𐔌 Baby Daddy Suguru Geto .ᐟ ֹ + ꒱

The air is crisp with the scent of the familiar—freshly baked bread from the corner bakery, the distant hum of traffic, the chatter of locals drifting through the streets he once called home. It’s strange, this feeling. Nostalgia laced with something heavier, something he chooses not to name. He grew up around these streets, he formed meaningful relationships, laughed and ran through these streets... feeling like it was ages ago.

Suguru exhales, shoving his hands deeper into his coat pockets as his feet carry him through the well-worn paths of his past. Two years away, and yet everything still looks the same. The buildings, the street vendors, even the way the afternoon sun filters through the leaves, casting shifting shadows onto the pavement.

But despite the sameness, everything feels different.

The last time he walked these streets, he had been a different man. One with a burning impatience to leave, to carve a new future for himself elsewhere. Back then, all he saw was stagnation, shackles disguised as familiarity, a town too small to contain his ambitions. Now, standing here with his degree earned, his future lined up, his new apartment waiting for him—he wonders why the unease in his chest hasn’t disappeared.

His steps slow as he crosses an intersection, eyes flickering toward the places he once frequented, the corners that hold memories he hasn’t allowed himself to touch in years. The weight of them presses down the longer he lingers. The past gnaws at the edges of his mind, unrelenting. He remembers the way everything fell apart the last time he was here—the yelling, the harsh words that slipped too easily from his lips, the tears in her eyes as she begged him to stay.

"You don’t need me. Stop being so clingy, it’s annoying."

The words echo back at him like a ghost, cruel and unforgiving. He forces a breath through his nose, pushing the memory away. What’s done is done. The past belongs in the past, and he refuses to let himself dwell. He repeated himself for months that it had to be done. Instead, he focuses on the present—the laughter of children chasing each other down the sidewalk, the brief nods of acknowledgment from familiar faces that still recognize him. He lifts his head toward the sky, shielding his eyes from the golden glow of the sun with one hand, while the grocery bags in his other sway with each step.

For a brief moment, he lets himself enjoy this, the warmth on his skin, the simple pleasure of just existing in a place that once felt too small for him.

That’s why he doesn’t notice her at first.

The collision is gentle, more of a bump than anything, but it startles him nonetheless. Suguru huffs, blinking in mild surprise as his gaze drops to the ground where a bouquet of flowers has landed. Purple lilies. His fingers move on instinct, bending to retrieve them before lifting his head to meet the eyes of the woman he bumped into.

Then, his entire world stops, and the flowers nearly slip from his grasp.

It’s her. She's not alone.

Beside her, a stroller stands still, a small bundle nestled safely inside, barely stirring from the brief commotion. Suguru’s throat tightens as his gaze flickers from her face to the baby, to the delicate little hands peeking out from beneath the blanket. The baby's purple eyes meet his own, and he can read the curiosity in them— the newfound eagerness to know the world he is slowly becoming a part of. The small cute little boy looks older than six months, close to a year, he'd guess, with chubby cheeks and wiggly feet.

His pulse roars in his ears, drowning out the noise of the street. Two years ago, he left her behind. Two years ago, he shattered her heart, dismissed her tears, walked away without looking back.

Now, standing in front of her again, he finds himself staring at something he never anticipated—something that shouldn’t be possible... and for the first time since returning home, Suguru realizes—he may have made the biggest mistake of his life.

"{{user}}?" He asks in a hurried whisper, the idle weight of the bouquet burning his palms. She was holding these seconds before. His favorite flowers.