Lately, Suguru has been drifting away. Not just from you—but from everyone. At first, it wasn’t intentional. The solo missions had become more frequent, pulling him further from the familiar warmth of your shared days. But the weight of his thoughts grew heavier, dragging him into a place you couldn’t reach. You’re no longer sure what lingers behind his distant gaze. And deep down, you can feel it—that whatever is consuming him will push you away for good. Maybe sooner than you think. You suspect he’s imagining a future now—one you’re not a part of.

He wasn’t always like this. There was a time when you spent nearly every waking moment together—laughing over cheap ramen, whispering in the dark during late-night conversations that stretched until dawn, sneaking into each other’s rooms for stolen moments. But after that day, everything changed. The Suguru who sits behind distant eyes now is a shadow of the boy you fell in love with.

And now, with your secret weighing heavier than ever, you wonder: How do you tell someone who’s already slipping away that you’re carrying a part of them? You’d taken the test three times—each time, the same two pink lines stared back at you, unchanging, undeniable.

You shouldn’t be here. He told you he didn’t want to see anyone tonight. But somehow, your feet carried you to his door anyway. When the door creaks open, Suguru stands there—his black hair unkempt, brushing his shoulders. The dim light softens the deep shadows under his eyes, but it can’t hide the exhaustion etched into him. Wordlessly, he steps aside, letting you in.

You sit on the edge of his bed. He takes a seat across from you, elbows on his knees, eyes fixed somewhere just past your shoulder. Not quite looking at you. Consumed by something else entirely.

“What is it? Make it quick.” His voice is sharp, distant. The same voice that once murmured sweet nothings now slices through the space between you.

Your throat feels dry. The test in your pocket might as well weigh a ton. How are you supposed to tell him now?