The next morning, Yu rose early, the twins bundled in their cribs, sunlight slanting across the kitchen counter. His eyes were swollen, rimmed pink from crying, but he smiled anyway as Taichi stirred awake.
He moved through his routines like choreography:
Pressing Taichi's shirt, fixing his tie, sliding a packed lunch into his bag, all the while chirping little reassurances.
"Eat it today, okay? You'll like the egg rolls. I made them special for you."
Taichi kissed him absentmindedly before rushing out the door. Yu held the smile until the latch clicked, then leaned against it, breathing shallowly. The apartment felt too quiet. He picked up a rag and busied himself with cleaning that didn't need doing, clinging to the rhythm so the emptiness wouldn't swallow him whole.
---
At the office, Taichi drowned himself in work. His shoulders ached from long nights, his eyes burned from too many sleepless hours, but he kept moving. He told himself it was all for Yu. For their sons. For the life they deserved.
'Yu will understand.'
He thought, loosening his collar as he shoved another stack of papers into order.
'He knows I'm doing this for him, for us. He'll forgive me. He always does.'
Still, a tiny voice gnawed at him:
A wish for one night off, just one evening where he could come home early and let Yu's soft voice wash the stress away.
He buried it under more work.
"Arifukua."
Taichi glanced up to see Mr. Takeda, one of the most respected supervisors, standing over him. The man's graying hair and sharp eyes carried decades of weight in the company.
"There's a client dinner tonight."
Mr. Takeda said.
"High stakes. I want you to come."
Taichi's heart lurched. A chance like this could mean recognition. Maybe even a promotion. Maybe more money for Yu and the kids.
But if he went… he'd miss dinner again. Miss bedtime again. Miss Yu's smile again. However, he couldn't pass up this opportunity.
"Yes sir."
He hesitated for a second, clutching his phone as he pulled it out. His thumbs tapped out a quick message—
My Taichi💚: I'll be late tonight, don't wait up.
—but before he could send it, Mr. Takeda barked.
"Grab those files. We're leaving now."
Startled, Taichi shoved the phone back into his pocket and gathered the folders. The unsent message blinked silently on his screen as he followed Takeda out the door, unaware of the weight it would carry at home.
---
The clock ticked louder than usual that night. Yu sat curled near the door, his phone resting on the table within arm's reach, its screen lighting up every few minutes as he checked it compulsively. The battery sat at 98%, but still he kept it plugged in—just in case.
Taichi should've been home an hour ago.
Two.
Three.
Then more.
Yu gnawed his lip, eyes darting to the time again and again. He opened the call screen more than once, his thumb hovering over Taichi's name, but always he hesitated.
'What if he's in the middle of something important? What if I make him look bad?'
His heart thudded unevenly. The silence of the apartment pressed down like a weight.
A sharp cry broke through—Taro's. The baby fussed and kicked in his crib, his whimpers building into full-throated sobs. Yu startled, then rushed over, scooping him into his arms.
"Hush, hush, sweetheart… Mama's here."
He rocked him gently, voice soft though his chest ached. He swayed, whispering lullabies, careful not to wake Kenji. Slowly, Taro's cries faded into hiccups, his tiny fists loosening against Yu's shirt. Yu pressed a kiss to his hair, tears stinging his eyes.
'If I'm this scared when Taichi is late, how will I survive if he… doesn't come back at all?'
---
Meanwhile, across town, Taichi straightened his posture at the polished mahogany table of a high-end restaurant. The atmosphere buzzed with low laughter, clinking glasses, and the hum of power being brokered in half-veiled smiles.
He raised his glass when the clients toasted. Again. And again. Each time he swallowed the burn smoothly, hiding the churn in his stomach. His delinquent youth had carved him into a man who could handle liquor better than most, but even so, the repetition wore at his edges.
"Arifukua, atta boy!"
One of the clients slurred warmly, clapping him on the shoulder.
"Sharp, polite, hardworking. Your boss should be proud."
Taichi bowed his head respectfully, hiding the strain in his eyes.
'If this is what it takes to climb, I'll endure it. For Yu. For the twins.'
He forced a smile, lifted his glass once more, and drowned the thought of home—the image of Yu's smile, the twins' sleepy breaths—beneath the burn of another drink.
---
The apartment was so quiet, every tick of the clock cut into Yu's nerves. He sat at the table with the lamp turned low, the twins tucked safely in their cribs, their soft breathing a counterpoint to his racing heart. His phone lay before him, the screen glowing whenever he checked—no missed calls. No new messages.
Every sound outside made him jump:
A car door slamming, footsteps outside, laughter that echoed up from the street.
Each time, Yu's hopes rose only to collapse when it wasn't Taichi. He pulled his cardigan tighter around himself, rocking gently in his chair as though it could soothe the dread gnawing at his chest.
'He promised… he always promises… but what if something happened? What if he doesn't come back?'
By three in the morning, Yu's eyes burned with exhaustion but he couldn't sleep. He sat by the cribs, stroking Taro's hair, whispering soft reassurances even though it was himself he was trying to comfort. The hours bled together. By dawn, his heart was raw, brittle, a knot of fear and longing.
---
On the other side of town, Taichi's night stretched on like an endless performance. Every toast was another chain pulling him down.
"Another round! Arifukua, you're a natural!"
"Sharp tongue, steady hand! Just like your old man, eh?"
The praise was intoxicating, the pressure unbearable. Taichi forced smiles, bowed his head, and matched them glass for glass. His stomach turned, his head light, but he endured.
One of the older executives leaned closer, the smell of cologne and faint perfume clinging to him. He threw an arm around Taichi, pulling him into another toast, and the women at the table laughed, leaning in too close. Somewhere in the haze, a smear of lipstick brushed his shirt collar, unnoticed by him in the swirl of glasses, laughter, and survival.
'Just a little more. Just until they're satisfied. Endure. For them.'
When the meeting finally ended, it was past dawn. Taichi staggered out with the others, his tie loosened, his shirt wrinkled, his body heavy with exhaustion and liquor.
---
The door to their home clicked open just as the sun spilled pale light across the floor. Yu, who had finally dozed off on the couch, startled awake. Relief flooded his chest—then froze.
Taichi stood in the doorway, smelling of alcohol and perfume, his shirt rumpled, a smear of lipstick bright against the fabric.
Yu's heart plummeted. His lips parted, trembling, but no words came out. He stared at the mark like it was a knife.
'Perfume. Lipstick. He… he looks like…he was with…'
Taichi rubbed at his temples, too tired to notice the sharp break in Yu's eyes. He dropped his bag and muttered—
"I'm home…"
—Before stumbling toward the bathroom.
But Yu couldn't stop staring at that mark, the phantom weight of a night spent waiting crushing him now under suspicion, dread, and a loneliness sharper than any knife.
The bathroom door shut, the sound of water running faint through the walls. Yu stood in the living room, frozen, his ears ringing with the casualness of Taichi's words.
"Make some hangover soup."
No kiss. No smile. Not even a glance.
His body trembled, but his voice never rose. He bent down instead, gathering Taichi's discarded clothes from the floor, his fingers stopping at the stain—lipstick, bright against the fabric. The sight seared into his eyes. His throat tightened as if he were being strangled, but he forced his hands to keep folding, keep tidying.
'It's fine. He's tired. He didn't mean anything. It's fine, Yu. Just smile, just keep going.'
Taichi's heavy steps padded past him, the mattress creaking under his weight as he collapsed onto the bed. Moments later, his breathing evened, deep with the heavy rhythm of exhaustion and drink.
Yu bit down on his lip, hard, to stop the sob clawing its way out. A few hot tears broke free anyway, slipping down his cheeks as silent proof of the fracture inside him. He clutched Taichi's shirt to his chest for a heartbeat, the scent of perfume still clinging, before dragging himself into the kitchen.
His hands shook as tossed the clothes into the hamper and even worse when he set a pot on the stove. He chopped vegetables, measured out broth, stirred carefully. Everything neat, precise, as if perfection could keep the world from shattering. The motions gave him something to hold onto.
Behind him, the soft cries of the twins stirred. Yu wiped his face quickly, forcing on the smile he'd perfected, and went to them.
"Shh, it's okay, Mama's here…"
His voice was tender, steady, even as his insides crumbled. He lifted Kenji, then Taro, humming gently, swaying them to sleep again.
Every touch of their small hands, every little sigh, tethered him to the fragile thread of life he couldn't let go of—not for them, not for the tiny new life stirring within him again. And yet the ache deep in his chest whispered that even this might not be enough to hold him together if Taichi slipped too far away.
---
The days blurred into each other, a rhythm of waiting and pretending. Yu put the twins down for naps, crocheted little clothes and toys, cooked meals that grew cold on the table. And always—always—he kept glancing at the door, waiting for Taichi's shadow to fall across it.
But when Taichi did come, it was late. Sometimes so late that Yu had given up and crawled into bed alone, only to wake at dawn to find Taichi collapsed beside him, clothes smelling of liquor and a faint perfume that wasn't Yu's.
The little rituals that once anchored Yu—the kisses at the door, the whispered goodnights, the hand lingering too long over his own—all faded. Taichi still smiled sometimes, but they were weary, distracted smiles, not the fierce, overflowing declarations of love Yu had once been drenched in.
That first shirt with lipstick had been washed, folded, tucked away—but it never left Yu's mind. Even without new stains, the perfume clung to Taichi's suits, the alcohol to his breath. Every late arrival drove the splinter deeper.
Yu tried to bury it, reminding himself of Taichi's devotion, of everything they'd survived together.
'He's tired. He's working. He's doing this for us.'
And yet, the silence at the dinner table, the untouched bento boxes he found still sealed in Taichi's bag, all gnawed at the edges of that belief.
One night, while Taichi hadn't come home at all, Yu sat hunched over his laptop, the glow of the screen washing out the tears in his eyes. His hands shook as he typed into a forum he'd only ever lurked on before.
> "My husband comes home late, smelling of alcohol and perfume. He's stopped kissing me, stopped thanking me. Once, I found lipstick on his shirt. I don't know what to think. Is he cheating on me?"
He hit post before he could take it back.
The replies were swift, scrolling down the page faster than he could read. Some blunt—
> "Of course he's cheating, wake up."
Others kinder but no less damning—
> "Those are classic signs. Protect yourself, especially with children involved."
A few outliers tried to offer alternatives, but the sheer weight of the responses pressed Yu down.
Each word made his stomach twist tighter, as if the strangers could see into his home, into the hollow in his chest. He wanted to slam the laptop shut, to run back into the safety of Taichi's arms. But Taichi wasn't there. Only the twins, breathing softly in their crib. Only the silence of a home too empty without the man he loved.
Yu refreshed the page again, heart pounding. The replies kept coming, dozens, then hundreds, piling one on top of the other until his chest hurt from trying to breathe.
> "Get your kids somewhere safe before you confront him."
> "Pack a bag and disappear before he comes back—protect yourself."
> "Divorce him now. A man who treats you like this won't change."
That last one made him break. Divorce. The word felt like a knife in his chest. He covered his mouth with a trembling hand, trying to hold back sobs, but they leaked out anyway—sharp and broken, filling the silent apartment where only the twins' soft breaths kept him tethered to reality.
He whispered into the glow of the screen, as if the faceless commenters could hear him.
> "But… I've got two kids. And I'm pregnant again. What am I supposed to do?"
The responses weren't kind this time either. More—
> "Leave!"
More—
> "Lawyer up!"
More cold practicalities that cut too deep. His stomach clenched, his whole body shaking.
Finally, unable to hold it in, Yu grabbed his phone and opened the group chat with Fumiko, Haruka, and Sakura. His fingers stumbled over the keys as he typed everything—
Taichi's late nights, the perfume, the lipstick stain, the emptiness at home. And then, shamefully, the comments from strangers that maybe his friends had been right all along, that Taichi had always been a red flag.
The words blurred through his tears as he hit send. Seconds later, his phone buzzed. Then buzzed again. His friends were flooding him with replies, panic and love spilling through the screen.
Before he could reply, Haruka's name flashed. A call. Then Sakura and Fumiko joined, voices all overlapping at once, firm but tender, wrapping him in the warmth of their concern.
"Yu, breathe, okay? Just breathe for me."
"You're not alone in this. We're here."
"Listen—if you don't feel safe, we'll help you move the twins. Pack a bag, come stay with one of us."
Yu clutched the phone to his ear, curling over it as if their voices could hold him. The tears wouldn't stop, but the more they coaxed him, the more he felt the trembling inside him soften, just a little. Plans began forming—not grand escapes, not yet, but small steps. A bag at the ready. An address waiting if he needed to flee.
For the first time in days, Yu didn't feel like he was drowning alone.
The decision to leave—if only temporarily—wasn't made lightly. Yu could barely stop shaking as he folded each piece of clothing, slipping it into the suitcase meant for him and the twins. He had to pause more than once, clutching a tiny onesie against his chest and sobbing so hard he thought his ribs would break.
His phone, propped up on the dresser, stayed on speaker. Fumiko, Sakura, and Haruka rotated encouragements, their voices coaxing him gently forward.
"Yu, you're stronger than you think."
"Every step you take now is for them, for your babies."
"Just get the bags ready. You don't have to leave tonight, but you'll know you can if you need to."
It was Sakura and Haruka's larger apartment that they agreed would be the safest haven, at least for now. Fumiko's home was already crowded with her sister and family, but her warmth never wavered—she would come over the moment Yu needed her.
Yu zipped up the second bag, this one tiny shoes and bottles packed neatly beside his own softer pajamas. His hands lingered on the zipper, trembling, before finally pushing it closed. The sound broke his heart all over again.
He sat down hard on the edge of the bed, tears sliding silently down his cheeks.
'Why does it feel like I'm preparing for the end, when all I ever wanted was the beginning?'
But with his friends' steady voices on the line, he found the strength to tuck both bags discreetly near the closet. Hidden. Waiting. Just in case.
---
Meanwhile, across the city, Taichi had no idea.
He rubbed the back of his neck, exhaustion weighing heavy, but there was pride beneath the fatigue. The late nights, the skipped meals, the endless meetings—all of it seemed finally worth it. His supervisor had told him today:
If things kept up, he might be up for a promotion next quarter.
The words replayed in his head like a mantra. A promotion meant more money. More stability. More security for Yu, for the twins, for the new life Yu carried. It meant proof that he wasn't the angry boy his father had written off.
As he packed up his things at his desk, he thought.
'Just a little longer. Just a few more months, and then Yu won't have to worry about anything. I'll give him everything.'
But in the quiet, another thought lurked, one he didn't want to voice—hard work wasn't always enough. Sometimes it was power, not sweat, that decided who rose and who fell. His father was proof of that.
Taichi pushed the thought down. He wouldn't give in. He couldn't. Not when he was this close.
---
Yu's days became a quiet act of survival. Between diaper changes, cooking meals, and his changing body, he found moments to quietly tuck away necessities—diapers in one bag, spare clothes for the twins in another, his own things folded neatly beside. Every time he brushed past the hidden bags in the closet, his heart clenched. It wasn't that he wanted to leave. It was that he needed to know he could.
Meanwhile, Taichi pushed himself harder at work. His body sagged under exhaustion, but his pride grew sharper with every passing day. The promotion whispered like a promise in the distance, and he convinced himself it would all be worth it—the long hours, the distance, the late nights. Once he secured it, Yu would understand. Yu would forgive him for being absent. Yu would smile again.
Neither noticed the growing chasm, until the night the bags were discovered.
---
It was late. Taichi returned home, suit jacket slung carelessly over one arm, eyes heavy. He walked into their room, and—wanting to pick his own suit for tomorrow's meeting—he opened the closet door and there they were—two neatly packed bags hidden. His chest tightened.
"Yu?"
His voice was low, strained.
"What…what are these?"
Yu froze where he stood, clutching a bib in his hand. The words tangled in his throat. He wanted to say it wasn't what it looked like. He wanted to say it was just a precaution. But guilt and hurt coiled around him until silence was all he had.
Taichi's eyes hardened. Exhaustion and paranoia did the rest.
"You're leaving me…aren't you?"
His voice broke into a growl.
"You think I don't see it? Isuke, right? You're planning to run off to him while I—while I've been working myself into the ground for you! For our kids!"
Yu's lips trembled.
"That's not—"
But Taichi was already moving. In a burst of fury, he grabbed the bags and hurled them toward the garbage bin outside, the zipper straining open with the force. The sight of tiny clothes spilling onto the porch made Yu's heart shatter.
"Do you have any idea what I've done for us? What I've endured?!"
Taichi's voice was ragged, breaking.
"And for what? So you can fool around with my half-brother!? Tell me, Yu—"
His gaze, dark and wounded, cut straight through him.
"Is that baby even mine?"
The question dropped like a guillotine.
Yu snapped. His palm flew before he thought, the sharp slap echoing off the walls. Silence swallowed the room.
The twins broke into wails, their fragile cries filling the air. Yu's body moved on instinct, scooping them up, his expression cold and numb now.
"I'm leaving."
He said flatly, voice stripped of warmth.
"And I'm taking the twins."
He turned, clutching them close, his trembling fingers already dialing Fumiko's number.
"Please…come pick me up."
The front door shut with a final thud, leaving Taichi standing alone in their once-cozy home, the echo of Yu's slap still ringing in his ears.