"They're my children."
Three words. Simple. Devastating. World-altering.
"Your... children?" The question felt stupid leaving my lips, but my brain refused to compute what was happening.
She nodded, eyes never leaving mine.
"Not Ichigo's," I said slowly, pieces clicking together with agonizing slowness. "Yours."
"Mine," she confirmed, her voice barely audible.
The implications crashed over me like a wave. Those beautiful blonde children with their bright eyes and quick minds. The way Ai watched them. The careful distance she maintained in public. The "babysitting" cover story.
"All this time..." I looked toward the hallway where the twins slept. "The 'babysitting'..."
"A cover story," she admitted, sinking onto the couch. "Only Ichigo and Miyako know. They've helped me keep the secret since the twins were born."
I stood rooted to the spot, my mind racing through every interaction I'd witnessed between Ai and the children. The love had been obvious—but I'd interpreted it as affection for her boss's kids, not the bone-deep connection of a mother to her children.
"I had them when I was sixteen," she said.
Sixteen. The number hit me like a physical blow. I did the math automatically. B-Komachi had been active for three years. The twins were around two. Which meant...
"Sixteen," I repeated. "You were a child yourself."
"I grew up fast."
Two words that contained a universe of pain, sacrifice, and strength. In my years in the orphanage—in both lives—I'd seen what happened to teenage girls who got pregnant. The way society discarded them. The choices forced upon them.
Yet here sat Ai Hoshino, Japan's pure-hearted idol, who had somehow managed the impossible—keeping her children while maintaining her career in an industry that would destroy her for it.
I moved to the couch, sitting beside her but leaving space between us. Not from disgust or judgment, but from awe. From the sudden, crushing realization that I knew nothing about sacrifice compared to what this woman had endured.
"Why tell me now?" I asked quietly.
She laughed, the sound brittle. "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 my eyes. "That you'd leave."
The vulnerability in her voice gutted me. This woman—this incredible, fierce, loving woman—feared I would abandon her for doing the one thing in her life that truly mattered. For being a mother.
My hand moved toward hers before I could think, hesitating briefly before covering her fingers with mine. "I'm not leaving, Starlight."
The nickname slipped out naturally, and something broke in her expression. A sob escaped her lips, and she pressed her free hand to her mouth, looking mortified.
"I'm sorry," she gasped. "I don't do this. I don't—"
"It's okay." I slid my arm around her shoulders, pulling her against my side. Her body felt small and warm, shaking slightly with suppressed emotion. "You don't have to be strong all the time."
"Yes, I do," she insisted, wiping angrily at her eyes. "I'm all they have."
"Not anymore."
The words escaped before I could examine them, before I could question what I was offering. But as they hung in the air between us, I knew they were true. Whatever this was between us—this connection that had sparked that first night over burnt hamburger steak—it wasn't something I could walk away from.
She pulled back slightly, studying my face. Looking for the lie, the hesitation. "You're not running for the door."
"Should I be?" I couldn't help the small smile that tugged at my mouth.
"Most men would."
"I'm not most men." I squeezed her hand. "And you're not most women."
Some of the tension left her shoulders. "No, I'm not."
"So." I traced circles on the back of her hand, grounding myself in the reality of her skin against mine. "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." I nodded, processing.
In my first life, I'd never faced anything like this. I'd been ordinary. Unremarkable. My biggest decisions had involved much smaller stakes. Nothing that changed the course of lives. Nothing that mattered.
This mattered.
These children mattered. Ai mattered. And whatever role I might play in their lives—that mattered too.
"That's... a lot to manage," I said finally.
"It's my life." She shrugged, as if diminishing the miracle she performed daily.
"A pretty amazing one." Admiration filled me as I considered what she juggled. "You're raising two children while maintaining a top-tier idol career. That's not just impressive, Ai. It's extraordinary."
She blinked, surprised by the praise. Had no one ever acknowledged the magnitude of what she accomplished? The strength it required?
"I do what I have to," she said simply.
"No. You do far more than you have to." I shook my head. "Most people would have given up one or the other. The career or the children. You refused to choose."
"They're mine," she said, and in those two words I heard everything—her fierce love, her determination, her refusal to let anyone dictate her choices. "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," I nodded, understanding the weight she carried. The responsibility.
What the hell are you doing? a voice in my head demanded. You're seventeen. A transmigrator with memories of a mediocre life and a second chance you don't deserve. What can you possibly offer her? These children?
But when I looked at Ai—at the mixture of fear and hope in her eyes—none of that seemed to matter. Only this moment. Only her.
"So now you know my big secret," she said, attempting lightness.
"One of them, anyway." I forced a teasing smile, pushing past my doubts. "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, and I felt a strange twist in my gut at the mention of this unknown man. "He was... very intelligent."
"Is he involved in their lives?" I kept my voice neutral, though something possessive stirred in me.
"No." Ai looked away. "He doesn't know about them."
"I see."
"It's complicated," she added, clearly not wanting to delve deeper.
"Life usually is." I didn't push, though questions burned in my mind. Who was he? Why didn't he know? What had happened between them? "Ruby definitely got her charisma from you, though. That girl could charm birds from trees."
Relief crossed Ai's face at the change of subject. "She's a natural performer. 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," I observed.
"You think I'm reserved?"
"I think you're careful. There's a difference." I studied her face. "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."
Something shifted in her expression—surprise, followed by recognition. As if I'd seen a part of her she thought well-hidden.
"Aqua does the same thing," I continued. "He observes, evaluates, then decides how much of himself to share. It's a protective instinct." I paused, thinking of my own carefully constructed defenses. "One I recognize."
"From yourself?"
"Yes." For a moment, I was back in the orphanage, learning which parts of myself to show and which to hide. Which would earn approval and which would bring punishment. Later, in my previous life, those lessons had continued—what to reveal to get ahead, what to conceal to protect myself.
"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 me intently, her gradient eyes searching mine. "And have I? Earned it?"
"From the moment you threw that napkin at my head, Starlight."
A flush spread across her cheeks, warming her pale skin. "That was hardly my finest moment."
"It was real," I countered. "Just you, annoyed that I called you short."
"I'm average height," she insisted.
"For a hobbit, maybe."
She swatted my arm, but couldn't hide her smile. This—the easy banter, the comfortable teasing—was what made being with her feel so right. So natural. As if we'd known each other far longer than a few weeks.
"Thank you," she said suddenly.
"For what?"
"Not running. Not judging. Just... accepting."
"There's nothing to judge, Ai." I meant it with every fiber of my being. "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."
Her eyes darkened, something shifting in their depths. A heat I recognized, having seen it once before—in the arcade photo booth just before her lips met mine.
"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," I said gently, thinking of the many imperfect caregivers I'd known. "But those kids adore you. That much is obvious. You're doing something right."
Her lips parted slightly, her breath coming faster.
"Toshiro," she began, my name a question on her lips.
"I want to be part of this," I said, the words rushing out before I could second-guess them. "Part of their lives. Part of yours. If you'll let me."
What are you doing? that doubtful voice demanded again. You're promising things you have no idea how to deliver.
But another voice—older, wiser, more certain—answered: Some things are worth the risk.
"It won't be easy," Ai said, caution battling hope in her eyes. "We'd have to be careful. If anyone found out..."
"I'm good at keeping secrets." My thumb traced the inside of her wrist, feeling her pulse jump beneath my touch. "And I'm very motivated to make this work."
"Why?" The question escaped her—small, vulnerable, laced with disbelief.
I looked at her—really looked. Past the idol perfection. Past the careful masks. At the woman who had faced impossible choices alone and carved out a life on her own terms.
"Because when I'm with you, I feel like I've found something I've been searching for in both lives."
Shit. I didn't mean to say that.
Thankfully, she didn't seem to notice the strangeness of the phrasing, too caught in the moment between us.
"When Ruby called me 'Papa' tonight... it should have terrified me. Instead, it felt like coming home." My voice dropped lower, the confession intimate. "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."
Something changed in her expression—heat replacing caution, desire eclipsing doubt. In one fluid movement, Ai rose from her seat and moved to straddle me, her knees on either side of my thighs, her weight settling into my lap.
My hands found her waist automatically, steadying her. "Starlight?"
She answered by framing my face between her palms and kissing me—not the tentative exploration of our first kiss, but something hungrier. Demanding. A claiming that sent fire racing through my veins.
I responded instantly, one hand sliding up her back to tangle in her hair, the other pulling her closer against me. Her mouth opened under mine, and I teased the seam of her lips with my tongue until she granted me entry. The kiss deepened, turned molten.
Ai sank further into my lap, a soft sound escaping her throat as she felt my body's unmistakable response to her. The noise drove me wild—need and want tangled together in a sound I wanted to hear again and again.
My lips left hers to explore the curve of her jaw, the sensitive spot below her ear, the elegant column of her throat. She tipped her head back, offering more access, another of those soft sounds vibrating against my mouth.
"Shiro-chan," she whispered, her voice husky with desire.
I nipped gently at her pulse point, then soothed the spot with my tongue. Her hands tightened in my hair, pulling slightly in a way that sent sparks down my spine.
"We should..." I murmured against her skin.
"Yes," she agreed, though neither of us had finished the thought.
I returned to her mouth, kissing her deeply, thoroughly, committing to memory the taste of her, the small sounds she made when I did something she particularly liked. Her hips shifted against mine, creating a friction that made me groan against her lips.
"The kids," I managed between kisses, my last functioning brain cell remembering we weren't alone in the apartment.
"Heavy sleepers," she assured me, her hands sliding under my shirt to explore the skin beneath. "But we should..."
"Be quieter," I suggested, pressing a kiss to the corner of her mouth.
"Be somewhere else," she corrected, pulling back just enough to meet my eyes. The look she gave me—half challenge, half invitation—sent heat pooling low in my abdomen.
Ai stood, extending her hand to me. I took it without hesitation, rising to my feet.
"Are you sure?" I asked, needing to know this wasn't impulse or gratitude or relief talking.
Her gradient eyes held mine, clear and certain. "I've been sure since you called me Starlight."
She led me down the hallway, past the children's rooms where soft night-lights cast a gentle glow, to a door at the end. Her bedroom. Simple, almost sparse—a single bed, a small dresser, minimal decoration.
At the threshold, she turned to face me, her hand still in mine. "I want you to know what you're getting into, Toshiro. It's not just me. It's them too. It's secrets and complications and risks."
I raised our joined hands to my lips, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. "I know."
"And you still want this? Want us?"
"More than I've wanted anything."
I kissed her again—slower this time, deeper, pouring into it everything I couldn't yet put into words.
Ai stepped backward, drawing me with her into the room. Her free hand reached behind her, finding the door.
Click.
======
Hopefully this chapter clears up Toshiro's thoughts and emotions!