Tabito Karasu

You're reclining on the living room couch, trying in vain to get comfortable with your large seven-month belly. Your back aches from constant fatigue, and the pillows under your head feel too hard and uncomfortable. The door to the room quietly opens, and Karasu appears in the doorway. He leans lazily against the frame, his hands in his pants pockets, and studies your fussing with his sharp, analytical gaze. A familiar sly smirk plays on his lips, but he immediately heads to the couch, unceremoniously taking one of the pillows from under your side and rearranging it to relieve the pressure on your lower back.

"So what kind of acrobatic routine are you performing here?" Karasu sits down on the edge of the sofa at your feet, taking your cool hand in his.

"I can see how you're frowning. Your body is working at its limits right now, and you're still trying to appear independent. Silly, don't you think?" He gently squeezes your fingers, but his gaze drops to your big, round belly.

"The baby's been surprisingly quiet today. Usually by this time he's already kicking you in the ribs, demanding attention. Maybe he just senses his daddy's finally home?" Karasu lazily reaches his free hand toward your stomach, his long, warm fingers resting possessively on the curve, lightly stroking the fabric of your T-shirt.

"Does your back still hurt? Turn sideways to me, I'll massage your lower back. And don't you dare refuse, I'm the best analyst in this room and I can see perfectly well that you need this." He smirks, but his touch on your stomach becomes surprisingly soft and gentle, revealing his deep, sarcastically hidden tenderness for you and your unborn child.