Fumiko's tires skidded slightly as she braked in front of the small house, headlights sweeping across the yard—then her breath stopped. Yu stood beside the garbage bins, knees wobbling, arms full with two wailing one-year-olds clinging to him, and clothes strewn across the cold-damp ground like the aftermath of a storm. Taro cried into Yu's shoulder; Kenji hiccuped in panic against Yu's chest. Yu's belly—barely beginning to show at three months—was taut beneath his oversized sweatshirt as he bent, trying desperately to scoop up fallen shirts with one trembling hand while shushing his babies with the other.
Fumiko's fury detonated.
She slammed the car door so hard it rattled the windows and stormed across the yard.
"Taichi Arifukua, you absolute cowardly bastard—"
She barked toward the house even though she didn't know whether he was inside.
"—throwing your pregnant husband's things onto the street? Your husband? Your children? Have you lost your damn mind?"
Her voice trembled with a sharp edge, half rage, half heartbreak.
Then she reached Yu, voice immediately dropping but still shaking with emotion.
"Yu… oh my god."
She took the crying twins from his aching arms with a tenderness that contrasted violently with her earlier shouting.
"You shouldn't be bending like that—you're pregnant, for heaven's sake."
Yu's eyes were swollen, cheeks blotchy from trying not to cry.
"I—I'm sorry, Fumiko. I didn't know what else to do."
"Don't apologize to me."
She snapped—not at him, but at the whole situation—while adjusting Kenji against her shoulder.
"You call me anytime. Always."
She brushed a thumb over Taro's damp cheek, lips tightening with protective wrath.
"He threw his own children's clothes onto the ground. I swear, if he shows his face right now—"
Yu flinched slightly. Fumiko forced herself to breathe. She softened, stepping close and touching his arm.
"Let's get you all into the car first, sweetheart."
She guided him carefully, one arm around his back, the other balancing the twins. Once Yu and the babies were strapped securely in her backseat—Taro still sobbing in little bursts, Kenji clinging to Yu's sleeve—Fumiko marched back to the front door.
"Don't you dare come out here…"
She muttered at the house under her breath.
"Because if you do, I'm not responsible for what I'll do."
She crouched, scooping fistfuls of clothes into Yu's bags with harsh, jerking motions. Each piece—tiny socks, Yu's shirts, the twins' pajamas—made her jaw clench harder. She shoved the zipped bags into her trunk, slammed it shut with a thunderous crack, and got back into the driver's seat, breathing heavily through her nose.
When she pulled away, she didn't look back.
---
Twenty minutes later, Fumiko parked outside Sakura and Haruka's apartment building. Haruka rushed down the steps first, Sakura right behind her. Together, they helped Yu out of the car—Haruka taking the bags, Sakura reaching for the twins with gentle urgency.
Fumiko hovered, visibly torn, wanting to stay but knowing she couldn't.
"I have work in the morning."
She said tightly, brushing Yu's mussed hair back from his forehead.
"But I'll come right after. I don't care if I have to run here."
Yu nodded weakly.
"Thank you… really."
She cupped his face with both hands, her voice cracking.
"You and the babies are family to me. I'm not letting anyone—anyone—hurt you. Do you hear me?"
Yu's eyes shimmered. He nodded again.
Fumiko gave each twin a soft kiss on the head, then pulled Yu into a fierce hug, shielding his trembling body in her arms as if she could hide him from every bad thing in the world.
"Good luck, sweetheart. Rest. We'll help you handle this."
Then, reluctantly, she let go, stepped back, and forced herself into her car before she changed her mind and marched back to Taichi's house with murder in her eyes.
As she drove away, Sakura and Haruka steadied Yu—one on each side—guiding him gently toward the warm glow of their apartment, away from the cold night and whatever remained of the home he no longer felt safe in.
Sakura and Haruka's apartment smelled faintly of lavender, the air softer, warmer than the sharp silence Yu had left behind. Sakura guided him in gently, one hand at his back as Yu clutched the twins close, his face blotched with tears. Haruka was already there, blankets spread over the couch, a kettle steaming on the stove.
"Yu…"
Sakura whispered, her voice breaking as she saw him.
"You're safe now. Just rest, we'll take care of you."
Yu sank into the couch, knees trembling. The twins fussed, unsettled by their mother's shaking, but Sakura reached to hold Kenji while Haruka stroked Taro's soft hair. For the first time all night, Yu wasn't holding the weight of the world alone. Still, his chest burned with shame and grief.
His voice cracked when he finally spoke.
"I…I didn't want this. I didn't want to leave. But I had to. For them."
His gaze lingered on the boys, tears spilling anew. The girls leaned in, wrapping him in their arms and their warmth, reminding him that he was not alone, even when he felt most abandoned.
---
Back at the small house, the silence was unbearable. The bags were gone, the door closed tight, the walls echoing with absence. Taichi stumbled into the living room, his head throbbing, his chest aching worse than any hangover.
'Why had I said that? Is the baby even mine?'
The words clawed back at him like jagged glass. Yu—his Yu, the boy who had given him everything, who had carried his children, who had nearly died for their family—how could he ever doubt him?
Taichi dropped onto the couch, the same couch where they had shared whispered kisses and laughter, where Yu had crocheted tiny items while he worked beside him. Now it felt like a grave.
His breath hitched as tears poured, his forehead pressed into his palms. Memories flooded—Yu's shy smile on their first date, the warmth of his body curled against him at night, the raw, tender moments of raising their sons. Every piece of his life, every reason for his existence, was tied to Yu. And now, in one reckless night of anger and exhaustion, he had ripped it apart.
"What did I do wrong?"
His whisper cracked the silence.
"What could I have done right?"
The questions circled with no answers. Even when the tears stopped, the pain didn't. His chest felt hollow, like his heart had been ripped out and taken away. For the first time, Taichi was alone—and the weight of it nearly crushed him.
---
At Sakura and Haruka's two bedroom apartment, the night was quieter than they had been in months. No banging at the door, no drunken perfume-stained intrusions. Just the hush of city air through the balcony curtains and the rhythmic breathing of his twins as they slept nearby. And yet, Yu's heart wouldn't settle.
Every small sound—pipes shifting in the walls, a car door slamming outside—sent tremors through his body. He curled on the edge of the borrowed bed in Sakura's room, hands pressed protectively over his belly. He should have felt safe, but he didn't. He missed the familiar dip of Taichi's weight beside him, the grounding warmth of his arm thrown around his waist.
But every time that longing rose, the memory of Taichi's words cut deeper.
"Is the baby even mine?"
Yu's throat tightened, his chest aching with the betrayal. Tears slipped silently down his cheeks as Taro's and Kenji's soft snores echoed throughout the room. He wasn't alone anymore—but loneliness still gnawed at him.
In the second bedroom, Haruka lay curled against Sakura beneath the soft glow of her bedside lamp, the blankets pulled up to their chins. The room was quiet in that heavy, late-night way—where whispers felt safer than thoughts spoken aloud.
"Sakura… what Yu said—do you think it's true?"
Haruka's voice trembled.
"That Taichi is actually cheating? It doesn't make sense. They've been smitten with each other since high school. No one could ever get between them. They were practically made for each other."
Sakura sighed and nodded, but hesitation flickered in her eyes.
"I know. But… Isuke always seems to be involved somehow, doesn't he? Every big shift in their relationship traces back to him. And Taichi, he's normally so sweet, so thoughtful—always spoiling Yu whenever he can. Yet the moment Isuke is involved it's like Taichi becomes… I don't know. Illogical. Uncontrollable. Scary, like a—"
"…like a beast?"
Haruka whispered, finishing it for her.
The word hung there, heavy as a confession. It dredged up old memories neither of them liked to touch—whispered rumors, half-hidden incidents, and the one Haruka had seen with her own eyes:
Taichi beating four upperclassmen bloody in the club's storage shed, bones crunching beneath his knuckles, the feral look in his eyes… all to protect Yu, yes, but still monstrous in its brutality. Sakura shook her head quickly, forcing a laugh that didn't quite land.
"That was ages ago. High school. Kids being idiots. He's an adult now; he wouldn't act like that anymore."
But Haruka tightened her grip on the blankets.
"Sakura… do you think Taichi would ever… hit—"
"No!"
Sakura cut in sharply, sitting up before catching herself.
"No. There would be signs. Right? Taichi wouldn't…"
Yet her voice trailed off as old images surfaced—Taichi's trembling hands after a provocation, the way he'd struggled to breathe when he was angry, the once too possessive gestures. Haruka swallowed hard.
"For Yu's sake… I hope so."
Silence settled over them, delicate and uneasy. Sakura finally pulled Haruka close again, wrapping her arms around her girlfriend and resting her chin atop Haruka's head.
"It's just a bump in the road."
Sakura murmured, more to soothe them both than from certainty.
"Yu and Taichi… they'll be alright. They always find their way back."
She pressed a gentle kiss to Haruka's forehead. Slowly, with their doubts tucked tightly between them, the two drifted into a quiet, uneasy sleep.
---
Meanwhile, Taichi paced the floorboards until exhaustion dragged him down. His phone was clutched so tightly it left imprints in his skin. He'd called Yu's number again and again, left messages that started calm but quickly dissolved into desperation.
"Yu, please…please come back. I didn't mean it. I don't know what's wrong with me. Just come home. I need you."
No reply.
The walls seemed to mock him. The baby clothes folded neatly in the corner, Yu's crochet needles resting on the armrest, the faint scent of Yu's cooking still clinging to the kitchen. Each reminder carved another wound. He collapsed into the couch again and let the emptiness devour him, regret chewing through his chest.
By the next day, Taichi's desperation spilled into action. He tracked Yu's phone and showed up outside Sakura and Haruka's apartment, knocking, pleading. Sakura met him at the door, firm but not unkind, telling him Yu wasn't ready to see him. He could hear the twins crying faintly inside, and Yu's muffled voice soothing them. That sound—his family's sound—was almost too much to bear.
He left, but he didn't stop trying.
Calls.
Messages.
Waiting near Sakura's building, hoping for even a glimpse. Every time, he came up empty-handed.
But life, cruel as it was, didn't pause for heartbreak. The company pulled him deeper and deeper into its grinding gears. Meetings, deadlines, reports—each one a stepping stone to the promotion dangling just out of reach. He told himself it was all for Yu and the kids. That once he secured this position, he'd have the stability to win them back.
Yet the irony stung:
The harder he worked, the less he saw of them. And Yu, wrapped in his fragile cocoon of safety with their friends, drifted further from his grasp.
The long hours were eating away at him. Each morning, Taichi left home before dawn and returned long after night had fallen, his body reeking of coffee, ink, and fatigue. His coworkers praised his stamina, his supervisors lauded his diligence, and yet none of it brought him peace.
The further he buried himself in work, the more the distance between him and Yu stretched, taut like a fraying rope. His phone vibrated with unanswered texts, his voicemail filled with messages he hadn't the courage—or the time—to return. Every time he sat down at his desk, he told himself.
'This is for them. For Yu, for the twins, for the baby on the way. If I endure, it'll all be worth it. I can do it alone, without the old man's help. I will do it.'
But his face was hollowed by dark circles, his shoulders hunched from constant strain. Even his once-sharp eyes dulled.
Across the floor, Isuke Sasaki watched with calculating patience. He'd noticed the slumped posture, the forgotten lunches, the way Taichi sometimes stared at his phone before shoving it away like it was poison. Each small crack in Taichi's armor widened under the weight of relentless hours.
'Good.'
Isuke thought, fingers tapping idly against his desk.
'Keep burning yourself out. The more you break, the easier it will be to pry Yu away from you.'
His smirk was hidden behind polite smiles in meetings, but the satisfaction gleamed sharp in his eyes. The wedge he'd driven was working.
"Mr. Takeda, your employee, Taichi Arifukua, is doing so well with the amount of work you've given him. I believe he can achieve great things for this company. Why don't you give him more opportunities. Of course, you will be equally compensated for showing such favoritism. I am nothing if not fair, after all."
"Mr. Sasaki, you're too kind! Of course, of course! Anything for the chairman's son! You are wise as you are kind, giving such an inexperienced entry level employee such a generous opportunity to prove himself and rise amongst the ranks!"
---
While Taichi spiraled, Yu's days began to take on a fragile steadiness. At the apartment, surrounded by warmth and support, he wasn't alone anymore. The girls fussed over him like sisters, making him tea, insisting he nap, keeping the twins entertained when he looked too pale.
At first, Yu resisted. Every kindness scraped against the raw wound inside him, making him want to collapse. But as days turned into weeks, he began to let the warmth seep in. He answered their teasing with small smiles, then with chuckles, and finally with genuine laughter that surprised even himself.
Fumiko Fujimori, though she now lived further away, stopped by occasionally and taught him little hacks to keep the babies calm, while Sakura pressed him to eat properly and rest when Haruka was at work at an art gallery.
Yu still wept quietly at night, muffling his sobs into a pillow so as not to wake the twins. But little by little, the heavy shadow in his chest grew lighter. For the first time in months, he felt like maybe—just maybe—he wasn't carrying his burdens alone.
---
Since their fight and arriving at his friends apartment, Yu finally allowed himself to exhale. The apartment was quiet—no twins fussing for attention, no friends nudging him to eat more or teasing him about his "mother hen" tendencies. Just the low murmur of the TV filling the silence as he lay curled up on the couch, wrapped in a blanket that still carried the faint scent of Taichi's cologne.
He knew he should be resting—Sakura and Haruka had been insistent—but solitude was a double-edged sword. The silence pressed in around him, too sharp, too heavy, and Yu found himself glancing at the clock every few minutes, waiting for the sound of the front door opening and the twins' voices filling the air.
Then came the knock. Soft. Almost polite.
Yu froze, pulse hammering in his throat. He slowly padded toward the door with hesitant steps, checking the peephole. Nothing. Just the empty corridor, still and ordinary.
Swallowing his nerves, Yu cracked the door open. Still nothing. The hall remained deserted. Against his better judgment, he opened it wider and stepped outside, scanning the quiet hallway.
That was when the shadow shifted.
From the corner by the stairwell, Isuke stepped forward, emerging like a phantom that had been waiting all along. His dark blue eyes locked on Yu with feverish intensity, drinking him in as though this moment had been ordained.
"Yu."
He breathed, voice trembling with something between relief and obsession.
"Finally… my love."
Yu's entire body went rigid. His breath caught, his hands instinctively folding over the swell of his stomach as if to shield the unborn child. For weeks, he had been slowly stitching himself back together, but now—standing in the glow of Isuke's gaze—it felt as though every fragile thread had been cut loose.
Isuke's lips curved into a smile that was both tender and unsettling.
"I've missed you. Every day. You can't imagine what it's been like… watching you waste yourself on him when you should've been mine."
The corridor was too quiet, the air too still. Yu's mind screamed at him to retreat, to slam the door and lock it tight—but his body betrayed him, trembling under the weight of Isuke's presence, just as it had years before.
Yu's hand slowly hovered over to near the doorframe, trembling. Every nerve screamed for him to slam the door, to bolt it shut, but his body wouldn't obey. His feet felt cemented to the floor.
"Don't look at me like that."
Isuke whispered, stepping closer, his tone dripping with wounded affection.
"Like I'm a monster. You know what we had… I know you remember. Your body remembers."
Yu's breath caught. The words clawed through him, dredging up memories he'd buried beneath layers of love with Taichi, beneath laughter, domestic warmth, and the fragile cocoon of safety he'd just begun to rebuild. He shook his head, whispering.
"Stop… stop it. Please leave."
But Isuke only advanced, his smile deepening, sharp and hungry.
"You're shaking."
He said softly, almost reverently.
"Not because you fear me. Because you need me. You've always needed me."
Yu pressed his back against the doorframe, one hand wrapped tightly over his belly as if shielding the life within. His throat burned with unshed tears, his voice cracking.
"No. You're wrong. Stay away from me."
Isuke's steps grew bolder, his shadow filling the narrow hallway. The tension stretched, a taut wire ready to snap.
Then it did.
In a sudden lunge, Isuke pressed forward, his arm outstretched to grab Yu's wrist. Yu jerked back, adrenaline surging, and slammed his weight against the door to push it shut. The wood rattled violently as Isuke's hand slapped against it, stopping the door from closing.
"Don't fight me, Yu!"
He hissed, eyes burning.
"You belong to me—you've always belonged to me!"
Yu's scream tore out of him, raw and high-pitched, echoing through the corridor. He shoved desperately, the door groaning under the force, but Isuke pushed harder, his strength overwhelming.
"Help!"
Yu cried, tears spilling as he clawed at the frame with one hand, clutching his belly with the other.
"Somebody—please!"
The sound ricocheted through the apartment building.
And then—footsteps. Heavy, rushing. The echo of voices outside.
The twins, Sakura, Haruka… or worse—Taichi.
The fragile moment trembled on the knife's edge.
Then the door burst inward with a crack of wood as Isuke shoved his way through, his voice sharp but steady as he barked to the men outside.
"Keep everyone away. No interruptions."
Heavy footsteps shuffled into place, the muffled sound of bodies bracing against the door and settling into guard positions. Yu's blood ran cold. He stumbled backward, vision blurred with panic, until his heel caught the edge of the carpet. His balance gave out.
"Ah—!"
He pitched toward the floor, arms flailing—
—but Isuke's hand shot out. Strong, steady, pulling Yu upright before he could hit the ground.
For a heartbeat, Yu was wrapped in warmth. Isuke's arms were around him, firm and trembling, not with malice but with fear of what could have happened. It was instinctive, protective. Too protective.
And in that sick, traitorous instant, Yu's heart stuttered. It reminded him of Taichi.
The way Taichi would catch him when his knees buckled. The way Taichi's warmth felt like home, safe, grounding.
It wasn't Taichi, but Yu's body didn't know the difference.
Tears spilled hot and unbidden. His arms, shaking, lifted of their own accord and clung weakly to Isuke's shirt. He buried his face into the fabric, sobbing softly—yet the name that broke from his throat was not Isuke.
"Taichi…"
The sound gutted Isuke. His heart clenched, not from triumph but from bitter rejection. Even now, even in his arms, Yu cried for another man. He was being used, treated like a shadow, a substitute.
Yet Isuke held him tighter. His jaw clenched, but his eyes softened.
'It's fine…'
He told himself, over and over like a mantra.
'It's temporary. Soon you'll see. Soon you'll understand.'
His hand stroked Yu's trembling back with false gentleness, his voice low and coaxing.
"Cry if you need to, Yu. I'll hold you. I'll always hold you. Even if you call for him."
Yu's sobs only deepened. Each tear, each quiver of his body tore at Isuke and bound him tighter in the same breath.
This wasn't victory. Not yet. But it was close enough for him to believe it was within reach.
Yu's sobs slowly softened into hiccups, his tears dampening the fabric of Isuke's shirt. The warmth of his arms was suffocating—too close, too firm. Yu shifted, wriggling faintly against the hold, but Isuke's arms only tightened, like chains that wouldn't let go.
"Don't pull away."
Isuke murmured, his voice low, almost pleading.
"Let me keep you like this a little longer."
Yu whimpered, a small, squeaked sound of discomfort escaping his throat. The moment it left him, Isuke froze. His grip loosened reluctantly, just enough to let Yu breathe. He studied Yu's face, still flushed from tears, and the raw panic behind his eyes.
"Fine."
Isuke whispered.
"I don't want to hurt you. I never wanted to hurt you."
Isuke reached into his pocket with deliberate slowness, retrieving his phone. He unlocked it, the glow of the screen casting eerie shadows across his features. He turned it toward Yu.
"Do you want to know why I came today?"
His tone was gentler now, coaxing, like he was offering truth instead of poison.
On the phone's screen:
Photos. Dozens of them. Taichi in crisp suits, seated at restaurants and night clubs. His arm draped casually over the back of chairs, smiling easily, glass raised mid-toast. Women leaned in close, their faces painted with delight, their hands brushing his sleeve. From one angle, it looked like Taichi's lips almost touched a girl's ear as she whispered something, his grin wide and careless.
To Yu's eyes, it was damning.
"See?"
Isuke's voice dropped into a soft, knowing hum.
"While you've been crying alone, clinging to a dream that's slipping through your fingers, he's been out there—laughing, drinking, surrounded by women. He's playing the part of a perfect husband with you, but look at him. Look at what he does when you're not watching."
Yu's breath hitched. His trembling fingers hovered near the screen as if he needed to touch the images to make them real. His mind spun, bile rising in his throat.
'Taichi… smiling… while I—while we—'
The tears came again, silent this time, but Isuke smiled faintly, tilting the phone so Yu couldn't look away.
"Your heart doesn't need to break anymore…"
He whispered.
"I can take care of you. I always wanted to. All you have to do is see me, Yu. Just see me."
Yu's eyes blurred over as the photos burned themselves into his mind.
'No… no, Taichi wouldn't…'
His hands trembled as if holding onto the very idea of Taichi's loyalty, but the images pried his grip loose finger by finger. The smile on Taichi's face, the way women leaned in close, the tilt of his glass—it was too vivid, too undeniable.
'He promised… he promised me forever. He said I was enough.'
Yu's chest tightened until his breath came in ragged shudders. He tried to blink away the sting of tears, tried to force reason through the fog. But the more he looked, the more those smiles mocked him.
A sob tore out, raw and unsteady. He almost doubled over under the weight of it, knees buckling.
'If this is true, then… everything I've been clinging to… all of it… was a lie.'
Isuke didn't move at first—just watched, drinking in the cracks spreading across Yu's resolve. Silence was better than a rejection. Silence meant Yu was questioning. Doubting.
"Do you see now?"
He whispered, careful, reverent, as though speaking to something fragile he didn't want to scare away.
"You don't have to pretend anymore. He's not who you think he is."
His free hand slid slowly, deliberately, around Yu's waist. When Yu didn't flinch—too consumed by the photos to notice—Isuke's heart surged with triumph. Warmth pressed against him, solid and real. For years he had dreamed of this closeness, and now… here Yu was, trembling, leaning, allowing.
Yu's body gave way, unsteady, almost collapsing. Instinctively, Isuke caught him, arms tightening with practiced ease. He held Yu upright, then closer still, pulling him flush against his chest as though to keep him from shattering.
Yu's sobs broke anew, soaking his shoulder. His fingers twitched uselessly against Isuke's shirt before curling in, clinging—not out of love, not out of want, but out of sheer need for something, anything, to keep him from falling apart.
Isuke rocked him gently, side to side, murmuring soft sounds of comfort as though they were lovers long reunited. His hand slid through Yu's pale hair, petting, soothing, coaxing.
"Shhh… it's alright. I've got you."
He crooned, lips curling into a smile that never reached his eyes.
"I've always got you, Yu."
Inside, Isuke's chest swelled. Every tear, every shudder, every second Yu stayed in his arms was proof—proof that his place was here, proof that Taichi was losing ground. His smile sharpened as he pressed Yu tighter against him, rocking him like something precious, whispering.
"This is where you belong."
The images still glared at Yu from the phone screen, each one a dagger to his chest. Taichi smiling… laughing… surrounded by them. His throat closed tight, air ragged as he tried to deny what his eyes saw. His mind screamed No, but his heart—the heart that had endured years of torment—wavered.
His sobs slowed into shallow, fragile hiccups. His body still shook, but not as violently. The fight in him dulled, frayed by exhaustion, by doubt, by the cruel seed Isuke had planted. Whimpers slipped out unbidden, soft, helpless sounds that made Yu hate himself for how weak they felt.
Isuke's lips curved into something that almost looked kind. He shifted the phone to one hand and with the other, cupped Yu's damp cheek. His thumb brushed along tear-streaks with mock reverence, savoring the way Yu's skin shivered beneath his touch.
"Don't cry, my love."
Isuke whispered, voice honey-sweet but thick with possessive triumph.
"He doesn't deserve these tears. But I'll take them. I'll treasure every one."
Yu's lashes fluttered, confusion spiraling through him. The hand on his face felt steady, grounding even—but wrong. Deeply wrong. Still, his body, starved of comfort and desperate for warmth, didn't pull back. Didn't scream. Didn't resist.
Slowly, Isuke leaned in. His lips ghosted over Yu's, feather-light at first, testing. Yu froze, caught in a storm of conflicted sensations—revulsion warring with an unwanted warmth that curled traitorously in his chest. His heart betrayed him with a weak flutter, so faint he almost convinced himself it wasn't there.
But he didn't cry out. Didn't shove him away. Didn't fight.
And that silence was all the permission Isuke needed. His smile widened against Yu's lips as he pressed harder, deepening the kiss, savoring the fragile surrender. To him, this was not violation but destiny, a reunion written in stars. His hand slid more firmly against Yu's cheek, holding him steady, claiming him.