The hospital doors parted with a sterile hiss, spilling Yu into the brightness of late morning. The air outside was sharp and clean, cool against the heat still clinging to his cheeks. He inhaled deeply, the scent of asphalt and faint greenery grounding him in a way the too-bright fluorescent corridors never could. For a moment, he just stood there on the steps, the pamphlets still clutched to his chest, his gaze unfocused on the busy street ahead.
Every footstep that passed, every car horn in the distance, felt muted against the steady thrum of his own heartbeat. He pressed a hand to his stomach—still small, still barely visible, but no longer his alone.
'Three…'
He thought, and the word lodged like a stone in his throat.
The vibration of his phone startled him, buzzing insistently in his pocket. Yu blinked down at the screen, a message from Joy.
Joy: So?? 😤😤✨👀 Any progress on the runway theme?? 🎭🎨✏️🖍️💡You better not be slacking, mister 😠💥😤💢I need to see sketches!! 😩😭📐🖌️🖼️🔥🔥
Yu's lips trembled into a faint smile despite the heaviness pressing down on him. Slowly, inevitably, he was pulled back from the swirl of panic and despair to the other weight waiting for him—the runway assignment.
'Responsibilities don't stop just because I'm breaking!'
He thought bitterly, though there was a strange comfort in the normalcy of Joy's demand.
Another sigh slipped free as his thumb hovered over the keyboard. His thoughts flickered back, unbidden, to the past he carried alone. Yukio Hokohayashi—his first life, his first pregnancy. Twins. Taro and Kenji. He could vaguely remember the feeling of awkwardness of that first swelling belly, the fear tangled with joy. And then the second time—quads. Four babies at once during a separation, an exhaustion that had nearly swallowed him whole but a love that had expanded in ways he never thought possible.
And now, here, in this life as Yuvin Beckham… with triplets.
His free hand pressed harder against his abdomen, a low groan escaping him.
"Why can't it just be one at a time?"
He whispered to no one. The plea drifted off into the breeze, swallowed by the city noise.
Still, he walked forward, feet carrying him away from the hospital, each step lighter as he forced himself into the rhythm he knew best. School assignments, projects, sketches. Joy's help with the runway theme, Izan and his presentation slides. And beneath it all, the quiet, steady awareness of how to move, eat, breathe—how to care for a pregnant body. He'd done it before. He could do it again.
He had to.
---
Inside his room, late in the evening, Yu sits cross-legged on his bed, laptop balanced on his knees, sketchpad open at his side. His phone leans against a mug, Joy's face filling the screen.
Joy twirls in place on the video call, holding a bolt of soft white fabric against herself.
"This with red accents—very winter romance, right? Think snow falling in Paris, and the warmth of love glowing underneath."
Yu bites the end of his pencil, then sketches with quick strokes, his lines tightening into an elegant silhouette:
High collar blouse, layered skirt flowing like drifting snow. His smile is faint but real as Joy chatters, their energy spilling together into the design.
Meanwhile, on days he needed to focus on the upcoming Rome presentation, Yu headed to the library and would meet up with Izan.
Yu and Izan would sit side-by-side at a long oak table. Stacks of books tower around them. Yu scrolls through slides while Izan types, his voice steady and measured.
"Courtship rituals in ancient Rome were both public and private…"
Izan notes, tapping keys.
"We should show how families arranged things, but also mention secret exchanges—like love tokens."
Yu adds bullet points, formatting text into gold-tinted slides. He sketches a laurel crown on a notepad margin, doodling as Izan cross-references dates. The quiet between them feels productive, companionable.
This rhythm of going back and forth kept Yu busy until it was finally the night before the runway show.
At the Kingsley's estate, Yu crouches by the sewing machine in Joy's expansive room, the hum filling the space as he stitches the final hem. Joy spins in front of a mirror, already wearing most of the ensemble. A cascade of soft fabric drapes from her shoulders, shimmering in the lamplight like frost kissed by moonlight.
"It's beautiful, Yu."
She whispers, touching her reflection.
Yu, hair tied back messily, pinches a final seam in place, his fingers brushing the fabric near her waist.
"Almost there. Just one more adjustment. Then you'll look exactly like the theme—winter romance in Paris."
He leans back, exhausted but proud, staring at his work:
The outfit that somehow carried both Joy's bright spirit and his buried longing for love amidst winter's chill.
The sewing machine finally goes quiet, its hum fading into the plush silence of Joy's room. Fabric scraps and spools of thread scatter across the floor like colorful confetti, evidence of hours poured into Yu's design. Joy twirls again in the mirror, skirts flaring, her laughter light and infectious.
"I can't believe I get to wear this tomorrow!"
She says, turning to Yu, her eyes shining.
"You're seriously amazing."
Yu chuckles softly, though his hands rest protectively over his lap. The high of creative adrenaline lingers in the room like champagne fizz, the air charged with excitement. For a moment, they feel like siblings—giddy, buzzing, wrapped in the thrill of creation.
But as the night stretches deeper, and Joy finally changes out of the finished outfit and opts for her more comfortable pajamas before she sits on the edge of her bed, her tone shifts.
"Yu…"
She begins hesitantly, her bright smile softening.
"How's the baby?"
The words catch Yu like a pin to a bubble. His hand, almost instinctively, drifts down to rub at the subtle swell beneath his loose shirt. The gesture betrays him, though he keeps his head down, eyes on the floor.
"I went to the doctor…"
Yu admits quietly. His voice trembles despite the calm mask he tries to wear.
"It's… well… he thinks they could be… triplets. And I'm scared, Joy. I'm scared of doing this alone this time."
He catches himself—this time—but Joy doesn't latch onto it. Instead, she scoots closer and takes his hand firmly in hers.
"You're not alone."
She says, her voice steady with the kind of love only lifelong bonds can hold.
"You have me. Whatever you need, Yu, I'm here. For you. For them."
Yu looks up, blinking rapidly against the sting in his eyes. For once, the tangled mess of secrets, hunger, and missions quiets. In this room, in this moment, there's only warmth. A wholesome, familial tether.
He squeezes her hand back, a small smile breaking through the cracks.
"Thank you, Joy…"
He whispers, his throat tight.
And for just a fleeting moment, Yu feels less like a pawn in DK01's game, and more like a brother—no, like family—nestled in the comfort of someone who will never let go.
---
The room is quiet now, their laughter spent, the sewing machine put away, scraps and sketches once scattered like fallen petals, now cleaned up. Joy curls into Yu's side on the bed, one arm lazily draped over him, as though by keeping him close she can shield him from every storm outside.
Yu, already drifting, feels the warmth of her body pressed against his and lets himself soften. Not romantic—never that—but something just as sacred:
Two souls exhausted by their own battles, clinging to safety in each other. Within minutes, both are breathing deep, tangled in platonic comfort beneath the same blanket.
The creak of the door breaks the silence.
Theo slips inside, his steps careful as if each one might shatter the fragile quiet. His eyes soften when they land on Yu—his Yu—sleeping so peacefully, lashes brushing pale cheeks, lips parted ever so slightly.
He hesitates at the bedside, torn between reverence and longing, before gently taking Yu's limp left hand in his. From his pocket, he produces a thin band of measuring rings, sliding each carefully over Yu's slender finger until he finds the perfect fit. His lips twitch in a faint smile.
'Perfect. I'm sorry my love. I've been so busy and I saw how hard you're working, I couldn't bear to interrupt. But don't worry, I'll make it up to you with my proposal. Soon everyone will know you're mine. Not Callen's. Not Adrian's. Mine.'
The Love-o-meter ticked down:
49 - 47
He kisses Yu's knuckles softly, then bends to brush his lips against Yu's forehead, lingering for a heartbeat too long, before pulling back and slipping out the door like a shadow.
What Theo doesn't know is that Joy has been awake since the first creak of the door, her body stiff with fear that someone had come to harm Yu—or worse, his babies. But when she sees it's her brother, kneeling with that ring sizer, whispering silent promises with his kisses… her chest nearly bursts.
She shoves her fist against her mouth to keep from squealing, vibrating with contained delight.
'He's going to propose. He's really going to propose!'
She thinks, heart hammering.
'Yu will be my brother, and I'll be an aunt of three!'
Even when dawn light seeps through the curtains, the sparkle in her eyes hasn't dulled.
---
The next morning, the day of the runway assignment due, the energy in the house crackles like electricity. Joy yawns wide, sleep still clinging to her, but the buzzing anticipation makes her bounce from task to task, chattering, fussing with her hair, humming as she checks the outfit one more time.
Yu, in contrast, leans pale and shaken against the bathroom sink. He's vomited twice already, the sharp tang still stinging the back of his throat. Nerves and pregnancy sickness coil together in his belly until he can barely tell which is which.
He stares at his reflection, eyes faintly red, lips pressed thin, one hand pressed protectively over the swell that is just beginning to show beneath his shirt.
"Just this one day…"
He mutters to himself.
"Get through today."
Behind him, Joy bursts into the bathroom with a grin, still in her pajamas but glowing with excitement.
"Yu! Today's the day! Winter romance in Paris—everyone's going to love it! You've got this!"
Her voice is sunlight, and Yu can't help but manage a weak smile despite his queasy stomach.
The show is coming. And with it, more eyes, more weight, more pressure.
…
On the way to the venue, which was only an empty auditorium, the sky was sharp and gray, a bite of winter already threading through the air. Yu clutches the clothes bag close to his chest like a shield. Each step toward campus feels like dragging chains.
'You've done this before. Presentations, performances, speaking in front of crowds. Hell, you sang in front of the whole school and confessed! You got this, Yu. I can do this.'
His inner voice tries to soothe, but another pang twists in his stomach—not from sickness this time, but from the weight of everything:
Three lives growing inside him, the mission's gnawing chains, Theo's suffocating shadow.
He presses a hand over his belly through the fabric of his coat, murmuring low.
"We'll get through today. Just one day at a time."
DK01 doesn't intrude, and for a fleeting second, Yu pretends he's just another student, lugging a garment bag to campus for his class assignment.
Once he made it to the backstage at the auditorium it became glaringly apparent the energy is nothing like the quiet street outside. It hits Yu the moment he steps inside the so-called venue:
A kaleidoscope of fabric swatches, makeup brushes, squealing models, professors barking last-minute orders. The air is thick with hairspray, nerves, and ambition.
Yu weaves through the crowd, carefully hanging Joy's outfit on the assigned rack, his movements deliberate, controlled. His classmates are pale with nerves, pacing, snapping at each other over missing pins and misplaced shoes.
Yu, however, holds taut. He's practiced control all week.
'Breathe in. Smile. Keep moving slowly.'
Then his phone buzzes.
He glances down. Joy.
A smile instinctively tugs his lips—until he reads the text.
Joy: Yu!! Theo's here! He won't let me on campus! He says it's not safe, he's keeping me away!!
Yu's stomach plummets. His hand tightens so fiercely on the phone that his knuckles pale.
The sharp pang hits his belly so suddenly that his breath catches.
"...Ah—!"
He doubles slightly, pressing his palm to his abdomen.
[ALERT!]
DK01's voice slices through his head like steel.
[Host! Your stress levels are spiking! Abdominal strain detected. The risk to fetal development is increasing.]
{Immediate mitigation required.}
[…]
Yu's breath comes shallow, the bustling backstage noise blurring into a faraway roar. He forces his lips into a brittle smile as panic races under his skin.
'Theo. Always Theo.'
And now—Joy, the one person he trusted most, being dragged away from him too.
The phone trembles in Yu's grip, Joy's frantic text pulsing in his vision like a red siren.
His classmates bustle and bicker around him, but it all recedes into a ringing silence as DK01's monotone cuts across his mind.
[Warning! Yu, your stress levels remain critical. Calm yourself. Strain to your womb tissue is elevating way too dangerously. The triplets are vulnerable to this level of stress, as well as your vessel body.]
{Mitigation required immediately. Please, System DK01, calm your host.}
[...What?]
Yu squeezes his eyes shut, jaw trembling. Triplets. The word feels like iron weights around his ribs.
"Shut up…"
He mutters under his breath.
"Just… shut up—"
But DK01 doesn't stop.
[H-Heart rate at 131 BPM. Cortisol spike recorded. I detect you're emotionally spiraling. Please, you must breathe. Calm down. Think clearly, Yu. You can endure this much.]
Yu's vision blurs with tears. Not from fear—but fury. He can't keep enduring this, can't keep smiling and nodding while Theo plays puppeteer. And now Joy? The one tether keeping him sane? Being yanked away too?
The bile rises, burns his throat—until clarity snaps through the fog.
Yu's fingers fly, sending a blunt text.
Yu: Call me and put him on the phone.
Joy's reply comes hesitant.
Joy: …Yu??
Yu: Now.
There's a pause, and an incoming call buzzes his phone which he answers to the sound of shuffling. A male voice breathes across the line.
"Yu?"
Theo.
The knot in Yu's chest bursts. His voice lashes through clenched teeth, venom wrapped in honey.
"Do you hear yourself? Do you hear what you're doing to her? Joy is twenty-one years old, Theo! Twenty-one! She doesn't need a warden, she doesn't need a babysitter, and she sure as hell doesn't need you treating her like she's a child who can't cross the street on her own!"
Theo tries to interject, but Yu barrels over him.
"She's a grown, independent woman! And maybe it terrifies you that she doesn't need you every second of every day, but that's your problem, not hers! You can't keep clipping her wings just because you're afraid to let her fly—"
Yu falters, breath hitching as his throat tightens. The words pouring out now aren't just for Joy. They sting of his own fury, his own cage.
"God, you're so damn overbearing! Controlling! Smothering! No wonder—"
He chokes, cuts himself off, chest heaving. His free hand presses his belly hard, grounding himself.
"If Joy isn't standing in front of me in the next five minutes, Theo, then you can forget about me ever speaking to you again. Take my request as a payback for that favor you owe me."
And with that, Yu hangs up.
The phone shakes in his hand as he gulps air like it's water. His shoulders are trembling, but not from weakness—something lighter, freer.
The Love-o-meter ticked up:
47 - 49
[Stress levels decreasing. Heart rate stabilizing. Cortisol is reduced. Currently, you're safe. Sigh, please… don't scare me like that, Yu.]
DK01's voice hums clinical, but then adds.
[Theo Kingsley is at 49% on the Love-o-Meter. Your close to 50% and will soon get to OOC soon. Keep it up.]
Yu clicks his tongue sharply in annoyance.
"Tsk! Figures. Yell at him like a wife, and he falls harder. Masochistic idiot."
He mutters bitterly.
Still, the coil in his chest has loosened. His knees don't feel like breaking anymore.
He digs into his bag, pulling out his packed snack.
The crinkle of plastic is followed by the wet crunch of a pickle dipped in chocolate coating. He chews with unabashed hunger, the sweet-and-sour clash soothing his nerves.
The smell wafts across the backstage. Heads turn.
"…Is that—?"
"Oh my god, I'm gonna puke…"
"Ew—who even eats that?"
Yu ignores them all, lips sticky with chocolate, crunch echoing like defiance. Pregnant cravings don't care about your opinions.
And for the first time all morning, he smiles.
…
Yu licks the last smear of chocolate from his thumb, the sour tang of pickle still buzzing on his tongue. Around him, more low murmurs of disgust lingers like static.
"Gross…"
"He can not be serious?"
"…Ugh! No wonder he's getting so—"
Yu doesn't flinch. Doesn't rise to it. His hazel eyes—tinged faintly red with that Incubus edge—skim past them all like they're furniture. The whispers sting, yes, but not half as much as Theo's suffocating game of control. Compared to that, a few judgmental classmates are background noise.
He smooths his shirt, brushes invisible lint from the black slacks he'd picked out for today, and wills his hands steady. Two weeks of work. A single chance to prove himself.
'I won't let anyone—especially him—take this from me.'
The backstage door bangs open.
"Yu!!"
Joy barrels in, breathless and flushed from running. Her eyes glitter with a cocktail of adrenaline and anger, rimmed red like she'd been on the verge of tears.
She throws herself at Yu, hugging him so tightly his ribs ache.
"I'm here! I'm here, I made it!"
Behind her—looming, reluctant—is Theo. His jaw is tight, his coat thrown hastily over his shoulders. He doesn't step inside right away, lingering at the door like the shadow he is.
Yu stiffens at the sight. The coil in his belly twists.
Theo clears his throat, gaze softening the moment it lands on Yu.
"I… shouldn't have held her back. I—"
The glare Yu fires cuts him dead in his tracks.
"Save it."
His voice, sharp as glass, echoes through the buzzing backstage. Even the stylists pause mid-step.
"We'll talk after the show."
Theo blinks, stung.
"Right now…"
Yu pulls Joy's hand, turning her toward the mirrors and the bustle of makeup artists.
"Joy needs to get into her outfit. Hair, makeup, everything. That's the only thing that matters right now."
His words snap like a whip, decisive and absolute.
Joy, still clinging to Yu's hand, nods quickly, blinking away the emotions swimming in her chest.
"Right. Right! Yes! The outfit!"
Theo lingers one second longer, lips parting as if to argue, but Yu doesn't look at him again. And for the first time in a long time, Theo—the Theo Kingsley—takes the hint and stays quiet.
Theo doesn't move, however. His broad frame leans against the doorframe like a sentinel, blue eyes fixed on Yu. The weight of his gaze presses down heavier than the buzzing chaos of stylists and classmates. Yu feels his skin prickle, his lungs catch—because he knows. Once the winner is announced, they will state it is for the France study-abroad program. If Theo overhears this, everything—everything—falls apart.
Joy slips off to change into the outfit. Yu exhales sharply and turns to him.
"Go outside and wait."
Theo's brow furrows.
"Leave you here alone with her? No."
The refusal grates like glass against Yu's ears. Fury spikes, ugly and hot.
'He doesn't even trust me with Joy?'
Yu plants his palms against Theo's chest and tries to shove him back through the exit. Theo doesn't budge. The difference in their strength is humiliating. His own body betrays him—the swell in his belly, the ache in his wrists—
[Warning! Host, you should avoid straining or pushing heavy objects during early pregnancy.]
"Shut up!"
Yu hisses under his breath, teeth bared.
Theo flinches. His heart clenches.
'Does he… not want me here at all?'
The Love-o-meter ticked down:
49 - 46
Yu freezes. Panic rushes in with the numbers. His fists clench, nails biting his palms, until he forces them to uncurl. Slowly, carefully, he shifts tactics.
Yu steps close, pressing his face into Theo's chest. His voice comes out small, pouty, trembling with feigned fragility as he looks up with doe-like eyes.
"Please… just wait outside for me. I don't want you to see if I fail this assignment. It'd be too embarrassing."
Theo blinks, stunned. His ears burn pink. For a second, the entire atmosphere tilts—like a K-drama scene unfolding in real time.
The Love-o-meter ticked up:
46 - 48
"You won't fail."
His voice is low, resolute. He tilts Yu's chin up higher, kisses the crown of his head.
"I'll wait… but don't keep me waiting too long."
He brings Yu's hands up to his lips brush over them before he finally turns and leaves.
The door clicks shut.
The hum of hair dryers, the shuffle of hangers—all of it stills. Every classmate who'd witnessed Yu shoving Theo seconds ago now stares wide-eyed.
"Did you see that—"
"He kissed his head! And then his hands!"
"Oh my god, are they dating?"
Yu ignores them. His heart pounds, his smile stretched thin as he presses a hand against his belly. One crisis down. For now.
Joy then emerges from behind the divider, the outfit draped over her arms.
"Yu!"
She chirps, cheeks flushed from the chaos.
"Hurry—dress me up, let's do this!"
Makeup brushes flicker over her face. Pins scatter as stylists pull and pin her hair. Yu hovers at her side, directing, adjusting, tugging at seams and smoothing fabric. Every second is high-strung and taut.
"Too much blush—tone it down."
"No, the hemline needs to move with her walk, not against it."
The energy hums electric—tension and nerves buzzing with every breath. But through it all, Yu's focus sharpens razor-thin. The world can tilt and collapse around him, but this—this assignment—he won't let it slip.