Chris sat in the waiting room, knee bouncing like a jackhammer. The place was quieter than he expected—soft music, a few magazines, no dramatic crying or anything. Still, his stomach twisted. First therapy session ever. He'd booked it after Haru's reflections hit home—debt stress, Mom's cancer scars, all that buried crap weighing him down.
Haru had driven him, kissed him quick in the car. "You got this. Text when you're out."
The counselor—Dr. Lee, chill guy in his forties, glasses and easy smile—called him in. Office cozy: armchair, couch, plant in the corner.
"Chris, welcome. Make yourself comfortable. First sessions are just chat—no pressure."
Chris picked the couch, sinking in. "Arigatou. Kinda nervous."
Dr. Lee nodded. "It's normal. What brought you here?"
Chris exhaled, hazel eyes flicking to the window. "Lot of stuff. Old trauma, current mess. Mom's cancer when I was teen—beat it, but left scars. Dad bailed. Money troubles turned bad—borrowed from shady guys, debt's a nightmare now."
Dr. Lee listened, no judgment. "Sounds heavy for a young guy. How's it affecting you daily?"
Chris rubbed his neck. "Anxiety spikes—jump at noises, can't sleep sometimes. Guilt too. Feel like I drag people down—my boyfriend Haru, his kid Ichigo. They're gold, but this debt shadow... scares me it'll touch them."
They unpacked slow. Dr. Lee asked about cancer days—fear, isolation, playing adult too young. Chris's voice cracked describing Mom weak from chemo, him holding her hair back.
"Dad leaving hurt worst," Chris admitted. "Note on the table. Like I wasn't enough to stay for."
Dr. Lee leaned forward. "That's abandonment trauma. Common to carry 'not enough' feeling. But it's his failure, not yours."
Chris blinked fast. "Yeah... never thought it that way."
Debt talk hit harder—desperation borrowing from Rico, interest trap, recent threats. "Paid chunk, but they lurked, mentioned Haru and Ichigo. Terrifying."
Dr. Lee noted. "Safety first—we'll plan coping, maybe involve authorities more. But emotionally? Guilt for risking others?"
Chris nodded. "Big time. Haru's helping financially, but I hate it."
"Generosity accepted is love language," Dr. Lee said gentle. "We'll work on receiving without shame."
Session ended with homework: journal triggers, breathing exercises. Chris left lighter, like a weight shifted.
Texted Haru: Out. Felt good. Coffee?
Haru: Proud of you. Picking you up.
Home—Ichigo at preschool till later. Haru opened arms at the door. Chris melted in, hugging tight.
"How'd it go?"
Chris pulled back, smiling real. "Better than thought. Talked cancer, Dad, debt. Counselor chill—called Dad's leave his failure, not mine. Hit deep."
Haru cupped his face. "Truth. You're enough—more than."
Kiss started grateful—soft presses, reassurance. Turned hungry quick. Chris pushed Haru against the wall, hands framing face, tongues brushing urgent. Haru groaned, gripping hips, flipping to pin Chris gentle.
Stumbled bedroom, lips locked. Shirts shed—Chris's tee yanked, Haru's button-up tossed. Skin met hot, slim pressing medium build. Mouths roamed: Haru neck kisses, nipping collarbone. Chris arched, gasp soft, grinding instinctive.
Pants undone impatient, kicked away. Bare, sweat-slick. Haru laid Chris back, hovering, hand wrapping firm—stroking slow rhythm with rolls. Chris bucked, moans breathy, legs wrapping tight.
Friction deepened—Haru's free hand tracing thigh, guiding. Pleasure coiled intense—eyes locked, hazel vulnerable yet burning, brown full love. Whispers: "So safe with you," Chris panted; "Always," Haru husky.
Climax shared—Chris tensing beautiful, release crashing muffled cry. Haru followed, shuddering deep.
Tangled after, breaths evening. Chris smiled shy. "Therapy high?"
Haru chuckled, kissing forehead. "Best reward."
Showered playful—kisses water, hands gentle. Afternoon: Ichigo pickup, park swings, dinner fun. Bedtime hugs, kid out fast.
Couch later, Chris journaled homework while Haru read beside. "Dr. Lee gave breathing tricks—wanna try?"
Haru nodded. They practiced—inhale calm, exhale stress. Felt cheesy, but worked.
Night bed—Chris curled Haru's side. "Thanks for pushing me to this."
Haru fingers hair. "Team, you remember?"
Therapy door opened—Chris stepping through brave.