before, mostly over small things, and they had fortunately been blessed with the good grace to admit when they were wrong. But during their singular full-scale argument, in which he had finally let out a good thirteen years' worth of anger, it had been Yao who had calmed down first, enough to realise that he was no longer voicing his anger at him but at everything that had ever annoyed or frustrated him, every opinion he had never been allowed to voice, everything he had been made to feel guilty for. It had been Yao who had sought to talk more rationally, and it had been Yao who, in the end, had let him get everything out and loved him anyway. The least Kiku could do was return the favour. "I know," he said, rubbing Yao's shoulder. "I know."

With a sigh and a shake of his head, he leant into the touch. "Why are parents so embarrassing?" he complained. Kiku had no answer. Yao lay down to rest on his lap. "Sorry. You shouldn't have had to deal with that."

"Neither should you," Kiku replied, taking it as an invitation to stroke his hair. "Don't worry. I know they were embarrassing, and frustrating, but… they are nice."

The hardness in Yao's gaze faltered and finally smoothed away. "Yeah. And despite everything that happened, well… they liked you too."

He smiled in return. Yao ran a hand through his hair (Kiku really did not want him to cut it; it looked too nice), and closed his eyes. He looked exhausted, and, unsurprisingly, he started to breathe more deeply and slowly. Kiku would have left him to sleep, but there was one thing bothering him, and it was best to get it out of the way before Yao fell asleep. He would ask him this question, let him fall back asleep, and then (hopefully by this time he would regain feeling in his leg) take the sofa. Then again, it would be rude to do so, no doubt Yao's parents would think they had not provided for him; so maybe he ought to stay in the bed after all. He shrugged, and decided to employ Yao's policy of crossing that bridge when it came to it. "Yao-san." His boyfriend opened one eye.

"Hmm?"

"What was so funny about my name?"


A/N: I have so many things to write OTL

Many thanks to Monie and to Marie, who were very helpful and indulgent (and in Marie's case, told me her own embarrassing stories. They were amusing).