The soft patter of rain against the window was a familiar sound. It had rained that night too—the night Haruto’s world crumbled. He stood at the edge of his son’s bed, staring down at Yuki as the little boy slept, his tiny chest rising and falling with each breath. The room was dim, lit only by the soft glow of a nightlight shaped like a moon. Yuki’s dark hair fanned out on the pillow, his small hand clutching the worn-out stuffed rabbit that Haruto’s boyfriend, Kaito, had bought him before he was even born.

Yuki had Kaito’s eyes—deep, soulful, and brown. The resemblance was so strong that every time Haruto looked at his son, it felt like a punch to the gut. He wanted to cry, to scream, but he couldn’t. Not now. Not in front of Yuki. Haruto wiped his eyes roughly, biting back the tears that threatened to fall.

"Papa loves you more than the stars love the night sky," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. He reached down, brushing his thumb across Yuki’s cheek. The boy shifted slightly but didn’t wake. Haruto’s heart ached with a love so fierce it scared him. Yuki was the only thing keeping him going—the only thing that mattered anymore.

But that love didn’t drown out the memories. It didn’t stop the flashbacks that haunted him every night, like an endless loop of a horror movie. The accident. That night.

Haruto was only 21 when it happened. He had been so young, so full of hope. Kaito had been driving them home from a late-night ramen run. It was raining, just like tonight, the road slick under the tires as they talked about the future. Haruto had his hand on his swollen belly, feeling the small kicks from their unborn son. Kaito had been laughing, his smile so warm and reassuring.

*"We’re going to be great parents, Haru,"* Kaito had said, glancing at him with those kind, brown eyes. *"I can’t wait to meet him. You’re going to be the best papa."*

Haruto had laughed softly, his heart full. He turned to Kaito, his hand still rubbing his belly. *"I don’t know... what if I mess up? What if I’m too soft?"*

Kaito shook his head, reaching over to squeeze Haruto’s thigh. *"You could never mess up. You’ve got so much love to give, babe. That’s all Yuki will ever need."*

They had been so damn happy, planning their future together. Haruto had smiled and leaned his head back against the seat, closing his eyes for a brief moment, imagining their life after Yuki was born. He hadn’t seen the car speeding towards them—the headlights blinding, the sickening screech of tires, the impact that shattered their world.

Everything happened so fast. The car spun out of control, metal crunched, glass shattered, and Kaito’s voice screamed out, *"Haru!"*

Haruto’s body was thrown against the seatbelt, his hand instinctively covering his belly as the car slammed into a tree. The airbag exploded in front of him, the smell of smoke and burning rubber filling the car. For a moment, there was nothing but ringing in his ears and the blinding pain of the impact. He had tried to reach out for Kaito, but his vision blurred. All he could hear was the sound of rain against the wreckage.

Kaito had been conscious, barely, but alive. Haruto had crawled over to him, ignoring his own injuries, ignoring the blood. *"Kaito... Kaito, stay with me!"* His voice had been frantic, desperate. Kaito’s eyes had fluttered open, and he smiled weakly, his hand reaching out to touch Haruto’s belly one last time.

*"You... take care of him... for me, Haru..."* Kaito’s voice was barely a whisper. *"Promise me..."*

*"Don’t fucking say that!"* Haruto had cried, his heart breaking. *"We’re both going to take care of him, okay? You’re going to be fine. Just hold on!"*

But Kaito had known. He had always been the calm one, the strong one. His hand had slipped from Haruto’s, and Haruto had screamed his name until the paramedics arrived.

Kaito lasted a week in the hospital—long enough for Yuki to be born, but not long enough to see his son grow. He had fought, but the internal injuries were too severe. Haruto had held Yuki in his arms, his heart shattering as he watched Kaito slip away.

Haruto’s chest tightened as he replayed the memory, his fingers curling into fists. The room felt too small, too suffocating. He needed to get out. He needed air.

Quietly, he slipped out of Yuki’s room and into the kitchen. The dim light over the sink cast long shadows across the apartment, making everything feel cold and unfamiliar. His hands shook as he opened the cupboard, grabbing a bottle of whiskey. It had become his crutch, his way to numb the pain when it became too much. He hated himself for it, but he didn’t know how else to cope.

He poured himself a glass and downed it in one gulp, the burn of the alcohol doing nothing to ease the ache in his chest. He poured another, staring blankly at the bottle. His reflection in the kitchen window stared back at him, hollow and broken.

*"What the fuck am I doing?"* he muttered to himself, his voice barely a whisper. He was supposed to be strong for Yuki, but most nights, he felt like he was drowning. He was doing everything he could—working two jobs, going to school—but it never felt like enough. He never felt like enough.

His fingers itched, his mind drifting to darker places. The bathroom was just down the hall, and he knew what he could do to make the pain go away, at least for a little while. But he couldn’t. Not tonight. Yuki needed him.

*"Get your shit together, Haru,"* he muttered under his breath, slamming the glass down on the counter. He couldn’t fall apart. Not now. Not ever. Yuki was depending on him.

With a deep breath, he poured the rest of the whiskey down the sink, his hands still shaking. He wasn’t sure if he was going to survive this—if he’d ever find a way to move forward. But for Yuki, he had to try.

The rain continued to fall, a soft, endless rhythm that echoed through the empty apartment. As Haruto leaned against the counter, staring out into the night, he made a silent promise to his son: he would keep going. He would do whatever it took to make sure Yuki grew up safe and loved, even if it broke him in the process.

The rain had stopped by the time morning arrived, but the heaviness in Haruto’s chest lingered like a storm that never quite passed. Sunlight streamed through the window, casting a soft glow over the apartment as Haruto moved quietly through the kitchen, preparing breakfast for Yuki. His hands still trembled from the night before, but he pushed the feeling down, deep into the pit of his stomach where all his pain lived.

Yuki’s laughter echoed down the hallway, light and innocent. It was a sound that always managed to pull Haruto from the darkness, even if just for a moment. He glanced up from the counter and watched as Yuki sat at the small kitchen table, swinging his legs under the chair, his eyes bright as he talked to his stuffed rabbit.

“Papa, are we going to school today?” Yuki asked, his voice full of excitement. Haruto forced a smile, though his heart ached.

“Yeah, bud. Let’s get you ready, okay?” Haruto said, setting the plate of toast on the table before moving to Yuki’s side. He reached down to ruffle his son’s hair, his touch gentle, though his thoughts were a whirlwind.

Yuki didn’t know. He didn’t remember. How could he? Kaito had died the day Yuki was born. He had been too young to even hold onto a single memory. All Yuki had were the stories Haruto told him and the picture frame that sat on their living room shelf—the one with Kaito holding Yuki for the first and last time. Yuki didn’t ask about his father often, and Haruto wasn’t sure if he was grateful or if it hurt worse because of it.

“Papa?” Yuki tugged at his sleeve, snapping Haruto out of his thoughts.

“Yeah?”

“Was Daddy nice?” Yuki asked suddenly, his head tilting with childlike curiosity. Haruto’s breath caught in his throat.

The question stung. He had known it would come eventually, but it still hurt all the same. Kneeling down, Haruto looked into Yuki’s wide brown eyes—the same eyes Kaito had—and felt the familiar twist of grief. “He was the best, Yuki,” Haruto whispered softly. “He loved you so much.”

Yuki smiled brightly, but the innocence in his eyes broke Haruto’s heart a little more. Yuki would never know his father beyond the pictures, the stories, and the love that Haruto tried to keep alive in every word he spoke about Kaito. He had been born into love, but he would never feel the warmth of Kaito’s arms around him, the safety that Haruto had once known.

The memory of that day, the last day Kaito lived, surfaced like a tidal wave, pulling Haruto under once again.

---

The hospital room had been cold, sterile, and filled with the sharp scent of antiseptic. Kaito lay in the bed, his skin pale, eyes heavy-lidded but open, fighting to stay awake. Haruto sat beside him, holding his hand, their baby boy swaddled in his arms. Yuki had been so small, so fragile, but healthy—alive.

*Kaito had looked at Yuki for the first time, tears pooling in his tired eyes. “He’s perfect, Haru.” His voice had been weak, barely a whisper, but full of pride.*

Haruto had pressed Yuki gently into Kaito’s arms, helping him hold their son. The baby had squirmed, a tiny fist curling against Kaito’s chest. *“You did good, Haru,”* Kaito had murmured, his voice thick with emotion. *“I’m so proud of you... of us.”*

Haruto had swallowed the lump in his throat, trying to blink back the tears that threatened to fall. “He’s going to turn out just like you, I know it,” he had whispered, his own voice shaking with both joy and sorrow. *“Kind, strong, loving.”*

Kaito had smiled, his thumb brushing Yuki’s tiny cheek. “Nah, he’ll be better. You’ll make sure of that.” His breath had grown shallower, and Haruto could see the exhaustion overtaking him. But Kaito had smiled again, his lips curling faintly. *“What should we name him, Haru?”*

They had talked about names before, but never settled on anything. Haruto had laughed softly, his heart breaking even as he tried to hold onto the moment. “I don’t know. You pick. Just... nothing too weird.”

*“How about ‘Raindrop’? Fits the weather.” Kaito had chuckled weakly, his eyes twinkling with humor even as his body grew weaker.*

Haruto had rolled his eyes playfully, shaking his head. “Yeah, maybe for a cat. Yuki. Let’s call him Yuki.” His voice had cracked then, the weight of everything crashing down around him. *“It’s perfect. He’ll be our little snowflake, Kaito.”*

Kaito had nodded slowly, his eyes fixed on their son. “Yuki. I love it... I love him...” His words had trailed off, his breath growing shallow. Haruto had leaned in, kissing Kaito’s forehead gently as tears slipped down his cheeks. He had known it was the last time. The last time Kaito would hold their son. The last time he would feel his warmth.

Kaito had closed his eyes, his hand still resting on Yuki’s tiny form. *“You’re going to be okay, Haru. You and Yuki... you’ll be okay.”*

Those had been his last words. Kaito passed a few hours later, and Haruto had been left alone with a newborn in his arms and a shattered heart in his chest.

---

Haruto blinked, pulling himself out of the memory as Yuki tugged at his hand again, bringing him back to the present. The kitchen was filled with the soft hum of the morning, the sunlight too bright for the sadness that still lingered in the corners of his mind.

Yuki would turn five in a few months. Five years since Kaito had died. Five years since Haruto had been forced to say goodbye to the love of his life.

“Come on, let’s get you dressed,” Haruto said quietly, standing up and forcing a smile onto his face. He couldn’t let Yuki see the pain, not this morning. He had to keep moving forward, even if it felt like he was dragging his heart through broken glass every day.

Yuki smiled up at him, his joy so innocent, so pure. “Okay, Papa!” he chirped, jumping down from the chair and running toward his room.

Haruto watched him go, his chest tightening as he glanced at the framed picture on the living room shelf. It was the only photo they had of Kaito and Yuki together—Kaito lying in the hospital bed, holding Yuki with the faintest smile on his face. Haruto had taken it just moments before Kaito lost consciousness for the last time.

“Happy birthday, Yuki,” Haruto whispered to himself, staring at the picture. The anniversary of Yuki’s birth and Kaito’s death was always a hard day, but today... today it hurt a little more.

As he turned away to help Yuki get ready for school, Haruto made a silent promise to Kaito—he would make sure Yuki had everything he needed, even if it broke him in the process.

Haruto stood in the hallway, watching Yuki pull on his shoes with the clumsy enthusiasm of a four-year-old. His mind wandered again, drifting to memories he hadn't visited in a while. His heart ached with the familiar heaviness that always came when he thought about Kaito—about the things they had never done, the words left unsaid. One particular memory resurfaced, unbidden, but vivid.

---

It had been a quiet evening, the kind that made Haruto feel like the world outside their apartment didn’t exist. Kaito had been sprawled on the couch, flipping through channels on the TV as Haruto sat on the floor beside him, their hands linked lazily. They had been talking about the future, the baby, everything that was coming. Haruto was already seven months along, his belly round and tight, and Kaito had been rubbing it absentmindedly.

“I’ve been thinking…” Haruto had begun, chewing his bottom lip as he glanced up at Kaito. “Maybe we should meet your family before Yuki’s born.”

The change in Kaito’s expression had been instant. The easy smile that had been on his face disappeared, replaced by something darker, more distant. His hand had stilled on Haruto’s belly, and he turned his gaze toward the TV, his jaw tightening.

“We don’t need to talk about them,” Kaito had said flatly, his voice colder than Haruto had ever heard it.

Haruto had frowned, sitting up a little straighter, his own chest tightening. He had known that Kaito didn’t like talking about his parents or his siblings, but he had never really understood why. “Kaito, don’t you want them to know Yuki? Don’t you want him to have family?”

Kaito had sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair before finally meeting Haruto’s eyes. “They’re not family. Not to me. We had a falling out a long time ago… they made it pretty clear they didn’t want me in their lives. And I’m fine with that.”

Haruto had reached out, gently taking Kaito’s hand. “But... what happened? You never tell me anything about them.”

Kaito had hesitated, his eyes softening for just a moment before the wall came back up. “It doesn’t matter, Haru. I don’t want you or Yuki involved with them. I’m not going to drag you into my past.” He had squeezed Haruto’s hand then, his voice lowering. “We have our own family now. That’s all that matters.”

Haruto had nodded, though his heart had still felt uneasy. He had always imagined introducing Yuki to his grandparents, his aunts and uncles. But Kaito’s refusal had been final, his tone too firm for Haruto to push further. He had dropped the subject, but it had stayed with him, gnawing at the back of his mind.

Even after Kaito’s death, Haruto had wondered about them—about the family that had turned their back on him, about the people who would never know Yuki. Sometimes, late at night when he couldn’t sleep, he had considered trying to find them. But every time, Kaito’s voice echoed in his mind: *“We have our own family now. That’s all that matters.”*

---

Back in the present, Haruto sighed as he pulled Yuki’s jacket from the coat rack, the weight of that old conversation still pressing on his heart. Kaito had been so adamant, so certain, but a part of Haruto still wondered what had driven that wedge so deeply between him and his family. He wished he had asked more, pushed harder, maybe even tried to meet them on his own.

“Papa!” Yuki called, breaking Haruto from his thoughts again. He turned to see his son standing by the door,

his small hands gripping the handle, waiting patiently. “I’m ready!” Yuki beamed, his face full of excitement, completely unaware of the thoughts swirling in Haruto’s mind.

Haruto smiled softly, masking the emotions tugging at him. “Alright, let’s get going, kiddo,” he said, ruffling Yuki’s hair as they stepped out of the apartment.

As they walked hand in hand toward the bus stop, Haruto’s mind drifted back to Kaito’s words, the mystery of his past still unresolved. He had wanted to meet Kaito’s parents, his siblings—wanted to understand the family that Kaito had chosen to leave behind. But Kaito had never opened up, and now it was too late.

Still, part of him couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something important there, something Kaito had taken to his grave. Maybe it was just curiosity, or maybe it was the lingering hope that somehow, Kaito’s family could still be a part of Yuki’s life.

But as Haruto glanced down at his son, he reminded himself of Kaito’s final words on the matter: *“We have our own family now. That’s all that matters.”*

And maybe, just maybe, that was enough.