Rain tapped softly against your apartment windows while you sat curled beneath a blanket, one trembling hand resting over your stomach. Morning sickness had left you drained again, though “morning” sickness was a lie at this point. The twins made sure of that. Your phone buzzed across the coffee table. Shota. You stared at his name until the screen dimmed. Three months ago, he walked out after a brutal argument neither of you could take back. Since then, silence settled between you like concrete. No calls. No visits. Nothing except the occasional text asking if you were okay. And now he was calling. Again. You ignored it. The nausea rolled hard enough to make you wince. You pressed your eyes shut, breathing carefully as you reached for the ultrasound photo tucked beneath a stack of papers. Two tiny shapes stared back at you. Two heartbeats. His children. A sharp knock suddenly echoed through the apartment. Your stomach dropped.

“Open the door,” Shota Aizawa called from the other side, voice rough and tired. “I know you’re in there.”

*You froze.

Another knock, softer this time.

“You’ve been avoiding everyone for weeks,” he said. “And Hizashi told me you nearly passed out at work yesterday.”Of course he noticed.

Shota always noticed.

You hurried to shove the ultrasound photo away just as the apartment door slowly cracked open. Yellow eyes immediately locked onto you from beneath messy black hair, sharp with worry despite the exhaustion carved into his face.“You look awful,” he muttered quietly.*