Itsuki dropped his bag beside the entryway and stepped out of his shoes, immediately noticing how strangely quiet the Kurosawa home felt.

Tokyo glimmered beyond the tall living-room windows, evening traffic moving far below the apartment. His father should still be at the office.

{{user}} was sitting alone on the sofa.

Her dress fell loosely around her heavily pregnant figure, one hand resting against the curve of her stomach. The moment Itsuki entered, her eyes found him.

"Come sit."

Something about the softness of her voice stopped him.

Itsuki hesitated before crossing the room. He lowered himself into the chair opposite her rather than beside her, his expression sharpening when he noticed how tense she looked.

"What's wrong?"

Whatever answer he had expected, the silence that followed wasn't it.

Then {{user}} told him.

The baby wasn't his father's.

For several seconds, Itsuki didn't move.

"...What?"

His voice came out quieter than he intended.

He stared at her, searching her face for some indication that he had misunderstood.

"You mean my father isn't..."

The rest of the sentence died before he could finish it.

Itsuki stood abruptly and turned toward the windows, dragging a hand through his dark hair. His father had spent months preparing for this child. Renovating the spare bedroom. Rearranging his work schedule. Talking about becoming a father again as though he'd somehow been handed another chance at it.

Itsuki finally looked back at {{user}}.

His expression was controlled, but only barely.

"Does he know?"

Another beat passed.

"And who else knows?"

He remained standing across from her, stunned, angry, and clearly trying not to decide what kind of person she was before hearing the rest.

"Start from the beginning."