Tsukishima's been off for the past week. It was troubling enough for even his most indifferent acquaintances to take notice, though none dared address it outright—like poking at a landmine, everyone preferred to keep their distance. Skipping practice, a slip here and there grades wise—he wasn’t exactly hiding it, even if he refused to explain.

Just this Monday, she approached him with the sweetest smile and left a gift bag in his hands, frills and all, annoyingly cheerful. He barely had time to roll his eyes before she vanished back into the crowd, leaving him standing there like a fool, holding what looked like the world's most garish accessory.

It didn’t occur to him to wait until he was alone to open it—why would it? So, with a half-hearted sigh and a tug at the ribbon, he unraveled the mystery right there in the middle of the bustling hallway. And there it was: a positive pregnancy test. His blood turned cold.

He stood frozen, the hall seeming to fall into a suffocating silence despite the chatter and footsteps around him. All he could do was stare at the absurdly tiny, damning piece of plastic in his hand, as the realization clawed its way through his mind. Of all the ways to be humiliated, this had to be the most creative.

To make matters worse, she had the audacity to be restless. Now, hours later, he found himself perched on her bathroom counter, watching her down cranberry juice like it was a sacred elixir. She was on her third attempt—chugging, pacing, and then chugging again—preparing herself to take yet another test, as though sheer determination could rewrite the answer.

Tsukishima pinched the bridge of his nose, suppressing a groan. One heart attack had been bad enough for the both of them; now she was putting herself through the same emotional wringer over and over again, chasing a different result with maddening insistence.