Days blurred into weeks, and Yu slipped into a rhythm he hated himself for. Outwardly, he lived under Sakura and Haruka's roof, a fragile image of a recovering husband and father, doting on the twins and smiling through the cracks when his friends watched too closely.
But behind that mask, he carved out secret windows of time—moments where he would sneak away under flimsy excuses and find himself in Isuke's presence.
At first, it was brief. A stolen kiss in the backseat of his car. An embrace down a quiet alley near the park. Just enough to sate the gnawing ache inside Yu's chest, enough to let him pretend that Taichi's warmth hadn't abandoned him entirely.
Yet the moments grew longer, the touches deeper. In Isuke's manor, Yu found himself leaning into arms he told himself weren't really Isuke's, but Taichi's—his mind desperate to bridge the gap, to make the betrayal more bearable. His body betrayed him again and again, craving closeness, even as his heart ached with every kiss.
Sometimes, while Isuke traced circles over his growing belly, Yu would close his eyes and pretend it was Taichi's hand there, whispering the same reassurances. For a fleeting moment, the guilt lessened, dulled by the fantasy. Then reality would crash back, shame burning him from within.
Still, he returned. Again and again.
Meanwhile, Taichi struggled to hold himself together. Work had become his battlefield, his only outlet for the gnawing ache of losing Yu's trust. He pushed himself to exhaustion, arriving early, leaving early, all in the name of being home in time to see the twins.
Every evening, he would go to Sakura and Haruka's apartment, his bouquet of roses long since wilted but his resolve unshaken. He picked up the boys, held them close, and asked—every single time—about Yu.
"How is he?"
He'd ask gently, though the answer never changed.
"He's trying to be strong."
They would reply, exchanging worried looks he wasn't meant to see.
Taichi sent messages through them—small words, apologies folded into promises.
"Tell him I'm proud of him. Tell him I'll wait. Tell him I love him."
Sometimes the girls would nod, other times they would scold him for hurting Yu, for making him cry when he thought no one heard.
He accepted every blow. Because in his heart, he knew he deserved them.
The house he returned to each night was cleaner now—he forced himself to scrub dishes, sweep floors, fold laundry. He couldn't bear for Yu to return one day and see it in ruins. Yet no matter how much he tried, the silence pressed harder, the absence of Yu's laughter, his gentle nagging, his small touches, all echoing in every corner.
And so, Taichi endured. Apologizing into the void, waiting for forgiveness that never came, clinging to his children as the only fragile tether left between him and the man he loved.
---
Yu had begun to grow used to slipping into these stolen moments with Isuke. At first, every meeting had felt like trespassing—like walking into a room he had no right to enter. The guilt gnawed at him with small, persistent teeth, reminding him of the man he still loved, the distance that separated them, and the promise he'd never fully let go of.
But here he was again, sitting across from Isuke at their usual corner table, hidden from the door by a tall plant that always seemed to conspire with them. The café hummed pleasantly around them, warm and ordinary.
Yu sipped his drink, made a face.
"Why does this taste like… burnt cardboard?"
Isuke blinked at him, surprised—and then a soft laugh spilled out, warm and slightly breathless.
"You're the one who insisted on trying the seasonal special. Again."
"That was a lapse in judgment."
Yu muttered, pretending to sulk.
"It usually is."
Isuke teased gently, eyes crinkling at the corners.
"But it's cute watching you try new things."
Yu felt the guilt twitch at that word—cute—yet the warmth of it slid into him all the same.
Isuke reached over without thinking, his fingers brushing the back of Yu's hand before settling over it. The touch was light, but steady.
Yu startled almost imperatively.
"Isuke…"
"What?"
Isuke tilted his head, earnest and impossibly gentle.
"You looked cold."
"That's not—"
Yu swallowed.
"I mean… you don't have to."
"I know."
Isuke's thumb traced a small, soothing arc along Yu's knuckles.
"I want to."
And that was what made Yu cave a little more each time. Not the warmth. Not the comfort. The want.
The quiet, steady want.
Yu exhaled softly and let his hand remain where it was.
"You're going to make this hard for me."
Isuke's expression flickered, something like worry crossing it.
"If you want me to stop, I will."
Yu shook his head, a tiny movement.
"I don't want you to stop. That's the problem."
Isuke fell silent, the air between them thickening with understanding neither of them dared name. After a moment, he offered a soft smile, fragile but real.
"Then… can we just sit like this? For now?"
Yu's fingers curled slightly against his palm, returning the touch with the lightest pressure—as if he were afraid of breaking both of them with anything heavier.
"For now is fine…"
Yu said quietly.
And for the space of a café table, he let himself pretend. Pretend that the warmth belonged to someone else. Pretend he wasn't drifting into feelings that weren't his to claim. Pretend that this moment—this gentle, dangerous moment—was harmless.
Isuke squeezed his hand once, shyly.
"The cardboard coffee doesn't taste so bad when you're here."
Yu snorted.
"Flattery won't save it."
"No…"
Isuke said, eyes softening.
"But maybe I can save you from it."
Yu held his gaze a little too long, a little too warmly.
"Maybe…"
He whispered, letting himself sink into the lie just a little longer. He could pretend the warmth belonged to someone else, to the man he still loved but felt so far away.
So when Isuke's hand slid across the table and pressed over his, Yu startled, but not enough to pull away. His heart thumped violently as color touched his cheeks, and when Isuke laced their fingers together, he allowed it—trembling, shameful, but unwilling to let go.
---
Fumiko had been excited, humming to herself with the thought of surprising Yu and the kids with a little outing like old times. Her eyes drifted to a café's sign for a seasonal beverage and immediately thought of Yu's popular Instagram account that recently went silent.
"OH! Yu will definitely wanna post his reaction to drinking it! I'll get two for us to try, that'll definitely liven up his mood!"
But the moment she stepped into the café and spotted him, her smile faltered.
Yu was already there…and he wasn't alone.
Sitting across from him was Isuke Sasaki, the very boy who had once tormented Yu and nearly torn their friend group apart back in high school. She froze where she stood, memories crashing into her—the tears in Yu's eyes, the bruises of his silence, Taichi's endless fights with Isuke.
And yet here they were. Yu smiling. Yu laughing. Yu's face soft and pink as Isuke's hand covered his own. The breath left her lungs when Yu didn't flinch, didn't scold, didn't pull back. Instead, he laced their fingers together like lovers.
Her stomach turned, a knot of anger and fear rising as she saw them lean toward one another, close enough to kiss.
It ripped out of her before she had time to think, before she could stop it. A single word, sharp and startled, cracked across the café like a whip.
"Yu!"
The sound cut through the moment like glass shattering. Heads turned, chairs scraped, and Yu jerked upright in shock. His wide ruby eyes found her, and color drained from his face as if she had caught him in the middle of a crime.
Isuke's expression darkened instantly, his jaw tightening, his fingers gripping Yu's hand as though he dared her to try and take him away.
But Yu's trembling gaze was fixed on Fumiko—caught, exposed, guilt flooding through him in waves he couldn't control.
Yu's face had gone strikingly pale, his hand still trapped in Isuke's as he stared wide-eyed at Fumiko. The café's chatter dulled around them, like the whole room leaned in to watch. His heart thundered, shame flushing hot through his chest.
Isuke didn't flinch. His grip tightened, his dark eyes narrowed, protective and possessive all at once. He looked at Fumiko not as an old friend of Yu's but as an intruder trespassing on what was his.
Fumiko's eyes, however, were sharp and unwavering. Gone was her playful spark from moments ago; instead, she radiated the stern, unyielding weight of someone who had loved Yu like family for years—and would not watch him fall into the arms of his tormentor.
Yu trembled, caught between the two, his throat tight.
Fumiko strode forward, her heels clicking against the tile until she stood at their table. Her voice cut through the air like glass.
"Yu. We're leaving."
Yu's lips parted, but before he could stammer a reply, Isuke rose smoothly from his chair, towering between them. His voice was low, controlled, yet edged with defiance.
"That's not for you to decide. Yu can speak for himself."
The table between them might as well have been a battlefield. Yu's pulse spiked as he looked from one to the other, trapped in the middle.
Fumiko's glare didn't waver. She reached out, firm fingers wrapping around Yu's arm.
"I don't care. You're coming with me. Now."
Yu gasped softly, caught off guard, half-rising from his chair as she tugged him. For a split second Isuke's hand darted forward, ready to reclaim him, but Yu's voice—fragile, conflicted—cut across the moment.
"It's alright. I'll… I'll go. I'll text you later."
"The hell you will!"
Fumiko snapped, her voice raising enough to draw glances from nearby tables. She shot Isuke a look sharp enough to wound before tugging Yu firmly toward the door.
Yu, trembling and flushed with guilt, managed only a weak wave over his shoulder—an echo of apology, of conflict—as Isuke stood rooted in place.
Isuke's jaw flexed, his eyes narrowing into something darkly satisfied. He didn't move to follow, didn't call out. Instead, he sank back into his chair, his fingers brushing the place on the table where Yu's hand had been.
A quiet smile tugged at his lips. He didn't need to chase. In his mind, Yu had already chosen him.
---
The sunlight felt harsh on Yu's face as Fumiko all but pulled him onto the busy sidewalk, guiding him as far away from the café's shadow as she could while being gentle with Yu's delicately large body. Her grip loosened, but her sharp eyes didn't. For a moment they continued their walk in silence, Yu trembling under the weight of everything unsaid.
Fumiko broke it first, her voice tight with frustration and worry.
"Yu, why? Why on earth would you be hanging around him of all people?"
Yu swallowed hard, his eyes dropping to the ground. His voice was small, almost childlike.
"Isuke… he's Taichi's half-brother. I thought… if I can't lean on Taichi right now, then maybe I could at least… lean on family."
Fumiko's brows furrowed deeply, her tone turning sharp.
"Family? Yu, what I saw in there wasn't family. That wasn't brother-in-law tea time and small talk. It looked like a date. And I don't care how badly Taichi hurt you—you don't fix that by hurting him back."
The words struck like stones. Yu flinched as though slapped, his throat tightening, the denial stuck like glass in his chest. Tears welled up before he could stop them, spilling over as he choked out.
"I—I know… I know it's wrong. I just—he—he was there, and he cared when Taichi wasn't, and I… I'm so tired, Fumiko."
His voice cracked as he stopped in his tracks, his hands coming up to cover his face as sobs shuddered through his pregnant frame. Passersby glanced their way, but Fumiko ignored them.
Fumiko sighed, her expression softening as she stepped closer. She rubbed Yu's back in slow circles as she helped to guide them into the nearby park's entrance, her voice gentler now but firm.
"Yu… you can't keep carrying this alone. You've been breaking piece by piece, and I can't stand here and watch you drown like this."
She glanced off in the direction of the café they had long since left, her jaw set.
"This… all of this, it can't go on. Not like this. You, Taichi—you two need to sit down, all of us if we have to, and really talk about what's next. About the truth. Because if you don't… it'll tear you apart."
Yu sniffled against his hands, trembling as the weight of her words sank in.
His breath hitched, his heart pounding in his chest. The words—
"...Sit down and talk about the truth."
—echoed like a threat more than comfort. His first instinct was to shake his head, to pull back from Fumiko's hand on his back.
"No… I can't. Fumiko, I can't face him. Not like this."
His voice wavered, broken by tears. Every syllable carried the weight of his shame. He pictured Taichi's face if he knew—those earnest eyes, full of devotion, now turned to disappointment or rage. The image made Yu's stomach twist.
He wiped at his face with trembling fingers, as though he could scrub the guilt away.
"Maybe… maybe if I just keep things how they are… it'll get better. Taichi will calm down, and… and I'll stop… needing…"
His throat closed on the words, the rest swallowed by shame. He couldn't admit Isuke out loud. Not here. Not in front of Fumiko.
Fumiko's arms folded across her chest, her gaze sharp but not unkind.
"Yu. Listen to yourself. You're crumbling. You can't 'wait it out'—not with twins, not with another set of babies on the way. This… silence, this hiding—it'll eat you alive."
Her words sank into him like stones in water, sinking, pulling him down.
A part of him wanted to protest again, to insist he could keep it hidden, keep juggling both worlds. But another part—small, desperate and aching—knew she was right.
At last, Yu sagged against her, his strength leaking away. His tears wet her shoulder as he whispered hoarsely.
"...I'm scared, Fumiko. I'm so scared. But… maybe you're right. I… I don't know how to fix this. I don't even know where to start."
Fumiko tightened her arm around him, her tone softening.
"You don't have to start alone. Let us—me, Sakura, Haruka—help you. But Yu… this has to end before it destroys you completely."
Yu gave the smallest of nods, as if agreeing not with certainty, but because he no longer had the strength to fight her words. Inside, he was still drowning—but now, at least, someone was holding onto him as he sank.
Fumiko helped Yu to sit down. He sat slumped on the park bench, the echoes of Fumiko's stern words still pressing against his ribs. He rubbed at his swollen belly with trembling fingers, his voice so quiet it almost disappeared in the breeze.
"...Okay. Let's do it. I'll… I'll talk to him."
The words felt like walking into a storm barefoot, but saying them aloud brought a strange, brittle relief. Fumiko's eyes softened, but her expression remained firm—like a general hearing a soldier's oath.
---
And so the planning began. They agreed it couldn't just be any day, not in the chaos of Taichi's work week. They'd need a moment where everything else was stripped away, where excuses couldn't be made. Fumiko suggested one of Taichi's upcoming days off, when he couldn't hide behind overtime or meetings.
The rest of their friends quickly rallied behind the plan.
Sakura Sato and Haruka Minami volunteered immediately to watch the twins, promising Yu that the boys would be safe and loved while he faced this.
Fumiko Fujimori insisted she would go with Yu, not just as support but as an anchor—ready to step in if Yu faltered.
Yamato Yamada and Souma Satou took the heaviest role, agreeing to take time off work so they could wait nearby, just outside Taichi's home. They prayed it wouldn't come to that, but if voices turned into fists, if emotions boiled too hot, they would be there to intervene.
Hearing it laid out made Yu's pulse stutter. It felt less like a "talk" and more like a trial, with witnesses, safeguards, and escape routes. He wanted to cry, to say no, to run back to the false safety of silence. But when he looked at Fumiko's steady face, he found himself nodding again.
"One day…"
Yu whispered, more to himself than anyone else.
"Just hold on for this one day. Then… maybe I'll know if there's still something left to save."
---
The morning air felt too still, as if the world itself held its breath for what was about to happen. Yu's hands trembled as he clutched his jacket sleeve. Fumiko walked beside him, calm but firm, her presence steadying him like an anchor.
Just across the street, Yamato and Souma leaned casually against a parked car, eyes sharp, pretending they were just two men chatting—but their attention never strayed far from Yu. They weren't here for pleasantries; they were here in case the past Taichi—the hot-headed delinquent—reared its head again.
Each step up to the small house felt like a climb up a mountain Yu wasn't sure he'd survive. The home that once smelled of warm meals, soft laughter, and Taichi's arms now felt foreign—tainted with silence, fights, and aching distance.
Yu's heart hammered as he stood at the door, staring at the chipped paint around the knob. His reflection in the small glass window above the handle looked pale, almost ghostly.
Fumiko didn't wait. She knocked—firm, decisive.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
From inside, faint sounds stirred—footsteps, the shuffle of papers, and then the latch clicking open.
When the door swung open, Taichi stood there in a crisp suit, his hair damp from a quick shower, a bouquet of lilies resting forgotten on the table behind him. His face went still the moment his eyes landed on Yu.
The exhaustion was written in the slump of his shoulders, in the faint stubble along his jawline, in the hollow beneath his eyes. But when he saw Yu, raw relief flared through his features before quickly crumbling into hesitation.
"Yu…"
His voice cracked like dry wood. He reached for the frame of the door, as if it was the only thing holding him upright.
Yu's lips trembled, but no words came out. Fumiko stepped forward, her hand steady at his elbow.
"We need to talk."
She said, her tone brooking no refusal.
For a moment, no one moved. The weight of all the broken nights, all the missed words, all the silent cries pressed down on the small space between them.
Finally, Taichi stepped back, his voice hoarse but soft.
"Come in."
The living room beyond was dim, cluttered, papers stacked on the table, a child's toy still lying forgotten in the corner where Yu had last left it. The scent was the same as always—Taichi's cologne faint under the sharper tang of stress.
Yu swallowed hard, clutching at the hem of his sleeve, and stepped over the threshold, Fumiko close behind.
Outside, Yamato and Souma exchanged a look, bracing themselves. Whatever was about to happen inside that house—they knew it would change everything.
---
The three of them sat in the dim light of the living room—Yu perched on the edge of the couch, clutching his hands together so tightly the knuckles turned white, Fumiko standing at his side like a shield, and Taichi in the chair across from them, shoulders bowed under a weight he couldn't shrug off.
The silence was suffocating, filled only by the ticking of the wall clock and the faint rustle of the wind through the curtains.
Finally, Taichi drew in a shaky breath.
"Yu… I'm sorry."
But before the apology could settle in the air, Fumiko's voice cut through like a blade.
"Sorry for what?"
Her gaze pinned him, sharp and unforgiving.
"Sorry for working yourself into the ground? Sorry for shutting him out? Sorry for accusing him of something vile when he's carried your children and loved you with everything he had? Which one is it, Taichi?"
Yu flinched at her words, his head bowing lower, shame prickling through his skin. Taichi's mouth opened, then closed, no words forming.
It was Yu, trembling, who finally answered. His voice was soft but ragged, breaking in places as though each word was carved from his throat.
"When you said that… when you asked if the babies inside me weren't yours… it made me feel like I was dirty. Like I was lying to you. Like everything I'd ever given you—every kiss, every promise—wasn't real. That I wasn't real."
His tears welled, spilling before he could stop them.
"Do you know what that did to me?"
The question cracked in the air like thunder, and Taichi's chest caved with the weight of it.
He slid from the chair to his knees on the floor, banging his head into the carpet.
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
He rasped, the words tumbling out over and over until they blurred into hoarse sobs.
"I never should have said it. I didn't mean it—I was angry, I was tired, I was wrong. Yu, I'm sorry."
Yu's hands clenched tighter, nails digging into his palms. He shook his head, the tears falling freely now.
"No, Taichi. You don't understand. You broke me. You left me alone for nights, for weeks. You stopped kissing me, stopped thanking me, stopped even looking at me. I cooked for you, waited for you, begged for a word—anything—and you gave me silence."
Taichi lifted his head, eyes swollen, mouth opening in protest, but Yu pressed on, his voice rising.
"And then the shirt…"
Yu whispered bitterly.
"Lipstick. Perfume. You came home smelling like you'd been with someone else. You told me nothing, left me nothing. I lay awake wondering who you were with, what you were doing—if you even thought of me at all. And when you stayed away the whole night without a word…"
His breath hitched, shoulders shaking.
"That was it. That was when I broke."
The words hung heavy, too heavy for the small room.
Yu's hands dropped to his sides, trembling. He couldn't bring himself to look at Taichi.
"And then you accused me…"
He whispered.
"You accused me… when it was you who cheated first. You turned me into a stranger in my own home. You made me so cold, so starved, that I—"
He stopped, the rest of the sentence clogging his throat. But the implication was clear.
Taichi's eyes widened, his face paling as though Yu had struck him. The air seemed to vanish from the room. He sat there on his knees, hollow, broken, the fight bleeding out of him all at once.
"You…"
His voice cracked, but he didn't finish. He couldn't. His lips trembled soundlessly as he stared at the floor, the man who once seemed unshakable now reduced to a shell.
And Yu sat there too, silent and shaking, the chasm between them wider than ever, as Fumiko's jaw tightened, her gaze shifting between the two men she loved but could no longer reconcile.