Drunk and out of his goddamn mind
Gakushuu is going to kill a man. He’s going to kill several men. He’s pissed. He’s beyond pissed. He’s ascended from the realm of mortal earthly pissiness and onto the next plane of god-like absolute fury.
“Sorry,” the woman says sheepishly, rubbing the back of her neck, “we may have, uh, celebrated too much.” Then she proceeds to turn to her left and throw up onto the drain.
Gakushuu makes a face, and turns back to where his father and another man are yelling incomprehensibly at each other, sprawled against the front steps of his house. Gakushuu knows who they are, two of his father’s first students while he had still been teaching at his cram school, and he’s aware that Gakuhou had gone out with them for some reason or another to reconcile with their pasts and laugh about “the old times” the way adults do. But that doesn’t explain why all three of them stumbled out of a cab at his front gates at two am in the goddamn morning, fucking wasted out of their minds.
“I hate you,” he hisses passionately to Gakuhou, who squints at him. They better be fucking glad that he was still awake; Tamiko and Husare had gone to bed hours ago and Gakushuu had been working on one of his assignments as his insomnia wouldn’t let him fall asleep. There was no way he could have missed the rambunctious laughter coming from outside his window.
The silver lining in all of this was that now he had a video of his father trying and failing to unlock the front door for a good three minutes.
Because Gakushuu is a fucking great host and a goddamn angel of a son, he force-feeds the pathetic trio painkillers and water, stand and wince as they empty their stomachs into the trash cans, then re-feeds them the painkillers they threw up. He wrangles the two strangers into separate guest bathrooms with spare clothing, then drags his father up to his own.
“Fucking idiot,” Gakushuu says. He takes great delight in spraying the showerhead straight at Gakuhou’s face.
When he emerges from his own shower, he sees the three sitting in the living room chattering mindlessly, all fresh and clean no thanks to themselves. There was no way he was getting sleep now, so Gakushuu curls up in a corner of the couch with a book and a blanket and settles in for the night.
Nothing much happens for the first fifteen minutes. Gakushuu has tossed them several pillows from the guest bedrooms and they’re still reminiscing about shit they did ten odd years ago that Gakushuu doesn’t care about.
Until the man, Nakai, says, “hey Asano-sensei, your kid looks a lot like you.”
Of course he looks like Gakuhou, they’re father and son. Great observation, Nakai.
“Great observation, Nakai,” the woman, Mori, says. She slaps Nakai upside the head.
“Tell us about him,” Nakai says.
Gakushuu rolls his eyes. He mentally recites his long list of academic achievements and prepares for the “I’m a great teacher” spiel his father occasionally gets into when he has a little too much red wine, and he almost tunes their conversation out until he hears “he does look a lot like me, but believe me when I say that Shuukun is a lot cuter than I was at his age.”
“He has his schoolmates falling for him left and right,” Gakuhou continues, happily oblivious to Gakushuu’s sudden rapt attention and inner confused turmoil, “he really takes after his mother too, he has her round puffy cheeks that are adorable.”
Since when does that man call him Shuukun ?
“Is he attached?” Mori asks. Shut up, Mori.
“Boyfriend,” Gakuhou nods, “they’re pretty cute together, let me show you.” Gakushuu gapes as he watches his father pull out his phone and presumingly swipes through some pictures? And Mori and Nakai coo.
What, the fuck ?
“You know he plays guitar,” Gakuhou says, “and bass. Piano, violin, flute and drums.”
“That’s so many things,” Nakai gasps.
“ And he can sing,” Gakuhou continues, and is that some form of pride in his voice? Perhaps hell hasn't quite frozen over yet. “He’s in a band with that, that weird little friend group he has. Don’t get me wrong, they’re an okay bunch, but Shuukun can do better. Wait, I have a video of- ah, here it is.”
Gakushuu’s face burns in mortification just as the opening riffs to one of their covers plays. Luckily it’s one of their better songs, and- wait, how the fuck did Gakuhou get a video? They never sent it to anyone.
They’re leaning over his phone screen and Gakushuu’s recorded voice blasts out in the living room and he has to admit he doesn’t sound too bad. He tries to go back to his book but Gakuhou’s occasional comment of approval and/or acknowledgement sends him back at least three sentences and Gakushuu gives up just as the final chorus plays.
“That was beautiful,” Mori sobs emotionally. It must be the alcohol.
“He’s so talented ,” Gakuhou stresses. This isn’t good for Gakushuu’s heart. He’s going to die right here on the armchair.
“You must be so proud,” Nakai says.
“I am,” Gakuhou says honestly, and Gakushuu feels his heart fill. Fuck.
“You know he’s fluent in six languages,” Gakuhou babbles, “and he’s picking up on two more. He’s so smart, my Shuukun. I only knew five languages when I was his age-”
Drunk Gakuhou was a mess, was overly emotional, and in a surprising turn of events he apparently wouldn’t shut up about Gakushuu. The book is abandoned entirely and Gakushuu rests his cheek on his hands and smiles to himself, face burning red, as his father blabbers on about Gakushuu, his various skills and apparent cuteness, and (expectedly) his academic achievements to his enraptured audience. It’s kind of nice, Gakushuu thinks, to see his guard down like that and to hear about being appreciated.
Then, “do you want to see his baby pictures?”
Nope. Not happening.
“It’s pretty late,” Gakushuu calls out loudly. The adults startle, they probably forgot he was there.
“What time is it?” Nakai says, yawning.
Gakushuu stares at the clock. It’s four in the morning, dear god. “It’s bedtime,” Gakushuu says firmly. There’s a bit of grumbling and hell, how old are these people? But Gakushuu manages to cajole Nakai and Mori to their guest rooms and watches them pass out. They’ll have a hell of a hangover the next day but if Gakushuu is lucky they won’t be awake till noon, plenty of time to forewarn Tamiko and Husare about the extra guests before they fuss about the late notice.
He doesn’t bother with such courtesy for his father, just picks him up and hauls him to his room. Gakuhou flops on his bed gracelessly and Gakushuu wrinkles his nose and turns to leave, but halts when he hears a soft “Shuukun?”
Gakushuu isn’t weak, but he’d spent the better part of an hour listening to Gakuhou wax poetic about him, and to be fair he’s a little shocked about actually being called Shuukun to his face. He relents, just a little, by which he turns around and affixes a bored look on his face.
“What?” Gakushuu says. He crosses his arms.
Gakuhou blinks blearily at him, expression oddly open and a little affectionate. “Goodnight,” he says gently.
“Good morning , you asshole,” Gakushuu replies without heat. Gakuhou, who seemed to only want a reply regardless of how he was addressed just gives a satisfied hum, then turns over and quickly falls asleep. Gakushuu leans against the doorframe and watches him for a moment, then huffs a quiet laugh. Gakuhou is going to be so fucking awkward when he wakes up and remembers all the bullshit he spewed; not that he’ll ever admit it, but still.
“Idiot,” Gakushuu says fondly.