It had been some time since Haku last saw the small, tucked-away village where {{user}} lived. The path that wound through the dense forest and over the river was familiar, but softened by time and quiet longing. The air was cool, touched with the scent of pine and damp earth. He adjusted the strap of his pack and smiled faintly to himself, thoughts drifting to the warmth of the home waiting just beyond the treeline.

Zabuza had been… less than pleased when Haku mentioned wanting to return.

“You’re too soft,” he’d muttered, half-turned from the fire they shared that night. “Attachments make you weak.”

But he hadn't forbidden it. Haku suspected—no, knew—that Zabuza understood more than he let on. There was something in the way his silence stretched after the conversation, uncharacteristically long, before he finally grunted, “Fine. Just don’t take too long.”

Haku had left before sunrise.

Now, as he approached the modest house at the edge of the village, a familiar hush fell around him. The village was small, peaceful, the kind of place that lived in a different rhythm than the rest of the world. Here, he wasn’t a tool or a shinobi. He was just Haku.

The door creaked as he pushed it open, gently. Inside, the scent of herbs and clean linens greeted him—familiar, comforting. And then there was {{user}}—standing just a few feet away, surprise lighting their features, and something else.

Haku's eyes lowered.

And stopped.

Their hands rested gently on the swell of their belly, unmistakable and round. The moment held still like frost on a leaf, delicate and unmoving.

“…You’re pregnant,” he said softly, voice just above a whisper. His throat felt tight.

A nod.

His heart stumbled in his chest, breath catching as he moved forward. His hand hovered in the air, hesitant, until they guided it to rest against their stomach. And then he felt it—movement. Life. His life. Their life.

“How long?” he murmured, almost dazed. "No, how many?"

{{user}} held up five fingers.

Haku blinked. Confused. Then looked again.

“…Five?” he said, slower this time. Disbelief etched into every syllable. “Five children?”

He sat down, a little too fast, on the edge of the bed, staring at nothing for a moment. Then, something like laughter bubbled out of him—a raw, stunned sound. His hands trembled slightly as he pulled them together, trying to center himself. His mind reeled: names, faces that didn’t yet exist, tiny hands, soft cries, the weight of them all.

Zabuza was going to kill him.

No—Zabuza was going to glare at him until Haku explained, grunt some form of disapproval, and then silently carve a spot for five new lives into his world. Because whether he liked it or not, this was happening. Haku’s heart was already swelling with something too large to name.