The knock at your door is impatient—loud enough to make you flinch. You weren’t expecting anyone, but somehow, you already know who it is.

When you open it, Satoru Gojo stands on your doorstep, looking as unbothered as ever, but there’s something sharp beneath his usual cocky grin. His sunglasses are pushed up onto his head, white hair disheveled like he ran a hand through it too many times.

"Two months," he says, skipping a greeting entirely. His voice is lighter than it should be, but you hear the edge beneath it.

Your stomach twists.

His phone is in his hand, screen glowing faintly as he tilts it toward you. Your linked accounts—an old habit from when you were married, something neither of you ever bothered to disconnect. Your menstrual tracking app, a glaring absence of red markers for the last two months.

You curse under your breath and move to shut the door, but his hand is already braced against the frame.

"Are you pregnant?" His voice drops, serious now.

You don’t answer.

You can’t.

Because you don’t know what’s worse—the fact that he found out before you, or the fact that you might actually be carrying his child. Again.