Chapter Text
Tsukasa Tenma did not miss school. He did not miss rehearsals. He did not vanish without a proclamation so dramatic the entire campus would remember it for years. He was the kind of person who arrived early, voice echoing through the halls before anyone else had even taken off their shoes, ears high, tail flicking like a banner that announced the future star has arrived. So when his desk sat empty for the third day in a row, when his voice didn’t cut through morning practice, when the stage lights turned on and there was no golden blur of energy to fill them, the absence became louder than any performance.
Emu had stopped bouncing. That was the first truly alarming sign. She stood in the middle of the stage with her hands clasped together, forcing a smile that wobbled at the edges. “Tsukasa-kun will be here tomorrow! For sure! Stars don’t just disappear!” she chirped, but her ears drooped at the ends, betraying the worry she tried to bury in glitter and optimism.
Nene kept rechecking her phone between lines, missing cues she normally never would. The game she always cleared so efficiently now lingered untouched in her bag. “He hasn’t replied to anything,” she muttered, more to herself than to the others.
Rui said nothing.
The first day, he had told himself Tsukasa was sick. The second, that he had family obligations. The third day, when the shows were cancelled because none of them could perform properly without the center of their constellation, Rui’s mind began to turn in slow, methodical circles. Every moment from that evening in Sekai replayed with cruel clarity—Tsukasa’s flushed face, the way his ears had trembled, the way he had clung so tightly. The warmth, the closeness, the point where the world had faded and it had just been the two of them.
Had it been too much?
Had Rui pushed too far?
He knew Tsukasa—loud, radiant, honest to a fault—and yet… Tsukasa had not come back. Not to school. Not to practice. Not to him.
The thought settled in his chest like a weight: He must hate me.
It didn’t matter that Tsukasa had been the one to pull him closer. It didn’t matter that Tsukasa had said he wanted him too. Rui’s mind rewrote everything with clinical precision, turning warmth into pressure, enthusiasm into regret. He should have stopped. He should have slowed down. He should have given Tsukasa time to breathe, to think, to decide.
Instead, he had taken everything.
By the fourth evening, the silence became unbearable.
Nene’s house was only a few steps away—a familiar path he had walked so many times he could do it without looking—and yet his feet felt heavier than they ever had before. The glow of her window spilled onto the street, the rapid clicking of controller buttons audible even from outside. Rui knocked once and let himself in, as he always did.
Nene sat cross-legged on the floor, eyes glued to the screen, her expression locked in that intense, slightly annoyed look she always had when she was focused. “You’re late,” she said automatically, even though there had been no plan to meet.
Rui lowered himself onto the couch without responding.
The game music filled the room. Explosions, character voices, the rhythmic tapping of buttons. Rui stared at the floor, hands folded loosely, ears angled low in a way that would have been unthinkable for him any other day. After a while, Nene paused the game. The sudden quiet felt enormous. She turned, really looking at him now, her brows knitting together. “What’s wrong?”
Rui hesitated. The words felt strange in his mouth, fragile and heavy. “Tsukasa… hasn’t come to school. Or practice. Or answered anything.”
“I noticed,” Nene said simply.
Rui swallowed. “I think it might be my fault.”
Her eyes narrowed slightly—not in irritation, but in concentration. “Why?”
Rui’s fingers tightened together. “We might have… crossed the line of friendship.” The admission came out softer than he intended, his usual theatrical tone nowhere to be found.
Nene blinked. Then, without missing a beat, she said, “You already did. On the school trip.”
Rui’s face went bright red instantly. “Th-that was entirely different! That was— That was—” He floundered, waving a hand in the air as if the correct explanation might materialize. “That was not— We did not— It was simply—”
Nene stared at him.
Rui deflated. “This was different,” he finished weakly.
“And now you think he’s avoiding you,” she said.
Rui nodded, ears drooping further. “He hasn’t spoken to me once. Tsukasa never does that. He’s always… loud. Always there. Even if he’s upset, he announces it to the entire world.” His voice dropped. “But now there’s nothing.” Nene leaned back on her hands, thinking. “I wouldn’t know what he’s feeling,” she said at last. “That’s not something anyone else can tell you.”
Rui looked up.
“You’re the one who has to find out,” she continued. “Go ask him. Don’t just sit here making up worst-case scenarios in your head.” She gave him a small smile—awkward, a little stiff, but clearly meant to be reassuring. Rui realized then that her focused expression had softened, that she wasn’t annoyed at all. She had just been worried.
At that exact moment, the screen behind her flashed GAME OVER in huge letters.
Nene turned slowly.
“…Ah.”
Her eye twitched. “FUCK!! I WAS ON THE FINAL STAGE—” She grabbed the controller like it had personally betrayed her, flopping forward in dramatic despair. “THIS IS YOUR FAULT FOR DISTRACTING ME.”
Rui laughed—a quiet, genuine sound that felt like the first breath he’d taken in days. “My apologies,” he said, standing. “Thank you, Nene.”
“A-ah, pardon. Just go talk to him already,” she muttered into the floor, defeated both in game and in reality.
The evening air was cool when Rui stepped outside again. Tsukasa’s house wasn’t far—he knew the way as well as he knew the route to the stage. The lights were off. The driveway was empty. No sign of his parents’ cars.
Saki has a performance tonight, Rui remembered. So Tsukasa was home alone.
The realization sent a strange mix of relief and anxiety through him. He walked up to the door and knocked. Once. Twice. No answer.
Of course. Tsukasa would never open the door if he didn’t want to face someone.
Rui stepped back, looking up toward the familiar second-floor window. The tree beside it swayed gently in the evening breeze—the same tree they had climbed as children, the same one Tsukasa had once declared his “emergency escape route for dramatic entrances.” Rui moved without thinking, hands and feet finding the old footholds easily. The bark was rough beneath his palms, leaves brushing against his ears as he climbed higher, heart pounding louder with every movement.
The window was dark. He reached out and tapped lightly against the glass. For a moment, nothing happened.
And then—
A faint movement inside.
Rui’s breath caught as he leaned closer, golden eyes searching through the dim room, his reflection staring back at him—nervous, uncertain, nothing like the confident, teasing person Tsukasa knew. “Tsukasa…” he whispered, though the glass muffled the sound.
His hand lifted again, knocking softly, hope and fear twisting together in his chest as he waited for the boy who had always been his brightest star to appear on the other side.
The curtain shifted. Just a little. A sliver of gold and peach appeared between the fabric and the window frame, one wide orange-yellow eye peeking out—and then Tsukasa froze. The moment he properly registered Rui clinging to the tree outside his window, his entire face turned red, ears shooting upright before flattening so fast they nearly disappeared in his hair. He vanished behind the curtain again, the fabric snapping closed like a shield.
Rui blinked. Once. Twice. His heart, already racing from the climb and the fear of what he might find, lurched painfully in his chest. “Tsukasa…?” he called, leaning closer to the glass, one hand braced against the frame. “Why are you hiding? Are you…are you angry with me?” His foot slipped against the bark. The branch dipped. Rui tilted sideways with a startled yelp, balance vanishing in an instant.
The window flew open. Tsukasa’s hand shot out, grabbing Rui by the collar and dragging him inside with surprising strength. They tumbled onto the floor in a mess of limbs and fur and startled breaths, the curtain swaying wildly behind them. Rui barely had time to process the fact that he was now in Tsukasa’s room before Tsukasa scrambled away and disappeared behind the curtain again, like it was the only barrier keeping the world from collapsing.
Rui pushed himself up onto his elbows, completely baffled. “Tsukasa…? Why are you hiding from me? Did I…did I do something wrong?” His voice cracked despite himself. “Do you hate me?”
“I DON’T HATE YOU!” Tsukasa’s answer came immediately, loud and frantic and unmistakably Tsukasa. The curtain trembled. “I would never hate you! I could never hate you! It’s just—something happened—and I didn’t know how to tell you—and then you kept looking at me and I—!”
Rui’s face went pale. “Something happened?” he repeated, panic flooding his features so clearly it hurt to look at him. His ears drooped low, tail gone still. “Are you sick? Did someone—Tsukasa, what happened?”
The guilt hit Tsukasa like a physical weight. He groaned, a long, miserable sound, hands clutching at his head on the other side of the curtain. “Ugh, this is the worst, this is the absolute worst—I knew you’d make that face—don’t make that face—!” His ears flattened completely, visible now in silhouette through the fabric.
“Tsukasa,” Rui said softly, the panic in his voice barely restrained, “please.”
There was a long pause. Then a muffled grumble. Then another groan. The curtain shifted. Tsukasa stepped out.
Rui’s breath stopped.
Tsukasa stood there in an oversized shirt that clearly didn’t fit the way it used to, cheeks burning so red they almost matched the tips of his hair, ears pressed flat in mortified surrender—and beneath the fabric, unmistakable, was the gentle, round curve of a pregnant belly.
Rui stared. His brain emptied. His ears shot straight up. And then—
“AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH—!!!”
The scream tore out of him in pure, unfiltered shock.
Tsukasa gasped louder than Rui had ever heard anyone gasp. “R-RUI!!!” His own hands flew to his mouth, eyes wide in horror. “YOU—YOU DON’T SCREAM—YOU NEVER SCREAM—!!!”
“I—WHAT—HOW—TSUKASA—YOUR—THAT—THERE—BELLY—WHY—?!” Rui pointed with both hands like his body had forgotten how to function normally.
Tsukasa puffed up despite the blush that consumed his entire face. “IT’S YOUR FAULT, SO DON’T ACT LIKE THAT!!!”
Rui froze. “My…fault?”
“Yes, your fault! Whose fault would it be?!” Tsukasa sputtered, tail twitching furiously behind him.
“But—but—but why is it already—so round? How is this even possible, I thought you would not get pregnant!” Rui asked weakly, his voice pitching up at the end as his eyes drifted back to Tsukasa’s stomach like it had its own gravitational pull.
Tsukasa groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Because bunny hybrid pregnancies are sped up, obviously! I thought you knew that! We literally studied hybrid biology together, Rui! You should know why I got pregnant!”
Rui didn’t answer.
He was staring.
Staring at the curve beneath Tsukasa’s shirt. Staring at the faint way Tsukasa’s hands hovered there protectively without even thinking about it. Staring as realization slammed into him with the force of a collapsing stage set.
He did that.
Those were his.
Tsukasa was his mate.
There were babies—his babies—right there.
Rui’s entire expression changed in an instant, shock melting into something wide and bright and terrifyingly intense. His ears trembled, tail giving a sharp, uncontrollable flick as he stepped forward like he was being pulled by a string.
“You’re…carrying them,” he said, voice barely above a whisper, awe flooding every syllable. “Our…babies.”
Tsukasa’s blush deepened so much it spread down his neck. “D-don’t say it like that so loudly…” he muttered, but his hands didn’t move away from his belly, and his ears—though still flattened—gave the tiniest, helpless twitch.
Rui dropped to his knees in front of him without even realizing he was doing it, eyes still locked on the curve like it was the most miraculous thing he had ever seen. His mind replayed every moment, every touch, every second he had spent blaming himself for ruining everything—and now here Tsukasa was, alive, flustered, radiant, and carrying proof that they had crossed that line together.
“I thought you hated me,” Rui admitted, voice shaking.
Tsukasa blinked. “What?!”
“You disappeared,” Rui said, looking up at him, eyes bright and vulnerable in a way Tsukasa had never seen before. “You didn’t come to school. Or practice. You didn’t answer. I thought I’d—gone too far. That I’d hurt you.”
Tsukasa’s expression crumpled into something softer, embarrassed and fond all at once. “Idiot,” he mumbled, voice wavering. “I was panicking because I didn’t know how to tell you! Do you have any idea how dramatic it would be if I just walked into rehearsal like this?!” He gestured wildly at himself. “Emu would faint, Nene would blue-screen, and you—”
“I screamed,” Rui said faintly.
“You screamed,” Tsukasa echoed, still looking slightly traumatized by the memory.
They stared at each other for a moment—and then Tsukasa huffed, ears lifting just a little. “You’re supposed to be responsible for this, you know,” he muttered.
Rui’s gaze softened into something warm and certain and utterly devoted. “I am,” he said.
The room fell quiet, the weight of everything settling around them—the worry, the absence, the shock, the realization. Rui’s hand lifted slowly, hesitating just before touching Tsukasa’s stomach, silently asking permission. Tsukasa swallowed, then nodded, looking away with a flustered puff of his cheeks.
When Rui’s hand finally rested there, gentle and reverent, both of them froze.
The future star who had vanished had not disappeared at all.
He had simply been waiting for the right moment to reveal a miracle.
—and Rui had climbed a tree to find it.