Ai stood frozen in the hallway, listening to the fading echo of Ruby's words.
Papa.
One simple word that threatened everything she'd built. She'd known this conversation with Toshiro was inevitable, but she'd imagined it happening on her terms—planned, controlled, framed in the best possible light.
Not like this. Not with her daughter's sleepy voice making the decision for her.
She gestured toward the living room, pressing a finger to her lips. Her heart hammered against her ribs as she followed Toshiro, watching his shoulders tense beneath his shirt.
In the living room, he began to pace, nervous energy radiating from him. Ai stood by the couch, hands clasped to hide their trembling. The comfortable intimacy they'd shared during the movie had evaporated, replaced by a tension that stretched between them like an overwound string.
"I should probably go," Toshiro said, running a hand through his pale hair. "It's late, and you're probably waiting for Ichigo and Miyako to get back."
Ai opened her mouth to speak, but no words came.
"Unless you want me to wait with you?" he continued, words tumbling out faster now. "I don't mind. Although I'm not sure what they'll think, finding me here this late. Not that we did anything wrong. We just had dinner and watched a movie with the kids. Who are great, by the way. Amazing kids."
She watched him ramble, this confident center of PRISM reduced to nervous chatter. His hands moved as he spoke, gesturing in the air as if trying to organize his thoughts.
"About what Ruby said..." he continued, his voice softening. "Kids say things, right? She's probably just confused because we spent the day together. Like playing house. It doesn't mean anything. Though it did feel..." He paused, eyes distant for a moment. "Nice. Warm. I've never been called that before. Papa."
Something in his tone—a vulnerability, a longing—gave her courage. This was Toshiro. The same man who'd salvaged burnt hamburger steak, who'd caught Aqua when he fell, who'd carried Ruby to bed with such care.
"Toshiro."
He stopped pacing, turning to face her. Those blue eyes—sometimes sky, sometimes ocean—focused on her with an intensity that made her shiver.
"They're my children."
Three words. Simple. Unadorned. World-changing.
His expression shifted from confusion to shock, his lips parting slightly. "Your... children?"
Ai nodded, unable to speak past the knot in her throat. This was it—the moment he would leave. Just like her mother.
"Not Ichigo's," Toshiro said slowly, processing. "Yours."
"Mine," she confirmed, her voice barely audible.
"All this time..." His gaze drifted toward the hallway where the twins slept. "The 'babysitting'..."
"A cover story," she admitted, sinking onto the couch. Her legs felt suddenly weak. "Only Ichigo and Miyako know. They've helped me keep the secret since the twins were born."
Toshiro stood motionless, his eyes wide.
Ai twisted her hands in her lap. "I had them when I was sixteen."
He did the math silently, his expression shifting as he realized what that meant for her career, her life. "Sixteen," he repeated. "You were a child yourself."
"I grew up fast."
Toshiro moved to the couch, sitting beside her but leaving space between them. The distance felt vast.
"Why tell me now?" he asked quietly.
Ai laughed. "I didn't exactly plan it this way. Ruby made that decision for me." She looked down at her hands. "I was going to tell you tonight, before dinner. But then the twins came in, and the moment passed, and..." She shrugged. "I was afraid."
"Of what?"
"That you'd look at me differently." She forced herself to meet his eyes. "That you'd leave."
Tears pricked at her eyes, unexpected and unwelcome. She never cried—not over this, not anymore. She'd built walls too high for that pain to reach her.
Yet somehow Toshiro had slipped past them.
Toshiro's hand moved toward hers, hesitated, then settled over her fingers. His touch was warm, grounding. "I'm not leaving, Starlight."
The nickname—spoken with such tenderness—broke something loose inside her. A sob escaped before she could stop it. She pressed her free hand to her mouth, mortified.
"I'm sorry," she gasped. "I don't do this. I don't—"
"It's okay." His arm slid around her shoulders, pulling her against his side. "You don't have to be strong all the time."
"Yes, I do." She wiped angrily at her eyes. "I'm all they have."
"Not anymore."
The simple declaration hung in the air between them. Ai pulled back slightly to study his face, searching for any sign of insincerity or pity.
"You're not running for the door," she observed.
"Should I be?" His mouth quirked up at one corner.
"Most men would."
"I'm not most men." He squeezed her hand. "And you're not most women."
The tension in her shoulders eased slightly. "No, I'm not."
"So." His thumb traced circles on the back of her hand. "You're a mother. To twins. Who are two years old and absolutely incredible."
"Yes."
"And no one knows except Ichigo and Miyako."
"And you," she added. "Now."
"And me." He nodded, processing. "That's... a lot to manage."
"It's my life." She shrugged.
"A pretty amazing one." His voice held genuine admiration. "You're raising two children while maintaining a top-tier idol career. That's not just impressive, Ai. It's extraordinary."
She blinked, caught off guard by the praise. Most people, upon learning her secret, would focus on the deception, the scandal it would cause if revealed. Toshiro saw the strength it required.
"I do what I have to," she said.
"No. You do far more than you have to." He shook his head, wonder in his eyes. "Most people would have given up one or the other. The career or the children. You refused to choose."
"They're mine," she said simply. "I couldn't give them up. And the work... it's not just about me. B-Komachi supports a lot of people. Ichigo built the agency around us. If I quit..."
"Everything falls apart," Toshiro nodded.
"So now you know my big secret," she said, attempting lightness.
"One of them, anyway." His smile turned teasing. "There's still the mystery of how someone who can barely boil water managed to produce children as brilliant as those two."
"Hey! I made dinner tonight, didn't I?"
"You did. It was delicious. But I've seen your kitchen skills firsthand, Starlight. There are no genetic markers for cooking ability, thankfully for Ruby and Aqua."
"They get their brains from their father," she admitted. "He was... very intelligent."
Toshiro's expression sobered. "Is he involved in their lives?"
"No." Ai looked away. "He doesn't know about them."
"I see."
"It's complicated," she added, not wanting to delve into that particular history tonight.
"Life usually is." Toshiro didn't push, and she felt a surge of gratitude for his restraint. "Ruby definitely got her charisma from you, though. That girl could charm birds from trees."
"She's a natural performer," Ai agreed, relief flooding through her at the change of subject. "Always has been. Even as a baby, she knew how to work an audience. Aqua's more reserved."
"Like his mother when she's not on stage," Toshiro observed.
"You think I'm reserved?"
"I think you're careful. There's a difference." His gaze was thoughtful. "You calculate—when to smile, when to laugh, when to reveal pieces of yourself. It's what makes you such an effective performer. You understand the power of controlled revelation."
The insight was so accurate it left her breathless. No one had ever articulated her approach to life—to performance—so precisely.
"Aqua does the same thing," Toshiro continued. "He observes, evaluates, then decides how much of himself to share. It's a protective instinct." He paused. "One I recognize."
"From yourself?"
"Yes." His expression turned distant briefly. "When you grow up without secure attachments, you learn to guard what's precious. To reveal yourself only to those who've earned it."
Ai studied his profile, struck again by the sense that he understood her in ways few others did. "And have I? Earned it?"
His eyes returned to hers, their blue depths holding something that made her heart stutter. "From the moment you threw that napkin at my head, Starlight."
Heat bloomed in her chest, spreading outward. "That was hardly my finest moment."
"It was real," he countered. "Just you, annoyed that I called you short."
"I'm average height," she insisted automatically.
"For a hobbit, maybe."
She swatted his arm, but couldn't suppress her smile. This—the easy banter, the comfortable teasing—was what had drawn her to him from the beginning. He made her feel normal. Human. Not a commodity to be consumed by fans or a meal ticket for an agency, but just Ai.
"Thank you," she said suddenly.
"For what?"
"Not running. Not judging. Just... accepting."
His expression softened. "There's nothing to judge, Ai. You've done something incredible. Against all odds, you've built a career, raised two amazing children, and somehow managed to keep your sanity in the process. That's not something to condemn. It's something to admire."
The warmth in her chest intensified, spreading lower. His words—his acceptance—awakened something in her that had been dormant for too long.
"I'm not perfect," she warned. "The twins don't always get the attention they deserve. I miss things. Important things sometimes. Doctor appointments. I rely on Miyako too much."
"No parent is perfect," Toshiro said gently. "But those kids adore you. That much is obvious. You're doing something right."
The heat inside her built, pooling low in her abdomen. His words—simple, sincere—affected her more than any practiced seduction ever could.
"Toshiro," she began, not sure what would follow.
"I want to be part of this," he said suddenly. "Part of their lives. Part of yours. If you'll let me."
Her breath caught. "It won't be easy. We'd have to be careful. If anyone found out..."
"I'm good at keeping secrets." His thumb traced the inside of her wrist, sending shivers up her arm. "And I'm very motivated to make this work."
"Why?" The question escaped before she could stop it—small, vulnerable.
His eyes darkened, the blue deepening to midnight. "Because when I'm with you, I feel like I've found something I've been searching for in both lives."
The last words confused her momentarily, but before she could ask what he meant, he continued.
"When Ruby called me 'Papa' tonight... it should have terrified me. Instead, it felt like coming home." His voice dropped lower. "The same way I feel when you call me Shiro-chan. When you laugh. When you look at me the way you're looking at me right now."
Heat surged through her body, settling between her legs with an insistence she couldn't ignore. Ai rose from her seat and moved to straddle him, her knees on either side of his thighs.
Toshiro's eyes widened, his hands automatically settling on her waist to steady her. "Starlight?"
She didn't answer with words. Instead, she framed his face between her palms and kissed him—not the tentative exploration of the arcade photo booth, but something deeper, hungrier. A claiming.
He responded immediately, one hand sliding up her back to tangle in her hair, the other pulling her closer against him. His mouth opened under hers, tongue teasing the seam of her lips until she granted him entry. The kiss deepened, turned molten.
Ai sank further into his lap, feeling the hard evidence of his desire pressing against her core. A soft sound escaped her throat—need and want tangled together.
For this moment, there was no idol industry watching her every move. No career balanced on the knife-edge of public approval. No secrets to maintain or performances to perfect.
Just this. Just them. Just real.