The sound of the soda ring tab opening can be heard in the master bedroom, as well as the sweet, fruity smell of ponta wafting through the air. As Ryoma take a huge gulp of the carbonated drink with gusto, Tezuka frowned at the sidelines, eyes twitching at the sight of three empty cans sitting on the floor in a straight line. Moments later, Ryoma would then knock the cans down as if he was engaging in bowling, then re-positioned the cans, only to knock it down again.
Tezuka's eyebrows knitted further once his eyes trailed over to the grey, innocent fridge situated adjacent to Ryoma; the thought that Ryoma had more drinks stocked in the mini-refrigerator made him even more concerned of his child's health. Tezuka gripped the hard-covered book within his hands, the thick pages were pressed against his thumb and index finger; he had long abandoned the idea of using his free time to enjoy a nice novella as he had a dire situation at hand. With his resolve firm, the brunette gently slid the bookmark between the pages and closed the book shut, placing it on the nightstand.
His naked feet swung over the mattress, slipping into his slippers and he stepped closer to his son. "Ryoma, this will be your last ponta today, right?"
Ryoma looked up, lips still touching the soda can, but paused. "No..." he started and cocked his head toward the fridge, "I have more to drink."
"But son, this is your fourth one, today," Tezuka reasoned. Although Ryoma was able to handle more sugar in his system compared to the past - in which he crashed from too much sugar intake - the amount he was drinking was unhealthy. And just watching the child drank the soda made Tezuka shiver with concern at the damage the sugar will take on Ryoma's body.
Ryoma moved away from his father, trying to shield his ponta and for sure, the toddler had caught on to what Tezuka was trying to convey. "Un, one more after this, daddy. One more." Knowing Ryoma, this wouldn't be just "one more." Several more drinks would follow, in fact.
Tezuka shake his head at the concession. "Promise me this will be your last one, Ryoma."
"No."
"Please?"
"No," Ryoma huffed.
Ah, his stubbornness. "How about this: you finish the drink in your hand and only this drink, and in return, daddy promised you that he'll play tennis with you."
"Nnn..." Tennis or ponta? That was the age old question, but eventually, Ryoma reached an answer; he can, after all, play tennis without Tezuka, but ponta? His body literally screamed for the drink.
"No."
Tezuka sighed; this left him with no other options. Slippers padding across the room, Tezuka opened the drawer and pulled out a bicycle lock as that was large enough to fit through the fridge's handle.
When Ryoma's eyes landed on the object, he automatically knew what his father will do. Therefore, he hastily opened the fridge and grab as many ice-cold ponta as he can. He turned, running toward the door, but his plan was foiled when Tezuka grabbed the cans from his grasp and shoved everything into the fridge, locking it as the final step while enduring the light punches attacking his back.
"Daddy, please, don't! Give it back to me!"
Tezuka didn't relent.
Ryoma pursed his lips, silently fuming when Tezuka once again gave a negative answer. Finally having enough of pleading, Ryoma ran out the door, but abruptly made an U-turn and sprinted back. Snatching his abandoned, unfinished soda, Ryoma pierced another glare at Tezuka before he escaped to his own room, making sure to slam his door in order to let Tezuka understand just how displeased he was.
"Ah, yes, right there," Atobe moaned, loving the feel of those fingers dancing across his skin. He sighed blissfully, eyes shut while his head were resting on his arms. "Ooh, yes yes," he hissed as his skin was kneaded after the warm, slippery oil was spread across his back.
Atobe was about to instruct the masseur to reach lower when without warning, the door was flung open. Ryoma entered the scene, clutching a notebook that was decorated with the words: Ryoma's Diary, and once he reached Atobe's side, he shove the diary within Atobe's line of vision.
"Ryoma, wha-?" Atobe blinked in suprise. He turned toward the masseur, raising a hand to signal stop before giving Ryoma his full attention.
"Read it." Ryoma insisted with a frown marring his face.
"Alright..." Atobe flipped between the pages, turning toward the one page with a dog-ear. The diary read:
Kuni-daddy (the endearment was crossed out with a red crayon)
Today, mean glasses daddy stole my ponta. Not fair.
And below the sentences, Ryoma - as taught by Yukimura - filled in the color representing his emotion. And today, Ryoma used red, which symbolizes anger. And judging by the long, red strokes filling up the space, Ryoma was quite furious.
"Ah, and how much ponta did you drank already?" Atobe inquired with a raised brow.
"Not much, only 2."
"Really?" Skepticism laced his voice.
Ryoma shake his parent's arm in frustration, then pointed toward the message on the bottom of the diary, written in a small font. It read:
Kei-papa, help me.
"But baby, you had too much ponta for the day; that's why Kuni-daddy stored it away." Atobe went with a gentle voice in an attempt to pacify the child.
"No, he stole it."
Atobe stayed silent. Frankly, there was no point in arguing when Ryoma was in this mood.
"Help me defeat daddy and rescue my ponta?" Ryoma asked again, but this time, he added in some crocodile tears.
His papa wasn't fooled. "I'm sorry, dear-"
Ryoma didn't let Atobe finish his sentence; he only retrieve back his diary and left the room, knowing that this was a losing battle. Meanwhile, Atobe snatched his smartphone and unlocked the screen.
He dialed all his lovers at the same time.
"Lovers, just want to inform you ahead of time that Ryoma will probably visit each of you, pleading for help."
"Whatever for?" Yukimura asked. "Ah - wait - Syu, as much as I enjoy it, please pause your lover's duty for a second."
"Spoilsport." Atobe can literally see Fuji pouting.
Tezuka coughed, and added, "Ah, is this about ponta?"
"Got it right in one. So, for the sake of Ryoma's health, we must reject his cry for help and endure. Beat yourself mentally, if you must. Got it, lovers?"
"But what if he cry? You guys know I'm bad with tears," Sanada nibbled his lips, eyes flicking toward the door, afraid that the toddler will barge in at any given minute. Among his lovers, he was the weakest against Ryoma's tears; all his mental fortitude will shatter the minute Ryoma started bawling. Unfortunately, the art of kendo had not taught him resistance to tears.
"Try, Gen. If worst comes to worst, just hide under the bed and seal your lips," Yukimura advised, his left hand playing with Fuji's hair.
"Mmm..." Fuji hummed. "Have I mention that I always love hide-and-seek?"
"...Don't let your guard down."
...
"I'm sorry, everyone; I had failed you all..." Sanada said remorsefully.
"Let me guess: you gave in to Ryo-baby's desires?" Fuji said, knowing that he hit bulls-eye.
"...One, we need to purchase a new lock and two, do not give Genichirou the password. Ever." Tezuka listed.
"I'm sorry."
On the other hand, Ryoma drank his soda joyfully. He patted Sanada's kneecap and beamed a light smile; he should have seek his Gen-daddy for help first instead of his other parents.
See, it always works.