Yu's voice trembled, his hands twisting in his lap as though trying to wring the truth out of his own flesh.
"He came to me one day—Isuke. He showed me photos. You, Taichi. With women. Drinking, laughing. While I lay in bed every night waiting for you. Waiting for… for warmth that never came."
Taichi froze, eyes widening in disbelief, but Yu pressed on, each word raw and jagged.
"Each day you were gone, each unanswered message, each cold night—you pushed me further into his arms. And eventually…"
Yu's voice cracked, his tears falling freely now.
"Eventually, I made what you accused me of come true. I—"
His chest heaved, the words catching in his throat before breaking free.
"I slept with him."
The room reeled. Fumiko's breath hitched audibly, her hand tightening around her phone, thumb hovering over the screen to call in Yamato and Souma if Taichi lunged. She had suspected hurt, suspected Yu might have let Isuke's shadow close in again—but she had never imagined this.
Her sharp eyes flicked immediately to Taichi, watching every muscle, every twitch in his face, ready to act if pain turned to fury.
But Taichi didn't move.
He sat frozen on the floor, still on his knees, his body carved into silence as though struck by lightning. His lips parted slightly, breath shallow, eyes glassy with shock. Everything around him—the ticking clock, the breeze through the curtains, the trembling breaths of the people in the room—seemed to fade into a muted blur.
The world tilted, his axis shifted.
It wasn't rage that filled him first. It wasn't even grief. It was emptiness. A hollow tearing from the center of his chest outward, as though Yu's words had scooped his heart clean from his body and left nothing behind.
Fumiko shifted closer to Yu, ready to intervene, but Taichi didn't lift his head. His hands were limp in his lap, his body unmoving except for the faint shiver of his shoulders.
The silence stretched, thick and suffocating, as if even the house itself was afraid to breathe.
Yu wiped his tears with the back of his hand, unable to meet Taichi's eyes, shame and guilt gnawing through him like acid. Fumiko's jaw tightened, her heart pounding with dread.
Everything balanced on the edge of what Taichi would say—or do—next.
The quiet dragged on, merciless, as Yu's sobs filled the space with a trembling rhythm. His chest ached with every shaky breath.
Fumiko stayed tense beside him, one hand hovering close to Yu's arm, her other hand tight around her phone, thumb brushing the screen but not yet pressing. Her sharp eyes never left Taichi, scanning every shift of his shoulders, the shallow rise and fall of his chest, waiting for the storm she thought would come.
But Taichi didn't storm.
A low, broken sound clawed its way from his throat.
"Oh God…"
His voice cracked into pieces. His knees scraped against the floor as he lurched forward, dragging himself across the tatami until he collapsed against Yu's legs.
He buried his face in Yu's lap, shoulders trembling, his voice spilling out in ragged gasps.
"Oh God, what have I done? Yu, please—please forgive me. Please come back. We can fix this, I swear we can fix this. I'll do anything. I still love you—always loved you. We can rebuild. We can go back, just like before, please—"
The words tumbled out of him like a drowning man clawing at the surface, desperate for air. His tears soaked into Yu's clothes. His hands clutched Yu's legs as though if he let go, everything would vanish.
Yu's vision blurred, tears streaming freely now. He trembled, one hand instinctively reaching down, smoothing through Taichi's hair the way he used to when they were younger, when Taichi would fall asleep, laying or leaning on him.
"I'm sorry…"
Yu's voice shook but carried a quiet strength.
"I'm sorry, Taichi. But we can't go back to how things used to be. That… that's gone."
His throat tightened, but he pressed on.
He leaned down, his free hand finding Taichi's, gripping it firmly.
"But maybe… maybe we can move forward. If you want. If we're strong enough."
Fumiko's chest rose and fell, her composure breaking as she wiped at her own eyes.
"Finally."
She muttered, half to herself. Then, louder, her voice sharp but threaded with affection.
"You two are idiots. You're geniuses when it comes to school, to work, to everyone else's lives, but when it comes to your own hearts? Dumb. So dumb."
Her laugh broke on a sob, and she pressed her fingers to her eyes.
Yu let out a watery laugh. Taichi, still clutching Yu's hand, gave a broken chuckle through his tears.
Fumiko sniffed and straightened, her voice firm again.
"You two love each other. Anyone can see that. But love isn't enough if you're both tearing yourselves apart. You need help. Real help. Like couples counseling. It's common overseas—people do it all the time to reconnect, to figure out how to listen, how to heal. You two need that. For yourselves, and for those babies who deserve better than this mess."
The words hung heavy in the room. Yu and Taichi, tear-streaked, stared at one another. Their laughter and sobbing tangled together like threads of the same knot—messy, raw, but undeniably connected.
Finally, both nodded, almost in unison.
"Yeah."
Yu whispered.
"Yeah."
Taichi echoed, voice hoarse but resolute.
They held onto each other like it was the only thing keeping them upright, promising silently and aloud to try—to do better. To begin again, not by chasing the past, but by fighting for a future neither wanted to lose.
---
The front door creaked open, and Fumiko stepped out first. Her face was blotchy from tears, but there was a firmness in the way she held herself. Yamato and Souma, who had been pacing the sidewalk in quiet tension, straightened instantly.
"Well?"
Yamato pressed.
Fumiko exhaled, then let a tired smile break through.
"They're talking. Really talking. It's not perfect—hell, it's raw and messy—but they've agreed to try. Counseling, moving forward. They're not giving up."
Souma's shoulders slumped in visible relief. He muttered a low
"Finally."
Rubbing at his face as though a knot in his chest had just been loosened. Yamato, though still stiff with worry, allowed himself a rare grin.
From their apartment, Sakura and Haruka, who had been looking after the twins, received the news from Fumiko through text message and glanced at one another. Their eyes were shining.
"It worked."
Sakura whispered, clutching Haruka's arm.
"They're going to fight for it."
---
The house was quiet again after Fumiko left them, leaving only the ragged breaths of two men who had run themselves raw with grief, anger, and love.
Yu sat on the couch, his hands folded tightly in his lap. His cheeks were blotched from crying, his eyes swollen, but there was a strange lightness in his chest. Not relief exactly, but something softer than despair.
Taichi, still on his knees, shifted closer. His movements were hesitant now, stripped of all the rage and desperation that had once driven him. Slowly, cautiously, as if afraid the smallest misstep would send Yu fleeing again, he reached for Yu's cheek and gently stroked the stained tears with his calloused rough thumb.
Yu stared down at the calloused fingers over his own. His heart stuttered. For a moment he thought to pull away—to remind himself of all the hurt, all the betrayal. But instead, with trembling resolve, he interlocked his fingers with Taichi's.
The warmth was almost unbearable in its simplicity.
"I…"
Yu's voice was barely more than a whisper. He swallowed hard, searching for the words.
"I think… I'll come back soon. Not today. Not tomorrow. But… soon."
His thumb brushed nervously against the back of Taichi's hand.
"We'll start over. With help. But only if you're ready."
Taichi's throat worked as he tried to speak, but all that came out was a strained.
"Yes. Anything. I'll be ready."
His grip tightened just slightly, enough to ground them both.
They sat like that for a long time, in silence—but it was a different silence than before. Not heavy with dread or accusation, but fragile, tentative, holding the weight of promises neither could afford to break again.
---
The room was quiet, neutral, almost too safe—cream walls, a round table, and a box of tissues strategically placed within reach. Yu sat stiffly on one side, hands folded tight in his lap, eyes on the carpet. Taichi sat across from him, shoulders hunched, looking far smaller than his size should allow. Between them, Ms. Hayama—a middle-aged woman with kind eyes—smiled gently, though her gaze was sharp, weighing every silence.
"Well…"
She began.
"I'd like to start by having each of you share why you're here. In your own words."
Taichi's throat bobbed. He rubbed his palms over his knees.
"Because I don't want to lose him."
He said hoarsely.
"I messed up. I got lost in work, I stopped showing him how much he meant to me. I said things—terrible things—I didn't mean. And he…"
His voice cracked.
"He drifted away. But I can't blame him. I drove him there."
Yu's eyes stung. For a moment, silence pressed between them. Then, with a shaky breath, Yu spoke.
"I'm here because… I don't know if I can forgive him. I want to. But when he doubted me, doubted the babies I carried, it broke something inside me. And I made choices I regret. I betrayed him, too."
His voice trembled but didn't falter.
"I don't know if we can be what we were, but I want to see if we can be something new. For the twins. For the babies. For us."
Ms. Hayama nodded slowly.
"Good. That's honesty. Painful, but necessary. We'll start there."
The session wove on—halting confessions, long silences, moments where voices rose before crumbling back into tears. It was raw, messy, but for the first time, both spoke with open hearts, no shields, no pretense. By the end, Ms. Hayama leaned forward, her voice steady.
"You're not healed. Not yet. But you've chosen not to walk away. That's the first step."
Even after that first session, Yu didn't move back immediately. He remained with Sakura and Haruka, the twins tucked safely in their routines. At night, when the apartment quieted, he sat awake staring at his phone, rereading Taichi's apologies and his own half-finished replies. Some nights he wept quietly, others he felt the faint stirrings of hope.
Texts from Isuke still came. Soft, insistent.
Isuke: I miss you.
Isuke: The boys must be growing so fast.
Isuke: Can I see you soon?
Yu stared at the words until his chest ached. Finally, one night, with trembling fingers, he typed back.
Yu: It's over. Whatever this was—it ends now. I won't betray Taichi again. We're family by blood through him, nothing more. Please don't contact me like this anymore.
He pressed send before he could take it back. His heart hammered.
Isuke's reply came minutes later.
Isuke: If that's what you want. But know I'll always be here for you. I love you, Yu🩵.
Yu shut off his phone, curling around his sleeping twins. The weight of guilt still sat heavy, but beneath it was a fragile ember of determination. For the first time in months, his choice felt clear.
---
The message burned against the screen, stark and final.
"It's over… we're family by blood through him, nothing more."
Isuke sat back in his leather chair, the manor quiet except for the ticking of a clock. For a moment, silence filled him. Then—softly, almost tenderly—he laughed.
"Over?"
He murmured to the empty room, running a hand down his face.
"No, Yu… it's never over."
In his twisted logic, Yu's words weren't rejection but proof of fear—fear of Taichi, fear of the bond they already shared. If Yu truly didn't want him, why answer at all? Why not block him, erase him, forget him? No, Yu had chosen to respond, and in that choice Isuke saw his opening.
He leaned forward, steepling his fingers.
"You still want me. You wouldn't have kissed me otherwise. You wouldn't have let me hold you, wouldn't have clung to me the way you did. You can lie with your words, Yu, but not with your body. I'll wait. I'll wait until you realize it."
His phone screen dimmed, but the image of Yu's flushed face in his café booth, the soft quiver of his lips in their stolen kiss, burned bright in his mind. Isuke's patience, honed like a blade, would simply be sharpened further.
---
While Isuke plotted in the shadows, Yu turned toward light—halting, uncertain, but forward.
The next sessions were no easier. If anything, they only grew heavier, like someone steadily lowering them both into deeper and deeper water.
Yu sat on the edge of the couch, hands folded tightly in his lap. Ms. Hayama waited patiently, but it took Yu several minutes to find his voice.
When he finally spoke, it cracked.
"I was alone."
Yu whispered.
"Every night. I'd be holding the twins—one on each side—just staring at my phone. Waiting for you to text. To call. To ask if I was okay."
His throat tightened.
"But you never did."
Taichi's jaw flexed, but he didn't interrupt.
Yu swallowed hard and continued.
"Sometimes I'd lie there thinking, 'Maybe he's just tired. Maybe he forgot.' But after a while… I realized you weren't forgetting. You were choosing not to look."
Taichi flinched as if struck.
"Yu—"
"No!"
Yu cut in, voice trembling.
"Let me finish."
The room fell still except for the twins' faint babbles from the play corner.
Yu stared down at his hands.
"Do you know how it feels to clutch your own children and still feel like an intruder in your own home? To keep waiting for someone who's supposed to love you to notice you're drowning?"
A tear slid down his cheek. He didn't bother wiping it.
Taichi inhaled sharply, his shoulders collapsing inward.
"I didn't see it."
"You didn't want to see it."
Yu said quietly.
"That's the difference."
Ms. Hayama leaned in slightly, voice even.
"Yu, thank you for sharing that. Taichi, when you're ready, respond not to defend, but to express."
Taichi's hands trembled as he dragged them over his face. It took him a long time to speak.
"I was… falling apart."
He said, voice raw.
"I know that doesn't excuse anything. But I need you to understand."
He stared at the floor.
"I thought if I just worked harder, earned more, pushed myself more… everything would get better."
Yu scoffed softly, bitterly.
"You pushed us out instead."
"I know."
Taichi's voice cracked.
"I didn't realize what I was sacrificing until I'd already thrown it away."
Yu looked at him for a long moment.
"And you didn't ask for help. Not once."
"Because I was ashamed!"
Taichi's voice rose—loud, anguished, desperate.
"I didn't want you to see me fail. I thought if I admitted I couldn't handle everything, you'd… see me as weak. Or useless."
Yu's eyes widened.
"I never thought that."
"I know that now…"
Taichi whispered.
"But back then, ambition ate me alive. And pride—I let it choke out everything else. You. The twins. Us."
The silence that followed wasn't peaceful. It was thick with unsaid things, heavy with shared hurt.
Sometimes they shouted, voices rising enough to make the twins flinch in their play corner.
It always happened fast—too fast.
Yu's hands balled into fists.
"You keep saying you didn't know, Taichi! How many times did I have to break before you finally looked at me?"
Taichi shot to his feet.
"And how many times did I have to work until my bones felt like they were cracking just to keep us afloat? You think I wanted any of this?!"
"That's not what I said!"
Yu's voice cracked, teetering between fury and heartbreak.
"I wanted you to talk to me! Not bury yourself until you forgot we existed!"
Taichi's voice rose again, jagged and desperate.
"I didn't forget— I was trying to protect you!"
"By ignoring me?!"
Yu shouted.
"By leaving me alone with two babies while I begged the walls for answers?!"
The twins startled at the volume—two small heads jerking toward the sound, eyes wide and confused. One whimpered. The other began to cry.
Ms. Hayama immediately raised a calming hand.
"Stop. Both of you."
Yu and Taichi froze mid-argument, breaths ragged, shoulders trembling.
"Look at your children."
Ms. Hayama said softly but with firm authority.
"Hear them."
Yu turned; his chest tightened. The twins were now clinging to each other instinctively, sensing the distress even if they didn't understand the words.
Taichi's face crumpled.
"I… I didn't mean to scare them."
Yu pressed a shaking hand to his mouth.
"Neither did I."
Ms. Hayama lowered their hand only when both parents softened.
"You're allowed to feel hurt. You're allowed to feel angry. But not like this. Not at the expense of the little ones who rely on your steadiness."
Taichi knelt first, reaching for one of the twins with trembling hands.
"Shh… hey, it's okay. Daddy was too loud. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
Yu stepped over and lifted the other, voice barely above a whisper.
"It's okay, sweetheart. Mama's here. No more shouting."
Ms. Hayama waited until the quiet settled again, until the children relaxed against their parents' chests.
Then, gently, she spoke.
"Let's try again. With honesty. With breath. Not with volume."
Yu nodded weakly, eyes red.
Taichi swallowed, still kneeling on the floor.
"Yeah. Okay… I can do that."
But even then, Yu could feel the cracks beneath the surface—the wounds they were both still learning to touch without reopening.
Sometimes Yu couldn't speak at all—just wept silently, shoulders shaking while Taichi sat helplessly across from him.
On those days, Taichi's voice came out small.
"Yu… I don't know how to fix what I broke. But I'm here. I'm trying."
And Yu would whisper.
"Trying doesn't erase what happened."
"It's not supposed to."
Ms. Hayama reminded gently, guiding their spiraling emotions back to steadiness.
"Healing isn't about erasing wounds. It's about learning how to live with the scars they leave. Together, if you choose to. Separately, if you must. But with truth. With accountability. With care."
Yu wiped at his face, exhausted.
"It still hurts."
Taichi nodded, voice shaking.
"It hurts me too."
Ms. Hayama breathed in slow, evenly.
"Then let's sit with that pain. Don't run from it. Don't bury it. Let it speak. And then we'll learn how to move forward."
Yu closed his eyes.
Taichi looked at him as if seeing him fully—perhaps for the first time.
And the work continued. Not easier. But honest.
Outside of sessions, Yu remained with Sakura and Haruka, but the rhythm shifted. He no longer lied about where he went—Taichi knew when counseling sessions were, when Yu was with the twins, and slowly, trust began to regrow.
On quiet evenings, Yu started packing a few things—books, toys, clothes—and leaving them at Taichi's house "for the twins' visits." Little by little, the house began to look less like Taichi's lonely prison and more like a family home again.
Taichi noticed every new object with a reverence he didn't speak aloud. A baby blanket draped over the couch. A set of Yu's tea cups tucked into the cabinet. It was fragile, yes—but it was progress.
Even as guilt gnawed at him, Yu refused to answer Isuke's lingering texts. His silence became his shield. At night, when doubts returned and shame burned in his chest, he looked at his twins sleeping between him and Taichi during visits and reminded himself:
'This is where I belong. This is what I must protect.'
For the first time in a long while, Yu allowed himself to hope that he and Taichi could still build something stronger out of the wreckage.
---
Another session had Yu sit stiffly, arms crossed, while Taichi stared down at his knees. Ms. Hayama asks them to describe their lowest moment in one sentence. Yu's voice trembles when he says.
"When you accused me of cheating and the babies not being yours."
Taichi's hands clench, then loosen as he admits.
"When I realized I didn't know where you were, or if you and the babies were safe."
The room holds their words like heavy stones. But saying them aloud makes the weight shift—it's painful, yet strangely relieving.
After one session Ms. Hayama gives them homework:
Say "thank you" once a day for something small.
At first, it's awkward. Taichi mumbles thanks for Yu bringing tea. Yu whispers thanks when Taichi carries the twins' toys in from the car. Slowly, those words soften, the edge dulls. They start to notice each other again in little ways.
On a different session Yu admits he still flinches at the thought of Taichi staying late at work. Taichi admits he fears Yu is still speaking with Isuke. Both sit in silence after, the confession raw. Ms. Hayama guides them:
Not to erase those fears, but to name them and find new rituals—checking in with short texts, leaving honest notes when running late, holding space for reassurance without judgment.
Every week, the edges sand down a little more. Not perfect. Not fixed. But moving.
---
The day Yu decides to move back is quiet. No dramatic announcement—just boxes carried one by one into the house, the twins toddling between. Sakura and Haruka help with the heavy lifting, but they leave quickly, giving space.
Yu lingers in the doorway, his hands trembling on the frame. Taichi stands nearby, not daring to touch, only watching as Yu sets down a small stack of folded clothes on the dresser—claiming space again.
That night, the house feels both familiar and alien. The twins fall asleep in their cribs, their soft breathing filling the silence. Yu sits at the edge of the bed, still in his clothes, staring at the floor.
Taichi approaches slowly, like one wrong move might shatter everything. He sits beside him but doesn't touch. His voice is low, cautious.
"I know we're not fixed. But I'm glad you're here."
Yu's throat works, his hands twisting in his lap. Finally, he leans his shoulder against Taichi's—barely there, a whisper of contact.
"I'm scared."
He admits, soft as a confession.
Taichi doesn't reach for more. He simply leans back against him, two weary bodies finding balance in the dark. It isn't forgiveness, not yet. It isn't healing, not fully. But it's a beginning—one fragile night under the same roof, where the air is heavy but hopeful, and neither runs.
The house was hushed once the twins drifted to sleep. Yu slid under the covers without a word, his back turned, the distance between them in the bed feeling both too small and impossibly vast. Taichi lay down carefully, every movement deliberate, as though he feared the mattress itself might betray him by shifting too close.
The room breathed around them—the hum of the refrigerator, the faint tick of the wall clock. Between them, silence thickened, heavy with everything unsaid.
Yu shifted once, the blankets rustling, and his hand brushed against Taichi's. He didn't pull away. Neither did Taichi. They lay like that for long minutes, two outlines in the dark, touching only at that fragile edge.
It was Taichi who broke first, his voice low, roughened like gravel.
"If I hadn't failed you… if I hadn't left you alone, you wouldn't have ended up in Isuke's bed. It's my fault."
The confession cut into the silence like glass. Yu's breath caught, his throat tight, eyes stinging. Slowly, he turned to face Taichi in the dark, the outline of his beloved's face shadowed but close.
"You're wrong…"
Yu whispered.
"I let it happen. I—"
His voice cracked, trembling.
"I used him… because he felt like you. He wasn't, but I let myself pretend. I was so desperate for your warmth I reached for a ghost of you instead."
Taichi flinched at the words, but his hand groped blindly across the sheets until he found Yu's and clasped it tight, almost painfully.
Neither spoke again. Their truths hung between them, raw and jagged, but real. For the first time in months, no lies, no masks. Only wounds laid bare.
Taichi shifted closer, pressing his forehead to Yu's, his breath trembling. Yu let him. Their hands stayed clasped, knuckles white, the smallest anchor in the storm.
Sleep didn't come easy, but when it finally did, it was tangled—two bodies curled together despite everything, the silence no longer empty but alive with a fragile promise:
That maybe, just maybe, they could begin again.
---
Their confessions in the dark did not stay locked between them. At the next counseling session, Yu and Taichi sat side by side, hands folded but not yet touching. Ms. Hayama invited them to share the truths they had whispered in bed.
Taichi's voice cracked when he admitted aloud.
"I blamed myself for Yu sleeping with Isuke. I thought it was my fault for leaving him alone."
Yu, cheeks burning, confessed in turn.
"I… used Isuke as Taichi's substitute. I pretended it was him, just to feel the warmth I missed."
There was no judgment in Ms. Hayama's gaze, only quiet acknowledgement. The words landed like stones dropped in still water—ripples spreading, heavy but necessary. Together, with gentle guidance, they began weaving apologies into promises, not to erase the past but to build a sturdier bridge forward.
By the end of the session, Yu and Taichi left hand-in-hand, their grip tentative but real, each small squeeze carrying the weight of—
"I'm here."
---
Back home, the process was slower, gentler. At first, it was little things:
A kiss to the cheek before Taichi left for work.
Yu leaning against Taichi while folding laundry.
Fingers brushing deliberately when passing dishes at the table.
Each touch lingered longer than necessary, each kiss carrying the weight of cautious trust. It wasn't passion yet—it was rebuilding, brick by fragile brick.
Weeks later, when the twins went to stay the night at Sakura Sato and Haruka Minami's, the house was still in a way it hadn't been for months. That silence was filled not with dread this time, but with possibility.
Taichi's fingers brushed Yu's while reaching for the same wooden spoon, the contact lingering far longer than necessary. A spark jumped between them, small but undeniable. Yu's eyes flicked up, caught Taichi's gaze—soft, uncertain, brimming with something unspoken. Taichi swallowed, the sound loud in the quiet kitchen.
"I'm sorry."
Taichi whispered, the words scraping out of him like gravel.
"I've been distant. I've been… scared. But I'm here now, Yu. I'm not going anywhere."
His hand slid over Yu's, thumb tracing the faint blue veins on the back of his wrist.
"I love you. I never stopped. I just… forgot how to show it."
Yu's lips parted, breath trembling.
"Taichi—"
"No, let me say it."
Taichi stepped closer, crowding Yu gently against the counter, palms cupping his face.
"I see you. Every day, every change, every fear. The way you cradle your belly when you think I'm not looking. The way you smile at the kicks even when you're exhausted. I see you, and I'm still so in love with you it hurts."
His voice cracked.
"I'm going to be better. I swear on everything I am."
Yu's eyes glistened.
"I need you to mean it."
"I do."
Taichi leaned in, forehead resting against Yu's, breath warm and shaky.
"Let me prove it."
The kiss started slow—hesitant, almost chaste—Taichi's lips brushing Yu's like he was asking permission. Then Yu sighed into it, hands fisting Taichi's shirt, pulling him closer. The kiss deepened, tongues sliding together, wet and needy, tasting salt and coffee and the faint sweetness of the cookies they'd been baking. Taichi's hands slid down Yu's sides, careful of the gentle swell of his belly, thumbs stroking reverently over the curve.
They stumbled toward the bedroom, shedding clothes in a trail—Yu's soft sweater, Taichi's t-shirt, both kicked aside. The door clicked shut behind them, sealing them in dim lamplight and the scent of their shared life. Taichi eased Yu onto the bed, but Yu caught his wrists, guiding him down instead.
"Let me."
Yu breathed, voice shaky but sure.
"Let me feel you under me."
Taichi's eyes darkened, a tremor running through him.
"Anything…"
He whispered.
"Anything you want."
Yu pushed Taichi onto his back, straddling his hips, knees settling on either side of Taichi's waist. The swell of his belly rested between them, a soft weight that made Taichi's breath catch. Yu leaned down, kissing him slow and deep, tongues sliding, while his hands mapped Taichi's chest—thumbs circling nipples, nails scraping lightly down his ribs. Taichi groaned into the kiss, hips rolling up involuntarily.
"Stay still."
Yu murmured against his lips, a shy smile tugging at the corners.
"Let me take care of you for once."
Taichi's hands settled on Yu's thighs, thumbs stroking the sensitive skin just above his knees.
"I'm yours."
He said, voice rough.
"Always."
Yu reached for the lube, slicking his fingers with a trembling hand. He kept eye contact as he reached behind himself, one finger circling his entrance before pushing in slow. Taichi's breath hitched, eyes locked on Yu's face, watching every flicker of pleasure. A second finger joined, scissoring gently, stretching himself open while Taichi's cock throbbed against his belly, flushed and leaking.
"Yu—"
Taichi's voice cracked.
"You're killing me."
"Good."
Yu whispered, a spark of mischief in his eyes. He withdrew his fingers, slicking Taichi's length with the leftover lube, stroking slow and firm until Taichi's hips jerked. Then he rose up on his knees, positioning himself over Taichi's cock, the head nudging against his entrance.
"Look at me."
Yu said softly.
Taichi's eyes snapped to his, wide and reverent.
"I love you."
He said, the words a vow.
"I love you so much it's all I know how to be."
Yu sank down slowly—inch by inch, the stretch burning sweet and full, his walls clenching around Taichi's heat. A low moan spilled from his throat as he took him to the hilt, hips flush, Taichi's cock buried deep inside him. For a moment they stayed still, breathing hard, foreheads pressed together.
Then Yu began to move.
Slow rolls of his hips at first, grinding down in tight circles that dragged Taichi's length against every sensitive spot inside him. Taichi's hands slid up to cup Yu's belly, thumbs stroking the taut skin, feeling the faint flutter of kicks beneath.
"You're everything."
Taichi whispered, voice breaking.
"Carrying our baby, riding me like this—god, Yu, I'd die happy right now."
Yu's rhythm stuttered, then steadied—faster, deeper, thighs trembling as he lifted and dropped, taking Taichi over and over. The slap of skin on skin filled the room, wet and obscene, mingling with their ragged breaths. Taichi's hands never left Yu's belly, grounding him, worshiping the curve that proved their love was real, was growing.
"Touch me."
Yu gasped, guiding one of Taichi's hands to his cock, flushed and leaking against his swollen belly. Taichi wrapped his fingers around it, stroking in time with Yu's movements—firm, steady pulls that had Yu sobbing his name.
"Taichi, hah. Hah. Taichi."
"I'm here, hah."
Taichi panted, hips thrusting up to meet Yu's descent, careful not to jostle him too hard.
"Hah, hah, I'm not leaving. Not ever. You feel that?"
He angled his hips, hitting that spot inside Yu that made stars burst behind his eyes.
"That's me promising you forever. Hah, hah."
Yu's pace faltered, thighs shaking as he chased release.
"Taichi—close—"
"Come for me."
Taichi urged, thumb swiping over the slick head of Yu's cock.
"Let me feel you come apart on me. Let me catch you."
Yu shattered—cock pulsing in Taichi's grip, spilling hot stripes across Taichi's chest and his own belly, walls clenching tight around Taichi's length. The sight undid him; Taichi thrust up once, twice, then buried himself deep with a broken groan, coming hard, flooding Yu's insides with warmth that leaked out around them as Yu collapsed beside him.
They stayed locked together, trembling, Yu's weight settled carefully on Taichi's shoulder, Taichi's arms wrapped around him, one hand still cradling the swell of his belly.
"I'm not going anywhere."
Taichi whispered into Yu's hair, voice raw.
"No matter what comes—fights, fears, the babies, the future—I choose you. Every day. Forever."
Yu's eyes were wet, but he smiled—small, shaky, real.
"Prove it tomorrow."
He murmured.
"I will."
Taichi promised, kissing the tears from his cheeks.
"And the day after. And every day after that."
In the quiet aftermath, they lay tangled, Taichi's hand never leaving Yu's belly, feeling the faint flutter of kicks beneath his palm. No grand speeches left—just the steady rhythm of two heartbeats learning how to beat as one again. The silence finally spoke of healing, not of distance.