Chapter Text
“This is so beyond stupid,” Chigiri scowls. Karasu watches him cross his arms through the phone screen, backpack jostling with the movement, while Hiyori throws up double peace signs, smiling softly.
“Chigiriiiiii,” Karasu whines, even as he feels a grin spread over his face. “How am I supposed ta show off being a proud of father when my two beautiful sons won’t even cooperate for a picture?”
“Pspsps,” Otoya adds, deadpan, from where his chin’s hooked over Karasu’s shoulder. Chigiri shoots them both a glare.
“First day of school pictures are for elementary students and their actual parents,” he says, “not for college sophomores entering their spring semester and their annoying frat brothers.”
Karasu sighs theatrically, holding a hand over his heart like Chigiri’s shot him through the chest, passing the phone to Otoya as he does so. “Ya wound us, Princess.”
He can’t quite catch the insult Chigiri grumbles out under his breath, but he thinks he hears something along the lines of I know where you sleep, Crow, and his grin gets even wider as he pokes his head into the hallway.
“Barou,” he yells, into the corridor, at Barou’s closed door. “Come take a picture of Toya and I and our littles on their first day of school.”
“Absolutely fucking not,” Barou shouts back, emphasizing each word with a thump against his door, and Karasu ignores the oh my god he hears from Chigiri behind him as he turns towards Yukimiya’s room.
“Specs,” he calls, much more politely than he had with Barou, and it only takes a brief second for Yukki to appear in the frame, bag thrown over his shoulder and keys in hand.
“Yeah, yeah, I heard you,” he says. “Give me the phone.”
Otoya’s still playing with it, snapping picture after picture, and Karasu prays for his camera roll and storage space. Hiyori’s playing along, posing as Otoya shifts angles, even as Chigiri remains still, arms crossed, an ever-deepening frown tugging at his face.
It takes another few minutes and a handful more insults to get them all situated, and when Yukimiya finally passes the phone back to Karasu, Hiyori’s barely concealing a soft laugh and Chigiri’s digging his elbow into Karasu’s ribs hard enough that he’s sure it’ll leave a bruise.
“I’ve gotta run, I’ve got to stop at the Arts building before class,” Yukimiya says, with a wave, “but I’ll see you guys at the House Meeting tonight, alright?”
“Wouldn’t miss it,” Karasu says, as Yukki rounds the corner towards the back stairs. “Either of ya want a ride ta campus?” he asks, turning back to his - their - littles. It’s surreal, somehow, still, even all these months later. He and Otoya joke about it constantly, about how they have two sons and how they accidentally stumbled their way into parenthood, but it hits him, every once in a while, that they’re responsible for the next generation of the frat. That they have a family line, that they’ll show up reunions and alumni weekends years from now and have people that are there, somehow, in a roundabout way, because of them.
It makes his chest feel a little funny, sometimes, if he’s honest, in a way that Karasu mostly tries to ignore and refuses to acknowledge, if only because he thinks Chigiri might actually kill him in his sleep if he caught wind of it.
“I’d love a ride,” Hiyori says, voice bright, and Chigiri doesn’t respond but he does follow Hiyori out the door and down the stairs, and Karasu knows enough to know that’s a yes, please.
Raichi and Kunigami are already in the kitchen, trying to maneuver around what Karasu assumes to be the aftermath of Bachira’s breakfast; Karasu sidesteps the whole of it to pour out coffee for him and Otoya. He can hear Raichi bitching under his breath, and he huffs out a laugh at the string of curses as he passes his cup to Otoya.
“Oi, don’t hog the fucking coffee maker,” Raichi snaps, trying to elbow into Karasu’s space. “I’ve got a class I’ve got to get to.”
“”You’ve never been on time to a class in your life,” Kunigami says, as he pulls up to Karasu’s other side. “Crow, mind topping me off while you’re at it?”
“Of course,” Karasu says, and then, just because he knows it’ll piss Raichi off: “I’m giving the brats a ride ta campus, you want one too?”
“Are you fucking kidding me,” Raichi seethes, and Karasu grins as Raichi digs another elbow into his side. “Give me a ride, too, I don’t want to walk.”
“No,” Otoya says, leaning up against Karasu’s back.
“It’s not even your fucking car,” Raichi spits.
“Our car,” Karasu says, hand against his heart as he drains the last of the coffee pot into Raichi’s waiting travel mug. Raichi gnashes out a thanks as Hiyori groans against the back door. Chigiri’s already outside, hand on the door handle, Karasu clicks a few buttons on the key fob.
“You can ride in the trunk,” he says, as the lift gate starts to raise, and Raichi shoots him a glare, even as he follows them out the back door.
“Preferential treatment,” he accuses, hopping into the back. Otoya nods.
“We have favorites,” he says, blandly.
“You’re not one of them,” Karasu adds.
“I wish I wasn’t,” Chigiri bemoans, from where he’s already settled into the back seat, and Karasu just grins again as he shuts his trunk, moving to the driver’s side.
_______
The first official day of the spring semester passes exactly like every other first day of classes Karasu’s ever had has: he sits through boring introductory lectures, finds Yukimiya and Otoya for lunch, debates quitting smoking, people watches in the campus library during his free hour, and sits through even more boring introductory lectures.
He’s cranky and under-stimulated by the time his office hours for Ego roll around, trudging up to the third floor of the science building with lazy steps. He’d debated not TA-ing for Ego again this semester - the fall semester had been full of Ego’s weird, off-putting social experiments, and Karasu was never sure if the experiments were aimed at him or Ego’s other students or just any warm body in his path - but despite how unsettling it had been, Ego was , somehow, still a widely respected psychologist, and Karasu ultimately didn’t want to pass up the opportunity.
The office is pitch-black when Karasu gets to it, the blinds closed and lights off, Ego illuminated only by the pale light from his computer monitor. It makes him look sickly, Karasu thinks, and he feels his way to one of the chairs more by memory than anything else.
“Evening, Doctor,” he says, as he sits, and Ego makes one of his myriad noises from somewhere in the back of his throat. Karasu waits, tapping his fingers against his thigh, resisting the urge to pull his phone out. He’s never sure what’s a test and what’s not.
Finally, after what feels like a solid ten minutes, Ego leans forward and flicks his desk lamp on, washing the room in a dim glow.
“Karasu,” he says, and it’s not really warm, but it’s familiar, at least. “Welcome back. Please don’t inform me of how your break went. I’m not particularly interested.”
Karasu bites so hard at the inside of his lips to keep from laughing that he tastes blood.
“In more relevant matters,” Ego continues, pointing to a file folder, “I have the first exams for the 101 class. They took these over the summer. I would like you to grade, record, and then shuffle the grades per inverse GPA scale. The student with the lowest GPA receives the highest grade, so on and so forth.”
Karasu reaches forward to take the folder, flicking through the stack in it. “I’m assuming this is intended to see which students are brave enough ta object to receiving a wrong grade, and, if they are, how they choose to react?”
“Perhaps,” Ego says, airily, pulling up another folder. Karasu sighs, inwardly. “Now, next: the 201 class is doing MBTI personality tests. They’re going to have to assign MBTI types to strangers based off limited information. Create a sample pool for the class to draw from for next week’s class.”
“Does it matter who the sample pool is?” Karasu asks, as Ego passes him the folder for 201. “Like, if I just had my frat brothers do it-“
“I don’t care what you do in your free time,” Ego interrupts, which Karasu translates as permission. “Lastly-“
Karasu expects him to say something asinine, something about the 219 lecture needing to see baby pictures of strangers to try and gauge if any of them suffer from Freudian developmental symptoms, but the file Ego holds up is different color than his class folders, and remarkably thinner.
“-there is the matter of your graduation.”
Karasu stills, lips pressed thin. He’s not sure what Ego could mean - he could do better in some of his classes, yes, but he’s pulling a high enough GPA to maintain his honors scholarship - surely Ego isn’t implying his graduation status is at risk? “My graduation?”
Ego gives him an annoyed, impatient look. “It’s what happens once you fulfill degree requirements, Karasu. Now, I’ve taken the liberty of applying for internships for you on your behalf-“
“I’m sorry?”
“- and there is a prestigious program in sports psychology I thought you might be interested in. They’ve accepted you on a preliminary basis - you’ll have to do an interview before an official offer can be made - but they’re very impressed with your undergrad work thus far. I sent them that paper you wrote last semester on how behaviours on and off the court are affected by injuries.”
He passes the last file over the desk, and Karasu thumbs through the papers in it; on the one hand, he’s entirely unsettled at Ego’s invasion of his privacy and the assumptions he made on Karasu’s behalf, and there’s a not-insignificant part of him that thinks this may be another one of Ego’s tests.
But, on the other hand - the program’s legitimate. Karasu’s used them before as references on some of his papers, and he based one of his case studies last year on a study they’d run. It’s not his dream job, necessarily, but it’s a good head start to something, and Ego’s already done the hardest part for him. He chews on the inside of his cheek.
“The contact information is in there, along with another behavioural psychology program for that’s accepted you. There’s some other programs, as well, towards the back, but they’re not worth your time if you’re already accepted elsewhere.”
Karasu’s eyes land on the address for the sports psychology program, his fingers stilling before he can flip the page. “The program’s in Osaka?”
Ego nods, once, jerkily. “You should feel right at home, I imagine. And Osaka has plenty of opportunities for your little white-haired friend, as well,” he says, off-handedly, and something cold and hard settles into Karasu’s stomach, something that has nothing to do with Ego’s complete disregard for his boundaries.
He swallows, thickly, flipping the file shut and shoving them all into his backpack. “Thanks,” he says, standing. “I’ve got, uh, a meeting I’ve got ta get ta, was there anything else?”
Ego studies him, unblinking, shrewd, before flicking the switch on his desk lamp off again, plunging everything into the eerie, cold light of his monitor again. “That was all.”
Karasu thanks him again, ducking out of the office as Ego starts clacking against his keyboard again. The hallway’s too bright, after the dimness of Ego’s office, and Karasu blinks against the fluorescents as he jogs down the stairs, his mind spinning in a harried loop.
Osaka.
Graduation.
Otoya.
_______
Otoya had gotten out earlier than he had, had texted him over an hour ago to say he had bullied Chigiri into kicking around a soccer ball over at the Athletic Complex, and Hiyori had said this morning that he was working on re-assembling his streaming his setup with Nagi this afternoon.
Which means, blessedly, Karasu’s car is empty when he climbs into it, with no expectations to be anywhere with it before the house meeting. He slides down in the driver’s seat, slouched against the door, watching smoke furl off the end of his cigarette moreso than actually smoke it.
He can’t believe it didn’t occur to him before now. Graduation. As in no longer being here, at the university, with Otoya. As in maybe being in Osaka, instead, and maybe without Otoya.
He doesn’t know what the best choice is, here. Move to Osaka, alone? Try to do long-distance with him, even though the two of them haven’t been apart from each other for more than week or two at a time since they met? Karasu couldn’t ask Otoya to move with him, not when he’s not even sure what Otoya’s plans even are.
Karasu flicks ash off the end of his cigarette, out his window. Could he ask Otoya? Would Otoya say yes?
It’s not like Otoya’s necessarily motivated. He’s more interested in having a good time, in enjoying himself, then he is in having any sort of specific job or career. He’d majored in sports and health sciences just because he was already sort of doing it anyway, what with soccer and training. He’s never even mentioned to Karasu what he really plans to do with his degree.
But Osaka? It feels like a big ask, for Otoya to uproot whatever he might be planning on or thinking about, to move miles away with Karasu, for Karasu.
He groans, pressing the heel of his hand against his eye as the cigarette finally burns out. He’s getting ahead of himself. He doesn’t even technically have the internship, yet, and he still needs to look through the rest of what Ego gave him. Maybe it’s just not a good fit for him, anyway, and all his stressing is moot.
He’ll do the interview, first, he decides, sitting up to turn the ignition. See where that even gets him. See if this is even something he needs to bring up to Otoya. For now, at least, he has a house meeting to get to.
________
Shidou barrels into the living room right as Yukimiya calls the meeting to order, squeezing himself between Rin and Bachira with a grin that’s almost a leer. Yukimiya sighs, heavily, and Karasu leans further against Otoya.
They’re standing off to the side, against the back wall - they’d spent too long in the shower after Karasu’d gotten home to claim one of the couch seats - and Karasu’s got his fingers tucked into the waistband of Otoya’s sweats. He’s feeling extra clingy, after his meeting with Ego, and Otoya’s skin against his fingertips is grounding, a tether against his thoughts.
He nips, gently, at Otoya’s ear as Yukimiya starts the meeting, feeling the reverberations of Otoya’s pleased hum more than hearing it.
“Welcome to spring semester, everyone,” Yukki says, all broad, genuine smiles, “and congratulations to the most recent pledge class on their first semester as active brothers.”
There’s a chorus of claps and cheers and whistles, and Yukimiya waits politely for it to calm down before continuing. “We’re participating in the spring rush again this year, which will be lead by Reo - he’s taking over as frat president of the chapter in the fall, and I thought this would be a good way for him to get his feet under him. He’ll have some announcements concerning the rush in a moment.
“Which brings me to my next point - we’ll need candidates for next year’s chapter board in very soon. Rising seniors, if you’re looking to live in the house next term, your room requests are also due soon. We’ve also been discussing the spring mixer with Pi Kappa-“
Karasu listens absently as Yuikimiya continues, trying to focus in on his and Reo’s words instead of letting his thoughts wander up to the third floor, to where a thin blue folder is buried in his backpack.
Osaka, he thinks, again, as Reo asks for volunteers for bigs for the spring rush. He digs his fingers a little more firmly into Otoya’s hip, lets the blunt edge of his nails bite skin.
“Hey,” he mumbles, into Otoya’s ear. “Did Hiyori or Chigiri mention sleeping in the spare bed tonight at all?” There’s no reason for him to overthink Osaka, or graduation, or moving, or any of it, not tonight, not when he has Otoya here, in front of him.
Otoya shrugs, stretching his arms back behind him to loop around the back of Karasu’s head, cradling it. “Dunno,” he says. “Not yet.”
Karasu pulls out his phone, shooting a quick message to the group chat between the four of them, warning them to stay out of the room for a bit after the meeting ends. He can see Chigiri from where he’s sitting, see the eye roll once he reads the message, but then Kunigami’s leaning over, asking Chigiri something, and Karasu looks away, somehow feeling like he’s intruding.
Otoya tugs him up the stairs before the meeting’s officially over, crawling over top of Karasu before he’s barely hit the mattress.
“Being a parent is so hard,” Karasu murmurs, trailing his fingers teasingly, lightly, up Otoya’s torso as he strips off his shirt. “So hard to find time for ourselves.”
Otoya licks into his mouth, cupping Karasu’s jaw between both his hands. “I just usually tell them I’m trying to get laid. They get the message pretty quick.”
Karasu laughs, his chest light, his thoughts softening against the pinpricks of Otoya’s teeth on his lips, his chin, his throat. He can’t remember what he was wound up about, not when Otoya’s settled so pleasantly in his lap, trying to somehow tug Karasu’s shirt off without separating from him, and Karasu pulls him closer, his mind refreshingly hazy and unfocused.
______
He calls the internship program Friday afternoon, in the small sliver of time he has after his last class lets out but Otoya’s still holed up in his biology lab, and schedules the interview for a few weeks out.
The coordinator he talks with emails him over some preparatory materials, even as she stresses that the interview will be semi-informal, more so a final step than anything really decision-bearing.
It’s not as soothing as Karasu thinks it was meant to be. His stomach keeps turning over on itself as he thinks about asking Otoya to move with him, about Otoya saying no, about Otoya saying yes. About what Otoya might be giving up.
And, to top it all off, it wiggles at Karasu’s suspicion that Ego’d severely overstepped his boundaries with this - either he pulled major strings to get Karasu shortlisted for the program (unlikely, as Ego’s unlikeable enough that someone owing him a favor seems laughable), or he actually pretended to be Karasu through the application process (even more unlikely, as it’s a massive amount of effort Ego would have to expend on behalf of someone else, and Karasu doesn’t even think Ego exerts much effort on himself, let alone one of his students).
He’s scrolling through the email attachments when Otoya flops down next to him, yawning through a sip of an energy drink. Karasu locks his phone, as surreptitiously as he can, pocketing it as his stomach twirls unpleasantly again.
“Ready for the Upsilon party tonight?” he asks, before Otoya can recover from his yawn and ask about whatever he was reading on his phone.
“Fuck yeah,” Otoya says, monotone. “Want to get blazed and watch Aiku try to flirt with anything that looks his direction. It’s like a TV show.”
Karasu laughs, hoisting them both to their feet. His phone, and the email, are a lead weight in his pocket as they amble towards the car. He’ll tell him, he reasons with himself, as he wipes his sweaty palm against his jeans and his heart beats into his throat.
He’ll tell him. He’ll ask him.
Just - after the interview.
Just in case.