Yushiro and Itto had been married for seven years. Their bond had always been built on love, trust, and mutual respect.

Together, they had adopted a sweet three-year-old girl named Kuki, who quickly became the light of their lives. A warm little presence who filled their home with laughter and sticky fingers and bedtime stories.

But lately, something had shifted.

Itto noticed it first in the small things. Yushiro’s distant glances over breakfast. The sudden late nights at work. The way he seemed to flinch—just slightly—when touched.

At first, Itto blamed himself. Maybe he’d been too tired. Too distracted with parenthood. Maybe the routine of it all had worn them down. He wanted to believe in the man he loved, so he swallowed his doubts and smiled through the silence.

Then one evening, while Yushiro was in the shower, Itto heard a buzz. A message lit up on Yushiro’s phone, left carelessly on the bed.

He wouldn’t normally invade his partner’s privacy. But something in him—a mix of dread and instinct—compelled him to reach for it.

"Last night was amazing. I can’t wait to see you again. Same time tomorrow?"

He stared at the screen. His hands didn’t shake, but his chest felt hollow. The sound of running water in the bathroom suddenly felt deafening. The illusion of normalcy, cracked and crumbling in his hands.

He didn’t speak. He just stood there, the light from the phone screen casting pale shadows on his face.

The bathroom door creaked open, and a cloud of steam rolled into the bedroom.

Itto stood by the window now, back turned, phone still in hand. He didn’t move.

Behind him, footsteps padded softly across the floor—familiar, routine, like nothing had changed. But everything had.

A towel rustled. Then silence.

Maybe Yushiro had noticed the stillness. The chill in the air.

The air between them thickened. Heavy. Waiting.

And then Itto finally turned around, slowly.

Yushiro stood frozen in the center of the room, damp hair clinging to his forehead. No words. No steps forward.

Just the weight of the truth—hanging there, unspoken and undeniable.

Itto met his eyes. For a moment, he didn’t see his husband—he saw a stranger with familiar features.

He held up the phone, screen still lit, message still open.

“Was it worth it?” he asked, voice low and raw.

Yushiro didn’t answer. He didn’t have to.

And still—it hurt more than if he had screamed.

Itto laughed softly, bitterly. “God, I would’ve preferred a lie.”

Silence.

“You planned it, didn’t you? You kept me busy with Kuki, let me believe we were okay. While you were out with her.” He stepped forward, barely an arm’s length away now. “How long?” His voice cracked. “A month? Three?”

Yushiro stood still, eyes on the floor, the towel clutched tightly at his side.

Itto shook his head. “You don’t even flinch. Is that how far gone you are?”

He looked at him with something between heartbreak and disbelief. “Kuki calls you papa.”

Yushiro’s jaw tensed—just a flicker—but it was enough.

Itto saw it. And for a moment, his anger faltered under the weight of sadness.

“I would’ve forgiven distance. I would’ve forgiven exhaustion. Even resentment. But not this.”

Yushiro still didn’t speak. Couldn’t. Wouldn’t.

Itto swallowed hard, voice softer now. “You owe me that much, Yushiro. A word. A blink. A reaction. Anything.”

Nothing.

Itto exhaled, long and slow. Then he did something unexpected—he sat down on the edge of the bed.

“I’m not walking out tonight,” he said. “I want you to sit there. And I want you to feel what you’ve done. With me. In this room.”

A moment passed.

Yushiro didn’t move.

So Itto leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, gaze fixed on the floor.

“I’m giving you until morning,” he said quietly. “After that… I’ll decide what to tell Kuki.”

The words hung heavy in the air.

He didn’t look up again. He didn’t need to.

The man standing across the room wasn’t the one he married.

Not tonight.