Getou sat at the dining table, absently tearing off small pieces of the banana muffin in front of him. He wasn't particularly hungry anymore, though he'd been eagerly anticipating Harry's latest batch of baked goods just an hour ago. The muffin was perfect, like everything Harry made, the sweetness subtle enough to avoid overwhelming his senses.
Getou's stomach felt tight, and each bite seemed harder to swallow. The weight of the day hung heavy in the air, pressing down on his chest. His eyes flick to Harry, who is antsy and bustling around the kitchen. Getou has come to find that Harry likes to keep busy, especially when he is nervous or anxious, but this is excessive, even for him. The table is set, a neat array of scones, muffins, and tea arranged with such precision that it looks like something out of a catalog.
Despite that, Harry keeps hovering, adjusting the teapot handle slightly here, then rearranging the plates as if the placement of a muffin might decide the outcome of today's meeting. His movements are slightly clipped, and the oversized hoodie he's wearing, faded, loose, and well-loved, swings awkwardly as he fidgets. Toji is just watching in amusement, clearly taking advantage of the abundance of treats.
Getou is nervous too, so he can't judge.
He watches as Harry's fingers twitch every few moments, and he mutters something under his breath before smoothing the creases in the tablecloth for the third time.
Toji seems to see that Harry won't calm down on his own, so he tosses a mock glare over his laptop, looking at Harry.
"Relax. You're making the brat anxious," he says, his deep voice breaking the tension. Toji looks entirely unbothered, his broad frame leaning back in the chair. One arm drapes casually over the backrest. He doesn't bother waiting for a reply as his eyes are fixed back on whatever betting site he's got pulled up on his screen.
"I am relaxed," Harry snaps halfheartedly, his voice slightly terse, betraying his own words. Toji just snorts, letting the hissed words wash over him, finally looking up from his laptop.
"You've been moving that same teapot for ten minutes."
Harry pauses his movements and glances at the teapot like it had personally betrayed him. He sighs, running a hand through his messy hair, the oversized sleeves of the hoodie sliding down past his wrists. "I just want everything to be perfect, okay?"
"It's fine," Toji says, his tone calm but firm. "It's not about the table or the food. She's here to see how we're doing with the kid, not to rate your damn scones, no matter how delicious."
Harry shoots Toji a sharp but fond look, his cheeks red at the casual praise. "…It's just, this is important, Toji. If it goes well, everything becomes official. And if it doesn't…"
"It will go well," Toji interrupts, his voice leaving no room for argument. "Stop overthinking it."
Harry lets out a slow breath, leaning against the counter for a moment. The hoodie shifts slightly as he folds his arms, its too-long sleeves bunching at his elbows. "Easy for you to say. You're, well…you." He waves helplessly, much to Toji's smug amusement.
"I'm me?" Toji repeats with a questioning tilt to his lips. Harry's face goes through several emotions before he makes a shrill sound and throws his hands up in frustration, turning around with a red face.
Geto can't help but giggle.
Still, the nerves in the room are palpable, and Getou feels like it is seeping into his skin. He shifts in his seat, his fingers gripping the edge of the table as he tries to focus on anything other than the knot twisting in his stomach.
Harry must notice because his expression softens as he turns his attention to Getou.
"Hey," he says gently, walking over to the table and crouching slightly so they are at eye level. The hoodie hangs loosely off his shoulders, its neckline slipping just enough to reveal a faint scar on his collarbone.
"You okay?"
Getou hesitates, unsure how to put his feelings into words. "…Yeah," he says finally, though the tightness in his voice betrays him.
Harry doesn't push. Instead, he reaches out and gives Getou's shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "It's normal to feel nervous, but remember, this is just another step. Nothing's going to change how we feel about you, okay?"
Getou nods, the warmth in Harry's voice easing some of the tension in his chest. He still isn't sure he believes it, years of instability and uncertainty don't just disappear overnight, but it's hard not to feel comforted by Harry's presence.
"Besides," Harry adds with a small smile, "if she doesn't like the muffins, I've got backup pastries in the oven."
Getou can't help but laugh at that, making Harry smile, and that…that makes his breath hitch.
'So pretty.'
The sound of a sharp knock breaks through the room, cutting the conversation short.
All three of them freeze for a moment, the tension thick in the air. Harry's hand rests on Getou's shoulder again, a silent gesture of reassurance.
"That'll be the social worker," Harry says softly, glancing at Getou with a steady, reassuring gaze.
"You okay, love?"
Getou nods, though his cheeks glow red at the endearment, and his hand tightens on the edge of the table.
Tomoe Ishiki adjusts her glasses again as she double-checks the address on her tablet. She is no stranger to situations like this, home visits to evaluate the living conditions of prospective guardians. She's met all kinds of people: kind-hearted, eager, distant, and even hostile. Tomoe prides herself on her professionalism and ability to handle just about anything.
And yet, standing in front of the Black household, she feels something strange simmering in her chest. An unease she can't quite place like her subconscious is trying to warn her. Nerves? She shakes her head. Impossible. She's done this dozens of times.
Her knock on the door is brisk and professional. From inside, she hears muffled voices, a clatter of movement, and then, heavy footsteps thudding toward the door. She winces slightly.
'The poor downstairs neighbors.'
When the door swings open, Tomoe blinks up at the massive man standing before her. Broad shoulders practically fill the doorway, and his expression is blank, almost glacial. His arms are crossed over his chest, muscles flexing in a way that makes her feel abruptly… small. His sharp eyes lock onto hers, unblinking, like she's an unwelcome interruption.
"Is this the Bla-" she begins, her voice faltering under his unrelenting stare. "The Bla-"
Why does she suddenly feel like a bug under a magnifying glass?
"Black household," the man says flatly. His deep, rumbling voice sends a shiver down her spine.
Tomoe clears her throat, gripping her tablet tighter. "Yes. That!" she exclaims, a bit too brightly. "I'm Ishiki Tomoe, here for the home assessment."
The man's gaze sweeps over her, slow and deliberate, as though he's assessing her credentials with his eyes alone.
"Toji," a warm, lightly accented voice calls from deeper inside the home, carrying a quiet authority. "Stop being a bully and let her in."
The man, Toji, she assumes, grunts, stepping aside with the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
Tomoe lets out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding and steps inside, brushing past him with a tight, nervous smile. Immediately, the air changes. The house is warm, the scent of freshly baked goods wafting through the space like a comforting embrace.
Her eyes are immediately drawn to two sets of green eyes watching her from the kitchen, a young boy seated at the table and a man standing beside him. The boy's dark hair falls into his face, partially obscuring wide, guarded eyes that track her every move. The man beside him, unmistakably Harry Black, steps forward with a warm, welcoming smile.
"Hello," Harry says, holding out a hand. His tone is gentle, his expression open, and Tomoe feels her nerves ease slightly.
"I'm Harry. Sorry about him," he adds, gesturing toward Toji, who's now leaning against the kitchen archway with his arms crossed, watching the interaction with faint amusement.
Tomoe shakes Harry's hand, surprised by the steady warmth in his grip. "It's, uh, fine," she manages, though her voice still wavers.
Harry's smile widens, his green eyes crinkling at the corners. He's wearing an oversized hoodie that looks like it's swallowed him whole, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. There's a faint smudge of flour on his cheek, which only adds to the slightly disheveled yet endearing image. "He's still being house-trained. Aren't you, Toji?"
Toji scoffs but doesn't bother to respond, though the smirk on his face deepens.
Tomoe glances between them, her unease slipping away as she senses an unshakable camaraderie between the two men. It's subtle, little more than shared looks and quiet jabs, but it speaks volumes.
Clearing her throat, she focuses on the task at hand. "Right. Well, I'm here for a home visit. Just to confirm the living arrangements and ensure everything is in order."
"Of course," Harry says with a nod. "Please, have a seat. Can I get you something? Tea? Coffee?"
"No, thank you," Tomoe replies, settling onto the couch. Her eyes scan the living room as she pulls out her notes. The space is modest but undeniably warm, with small personal touches—a knitted throw draped over the couch, mismatched mugs hanging on hooks by the kitchen sink, and a scattering of framed photos on the shelves.
Her gaze drifts to the boy at the table, Getou Suguru, her notes say. Twelve years old, though his posture and the weight in his eyes make him seem older. He watches her cautiously, shoulders stiff, hands folded neatly in front of him.
"Suguru," Harry says softly, crouching beside him and placing a hand on his shoulder. "This is Ms. Ishiki. She's here to help us finalize everything."
The boy's gaze flickers to Harry, then back to Tomoe. He gives a small nod but says nothing.
"He's a little shy," Harry explains with an apologetic smile as he ruffles Suguru's hair.
Suguru scowls halfheartedly, batting Harry's hand away, but the faintest hint of a smile tugs at his lips.
Tomoe's lips twitch. "That's perfectly fine. I understand this process can be overwhelming."
"Overwhelming is one word for it," Toji mutters from the kitchen.
"Toji," Harry says, his voice laced with warning, though the corner of his mouth twitches in amusement.
Toji shrugs, unbothered, and goes back to whatever he's working on.
As the interview progresses, Tomoe finds herself increasingly charmed. Harry answers her questions thoughtfully, his love for Suguru evident in every word. Toji chimes in occasionally, his bluntness offset by Harry's warmth. What stands out most, however, is the way Suguru relaxes as the conversation goes on.
At one point, Toji tosses Suguru a small packet of candies, muttering something about "bribes," and the boy snorts. Harry shoos Toji away with a mock glare but smiles when Suguru pockets the candy with a small grin.
It's these small moments, the easy teasing, the way Harry instinctively checks on Suguru, and the protective yet understated way Toji watches over both of them, that make Tomoe's heart squeeze.
They're a family.
Unconventional, yes, but undeniably a family.
By the time the interview ends, Tomoe is smiling. "Thank you for your time," she says, rising from her seat. "I'll be submitting my report to the agency, but I don't foresee any issues moving forward."
Harry's face lights up with relief. "That's wonderful news. Thank you."
Suguru glances at Harry, then at Tomoe. "So… I get to stay?" he asks hesitantly, his voice barely above a whisper.
Tomoe's heart clenches. "Yes, Suguru. This is your home now."
The boy's lips part slightly as if he doesn't quite believe it. Then he looks at Harry, who smiles and pulls him into a gentle hug.
"Welcome home," Harry says softly.
A/n:
Sorry for the long hiatus's, I was sick and then my grandma got ill and then the holidays happened. Good news gram's is okay and back home now.
I know this is kind of a filler chapter, but I think it works.
The oc isn't really important I just like naming my characters.
As always, thank you and your thoughts are always welcome… as long as they are constructive or respectful.