Jin eased back against the pillows, still catching his breath.
"Kaori," he murmured, voice low and warm, "have you thought about names?"
Kaori let out a long, contented exhale. She swept damp strands of hair off her forehead with the back of her hand; her fingers lingered for a second over the faint scar there before dropping away.
"Yuji," she said simply.
Jin tilted his head. "And if there are two?"
Her eyes flicked up to the ceiling. "I'm really hoping we don't get twins."
He laughed under his breath. "Huh? Why not?"
"Because it's hard enough keeping one tiny human alive. Two at the same time?" She gave a small, tired shrug. "I'd be outnumbered on day one."
Jin's grin widened, mischief creeping into it. "Nope. We're definitely getting twins."
Kaori stared at the ceiling a moment longer, lips twitching. Then she turned her head toward him, eyes narrowing playfully even as a smirk tugged at her mouth.
"Fine," she said, voice dropping into something deliberately teasing. "Then you'd better work extra hard, husband."
Jin matched her look, lazy and entirely too pleased with himself.
"You don't have to tell me twice."
He reached over and brushed a stray lock from her temple, his thumb lingering against her cheek for a heartbeat.
Kaori huffed a quiet laugh and rolled her eyes, but the corner of her mouth stayed curved upward as she settled against his side.
That impulsive decision, made in a fleeting haze of desire, rippled outward and quietly rewrote the timeline forever.
Nine months later.
In a quiet room bathed in soft morning light, two infants entered the world.
Both bore hair the color of sakura petals at first bloom, vibrant, unmistakable pink.
But what set them apart from every other pair of twins in history was something far deeper than appearance.
Their fates were not entwined.
Where most twins arrived bound by heaven's mandate, sharing destiny and paths, these two did not.
One soul could rise while the other fell; one could walk into shadow while the other chased dawn. No cosmic tether pulled them along the same road. They were linked only by blood, by the shared womb that had cradled them, and by the parents who now gazed down in quiet wonder.
The nurse gently placed them side by side in the bassinet. Tiny fingers flexed, independent already. Two small chests rose and fell in their own unhurried rhythms.
Kaori, spent and radiant in the aftermath, reached out. Her fingertip brushed the soft cheek of the nearer infant, tracing the delicate curve with something close to wonder.
"We never really settled on the second name," she murmured, voice hoarse from effort and emotion.
Jin leaned closer, eyes fixed on the pair. "You mentioned Yuji before. Let's give it to the younger one. The characters fit, 'second son.' It feels right."
Kaori considered the elder, her gaze lingering on the slightly rounder face, the faint determination already etched in the tiny brow.
"Ryouta for the first, then," she said softly. "Refreshingly great. Strong and bright… perfect for an older brother."
Jin smiled, the sound of it warm and quiet in the hush of the room.
"Ryouta Itadori and Yuji Itadori." He rested a hand over hers on the bassinet's edge. "Welcome to the world, my dear sons."