The world outside seemed to fade, leaving only the steady rhythm of two heartbeats pressed close. Taichi's arms wrapped around Yu as though he might never let go again. His palm rested protectively over Yu's swollen belly, thumb tracing small, slow circles that whispered comfort more than words ever could.
Yu lay curled against him, back flush to chest, the warmth of Taichi's breath brushing against the crown of his head. One of Taichi's hands was tucked beneath Yu's head, their fingers interlocked. Yu's long white hair spilled across Taichi's arm like silk, strands catching the dim lamplight.
Yu toyed with the silver ring on Taichi's finger—the same as his own with the emerald being the only difference—his thumb rubbing over the ruby set in its band. The stone glinted faintly, a mirror of his own red eyes—matching, bound, and inseparable. He felt the ring's weight, its permanence, and in that tiny motion he read everything he needed:
We're together. We're alright. We're healing. And we'll get through this—stronger than before.
No words left their lips, yet everything was said. In silence, they both breathed into the truth of that fragile moment.
---
Dawn bled soft gold through the curtains. Yu stirred first, eyes blinking open to a quiet house, the world muffled in the hush of early morning. Taichi was still behind him, arm draped across his waist, hand splayed protectively over his belly even in sleep.
For the first time in what felt like years, Yu woke not to loneliness, not to the gnawing ache of absence, but to Taichi's warmth anchoring him. He lay still, listening to the gentle rhythm of Taichi's breathing, feeling his chest rise and fall against his back.
When Taichi stirred awake, his eyes opened to Yu already watching him, ruby-red gaze softened with both exhaustion and something deeper—fragile hope. Their first smiles that morning were small, tentative, but they were real.
No grand declarations, no desperate pleas. Just the fragile comfort of sharing breakfast together, of moving through their morning side by side. Washing dishes together. Straightening the house. Sitting quietly as the twins came home later, noisy and full of life.
In the daylight, it was clear:
The scars were still there. The wounds would take time to fully heal. But for the first time in a long while, there was also space for light to seep back in.
At first, it was tentative.
A brush of Taichi's hand at Yu's lower back when passing through the hallway. Yu leaning just a fraction longer against Taichi's shoulder when sitting together with the twins. Shared glances in the kitchen that lingered a heartbeat too long before either of them looked away.
Each step was a quiet test:
Do you still want me?
Do you still trust me?
And each time, the answer—unspoken but clear—was yes.
Kisses returned slowly, not the fiery passion of their early years, but the gentle rediscovery of lips pressed together, of foreheads resting close, of breathing the same air. At night, they shifted closer in bed, Yu's fingers tracing absent patterns on Taichi's skin, Taichi's arm instinctively circling Yu's waist. Their intimacy was reborn as something quieter, more fragile—but also deeper, layered with the scars of all they had endured.
In the daylight, life wove them into new rhythms.
Mornings became soft routines of making breakfast together, Yu laughing quietly when Taichi fumbled the eggs, Taichi sneaking a kiss to Yu's temple while pouring tea.
Afternoons were spent with the twins, Yu reading stories aloud while Taichi helped baby-proof yet another corner of the house. Sometimes, Yu napped on the couch with one of the boys sprawled across his chest, and Taichi would watch, a quiet ache in his chest at how much he had almost lost.
Evenings brought conversation again—halting at first, but growing steadier. Sometimes, they revisited their counseling notes, reminding themselves of the tools they'd been given. Other times, they simply sat in silence, letting their presence be enough.
The wounds between them hadn't vanished. Trust did not rebuild in a day. But each gentle kiss, each shared chore, each night spent curled together without anger—it all stitched them closer again.
Both Yu and Taichi knew:
This was not the same love as before. It was not the sweet simplicity of their youth, nor the fierce desperation of their reconciliation. This was something new—love that bore the weight of scars, that demanded patience and honesty and deliberate choice.
And in the quiet moments—Yu's hair spilling over Taichi's arm as he slept, Taichi murmuring his thanks for a simple meal—both felt it:
Not the end of their love story.
But the fragile beginning of its next chapter.
Their first nights back together were hesitant, but with each passing day, boldness crept in.
Taichi began to kiss Yu in the kitchen again, not hurried or distracted, but fully—holding Yu's chin, pressing his lips against Yu's until the twins inevitably interrupted with squeals.
Yu, shy at first, began to lean into those kisses, teasing Taichi by brushing his fingers across his jaw or tugging at his tie when he returned from work. The little touches they had lost—handholding, forehead presses, sleepy embraces—returned naturally, like muscles remembering their true shape.
At night, Yu no longer kept distance in bed. His body curved into Taichi's without fear, and sometimes, in the safety of shadows, they let desire spill into something raw and tender. Every touch was deliberate, every gasp earned—not just passion but proof:
I still want you.
I still choose you.
Day by day, they relearned each other—not as the reckless couple of their youth, nor the fractured lovers nearly broken apart, but as two people fighting to be stronger together.
Just as their private world began to mend, the outside world pushed back in.
It came one evening, while Taichi was home early for once, sitting on the couch with Yu nestled against him, both watching the twins toddle after blocks. His phone buzzed.
At first, he thought to ignore it, but the sender's name made his brow furrow. Riku Arifukua.
The message was polite, almost casual.
Old man: Taichi, I'd like you and your family to come to dinner. It's time we gathered properly as a family. Isuke will be there as well. Consider this important.
Taichi's stomach dropped. He reread the message three times, his grip tightening on the phone until Yu looked up, curious.
Riku didn't know. He didn't know about the affair, the betrayal, the rivalry between his two sons over Yu. To him, this was simply a father's attempt at unity, at drawing his fractured family together.
But for Taichi and Yu—especially Yu—the invitation was a spark in a powder keg.
The words on the screen might as well have been knives. Taichi stared at his father's message, his jaw clenching so tightly it hurt. Dinner. Family. Isuke. The combination made bile rise in his throat.
Yu, sensing the tension, leaned into him gently, eyes soft but wary.
"Maybe… you should go without me. I can stay home. The babies tire me easily, and being pregnant is an excuse no one would question."
His voice was timid, the suggestion more plea than strategy.
For a brief, dangerous second, Taichi considered it. The thought of shielding Yu from Isuke's presence soothed him—but only for a moment. Then the echoes of their counseling sessions clawed back into his mind:
Hiding the problem isn't fixing it.
That had been his mistake as a boy. He'd sent Isuke abroad, thinking distance would solve everything. It hadn't. The problem had rotted in the dark and returned stronger, poisoning their lives again. Taichi looked at Yu now—his love, his anchor—with the twins playing at their feet and the vast swell of new life beneath Yu's shirt.
If he ran again, he might lose it all.
"No."
Taichi said at last, voice low but steady. He turned the phone off and set it aside before looking Yu in the eyes.
"We'll go together. All of us. If I'm going to protect this family, I can't keep running from him. I need to face Isuke, tell the old—tell my dad the truth, and make sure he knows exactly what he's dealing with. Not just for me—for you, for Taro and Kenji, for the babies."
Yu's breath hitched. Fear flashed in his ruby eyes, but beneath it was something else—trust. Slowly, shakily, he reached for Taichi's hand. Their fingers intertwined, the gesture small but unshakable.
"I'm scared, darling."
Yu whispered, voice breaking.
"I know."
Taichi admitted. He leaned forward, pressing his forehead against Yu's, their joined hands resting over Yu's belly.
"But we'll go through this together. No more secrets. No more running."
Yu nodded, silent tears clinging to his lashes, but he didn't pull away. He held Taichi's hand tighter, grounding himself in the only promise that mattered:
Together.
---
The estate loomed like a fortress—marble pillars, manicured hedges, and the chill of wealth that had never once felt like home. Taichi adjusted the strap of the twins' carrier with stiff hands, his jaw set. Beside him, Yu's fingers were laced through his, trembling. Their sons babbled softly, the innocent noise strangely out of place in the cold grandeur.
A servant greeted them, bowing low, and ushered them inside. The air smelled of polished wood and old power. Every step echoed like a challenge.
Riku Arifukua stood at the dining hall's entrance, composed in his dark suit. His expression softened when he saw the twins, but the weight of his gaze lingered on Yu, then flicked to Taichi.
"You came."
He said simply.
Taichi only nodded. Yu, polite despite his nerves, bowed faintly, whispering.
"Thank you for inviting us."
…
The dinner table stretched too long for comfort, candles flickering in tall holders, silverware arranged with military precision. Yu sat with the twins close, their highchairs placed beside him, while Taichi took the chair at his other side. Across from them, Riku. And next to him at the table, Isuke, smiling faintly, eyes sharp as a hawk.
The silence between them was alive. Every clink of cutlery sounded like a shot fired.
"Family."
Riku began, raising his glass.
"It has been too long since this word had weight in this house."
He looked meaningfully at Taichi, then at Isuke, before resting his gaze on Yu.
"Tonight, we mend."
Yu's stomach twisted.
Isuke leaned back in his chair, voice smooth.
"I couldn't agree more, Father. After all, family should be honest with one another. Don't you think so, Taichi?"
The jab landed like a blade. Taichi's grip tightened around his fork, knuckles pale. Yu shifted uneasily, lowering his eyes to the twins.
"Yes."
Taichi said at last, his voice firm but strained.
"Honesty is overdue."
Riku's brow lifted.
"Then perhaps tonight is the night. Speak freely. The past is a chain that will drag us all under unless it is broken."
The words opened the floor—and all the unspoken tensions crackled like kindling waiting for a spark.
Isuke's smirk deepened.
"Then let's start with the obvious. Yu looks well. Radiant, even. Carrying life suits you, doesn't it?"
His gaze slid over Yu's belly in a way that made Taichi's blood surge.
"Don't!"
Taichi snapped, the word cutting across the table like thunder.
Yu flinched, his hand instinctively covering his belly. The twins stirred in their chairs, sensing the rising storm.
Riku's voice cut through, sharp as steel.
"Enough circling. If you've brought your grievances, lay them bare here. No more shadows, no more whispers."
The table went silent, but the silence was heavy, suffocating. Taichi's heart hammered. Yu's throat tightened. Isuke's smirk never faltered.
The moment had arrived—the truth was about to break.
Yu sat beside the twins' highchairs, fingers nervously smoothing the edge of his napkin. His ruby eyes flicked from Taichi's tense shoulders to Isuke's steady smirk, then down to the candles that swayed between them. The light flickered across Isuke's face, softening the sharpness into something almost tender. It twisted Yu's insides.
Despite himself, his chest tightened with the memory of Isuke's warmth—the way he had held him when Taichi wasn't there, the way his words, no matter how manipulative, had felt like balm on raw wounds. Yu hated himself for it. He loved Taichi. He knew that. But the remnants of that desperate hunger for warmth still pulsed inside him, making him feel sick.
He glanced at the twins. They gurgled softly, little fists waving in the air, innocent of the storm above their heads. His heart ached. How could he ever explain this chaos to them? That their papa and the man across the table—one their father, one their half uncle—had nearly torn him apart?
The silence stretched too long, heavy as stone. Yu's throat burned. He wanted to beg them to stop, to not do this here, but the air was already cracking with unspoken truths.
Taichi broke first. His voice was low, but it shook with rage and shame.
"You don't get to look at him like that!"
He said, eyes locked on Isuke.
"You don't get to act like you belong here—like you haven't spent years destroying him."
Isuke's smirk widened, his tone deceptively calm.
"Destroying him? Or showing him the truth you refused to see? That you neglected him. That when you left him cold and alone, I was the one there."
His gaze slid to Yu, hungry.
"He came to me, Taichi. He chose me."
Yu's breath caught.
"Stop—"
But Taichi was already on his feet, palms slamming against the table.
"Chose you? You manipulated him! You preyed on him when he was at his weakest! You think I don't know what you've done to him since high school? You don't love him—you never did!"
"Love?"
Isuke laughed once, bitter and sharp.
"You're right. Maybe I don't love him the same way you do. Because if I did, I would have also let him fall into the bed of another man. I saw him. I touched him. And he didn't push me away. Can you say the same when you were drowning yourself in liquor and perfume-stained shirts?"
The words struck like daggers. Yu's heart clenched, shame and guilt rising in his throat. He wanted to speak, to explain, but all that came was a whisper.
"Please… stop…"
Riku's voice finally thundered, shattering the air.
"Enough!"
His hand struck the table.
"I will not have my house turned into a battlefield over the one person here who has shown more grace than either of you."
His sharp eyes cut between them, then softened on Yu.
Yu lowered his gaze, trembling. The truth was out now, jagged and raw, and nothing would ever be the same.
The silence after Yu's trembling plea stretched unbearably before Riku's palm cracked down on the table again. His eyes—sharp, aged, weary—burned first at Taichi, then at Isuke.
"You both disgust me."
He said, his voice deep with restrained fury.
"One of you hides behind pride, neglecting the family he begged for. The other hides behind obsession, twisting weakness into opportunity."
His chest rose, his jaw tight.
"Do you not see? The woman—"
His words faltered, correcting himself.
"—the person you both claim to love is breaking before your very eyes, and all you do is tear him in two."
Taichi bowed his head, shame pulling his shoulders down. Isuke sat straighter, but the smirk had gone, replaced with a tight line that betrayed his anger.
Riku continued, each word cutting like glass.
"Yu is not a prize to be won. He is the mother of your children, Taichi. He is your sister-in-law, Isuke, whether you like it or not. And he deserves peace, not this battlefield you've made of his life."
The air thickened. Yu's pulse hammered in his ears as Riku's words crashed into him. The shame, the weight of all the months, the tug-of-war between Taichi and Isuke—it pressed until he could barely breathe. He pushed back his chair, his napkin tumbling to the floor.
"Enough…"
He whispered, his hand pressing against the swell of his belly. But then—a sudden, sharp pain stabbed through him, fierce enough to steal his breath. His eyes went wide, panic flashing.
"Taichi—"
His fingers clutched desperately at Taichi's sleeve, ruby eyes shining with terror.
"Something's wrong with the babies—"
His knees buckled. The room lurched sideways. Before his body could hit the floor, Taichi's arms were already around him, cradling him tight against his chest.
"Yu!"
Taichi's voice broke with panic. He gathered Yu close, as if holding him tighter might will away the pain.
"Dad—call an ambulance, now!"
Riku shot up from his chair, authority flooding back into him.
"Ling!"
He barked, voice echoing off the dining hall walls.
"Fetch the on-site doctor immediately. And you—"
He snapped to another servant already darting forward.
"Call the hospital, my private one. Tell them we're on our way. Inform Dr. Kanda he is to prepare for an emergency intake. Now!"
Servants rushed in different directions, their footsteps pounding through the estate.
Riku leaned closer, his usually cold tone edged with urgency.
"Hold him steady, Taichi. Don't let him lose consciousness. Help is coming."
But Yu's head lolled weakly against Taichi's chest, his breaths shallow, his skin pale. The world blurred around him as the voices became distant thunder.
The last thing Yu saw before darkness claimed him was Taichi's tear-streaked face hovering above, whispering over and over.
"Stay with me, Yu. Please, stay with me."
The dining hall became a storm of movement. Servants ran with quick precision, their polished shoes echoing over the marble. Orders flew from Riku like lightning strikes, every word sharpened with command.
"Car's at the front. Blankets—now. And clear the path!"
Taichi scooped Yu into his arms as he raced to the front where the limousine waited, clutching him as though letting go would mean losing him forever. His voice cracked as he murmured against Yu's pale hair.
"Stay with me, Yu… just a little longer, please."
The twins' cries rose somewhere down the corridor—frightened, confused by the sudden commotion—but they were quickly gathered away by the staff. Taichi's heart twisted as he heard their wails, but his focus could only cling to Yu.
Riku strode beside him, face carved in stone, one hand holding his phone tight to his ear.
"We're five minutes out!"
He barked to the hospital.
"Everything must be ready—OB, emergency, full staff. Yes, now!"
Upon reaching outside, Riku opened the door and Taichi flung himself into the backseat, careful to not jostle Yu in his arms at the cost of cushioning the harsh landing on his bottom.
The moment Riku shut the door behind him, the limousine roared down the private drive faster than it had ever gone. Inside, the world shrank to the heat of Yu's limp body in Taichi's lap, the sound of his shallow breaths. Taichi brushed damp strands of white hair from Yu's face, his hands trembling.
"Open your eyes for me."
He whispered desperately.
"Just for a second. Look at me, Yu."
His tears fell onto Yu's cheeks, mixing with his cold sweat.
Riku sat across from them, his own jaw clenched tight. For once, he said nothing—only watching, the lines around his eyes deepening as if years had carved themselves into him in mere minutes.
For Yu, the world blurred in and out, sounds muffled like he was underwater. Yu felt the thrum of the car, the rocking motion, Taichi's arms tight around him. His chest ached. His belly felt heavy, every stab of pain sharp and unnatural.
'Am I…losing them?'
The thought clawed through him, jagged and desperate.
He tried to speak, to call Taichi's name, but all that slipped from his lips was a faint whimper. Warmth brushed his skin—a hand stroking his hair, another gripping his own. He clung weakly, his fingers curling around Taichi's, needing the anchor.
Through the fog, he heard fragments:
"—stay awake…"
"—hospital's ready…"
"—hold on, please hold on…"
Shadows swirled at the edges of his sight, threatening to pull him under. He turned his head just enough to catch Taichi's face—blurry, but shining with tears, his lips moving with words Yu could barely grasp.
'Don't cry.'
Yu wanted to say.
'I'm still here.'
But the darkness surged again, swallowing him, leaving only the steady beat of Taichi's frantic heart against his ear as the car raced through the night.