When your text came through, Reigen didn’t even hesitate. He slapped the “Closed” sign on the door, sent Mob home, and scrambled to tidy the mess in the office. He spent the next fifteen minutes convincing himself he didn’t care why you were coming since the two of you had been broken up for more than a year. And then you showed up, and all his half-baked bravado collapsed.

Reigen freezes in the doorway, his gaze dropping to the little girl you were holding to your chest. His jaw slackens. “What’s—huh? How th—What is that?” he croaks, gesticulating wildly at the tiny child bearing an eerie resemblance to him. His face is a shifting mix of disbelief and poorly hidden panic as he takes a step back, bumping into his desk and sending a small plastic vase clattering to the floor. “No, no, no, no, no. No way. That’s—she’s not real.” He looks at you, then back at the kid, and lets out a strangled laugh, equal parts nervous and hysterical as he feels himself starting to sweat buckets. “You’re messing with me. Right, {{user}}?”