lovelight in your eyes

satoru closes his eyes and breathes in. it's too early for him to lose his cool, and he can't have the kids start the day with tears. not today.

"after mama's day. so, if you want your gifts, you have to help papa."

the two boys happily follow after their dad like baby ducklings.

—

there's a rustle followed by incoherent mumbling—incoherent to others, at least.

because to the trained ear of a mother, it's clear how your son mumbles a string of c'mon, c'mon, c'mon in distress.

your eyes open just in time as your toddler knocks over the candle on your bedside table, struggling with the flower bouquet (which is considerably bigger than him).

"hey, you."

it takes almost ten minutes for your husband to realize he's missing a little duckling, rushing to look for his whereabouts once he remembers he has two sons, not one.

"mochi," he whisper-shouts, stressed out already. he enters your shared bedroom, looking at the floor for that white tuft of hair crawled somewhere under the furniture. "mochi, what's taking you– oh, no."

drapped on top of you, gently held in your arms, lies your son as he tells you about mochi day.

"–gifts and fishies, mama!"

you chuckle at his enthusiasm, basking in the warmth of the duvet and your toddler nuzzled in your arms, the familiar baby scent still lingering on his skin.

"hey," your husband nervously interrupts, walking further into the room until he's right next to your side of the bed. "good morning, gorgeous."

his kiss on your lips is short and adoring, his lips pulling up into a gentle smile.

"i caught you guys," you can't help but smile cheekily at his failed attempt to surprise you. "where are my other two babies? you better not left them unsupervised–"

"no, 'course not. be right back! you–" he grabs your toddler from your arms. "–are coming with me."

—

a few minutes later, the door of your bedroom opens, and your baby girl walks in with the help of her dad.

"oh my– is that my sweet little baby?"

your coos earn you an excited squeal from your daughter as soon as her eyes notice you. your husband gently holds her hands as she walks towards you, stumbling over her tiny feet before satoru lifts her up and settles her on the bed with you.

right behind him is your toddler.

"for you, mama."

you take the small box from his hands, ready to bring him up on the bed with you, "thank you, baby."

"hold the kisses. there's more, remember?" satoru reminds your son, and he nods, rushing out of the room before you can even demand a kiss on the cheek.

your two boys walk back in carrying a gift bag—a huge one. after a brief struggle to place it on the bed, both boys huff heavily before smiling proudly at each other.

"what do you say?" satoru tries to give your youngest son a cue, which he obviously misses.

"thank you!"

you can't help but chuckle at his proud little grin, his older brother shaking his head next to him.

"no, mochi. the other thing." your son corrects his baby brother.

"happy birthday?"

both your husband and son give up, sighing as the toddler now looks confused and utterly lost.

satoru swiftly launches each kid onto the bed before joining as well, needing the cuddles after a hectic morning.

"happy mother's day, my angel."

“we can practice your swing later, now it's time to catch,” choso tries again, offering a reassuring grin, but it's useless.

toji figured that having choso around during practice would be of help. the teenager is an experienced catcher, coached by his uncle himself, which only made it natural for yuuji to be a catcher as well.

“oi–” toji opens his mouth to call yuuji over, but the tantrum has already started.

a red-rimmed eyed yuuji sobs by the home plate, denial and pouring out of him with each shaky exhale, “i wanna go again!”

“hey, hey, what did we talk about earlier?” toji gets on yuuji's eye-level, patting his shoulder in sympathy. “it's a game. what do we do when we play, huh?”

"we-uh...” clumsily, yuuji wipes at his eyes between hiccups. “…we have fun...”

“atta boy, go get your glove.”

—

fifteen minutes later, toji is frowning again. but this time, the culpript is his own son.

"fix your stance," he grumbles at megumi, looking disgusted at how wide apart his feet are placed. "the hell is that? megumi, fix your feet–"

"i'm trying!”

the four-year-old snaps back without loosing sight of the ball placed on the tee, his eyes set on it as if plotting its demise with one swing.

“try harder,” toji can be patient when it comes to sports, especially since kids this young must learn how to work through their frustations as they make mistake after mistake while developing new skills. “it looks like you're trying to do a damn split!”

but he's hungry and there's still half an hour left of practice—there's not an ounce of patience left in him.

the bat makes contact with the ball with a loud clang, instantly shutting everyone up as megumi sends his helmet flying behind him and runs to first base.

“fuck yeah– that's my son!”

—

“keep running! mochi– what the fuck. RUN!”

you lock the car right as your husband's screams at the youngest gojo boy echo from the field. the poor thing is struggling to stay on his feet with a helmet too big and too heavy for his size.

“go, mochi! go, mochi!”

the rest of the kids chant as they watch the toddler run to home, toji waiting for him with an outstretched hand.

“safe!” your husband grins, high-fiving the gojo kid. “are you ready to be a tiger cub?”

the toddler's eyes light up instantly, “yup!”

toji glances at the dugout and catches sight of you, a signal that today's practice is over and he has successfully survived it.

“pack your sh–stuff, time to go,” he grins after correcting himself, his prize (you) standing alluringly and within reach as you help megumi pack his backpack.

“tired?” you ask after he plops down on the bench, his hands settling around your hips.

he's about to reply when little yuuji waves goodbye at him, “see ya on twosday, mister zen'in!” the kid grins while he's guided away by choso to their car.

you chuckle as you hear toji groan, your hand reaching for the top of his head and scratching it.

“i'm ready for off-season.”

“the season hasn't even started yet!”