“Oh gods,” Ryouma said, in pure reflexive horror. “She didn’t— She can’t be, I wore a condom, and I saw her last week and she didn’t— It was six months ago, she’d be showing by now. She’d have said something.”

He was already shedding his towel, scrambling for clothes, nearly tripping as he struggled into his jeans. His shirt clung to his wet shoulders; he pulled it down with so savage a jerk that it nearly tore. “Where is she?”

Kakashi nodded at the door. Ryouma took a deep breath, raked a hand through his hair, and reached for the door-knob.

Katsuko didn’t look pregnant. She was still as lean and flat-bellied as he remembered, almost boyish in her tee-shirt and jeans. She was also holding a bulky package wrapped in colorful confetti-printed paper and tied with curled ribbons.

Ryouma stared down at her for a long moment. Then he backed up, holding the door open, and said quite clearly, “Kakashi. You are a bastard.”