Chapter Text
The Morning Chaos
The morning sun filtered through gauzy curtains, painting the kitchen in soft gold. A sleepy aroma of coffee mixed with the faint smell of mischief — the kind that could only mean Hotaru was awake.
“Hotaru!” Sanemi’s sharp voice rang down the hallway. “If I find mud on the floor again—”
Too late.
A small figure, dressed in pajamas covered with cartoon foxes, zoomed past the kitchen doorway. His tiny feet left a trail of muddy footprints across the spotless tile.
“Papa! Look! I found a frog outside!” Hotaru held up his cupped hands proudly, as if he had just discovered a mythical creature.
Giyuu, standing by the sink in an oversized sweater and her long hair tied messily in a ponytail, blinked twice before sighing softly. “Hotaru… the frog doesn’t belong in the house.”
“But Mama, it’s cold outside,” Hotaru argued, his ocean-blue eyes — so much like hers — blinking innocently.
From the table, Sanemi groaned, dragging a hand over his face. “Kid, your mama’s gonna kick both of us out if you start a zoo in the kitchen.”
Giyuu shot him a quiet glare but her lips twitched, betraying her amusement. “You, especially.”
Sanemi smirked. “Hey, I’m not the one tracking mud inside.”
“Yes, but you encouraged him yesterday when he brought home a lizard.”
“That was different,” Sanemi countered, crossing his arms. “The lizard had character.”
Hotaru giggled, clearly siding with his father.
Giyuu sighed, kneeling to Hotaru’s level. “Sweetheart, why don’t we make a little box outside for your frog? You can visit it anytime.”
Her calm, gentle tone always did the trick. Hotaru’s shoulders slumped, but he nodded. “Okay, Mama.”
“Good boy,” Giyuu said softly, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “Now go wash your hands before breakfast.”
Sanemi watched the exchange quietly, leaning against the counter. He’d seen that expression — the gentle warmth Giyuu reserved only for their son. It always made his chest tighten with something he never quite learned to describe.
“Coffee?” Giyuu offered, breaking the silence as she poured him a mug.
“Yeah.” Sanemi rubbed his neck. “Thanks.”
Their hands brushed briefly when she handed him the cup. Even after six years, the contact made something in him stutter — though he’d never admit it aloud. Giyuu’s lips curved faintly, as if she could read his thoughts.
By the time breakfast rolled around, Hotaru was chatting animatedly about frogs and superheroes, while Sanemi tried to convince him that vegetables could, in fact, give him “super strength.”
Giyuu listened quietly, her heart full. This was their chaos — loud, messy, and perfect.
Yet when Hotaru ran off to grab his backpack, Giyuu lingered at the sink, her hand unconsciously drifting to her stomach. Lately, she’d been feeling… off. Tired. Queasy in the mornings.
Sanemi noticed the distant look on her face. “Hey,” he murmured, stepping closer. “You okay?”
She hesitated, then smiled softly. “I’m fine. Just… tired.”
He frowned, unconvinced, but let it go — for now.
Later, as they walked Hotaru to kindergarten, the little boy skipped between them, holding both their hands.
“Papa, Mama, can we get a puppy next?”
Giyuu chuckled quietly. Sanemi groaned.
“Oh no, not after the frog incident.”
“But Papa—!”
And just like that, laughter echoed down the street — the sound of a small family wrapped in simple happiness.
They didn’t know it yet, but life was about to get louder, fuller — and a lot more chaotic.
Because beneath Giyuu’s calm exterior, a new heartbeat had just begun to form.
Little Heartbeats
The world outside was calm that morning, a drizzle painting faint ripples on the windowpane. Inside the small Shinazugawa-Tomioka home, however, the quiet felt heavier than usual.
Hotaru had just left for kindergarten, leaving behind an almost eerie silence. Giyuu leaned against the kitchen counter, one hand clutching a cup of warm tea, the other unconsciously resting on her stomach again.
She had been feeling this way for weeks now — the sudden exhaustion, the faint dizziness when she stood up too fast, the way even the smell of Sanemi’s coffee could make her stomach twist.
And now, as she glanced at the small plastic stick hidden beneath a folded kitchen towel on the counter, she knew.
Two pink lines.
Her chest fluttered with disbelief and something fragile, something beautiful — a quiet storm of emotion she couldn’t yet name.
The sound of the front door creaking open startled her.
“Oi, Giyuu?” Sanemi’s voice came from the hallway, deep and familiar. “Forgot my keys. Damn things fell out of my pocket.”
She quickly slid the towel over the test again, heart hammering.
“In the kitchen,” she called back, forcing her tone to stay neutral.
Sanemi stepped in, still half-dressed for work in his collared shirt and black slacks. His silver hair was slightly damp from the rain, sticking to his forehead.
“You okay?” he asked, brow furrowing when he saw her pale face.
“I’m fine,” she lied softly.
Sanemi tilted his head. “You’ve been saying that for a week.”
Giyuu turned away, busying herself with the tea kettle. “Just tired.”
He stepped closer, his rough voice gentling. “You’re not one to look this tired unless something’s really up. You sure it’s not—”
“I said I’m fine, Sanemi,” she interrupted quietly, though her voice trembled.
That small crack — he caught it immediately. His sharp lavender eyes softened. “...Alright. I won’t push. Just—take it easy today, okay?”
She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.
He leaned down, brushing a kiss against her temple before heading for the door again. “Love you, Giyuu.”
Her throat tightened. “Love you too.”
When the door shut behind him, the house fell silent once more. Giyuu sank into a chair, staring down at the towel hiding her secret.
Her fingers trembled as she lifted it again. The two pink lines stared back.
She smiled faintly — small, disbelieving, and tearful.
“…We’re really doing this again,” she whispered, brushing a hand over her stomach.
That evening, the house filled with the sounds of laughter and clutter once more. Hotaru darted between his parents as they prepared dinner — Sanemi chopping vegetables with precision, Giyuu stirring soup, and Hotaru standing on a stool to “help” by stirring the air more than the pot.
“Papa, I can help with the knife!”
Sanemi’s reaction was instant. “Over my dead body.”
“But I can be careful!”
Giyuu chuckled softly. “You can help by setting the table, sweetheart.”
Hotaru puffed up his cheeks but obeyed, humming while carrying spoons and chopsticks.
As she watched him, Giyuu’s chest ached with affection. Their little boy — so full of life, laughter, and energy. He’d be an amazing big brother.
But the thought alone made her heart pound nervously. What if Sanemi wasn’t ready? He’d been talking about how work had gotten busier lately, how Hotaru was growing up so fast — how he couldn’t imagine going through sleepless nights again.
Would he still smile the same way when he found out?
That night, after Hotaru fell asleep, Giyuu and Sanemi sat together on the couch, the TV quietly playing some late-night variety show.
Sanemi’s head was leaned back, eyes half-closed from exhaustion. Giyuu’s hand brushed his lightly, and he turned his palm up to intertwine their fingers.
It was such a simple thing — and yet her heart thudded.
“Sanemi,” she said softly.
“Mhm?”
“There’s something I need to tell you.”
He opened his eyes, sitting up slightly. “What’s wrong?”
Giyuu hesitated. Her mouth went dry. The words stuck in her throat like they weighed too much to lift.
She looked down instead, her other hand resting gently on her stomach.
Sanemi followed her gaze. His eyes widened slightly — then softened in realization.
“…Wait,” he whispered, his voice almost disbelieving. “Are you—”
Giyuu nodded, her eyes shimmering. “I found out this morning.”
For a moment, there was only silence — heavy, stunned, trembling.
Then Sanemi exhaled sharply, laughter breaking through the shock. He reached out, cupping her face, pressing his forehead to hers.
“God, Giyuu…” he murmured, voice rough with emotion. “You really know how to drop a bomb, huh?”
She gave a small, watery smile. “You’re not… mad?”
He shook his head, a rare tenderness overtaking his features. “Mad? Hell no. Just… surprised. And maybe a little terrified.”
“Terrified?” she teased softly.
“Yeah,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to her lips. “’Cause I already thought I couldn’t love you more — and now you’re giving me another reason to prove myself wrong.”
Giyuu’s heart melted.
She rested her forehead against his, tears slipping down her cheeks. “Thank you.”
Sanemi wiped them gently with his thumb. “You’re carrying our second chaos gremlin, huh?”
She laughed quietly. “Let’s hope they take after you this time.”
“Nah,” he grinned, pulling her close. “One Hotaru is enough. The world can’t handle two of me.”
And as they sat there, tangled together in warmth and quiet laughter, Giyuu realized — home wasn’t just a place. It was this.
The man beside her.
The child sleeping down the hall.
And the tiny heartbeat growing inside her.