"Hiroaki, you're scaring him," Natsuko, three months pregnant as told by the calendar that thirstily checks off the sunrises and sunsets until the due date of her second child, scolds gently. A smile pinches the corners of her lips. She perches herself on the wicker chair behind her husband as he laughs, telling her everything's under control. (She doesn't hear his promise though, because she hasn't heard him laugh very often and concentrates on that. It's so idyllic). He is playing with two-year-old Yamato, manipulating a black, hairy, simulated spider that jumps whenever Yamato looks at it. The cord extending from the spider to the pump in Hiroaki's hand is glaringly apparent, but Yamato looks at the toy with mixed curiosity and fear, oblivious.
"I think he's sleeping now," Hiroaki tells his son, and because his shoulders are relaxed, because his head cants slightly, Natsuko knows he's smiling.
Yamato steps toward the spider tentatively, glancing at Hiroaki questioningly. "Sleeping?" he repeats.
Hiroaki nods. "Sleeping."
The toddler kneels beside the toy, his small hand inches away from its eyes – it jumps, daunting Yamato, who yells happily, leaping into his father's arms. They both explode in laughter.
"It bit me," Hiroaki exclaims, showing Yamato fake fang marks on his wrist.
Concerned, their son inspects the area, wiping it off with his fingers. "No more, no more hurt!" he exclaims proudly.
"Thank you, Yamato."
"Spider?" he asks, innocently, stirring his mother'sheart. "Spider sleeping?"
"I don't know..." Another amused smile. "Go check."
Yamato turns to the spider again. Hiroaki's thumb contracts, and the toy jumps.
Natsuko leans forward. "I love you," she murmurs in her husband's ear, casting her hands around his shoulders from behind. Hiroaki – grinning widely, she can feel it now – relaxes against her, reaching behind to caress her cheek.