The apartment was queerly quiet that morning. No delivery bells, no sound of rustling paper bags from the bakery below. Only the soft whoosh of wind against the panes, and the soft tick of the clock perched atop their tiny stove.
Haruka stood at the edge of the bathtub, her hands clasped tightly together, the knuckles pale.
The world was descending upon her—walls folding in, sound retreating into cotton silence. Her breathing short, too shallow to settle, too heavy to linger.
Her hand trembled in her grasp.
Two lines.
She had been staring at it for ten minutes now. Blipped. Looked again. Tapped it gently, as if that would be of use.
Two clear red lines.
Her stomach twisted again, but it was not nausea this time. It was all the rest.
Shock. Fear. Awe. A pain so deep she didn't know if she would be able to laugh or weep.
As the front door slowly opened with its characteristic gentle sound, her heart nearly ceased to beat.
"Haruka?" The sound of Kaito's voice resonated down the hall, accompanied by the clomp of shoes being taken off and a bag of shopping being placed on the counter. "I picked up those miso packs you prefer. The one containing tofu already inside."
She remained silent.
A minute later, he knocked softly on the bathroom door. "You okay?"
Haruka's hand around the test grew tighter. Her throat was clogged with something that could not be swallowed.
She got up slowly and opened the door.
Kaito blinked at her in surprise to see her still in pajamas, face sweaty and pale.
"Hey," he whispered. "What's wrong?"
She didn't respond. Just held out the test with both hands, as if it were something precious and sacred.
Kaito looked down.
Two lines.
He didn't say anything at first. Just stared, face expressionless. And then he lifted his head, and something in his eyes burst wide open.
Haruka cried all at once. "I didn't— I mean, I didn't intend— I thought it was just stress, or hormones, or—"
He caught her before the words could drop further.
His arms holding her were hot and steady. She buried her face in his chest and cried—uncombed, unstoppable, not with terror, but with the sheer weight of it all. The weight of being alive. Of not being alone.
Kaito didn't speak for an incredibly long time.
Then finally, he whispered, "If this is home… then our home's about to grow."
Haruka laughed through crying, trembly and half-disbelieving.
"You're. not. afraid?" she breathed.
"Terrified," he answered readily.
That took her staring upwards.
"But," he continued, brushing a tendril of hair out of the way from her cheek,
"I was afraid when you first spoke to me. I was afraid when I fell. I was afraid when I thought I'd have to leave you behind. And I stayed. Every time. I'm staying now."
She shielded her mouth, as if to stop another wave of tears, but they flowed anyway.
Kaito kissed the top of her head.
"I don't know how to be a dad," he said gently. "But I know how to show up. We'll figure the rest out."
That evening, they sat on the floor, sides by side, legs tucked beneath them, the test between two cups of warm-down tea.
Kaito sat quietly, absorbing.
Haruka did too.
She couldn't help but recall the little bookstore where she worked, her boss's constant habit of bringing in those headache herbal candies for customers. How gentle people were, even when the world was hard.
She recalled the baby, a breath of a thing within her. A presence that hadn't even made a sound, and already altered the weight of her world.
She gazed at Kaito. "Should we… tell your grandma Natsumi?"
He smiled softly. "She's going to cry. Then make soup."
Haruka smiled. "Sounds about right."
"Should we tell your parents, then?"
Her smile fell.
Silence crept back like an omen.
"I don't know," she said after a while. "Part of me wants to leave this… alone. Ours. Safe."
Kaito nodded. "Then we wait. Until you're ready."
She took his hand. He gave it a squeeze.
And for the first time, since she'd run away from home, Haruka didn't feel like she was running away from something.
She was running towards something.
Something tangible.
A couple of days ago, sitting on the windowsill, under a soft winter blanket draped over her lap, sipping hot barley tea, waiting for Kaito to return from his job interview in Tokyo, Haruka felt better.
The queasiness had decreased now, or maybe she had grown used to it.
She'd bought a small notebook, one with a light blue cover and the words "Hello, Little One" printed across the front. It wasn't much. But it was a start.
She wrote: "You don't exist to fix me. But somehow, knowing you're there… it helps me want to keep going."
The door clicked open behind her.
"Kaito?" she called.
But it wasn't him.
It was the landlord—an elderly man who rarely spoke unless absolutely necessary.
He walked into the room, making an apology.
"There's something both of you should know," he said.
Haruka slowly stood up from her seat, her nerves on edge. "What is it?"
"There was someone here beforehand. A man in a suit. He inquired about you."
Her breath caught. "What kind of questions?"
"He directed me to a picture," the landlord continued. "Asked if there was a young woman with your face who resided here. Said he was from your home, and that you could possibly… be not right in the head."
Haruka's heart sank.
"He's coming back," the landlord announced, voice tense with worry. "Any day now."
Haruka stepped back from the window, arms instinctively wrapped around her stomach. Around the tiny life she hadn't even had a chance to name yet.
She felt the fear crawl back in like fog under a door.
But she also remembered Kaito's voice. Steady. Warm. "We'll figure this out."
Yes. Together.
But they might need to leave—again.
Before someone tried to take away what they had just begun to build.
Haruka glanced at the time. Kaito's train was supposed to arrive any minute now.
But what if they were already watching?
What if he never made it back?