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WHITE LIES — FUSHIGURO TOJI (5)

content: female reader, businessman!toji, unplanned pregnancy, mention of abortion. word count: 7,1k.

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The next morning, you did everything in your power to avoid going downstairs.

You stayed in bed long past when you normally would have gotten up, staring at your phone and watching the time tick by. 8:00 AM. 8:30. 9:00. Each passing minute was a small victory, a few more moments of not having to face reality.

At 10:37, you heard footsteps in the hallway outside your room and held your breath, praying they'd pass by.

They didn't.

A gentle knock. "Miss Y/N?" Yua's voice, soft and apologetic. She'd been your mother's housekeeper for over a decade, had watched you grow up, and you knew that if she was already aware of the situation, she might also feel disappointed. "Your mother is waiting for you in the dining room."

Shit.

"I'll be down in a minute." You called back, your voice still rough from last night's crying.

"She said to tell you that breakfast is getting cold."

Translation: get your ass downstairs now.

You dragged yourself out of bed and caught your reflection in the mirror. You looked like hell—which wasn't surprising after a night of tossing and turning in bed and getting only two hours of sleep. Your eyes were swollen and red, your dress was completely wrinkled, and what little makeup you had left made you look like a raccoon.

For a brief moment, you considered trying to make yourself presentable.

Then you decided you didn't have the energy to care.

This was what rock bottom looked like, and your mother would just have to deal with it.

—

The dining room was flooded with morning light, the floor-to-ceiling windows offering a view of your mother's meticulously maintained garden. Under normal circumstances, this was your favorite room in the house—bright and airy, filled with the smell of fresh flowers from the arrangements your mother changed weekly.

Today it felt like an interrogation room.

Your mother sat at the head of the long mahogany table, impeccably put together as always in a cream-colored blouse and pearls, a cup of coffee in her hands. She looked up when you entered, and you saw her take in your disheveled appearance without comment.

Small mercies.

"Hey." You said, sliding into a chair as far from her as the table would allow—practically at the opposite end.

"Y/N..." Your mother's tone carried a warning.

You sighed and moved closer, taking a seat in the middle of the table. Still a good four feet away.

She gave you a look that clearly said don't make me say it.

With another sigh—this one more dramatic—you moved to the chair directly across from her.

"Better?" You muttered.

"Much." She took a sip of her own coffee, studying you over the rim. "So. Toji Zen'in."

Your stomach clenched. "Um. Yeah."

"He's... a character."

That was putting it mildly. "He is."

Your mother set down her cup, her expression carefully neutral in that way she had when she was choosing her words carefully. "I have to admit, I'm surprised. I never thought he was your type. I always saw you more with someone like... oh, the Gojo boy. Satoru."

Of course she did. Your mother had been not-so-subtly pushing Satoru Gojo in your direction for years. Probably planning an arranged marriage with his parents in the shadows, the way families like yours did. She always said how perfect he'd be for you—successful family, good looks, and the same social circle.

You'd known Satoru since you were kids, had watched him grow from an obnoxious child into an equally obnoxious adult. Sure, he was objectively attractive, and he could be charming when he wanted to be. But you'd also seen him passed out drunk at too many parties, watched him flirt with anything that moved, witnessed his particular brand of arrogant asshole behavior that he thought was endearing.

There was exactly zero attraction there. Less than zero, actually.

"You know he was never my type, Mom."

"And Toji is?" She sounded genuinely incredulous. "I mean, I can see where the attraction comes from—he's certainly handsome enough. But Y/N, he's older than you—"

Just seven years.

"He is divorced and has a child—"

Like half the world's population.

“And his reputation is..." She trailed off delicately. "Not the kind of man I would have approved of for my daughter."

That's… kinda true.

Each word felt like a small cut. Because she was right—Toji wasn't the kind of man your mother would choose for you. He was rough around the edges, had rumors around him and his relationships, came with baggage. Indeed, he was everything your mother had spent your whole life warning you away from.

"I need to ask—does he treat you well?" Your mother's voice was softer now, genuinely concerned. "That's what matters most. Is he good to you?"

Uh…

Images flashed through your mind unbidden—a highlight reel of the past year.

Toji opening car doors for you. Toji with his hand wrapped around your throat as he fucked you into the mattress. Toji pulling you against his chest, his heartbeat steady under your ear. Toji spitting in your mouth while you were on your knees. Toji calling you sweetheart in that rough voice. Toji calling you his good little slut while you rode him. Toji buying you a diamond necklace for your birthday. Toji giving you a lingerie set he wanted you to wear for him.

It was... a balance.

A very complicated, very confusing balance of rough and tender, crude and sweet, selfish and thoughtful.

"Yeah, he treats me well." You managed, your voice almost breaking on the words. "Like a queen, actually."

Relief washed over your mother's face. "Well—that's good to hear, at least."

Silence settled between you. You could hear the antique clock in the corner ticking, the distant sound of Yua moving around in the kitchen. Your mother took another sip of her coffee, and you noticed the way her shoulders relaxed slightly afterward. You'd bet money she'd added something stronger than cream to that cup.

"Has he been supportive?" She asked finally. "About the pregnancy?"

"Yeah." The word came out barely above a whisper.

Your mother nodded, seeming to turn something over in her mind. You watched her, trying to read her expression, trying to figure out what she was thinking.

This was your chance. You had to tell her now, before things got even more complicated.

"Mom, I need to tell you something."

She set down her cup, giving you her full attention. "Alright."

"Toji and I... we'd already decided. Before last night. We were going to get an abortion."

Your mother's hand jerked, sending coffee sloshing over the rim of her cup and across the pristine white tablecloth. "What?!"

"I know it sounds bad—" You were talking fast now, scrambling. "But we're not even married yet and—"

"Yet?" Your mother latched onto the word immediately. "Were you planning on getting married?"

Shit. Shit. Shit.

"No! I mean—" You backtracked frantically. "I just meant that it's not serious enough for marriage. Not yet. We're not—"

"Not serious?" Your mother's voice rose. "Y/N, you're pregnant with this man's child, and you're telling me the relationship isn't serious?"

"No! That's not—we are serious! Very serious!" God, you were making this so much worse. "It's just that we've only been together a short time. It's too early for marriage."

"It's too early to get married but not too early to get pregnant?" Your mother dabbed at the spilled coffee with her napkin, her movements sharp with agitation. "That's usually the other way around, sweetheart."

"Mom..." You felt tears pricking at your eyes again. How did you still have tears left?

"I'm trying to understand." She set down the napkin and looked at you directly. "I really am. I know times are different now. I know I'm... outdated in my thinking. Some people start relationships just for fun these days, not actually looking for a future together. Is that what this was with Toji? Just seeing where things went?"

There it was. The crossroads.

If you said yes, your mother would be disappointed. She'd raised you with different values, different expectations. She'd see it as a failure on her part, somehow.

But if you said no, that was just another brick in this building of lies you and Toji had started constructing last night.

You hoped the foundation was strong enough to support it.

"No." You heard yourself say. "We're actually... together together. For real."

The silence that followed felt heavy enough to crush you.

Your mother picked up her coffee again—definitely spiked, you were certain now—and took a long sip.

"Y/N." Her voice was measured, careful. "I'm going to ask you something, and I need you to be completely honest with me. Can you do that?"

You nodded, not trusting your voice.

"Is the abortion something you actually want?" She held your gaze. "Really want? Because I need to know if this is your decision or if you think it's what you're supposed to do."

The question hit you like a physical blow.

"I—" Your voice cracked. Tears spilled over, and you wiped at them furiously. "I don't know. I mean, it's the right thing, isn't it? Given everything?"

"For me, personally? No, I don't think it is." Your mother's honesty surprised you. "But that doesn't matter. This is your choice, Y/N, not mine. Not your father's. Yours."

She leaned forward slightly, her expression softening.

"But I know you, I'm your mother. And by the look in your eyes when I asked that question... you don't really want to do it, do you?"

The words hung in the air between you.

Did you want to keep it? Was that the feeling in your chest every time you thought about the abortion—not just anxiety but actual reluctance? Actual... grief at the thought of ending it?

"Maybe." You whispered. "Maybe I don't. But Mom, I know this would look terrible for the family. What about the business associates? What about the press? What about Dad? What about the Zen'ins? Everyone's going to talk, everyone's going to judge—"

"I wish I could tell you that won't happen, but we know it will." Your mother said after a heavy sigh, "But I know you're strong enough to get through it all. You're my daughter after all."

Inevitably, her words made more tears roll down your cheeks. Your parents always thought very highly of you, and the fact that at least your mother made it clear she still does brought some comfort to the whole situation.

"Thank you."

Your mother just nodded and looked down at her coffee cup before sighing and looking at you again.

"Your father and I will deal with the external concerns." She waved a hand dismissively. "He's on the phone with Katsuro Zen'in right now, actually."

Your heart stopped. "What?!"

"We need to get things sorted out. The families need to be aligned on how to handle this situation."

"But—"

"There are a lot of things we need to discuss." She continued, standing up and smoothing down her blouse. "But it's almost lunchtime, and your boyfriend should be arriving soon."

Oh god.

That's true. Toji was coming here. To face your parents. After everything that happened last night.

You were going to be sick.

"Please go shower." Your mother said, her tone gentler now.

You nodded mutely, watching as she swept out of the dining room with the same poise she brought to everything, even family crises.

Once she was gone, you slumped forward, resting your forehead against the cool wood of the table.

Tears came again—quieter this time, exhausted tears that didn't have the energy to be dramatic. Your father was talking to Toji's father. Right now. And whatever came of that call, you knew it wasn't going to be good.

The clock in the corner kept ticking, marking the passage of time you didn't have.

With a shuddering breath, you pushed yourself up from the table and headed for the stairs.

You needed to shower. To pull yourself together. To figure out how to face Toji and your parents and all the questions that were coming. You had about two hours to transform from a crying mess in wrinkled clothes into someone who looked… fine.

It wasn't enough time.

When Toji pulled up to the Ito estate at exactly 12:45, his heart was lodged somewhere in his throat.

He hadn't slept. Not a single hour. He'd spent the entire night staring at his ceiling, replaying the hospital scene over and over—your father's face when the doctor said the word pregnant, your mother fainting, the way you'd looked at him before the car door closed.

And that ultrasound.

That tiny flickering heartbeat that he couldn't stop seeing every time he closed his eyes.

Around 6:00 a.m., he'd given up on sleep entirely and decided to start his day. Megumi, his eight-year-old son, practically killed him with his glare when he woke him up at 8 a.m. on a Saturday; the boy loved sleeping in on weekends, and Toji felt terrible, but he had to stand his ground when the boy refused to get out of bed.

Later, while Megumi was taking a shower, he called Naoya, who asked way too many questions when Toji asked him if he could watch over Megumi for a few hours while he took care of some "urgent business" that couldn't wait. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust his cousin—but he didn’t trust his cousin. Naoya was too much of a gossip, and Toji knew that if he told him the truth, it would only be a matter of hours before his entire social circle knew about it too.

Even so, Toji turned to him because Naoya owed him too many favors. So even though he clearly didn't want to look after Megumi, he knew he couldn't refuse.

"Is something wrong?" Megumi had asked from the back seat as they were on their way to Naoya's house.

Toji glanced in the rearview mirror, and when he made eye contact with his son, he felt a pang in his chest—guilt, without a doubt.

"Everything's fine, kid." Lies, lies, and more lies. "Something happened at the restaurant, and I just need to sort it out."

Megumi had looked at him suspiciously—his kid was too perceptive for his own good—but hadn't asked more questions. He was grateful for that. Because he was sure he wouldn't know how to explain to his son the chaos that was unfolding.

Speaking of explanations, Toji wondered if he should have prepared a speech. Something eloquent and respectful that would convince your father he wasn't a complete disaster of a human being.

Too late for that now.

He killed the engine and stepped out, straightening his shirt for the third time. He'd agonized over what to wear—too casual would be disrespectful, too formal would look like he was trying too hard. He'd settled on dark slacks and a crisp button-down. Business casual. The uniform of a man who was probably about to get his ass kicked but wanted to look presentable for it.

The doorbell echoed through the massive entryway when he pressed it, the sound reverberating like a death knell. This was absurd. All of it.

A woman in her sixties answered the door—staff, wearing a neat gray uniform and a professionally neutral expression. Toji opened his mouth to introduce himself, to explain he had an appointment with Mr. Ito, but before he could get a word out, she simply said, "Mr. Zen'in. I'll escort you to Mr. Ito."

Right. Of course they'd told the staff. Probably briefed the entire household. The man who knocked up our daughter is coming for lunch. Be professional.

"I can handle him, Yua."

Your voice came from somewhere behind the woman—Yua, apparently—and then you appeared, stepping around her into the doorway.

Toji's breath caught slightly. He couldn't help it.

You were wearing a simple sundress, pale pink with small white flowers, the kind of casual elegance that set you apart. Your makeup carefully applied. Everything about you screaming composed.

Except he could see the exhaustion beneath it.

Yua glanced between you and Toji, clearly uncertain about leaving him alone with you. "Miss Y/N, are you sure—"

"It's fine, really." You insisted, your tone gentle but firm. "I've got this."

Yua gave Toji a look that clearly communicated if you hurt her, I know where to hide a body, then disappeared back into the house.

Was there anyone in this house who didn't hate him? Probably just you—he hoped.

The moment the door closed behind her, you grabbed Toji's hand and pulled him away from the entrance. He let himself be led, too surprised by the sudden contact to protest, as you practically dragged him across the driveway and into the front garden.

You didn't stop until you were behind a massive oak tree that probably predated both of you, its sprawling branches creating a canopy of shade. Hidden from view of the house. Private.

You dropped his hand to check your surroundings, your eyes scanning the windows and garden paths like you were worried someone might have followed.

Only when you seemed satisfied that you were alone did you finally look at him properly.

"We need to talk." You said, your voice low and urgent.

"I figured as much." Toji kept his own voice quiet to match yours. "What's the plan for today? What am I walking into?"

"They're going to ask a million questions. That's a guarantee. My father has probably prepared a whole interrogation." You wrapped your arms around yourself despite the warm afternoon. "But that's not what I need to talk to you about. Not yet."

His heart rate kicked up. "Okay..."

"It's about..." You gestured vaguely between you, unable to say the words out loud. "You know."

The baby. The decision you were supposed to make.

Toji's mouth went dry. "Yeah. I know."

"I'm sorry I'm doing this right now." You said in a rush, the words tumbling out fast and nervous. "Like, literally minutes before we have to face my parents together. It's so selfish of me and so rude and terrible timing and I should have called you or texted or—"

"Hey." He cut you off before you could spiral further. "It's fine. I told you to take all the time you needed. If you made up your mind this morning or next week or a month from now, it doesn't matter."

You took a shaky breath, your hands twisting together. "I talked to my mother this morning. And while we were talking, I realized something."

You reached out and grabbed his hand again—whether for his comfort or yours, he wasn't sure. Your fingers were cold despite the summer heat, and he could feel them trembling slightly.

"I don't think I really wanted the abortion." You said, the words coming out barely above a whisper. "I think I was just trying to convince myself it was the right thing to do. And I knew that if I decided to keep it, I'd be dragging you into this mess with me, and I couldn't do that to you. I was so scared of ruining your life on top of ruining mine and—"

You were starting to ramble, your voice getting higher and faster.

"And I don't want you to think this is because of my parents." You continued. "Because it's not. This isn't me caving to what they want or what they expect. This is—I just wanted you to know that I—"

You trailed off, looking at him helplessly, like you'd run out of words.

Toji stood there, trying to process what you'd just said.

You weren't doing it. You weren't getting the abortion.

You were keeping the baby.

Your baby.

The feeling that washed over him was unmistakable: relief. Pure, overwhelming relief that nearly knocked him off balance.

He'd wanted this. Had wanted you to keep it from the moment he saw that ultrasound picture in the restaurant. But he hadn't let himself hope for it, hadn't wanted to influence your decision with his own complicated feelings about it.

The question was why? Why did he care so much? Why did the thought of that tiny flickering heartbeat disappearing make his chest ache?

If he really dug into that question, really examined his motivations, he'd probably find answers he wasn't ready to confront. About you, about this situation, about what he actually wanted from all of this. So he shoved those thoughts aside and focused on the immediate reality: you were keeping the baby, which meant both your lives were about to get exponentially more complicated. But he knew—with absolute certainty—that he was willing to go through all of it.

"Are you even listening to me?" You asked suddenly, anxiety creeping into your voice.

"Of course I am." He squeezed your hand, grounding both of you. "Look, I told you that whatever you decided, I'd be there for you. And I meant it. So we're keeping this baby. That's going to come with a lot—a lot of challenges and a lot of shit we're going to have to figure out. But we can do it. Alright?"

You looked up at him, your eyes shining with unshed tears, and he would have given anything—his cars, his restaurant, every penny in his bank account—to know what was going through your mind right now.

The silence stretched between you, heavy with everything you weren't saying.

Then you spoke, your voice so quiet he almost missed it.

"Are we going to be good parents?"

The question hit him like a punch to the chest.

He tried to lighten the moment, deflect with humor the way he always did when things got too heavy. "You seem to forget that I'm already a dad."

You let out a sound that was half laugh, half sob. "I know you're a good dad to Megumi. But you know what I mean."

And he did. He knew exactly what you meant.

He wanted to tell you that things weren't the way you thought they were—but it wasn't the right time.

"We can try." He said finally, the honesty of it surprising him. He resisted the urge to bring your joined hands to his lips, to kiss your knuckles in reassurance like this was some romantic movie instead of a complicated mess. "But for that to work, we need to make this work."

"I know." Your voice cracked. "But I'm scared, Toji. We're about to reach a point of no return."

"It's going to be alright." He said, willing himself to believe it. "We'll get through it."

You stared at him, and he could see you searching his face for something—doubt, hesitation, signs that he was lying to make you feel better. He kept his expression open, honest, letting you see that he meant every word.

Whatever you found there seemed to satisfy you, because after a long moment, you nodded.

You pulled your hand free from his and started walking toward the house, your sundress swaying with each step. At the front door, you paused and looked back at him over your shoulder.

"Ready?" You asked.

Toji took a deep breath and followed you. "As I'll ever be."

You pushed open the door and led him inside, and Toji couldn't shake the feeling that he was walking toward either his salvation or his second spectacular failure.

Only time would tell which.

—

Toji had never been inside your house before—your parents' house, technically, though it was hard to think of a mansion like this as just a "house."

There was nothing humble about it. Luxury and elegance weren't just present—they were weaponized. The crystal chandelier hanging in the entryway. Floor-to-ceiling windows flooded the space with natural light, showcasing furniture that somehow managed to make a space this enormous feel cozy. Everything was carefully curated, perfectly placed, a testament of wealth and impeccable taste.

You led him through the house without speaking, your sundress swishing softly with each step. He followed, hyperaware of the staff members who stepped aside to let you pass, their expressions professionally blank but their eyes curious.

You guided him through a set of French doors that opened onto the back garden, and Toji's breath caught slightly despite himself.

It was stunning. Manicured lawns stretched out like green carpet, punctuated by meticulously maintained flowerbeds bursting with color. Stone pathways wound between them, leading to a fountain at the garden's center where water cascaded over tiered basins. And there, beneath the shade of a pergola covered in climbing wisteria, sat a large white table.

Your parents were already seated, wine glasses in hand, while staff members moved around them with the silent efficiency of people who'd perfected the art of being invisible.

The moment your parents noticed your approach, the atmosphere shifted, became heavier. Your father sat up straighter in his chair, his spine going rigid, while your mother took a long sip from her wine glass. The air practically crackled with tension.

You gave Toji a nervous look—eyes wide, silently communicating I'm sorry,—before continuing forward. Toji followed, forcing himself to keep his gaze anywhere but on your father's face. The grass. The trees. The fountain. The intricate stonework on the pergola. Anything to avoid that look of barely contained fury and disappointment. When you reached the table, Mr. Ito stood. It was clearly a reflexive gesture, years of etiquette training overriding his desire to stay seated and glare. They shook hands, your father's grip just slightly too firm, holding on just slightly too long. A power play. A reminder of who held the cards here.

Your mother extended her hand as well, her smile tight and controlled. "Toji."

"Mrs. Ito."

You slid into a seat, and Toji took the one beside you.

Silence descended like a thick fog.

The only sounds were the fountain's gentle burbling, birds chirping in the garden, and the quiet clink of glasses as staff members appeared with appetizers and refreshed wine glasses, except yours—your glass was filled with orange juice instead.

"Do you like salmon, Toji?" Your mother asked, her voice determinedly pleasant. Making conversation like this was a normal Saturday lunch.

"Yes." Toji kept his answer short, not trusting himself with more words.

"Our chef's recipe is really wonderful. I think you'll enjoy it." She took another sip of her wine.

"I don't doubt it."

Toji glanced at you. You were staring at the table, your hands twisting together in your lap, knuckles white with tension. You hadn't looked at him since he sat down, and he could see the way your breath was coming too fast and shallow.

Your father set down his wine glass with a decisive clink.

"Let's stop ignoring the elephant in the room, shall we?"

"Tadashi—" Your mother started, a note of warning in her voice.

"We have a long conversation ahead of us, Naomi. It's better to start sooner rather than later." He turned his attention fully to Toji, and it felt like being pinned under a spotlight. "So. How long have you been in a relationship with my daughter?"

"A year, sir." Toji answered, his voice steady and confident. Selling the lie. Making it believable.

"When exactly did this relationship begin?"

"After the boutique hotel project finished." The lie came easily because it was close enough to the truth.

Your father made a small sound of acknowledgment, like this timeline made sense to him. Fit into his understanding of events.

"And why," He started, his voice deceptively calm, "did you feel the need to keep this a secret from us?"

There was a subtext there that hit Toji harder than he'd expected. Hurt. Your father was hurt that his daughter—the girl he'd called his pride and joy last night—hadn't confided in him. Had kept something this significant hidden.

Toji understood that feeling more than he wanted to admit. He'd feel the same way if Megumi kept something like this from him.

He looked at you and saw you were on the verge of breaking. Your eyes were bright with unshed tears, your hands shaking slightly where they gripped each other.

Jesus. And the interrogation had barely started.

Toji reached over under the table and took your hand, lacing his fingers through yours. You gripped back immediately, desperately, like he was a lifeline.

He took a breath before speaking. "Sir, I know my reputation isn't... the best." The understatement of the century. "I knew you'd never see me as worthy of your daughter. So we decided to keep the relationship private."

"I don't see you as worthy of my daughter." Your father said bluntly.

The words shouldn't have stung. Toji had known this would be your father's position. But hearing it stated so baldly, with such conviction, hit differently than he'd expected. Made something in his chest tighten uncomfortably.

"Dad—" You started, your voice rising.

Toji squeezed your hand. A silent message: Don't. Not yet. Let him finish.

"She's young, accomplished, brilliant." Your father continued, his voice gaining heat. "She graduated with honors from one of the best universities in the country. She's an exceptional employee, respected by everyone who works with her. And you..."

The pause was deliberate. Cutting.

"You might have money and a successful business. You might come from a good family with enough influence to smooth over your mistakes. But you're nothing more than that." Your father's voice was cold now, clinical. "A trust fund baby who squandered his first chance at marriage and is now repeating his mistakes with my daughter."

"Dad!"

"Tadashi!" Your mother's voice cracked like a whip. She stared at her husband with wide eyes, shocked by his bluntness.

Your father looked at her, then at you, and whatever he saw in both your faces made him pause. He took a breath, visibly trying to rein in his anger.

Toji sat there, absorbing the words, fighting the instinct to defend himself. To snap back. To put your father in his place the way he would with anyone else who spoke to him like that.

Nobody talked to Toji Zen'in like this. Nobody.

He'd built a reputation over years of not tolerating disrespect, of making sure people knew exactly where the lines were. Under normal circumstances, he'd already be on his feet, voice cold and cutting, making it crystal clear that this kind of talk was unacceptable.

But these weren't normal circumstances.

You were sitting beside him, your hand trembling in his, trying not to cry. The situation was already a mess. The last thing either of you needed was Toji picking a fight with your father and making everything exponentially worse.

And—though he hated to admit it—a significant part of him knew your father wasn't entirely wrong. Toji had fucked up his first marriage. His reputation was terrible. He was exactly the kind of man any father would want to keep far away from his daughter.

So he kept his mouth shut and took it.

For you.

"When were you planning to tell us?" Your father asked, shifting gears slightly. "Or was this going to be a secret forever? I'm having a very hard time understanding how you thought this situation would resolve itself."

"Toji wanted to tell you at the New Year's party last year." You said quickly, jumping in with another lie, probably to keep him from looking like a total jerk. "But I asked him to wait."

The New Year's party at the Kamo family estate; all of Tokyo's elite crammed into one space, champagne flowing like water.

Toji remembered that night with sudden, vivid clarity. The black dress you'd worn—simple, elegant, and absolutely devastating on you. The way you'd looked at him across the ballroom, that particular glint in your eye that meant you wanted him. How you'd disappeared toward the back of the house and he'd followed five minutes later, finding you in some spare bedroom.

The sex had been frantic, quick, risky, charged with the thrill of possibly being caught. You'd had to bite down on his shoulder to keep quiet, and he'd left marks on your hips that probably lasted days. Afterwards, you'd both straightened your clothes, fixed your hair, and returned to the party like nothing had happened, making small talk with the same people you'd been avoiding just thirty minutes earlier.

Yeah, that was definitely not where his mind needed to go right now.

He shifted slightly in his seat, forcing those memories away and focusing on your father's increasingly frustrated expression.

"Why?" Your father demanded. "If you'd just told us the truth from the beginning, this would have been so much easier to process. We could have—"

"Are you sure about that?" You cut him off, your voice sharp and defiant.

Toji tried to catch your eye, to silently communicate calm down, don't escalate, but you weren't looking at him.

"Because I know you would have been just as angry as you are now."

"Well, of course I'm angry!" Your father's voice rose. "You're pregnant at twenty-five by a man I—as I said—don't see worthy of you."

"But why are you the one deciding that?" Your voice was shaking now, with anger or fear or both. "Aren't I supposed to be the one who decides who I'm with? Who I—who I love?"

The word hung in the air. Love. A word neither you nor Toji had ever used, because this wasn't that. But it was part of the story you were selling, so there it was.

"And your decision had to be Toji Zen'in?" Your father practically spat the name. "Of all the Zen'ins out there—respectable, accomplished Zen'ins?"

"Well, I wanted this one!" you shot back.

"Stop."

Your mother's voice cut through the argument like a blade. Both you and your father immediately looked down, chastised.

"We're here to have a conversation and find answers." She said firmly. "Not to fight and yell at each other. I'm just as shocked as you are, Tadashi, but we're not getting anywhere like this. We cannot change what's happened. We can only understand it and decide how to move forward."

Mr. Ito looked at his wife, and something in her steady gaze seemed to deflate his anger slightly. He sighed, rubbing his temples.

"Fine." He straightened in his chair, his expression hardening into something more business-like. Less emotional. "Let me cut to the point of this meeting."

Toji's stomach dropped. Here it comes.

"I spoke with your father this morning, Toji."

That was definitely not good.

"He was as shocked as I was when I informed him of this... situation." Your father's gaze moved between you and Toji, his expression cold. "And we both agreed on the best way to proceed. You two will get married."

The words shouldn't have been a surprise. Toji had known this was coming. There was no universe where your family—or his, for that matter—would allow you to have a child out of wedlock.

But hearing it stated so baldly, still sent a jolt through him.

"Dad—" You started.

"That is final." Your father interrupted, his tone brooking no argument. "We're arranging a meeting with both families tomorrow to discuss the details, but the decision is made. You're getting married in two weeks."

"Two weeks?" Your voice cracked. "Dad, isn't that too fast? We need time to plan, to—"

"Nothing new to him, I'm sure." Your father's eyes were cold as they landed on Toji.

The jab landed perfectly. Toji's jaw clenched, but he said nothing. You looked at him, a mix of apology and curiosity in your eyes, and if it weren't for the fact that you were in the middle of a very awkward family lunch, he would have told you he'd tell you the truth.

He would do it soon, he made a mental note.

"Honey, I'll do my best to make it beautiful." Your mother interjected, clearly trying to soften the blow. Her voice was gentle, almost pleading. "We can go dress shopping together. Make it special. It won't be as elaborate as we would have planned with more time, but it can still be lovely."

You looked shell-shocked. Staring at your mother like she was speaking a foreign language.

"Now—" Your father said, gesturing to the plates of salmon that staff had placed in front of each of you during the argument. "Eat."

"I'm not hungry." You said quietly.

Both your parents turned to look at you with identical expressions that clearly communicated this was not a request.

You picked up your fork immediately, bringing a small bite of salmon to your mouth with shaking hands. Toji did the same, though he couldn't taste anything. The fish could have been cardboard, and he might not even have noticed.

The rest of the meal passed in tense near-silence, broken only by your mother's valiant attempts at normal conversation—asking about Megumi, mentioning the weather, discussing some charity gala next month as if any of them would care about that right now.

Each attempt died quickly, smothered by the oppressive atmosphere.

Toji ate mechanically, his mind already racing ahead to tomorrow's family meeting. To the wedding. To the fact that he should tell Megumi the truth soon.

Beside him, you pushed food around your plate, barely eating despite your parents' watchful eyes. And across the table, your father sat in stony silence, looking at Toji like he was a problem that needed to be managed rather than a person.

Then it hit.

This was going to be his family now.

Toji took another bite of salmon and tried not to think about how spectacularly this could all fall apart.

—

After what felt like the longest meal of Toji's entire life—and he'd sat through some excruciating business dinners—your father finally stood up from the table.

"I have some calls to make." He announced, his tone making it clear this wasn't a suggestion for anyone to follow. He looked at Toji one last time, his expression unreadable but distinctly unfriendly, then turned and walked back into the house without another word.

Your mother lingered a moment longer, setting down her napkin with practiced grace. She looked between you and Toji, something that might have been sympathy crossing her face before she smoothed it away.

"I suppose we'll see you tomorrow, Toji." She said, her voice carefully neutral. "The meeting is at 10 a.m. Our lawyer's office in Shibuya, we will send you the address. Don't be late."

"I won't be, Mrs. Ito."

She nodded, then placed a gentle hand on your shoulder as she passed. "Come inside soon, sweetheart. We have a lot to discuss about…the wedding." She spat out the word as if it hurt her.

You didn't respond, didn't even look up, and after a moment your mother sighed softly and followed your father inside.

Then it was just the two of you.

The garden suddenly felt too quiet. The fountain that had seemed soothing before now sounded too loud in the silence. Birds chirped in the trees, oblivious to the fact that two people's lives had just been completely rearranged over salmon.

You stared at the table for a long moment, then let out a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob.

"You and I are getting married." You said it slowly, like you were testing out the words, seeing how they felt in your mouth. Your head dropped into your hand, elbow propped on the table. "I mean, I knew this was going to happen. But it's still... unexplainable."

Your free hand drifted to your stomach, fingers splaying across the still-flat surface of your sundress. Probably acknowledging the tiny reason for all of this chaos growing inside you.

Toji felt the urge to reach over, to cover your hand with his, to feel that spot where everything was changing. But he kept his hands to himself.

Too soon.

"Fuck." You breathed suddenly, your eyes squeezing shut. "I'm going to throw up."

Toji was on his feet immediately, his chair scraping against the stone. "Do you need water? Should I get—"

"No." You held up a hand, stopping him. Your eyes were still closed, your breathing deliberate and controlled. "No, I'm okay. I think. My body is just... still processing all of this."

He sat back down slowly, watching you carefully. Your face had gone pale, a slight sheen of sweat on your forehead despite the shade.

"Are you sure? Because you really don't look—"

"I'm fine." You opened your eyes, and they were bright with unshed tears. "I'm fine. I just need a minute."

The minute stretched into several. Toji sat there, useless, watching you fight for composure and not knowing how to help. This wasn't his strong suit—emotional support, comforting words, knowing what to say when someone was falling apart. He was better at fixing tangible problems. Negotiating deals or handling logistics. Concrete things he could control.

This—watching you struggle, seeing the fear in your eyes, knowing you were terrified and there was nothing he could do to make it better—this was close to torture.

"I should probably go inside." You finally whispered, but you didn't move. "Will your family be there tomorrow? At the lawyer's office?"

"Probably." Toji grimaced at the thought. "My father for sure. Maybe my uncle. Definitely the family lawyer."

"That sounds terrible."

"It will be." He stood up, figuring that was his cue to leave. "But we'll get through it."

You stood too, smoothing down your sundress before starting to walk. "You keep saying that. 'We'll get through it,' like you're sure we will."

"I am sure." He said, following in your footsteps.

"How?"

Toji shrugged as he opened the French doors leading into the mansion. "Because we don't have a choice. We're having a baby. We're getting married. We're doing this whether we're ready or not. So we might as well commit to making it work."

You looked at him for a long moment before going inside the house. "That's very practical of you."

"I'm a practical person."

"I know."

You walked him to the door, and even though there was a sense between the two of you that there were many things to say, many things to clarify, and many things to plan, it seemed that you were both too exhausted to do any of that today.

"Well, I'll see you tomorrow." You said when you reached the front door.

"See you tomorrow. If you need anything, call me." He replied, his words sincere.

“I will.”

As he walked out to his car, Toji's mind was already racing ahead to the conversation he'll need to have with Megumi. How to explain this to his poor kid. How to make his son understand that this wasn't a bad thing, even though it was sudden and complicated and scary.

And probably, he'll make himself believe that too.

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