#ahh and there's some credit where credit's due at the bottom of the ao3 link ;3;

[god-fucking-dammit-mizutani]

melt into you

Rating: G | Word count: 1915 Tags: Future Fic/Epilogue, Family Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Snow Summary: It’s been a long day. Read Below or on AO3

"It's still really coming down."

Koushirou starts at the comment, trailing off on the sentence he had just been reading aloud from his tablet. Instinctively his eyes dart to the sliding door window. Flurries twirl about themselves, this way and that. It is barely any different from when Koushirou last glanced outside, but the already settled snow has risen past the empty ceramic pots Taichi had bought with the intention of starting a garden last spring. It had never really gotten off the ground.

Or even, well, in it.

Koushirou cracks a smile, watching the winter storm for a moment longer. He had been tuning out the sound of the wind rushing by the windows, but he hears it now, howling through the cracks, as if begging to be let in.

In response the heater whirrs audibly.

But still the memory of the cold causes a quick shiver down his spine, a phantom chill over his hands. Although the afternoon had seen a brief end to the snowfall, it had been consistent all through last night, piling up along the roads and parks within the city. Koushirou would have preferred to have spent the day indoors, where the heater could shield them against the winter, but he had been outnumbered easily and so a trek to the park had inevitably become the day's activity.

Koushirou feels the soreness in his legs from trekking up and down hills all afternoon, fighting for a foothold in the billowing snow of the slopes.

Still, he had found himself quite enjoying the experience, sheltered by the sound of familiar, mirthful laughter. Some of it had been his own, cheeks rosy from more than just the cold nipping at them. Tree branches over their heads had been heavy, bending under the great burden of last night's snowfall, dusting across the park here and there on a rogue wind. Against the gray sky the tall lamp posts along the park's main path had been bright. To Koushirou it had looked almost like something out of an old-timey picture book, or a scene frozen in time inside a snow globe.

"Wonder if we'll get snowed in."

He blinks, his eyes taking back in the view of their backyard where the streetlights sit gracefully atop the fresh snow.

"Looking that way," he answers. He hums when there's no chorus of cheers, his eyes darting down to his right side where a thick head of dark hair rests heavily against his arm. He leans forward, cautiously, doing his best to not make any jostling motions and, "Oh."

"What's—" Taichi starts as he turns the corner around the kitchen wall, but Koushirou signals for him to be quiet with a quick finger to his mouth. He halts at the lip of the living room. Steam rises from the mugs clutched in either of his hands as his eyes lower along the couch. "Oh."

Koushirou follows Taichi's gaze down to his left this time. A shock of red fans across his dark slacks. Gently he brushes back the bright locks of hair to reveal a soft, serene face, long dark lashes pressed against pale cheeks. He finds his lips turning upward as he watches her breathe evenly, completely unaware of the world around her.

"They're exhausted," he reports, unnecessarily. The weight against his right side shifts further down, but when Koushirou checks there's no sign of the boy waking. "Storytime must have been the final affront."

"I bet." Taichi's laugh is purposefully tamed, though Koushirou wonders if either of them would stir now if a hoard of monochromon came rampaging through their house. "I'm beat and I only climbed the hill twice. They were running up and down all day. I almost thought we'd have to drag them home to get them to leave."

Koushirou titters. "Technically, Hotaru was dragged home."

"Not by us." Taichi cracks a grin that Koushirou finds himself easily mirroring.

"True." His fingers run through her hair again. She lets out a tired little huff, but otherwise barely stirs. "She took quite a tumble on the ice there."

"Yet Akihiro was the one sobbing," Taichi remembers, leaning back to rest  the mugs on the breakfast bar counter. "Kept dragging her around everywhere on that sled."

"It was very sweet." Koushirou turns his head to press his smile into the untamed, dark hair of his son. "He's quite unstinting in succor." He keeps  like his father  to himself.

"I'll pretend to know what that means." Koushirou catches Taichi wrinkling his nose down at the mugs. "Guess the hot chocolate was a waste."

"Pour them in a thermos," Koushirou suggests. "I'm sure they'll want some tomorrow."

Taichi disappears back into the kitchen without a word. Koushirou listens to the sound of the cupboards opening and closing, followed by a whispered,  "Aha!"

A soft chime calls Koushirou's attention back to the tablet still in his hand. Clicking it back open he scans the message quickly before telling Taichi, "Jyou wants to know if we have sufficient rations should the storm last the rest of the week."

"What, is he planning on bringing stuff over himself?" Koushirou can hear as he pours the liquid of both mugs into their new container. "In this weather?"

Koushirou stares at the message again. "Perhaps with Ikkakumon?"

Taichi barks out a laugh in the other room. "Just imagine a bunch of emergency duffel bags on his horn.  Harpoon torpedo!  Right onto the front doorstep. Like a newspaper boy."

"Taichi."

"Sorry."

Akihiro murmurs something in his sleep, head nodding forward. Koushirou gently recalls his arm, stiff from underuse, and let's the boy lean in further, replacing it around him instead. He slumps further down, almost into Koushirou's lap, with a quick, heavy snore.

A stampede of monochromon indeed. Not even a harpoon torpedo through their living room could wake them, Koushirou surmises.

The telltale sound of the refrigerator popping open is followed by Taichi's report of, "We'll survive."

"I'll inform Jyou."

"Tell him my idea about the duffel bags."

"No."

Taichi emerges back from the kitchen, another set of mugs in his hands. This time he makes it all the way to the sofa, holding one of them out for Koushirou to grab. "Your tea."

Koushirou takes the offered mug, his ring clinking on the ceramic as he wraps his fingers around it, balancing the tablet on his lap. With a smile he says, "Thank you."

Now with one of his hands free, Taichi braces himself against the back of the couch. Koushirou feels his heart quicken as he realizes the other's intention and although he gives a weak protest of, "Taichi," he still tilts his head up to press his smile against his husband's own.

"They're asleep," Taichi offers after the chaste kiss. And true to his words, there's no chorus of groans, but it does nothing to cure Koushirou of his personal embarrassment.

He had thought by now he would be used to this— that after years and wedding vows and raising children together, nothing would phase him quite so much. And yet, still, Taichi never ceases to make his heart flutter, to bring a flush to his cheeks with even the simplest of gestures.  

As he leans back up, Taichi's eyes drift towards the view of the sliding door window. He sounds soft, wistful, when he says, "Snow always reminds me of August."

His gaze seems distant. Koushirou wonders if his husband is watching the current snowfall, or if his mind is replaying one from almost a quarter of a century ago.

Sometimes, his own does, even when the sky is clear and the humidity sweltering.

That one summer had changed each of them in some way. Himself, perhaps, especially. At times he wonders, if they had never gone to that other world, had never faced those tribulations, how would things be different now?

Unconsciously he trades the mug to his other hand, brushing his fingers back through Hotaru's hair, tightening his arm about Akihiro. Like a reminder that they're there. That he's really here.

Taichi sends him a quick smile, long and unbidden, just the way he always had; before camp or summer blizzards, tinged now in a way that is undeniably with love, and Koushirou finds himself believing then that no matter how the road had been paved, no matter the bumps and cracks along the way, it would have always brought him here.

But he's still immeasurably grateful this particular route had brought him to Tentomon. Life without him seems quite unimaginable now and he almost wishes he had been here, today, too.

"Me too," Koushirou agrees, quietly, taking a tentative sip from his mug. But when he looks back out towards the blizzard, Koushirou realizes, he hadn't been particularly thinking about that summer at all today. Not until Taichi had mentioned it.

His mind had been occupied with winter afternoons, nippy but warm, gray skies brightened with laughter. Hills, once pristine and glittering with rare sunlight off freshly packed snow, marred with foot prints and sled trails. Hair clumped with snow and toothy grins with little gaps.  

Koushirou hides his smile in his next sip of tea. New memories were taking their own place in his heart, occupying parts of his mind, but certainly no more or less important to him than those before them. They were all part of his own journey, after all.

Unable to move, Koushirou holds out his arm with the mug, motioning quietly for Taichi to put it on the center table. Wordlessly, he complies as soon as Koushirou gathers back his attention.

"Thank you," Koushirou says.

Taichi smiles at him before his expression takes on a more considering look. He places down his own mug next to Koushirou's.

"Taichi—" he starts cautiously as the other man scoops their daughter off the couch and into his arms.

For a moment Koushirou worries she'll actually wake up, but Hotaru just murmurs a soft, "Papa," her arms instinctively wrapping around her father's neck from far too many nights being carried to her own bed. Her eyelashes barely flutter.

"It's fine," he says. Koushirou can't discern if the sentiment is meant for him, or for her sake. He doesn't seek clarification.

Taichi falls into the now free cushions, completely flush against his other side. Hotaru's head lolls back, cradled against Taichi's upper arm, fast asleep.

To his right, Akihiro mumbles again but remains still.

Taichi yawns, dropping his head on Koushirou's shoulder. "Were you going to finish the story?"

He smiles down at the black screen of the tablet, leaning his cheek against Taichi's head as his fingers pass through their son's unruly hair. He doesn't think the ending will be much of a surprise. Most of these stories come with a promise; a happily ever after. A quarter of a century ago, he may have found that predictability lackluster. Lately, he doesn't quite think so.

Rather, Koushirou finds, he looks forward to it.

"We can finish it tomorrow night—" he yawns himself "—when the kids are awake."

Taichi makes a short noise, something distant and barely there. Koushirou's own eyes feel heavy. They should get up, he knows. Make it to their respective beds before they all wake up with cricks in their necks. They really  should, but the couch is warm, comfortable, and Koushirou is surrounded by some of his favorite people and he can’t ��really be bothered to change any of that.

(He only partially regrets the sore neck.)