The hospital room had become more than a sterile chamber of recovery—it was a sanctuary. Yu lay propped up on the bed, the twins nestled against him, their tiny fists curling instinctively around his fingers. Around him, his friends' laughter rose and fell like gentle waves.
Sakura Sato fed Kenji a bottle with teary-eyed concentration, while Fumiko Fujimori fussed over Taro's blanket, adjusting it until she deemed it perfect. Haruka Minami, ever dramatic even through a video screen, pressed her face so close to her camera that Yu giggled despite himself. Yamato and Souma were in the corner arguing over which gift the babies seemed to like best—Souma swearing the rattle he'd picked out had earned a smile, Yamato countering that his plush lion had made Taro coo first.
Yu watched it all, his chest aching with a warmth he hadn't let himself feel in months. For so long, he'd believed humans were cruel, that they were only capable of causing nothing but pain. Yet here were his friends, filling the room with joy, holding his children as if they were their own. The fragile thought drifted through him like sunlight breaking clouds:
'I'm not alone. Not anymore.'
When the room finally quieted, when the twins were returned to his arms and everyone trickled out with promises to visit again, Yu clutched them close and whispered.
"You have so many people who already love you."
Taichi, leaning against the wall with a tired smile, caught his gaze and nodded as if to say:
'And so do you.'
---
Discharge day came too soon. The air outside the hospital smelled sharper, colder, as if it knew they were stepping into a changed world. Yu held the twins close as Taichi flagged down a taxi.
Their new house wasn't far—humble, small, but warm. A patch of sunlight touched the entryway, like a quiet blessing. Still, leaving the apartment behind was harder than Yu had expected.
He stood in the studio one last time, the room echoing with memories. The walls held everything: the first time Taichi had moved in without asking, the nights of whispered promises, the mornings of laughter over burnt pancakes, the tears and the healing, the dreams they had fought so hard to keep alive. The corner desk where Yu once wept for a family that wasn't his. The bed where he first learned what it meant to be held, truly held.
As movers carried out boxes, Yu's composure cracked. Tears rolled down his cheeks, silent but heavy, until Taichi stepped beside him. With one arm holding their sons, he reached his free hand to Yu's.
"It's okay."
Taichi murmured.
"This place… it'll always be part of us. But we're taking the most important parts with us. You, me, and them."
Yu nodded, sobbing softly, his heart breaking and healing at once. The apartment door closed behind them with a final, hollow sound. But as Taichi led him forward, steady and sure, Yu realized his new home wasn't a building. It was Taichi. It was the babies. It was this love, wherever it went.
---
The new house wasn't large, but it didn't need to be. Yu filled it with warmth bit by bit: crocheted curtains in the kitchen window, hand-sewn cushions on the couch, small houseplants tucked onto shelves that caught the light. The twins' room was the brightest spot of all—two cribs side by side, mobiles Yu had made himself, and toys stacked neatly in wicker baskets.
Everyday moments turned into the fabric of their life. Yu in an apron humming softly while stirring soup. Taichi coming home from a late shift, loosening his tie and leaning in for a kiss before even removing his shoes. The twins' laughter echoing down the hall, Yu's soft "shh" in the night when one of them stirred. It wasn't glamorous, but it was theirs.
By the time a full year had passed, their world had changed again. Taichi, after his break from studies to work and save, had returned to A College with Yu's relentless support. It wasn't easy—catching up on lost time, preparing for exams, balancing fatherhood—but Yu was there at every turn.
Yu took care of everything else: the babies, the house, the meals, even tutoring Taichi late at night when his mind was too tired to focus on business and economics. His Instagram had grown into a steady stream of income, sponsorships and donations flowing in from people charmed by his creativity and warmth. Somehow, he managed it all without complaint.
Even DK01, who had observed Yu's patterns for years now, broke its usual dry tone with rare praise.
[I'm impressed. You're operating at efficiency beyond standard incubus parameters.]
Yu only laughed softly, his hands busy with laundry as the twins babbled nearby.
"It's not that big a deal. The kids are good babies, they hardly cry. Tutoring Taichi is easy—I've done it before. Cooking and cleaning is nothing. And… well, maybe I get a little extra energy from…uh…'being intimate' with Taichi."
DK01 gave a digital hum.
[When you say it like that, it sounds less impressive.]
But in the quiet of its own processes, even it admitted.
['Still… it's a start.']
---
The days fell into a rhythm that was theirs alone. Yu had his quirks—he always hummed while folding laundry, and sometimes dressed the twins in outfits he crocheted the night before, too proud to wait until they grew into them properly. The babies, Taro and Kenji, would coo and kick in their matching knit hats, unaware of how ridiculous and adorable they looked.
Yu fussed over meals too, tailoring dishes not only to Taichi's tastes but also to whatever the twins might one day grow into—
"Training my cooking skills for when they eat like grown boys!"
He'd say with a smile. Sometimes he'd overdo it
—researching toddler recipes when they were barely six months old—but it made him feel prepared.
Despite the shadows still haunting him, Yu found moments of light. The smell of freshly washed baby blankets hanging on the balcony. The warm clutter of toys taking over the living room. The steady sound of Taichi's footsteps coming home, tired but eager. This was their cocoon, stitched together through care, routine, and love.
When the day of Taichi's graduation came, Yu felt his chest tighten. He wanted to go—wanted to see Taichi standing tall, recognized for all his effort—but fear still tethered him. The thought of crowds, strangers, of dragging the twins into the world so young… it was too much.
"Stay home, love."
Taichi said softly as he adjusted his tie in the mirror that morning.
"I know it's safer for you and the babies. Just wait for me here—I'll make you proud."
Yu, seated on the bed with one of the twins in his arms, gave a tiny nod. His heart ached with guilt, but Taichi's eyes held only understanding. No rush. No judgment. Just love.
---
The auditorium brimmed with chatter, cameras flashing as graduates lined up in neat rows of black gowns and caps. The dean's voice echoed through the microphone, calling names one after another. Families cheered, friends whistled, flowers waved in the air.
And then—
"Arifukua, Taichi."
He strode across the stage, posture steady, the glint of quiet determination in his green eyes. His hand closed around the diploma with firm resolve, the culmination of late nights, aching muscles, and endless perseverance. Applause thundered around him, but in Taichi's mind, there was only one face:
Yu's.
The thought of him at home with their boys, waiting, made the moment heavier, sweeter.
The dean shook his hand, congratulating him, but Taichi's lips only curved in a small smile—one that carried both pride and longing. For though the world saw a graduate, he saw himself only as a man racing to finish, so he could go home to the life he had built with the one who mattered most.
As Taichi's name echoed through the auditorium and he stepped off the stage with his diploma, murmurs rippled through the rows of seats.
"Arifukua? Top of his class?"
Someone whispered in disbelief.
"Didn't he get in trouble with the law? I saw police by his home?"
"Yeah, and wasn't he always fighting with that Sasaki guy?"
Another said, leaning forward with interest,
"Man, look at him now—sharp suit, honors cord, walking like he owns the place. Must've turned things around."
Admiration flickered through some eyes, envy in others. A group of professors exchanged quiet nods, remarking on his discipline and surprising growth. Even students from different departments, who had only known of his reputation, now regarded him with curiosity and respect.
At the back of the hall stood Riku Arifukua, his father. His presence drew a quiet stir from staff who recognized him instantly—head of the powerful Arifukua Corporation. He had come intending to extend an olive branch, a job offer already on his tongue.
But when the ceremony ended and the graduates scattered into the crowd of family and friends, Taichi didn't linger, didn't bask in the applause or network with professors. He sprinted—literally sprinted—out of the auditorium, as if the degree in his hand was only half the prize and the rest waited for him elsewhere.
Riku's eyes narrowed.
"Still the same rash boy."
He muttered to himself, masking the flicker of hurt behind a scoff.
"Running off to waste himself, no doubt."
He turned sharply on his heel, huffing in disdain, the job offer left unspoken as he departed.
---
The door creaked softly as Taichi stepped into their little home. The noise of the ceremony, the weight of the diploma, all fell away in an instant.
On the couch, Yu was napping, head tilted slightly, his long white hair spilling like silk over the cushions. In each arm, one of their boys—Taro and Kenji—slept bundled and secure, their tiny fists curled against Yu's chest. The sight struck Taichi like a prayer answered, fragile and perfect.
He froze, not wanting to wake them. Then, quietly, he padded closer and lowered himself at Yu's feet. Stretching out, his back resting against the couch, he let exhaustion pull at his eyes, his head rested on Yu's slender and warm legs.
But before he surrendered to sleep, Taichi folded his hands together and pressed his forehead against them.
'Please… just let this moment stop here. Let me keep this family, this love, this peace.'
When his breathing finally even out into sleep, it wasn't the diploma in his mind, nor the whispers of the crowd. It was Yu's soft breathing, the steady weight of the boys in his heart, and the warmth that filled this small, humble home.
For the first time, Taichi felt like he had everything he could ever want.
The Love-o-meter ticked up:
93 - 94
---
Yu stirred first, his lashes fluttering as the weight of the twins shifted against his arms. He stretched carefully, trying not to jostle them, but the subtle motion was enough to rouse Taichi. The man blinked groggily from his spot on the floor, straightening as he rubbed at his eyes.
"Ah, sorry."
Yu whispered, voice still husky from sleep.
"I didn't mean to wake you."
Taichi gave a small, crooked smile and shook his head.
"Don't apologize. I should've been up anyway."
His gaze softened as it drifted to the twins nestled safely against Yu's chest. Then he leaned back with a sigh.
"The ceremony went fine. But honestly? I'm just happy I'm home now."
Yu chuckled quietly, brushing his thumb over one baby's tiny fist as it twitched in a dream.
"You sound like you ran a marathon, not graduated."
"Well…"
Taichi tilted his head, pretending to think.
"Maybe I did."
Then, growing serious, he looked back at Yu.
"What I need to do now is get a high-paying job. Something steady, something big. I want to buy you anything you want, make sure you and the boys never have to worry about a thing."
Yu's laugh was soft, teasing, though a blush dusted his pale cheeks.
"I don't need all that. I only want you, and the kids, to be happy and healthy. That's all I'll ever need."
He paused, a spark of mischief slipping through the exhaustion.
"Well… maybe more kids someday."
It came out half a joke, but Yu immediately flushed, fumbling over his own words.
"Kidding! I was just kidding—"
But Taichi froze, eyes wide. His ears turned red, and the tips of his fingers twitched against his knees. Slowly, deliberately, he reached over to brush Yu's hair from his forehead.
"...More kids, huh?"
Yu's face burned hotter.
"Taichi—!"
Taichi only grinned, boyish and utterly smitten.
"I'd like that too."
His hand shifted lower, resting warmly over Yu's belly where their twins had been carried, his thumb tracing gentle circles there.
"When the time is right."
Yu's chest swelled at the quiet sincerity in his voice, tears pricking his lashes even as he laughed softly. The moment was fragile, unpolished, but brimming with the promise of a future they were both starting to believe in.
---
The weeks following Taichi's graduation settled into a fragile balance. Their home filled with the soft chaos of babies—tiny cries at dawn, endless diaper changes, and Yu's laughter as he crocheted miniature hats and booties during nap times. Taichi split his days between scouring job listings, preparing resumes, and slipping back into the rhythm of fatherhood, rocking the twins to sleep when Yu needed a break.
They made do with what they had: Yu's sponsorships and donations through Instagram, along with his family's inheritance, provided more than Taichi would ever admit out loud, and the meals Yu put on the table were always warm, rich with care. Yet, Taichi's heart grew heavier with each polite rejection, each phone call that ended with—
"We'll keep your resume on file."
He tried to smile when Yu reassured him, tried to believe when Yu pressed soft kisses to his knuckles and whispered.
"We'll be okay."
But every night, when the house fell silent, he stared at the ceiling and thought to himself.
'I should be doing more. They're depending on me.'
---
One morning, Taichi buttoned up his best suit, the one Yu had ironed just the night before. He kissed Yu's temple, promised to try again at another round of interviews, and walked out the door with determination burning in his chest.
But instead of heading toward the usual glass towers of the job boards, he went to the place he had avoided for years:
Arifukua Corporation.
His father's company.
The first day, he didn't even get past the lobby. The receptionist's polite mask hid cold dismissal.
The second day, he tried again, lingering longer, but was turned away before he could glimpse the man he'd once called father.
By the third day, even exhaustion couldn't extinguish his resolve. He returned again, and again, until finally, fate gave him an opening.
Riku Arifukua swept through the lobby like a storm in a suit, bodyguards trailing behind him, his presence commanding even in silence. And Taichi—son, estranged delinquent, graduate with honors—forgot all pride as he rushed forward.
"Dad—Mr. Arifukua—please!"
Taichi's voice rang out across the polished marble. He bowed low, his forehead nearly touching the floor.
The crowd in the lobby had gone hushed, even the clicking of keyboards behind the reception desk had stopped. People exchanged looks—curiosity, pity, disbelief—yet Taichi remained frozen, forehead nearly to the ground, fists pressed against the floor.
"Please, I need a job."
He whispered again, his throat dry.
"Any position will do."
The silence stretched unbearably. Every second felt like hours pressing against his back. The murmurs of onlookers crept in:
"Is that really the chairman's estranged son?"
"What's he doing here?"
"Begging?"
But Taichi didn't move. Pride had no place left inside him. He thought only of his duty, of his promise to himself that he'd provide no matter the cost. His knees ached, his breath shook, but he held his posture like a man shackled in place.
Riku Arifukua paused mid-step, his entourage slowing with him. His eyes narrowed, the sharp gaze of a man used to command and obedience. Inside, however, his thoughts tangled.
Taichi.
The son who once embodied defiance, fists raised, voice sharp with rage. The son who stormed out years ago after discovering his father's sins—the affair with Mei Sasaki, the betrayal that destroyed what little family remained. Riku remembered the shouting, the slammed doors, the way Taichi had walked away, choosing pride over reconciliation after his mother's death.
And now, here he was, bowing. Begging.
Riku's heart tightened, but he quickly masked it with cold calculation. In recent years, he had turned his focus to Isuke Sasaki—the half-son he had failed in a different way. Guilt for Isuke's late mother, for not being there during her illness, had driven him to overcompensate. He had given Isuke everything: a high position, mentorship, the path of an heir. Isuke was obedient, brilliant, the perfect model of what Riku had wanted Taichi to be. So why did this scene make him hesitate?
'He'll just quit if I give him a low position.'
Riku told himself.
'The boy doesn't have the discipline. He'll throw his tantrum, just as he always did in school, and storm out.
I don't even need to lift a finger. But… let's test him. One last test.'
Riku cleared his throat, his deep voice cutting through the lobby's thick silence.
"…If you insist, Taichi."
He said at last, his tone flat, unreadable.
"Report to HR. You'll be given a position."
His eyes flicked over his son, lingering a moment longer than he intended.
"But don't expect special treatment. You'll be given an entry level position, just like everyone else."
The murmurs swelled in the lobby, astonishment rippling through the employees who witnessed the great chairman speak to his wayward son.
Taichi's head snapped up, disbelief flashing in his eyes. Then, swiftly, he bowed even deeper, his voice raw with gratitude.
"Thank you. I won't waste this chance."
He rose, steady but humble, and walked toward the HR office without another word, not a trace of defiance in his step.
Riku stood rooted for a moment, stunned by the absence of anger, the absence of a fight. He had expected a flare of temper, a demand for more, the same rebelliousness that had marked Taichi's youth. Instead, he saw… restraint. Humility.
'Has he changed?'
The thought unsettled him more than he cared to admit.
He turned on his heel, his voice clipped as he ordered his assistants forward. But inwardly, his gaze lingered on the image of Taichi's bowed head. A test had been given. The results, however, would take time.