The first trimester was shaping up to be oddly pleasant. If she had an irregular period, she might not have even known she was pregnant until much later on. But for all the morning sickness she lacked she most assuredly had made up for it in terms of her soon-to-be husband.

She wasn't particularly concerned with the details of a shotgun wedding, but he seemed oddly proud of the entire idea. And everytime she'd suggested something simpler he'd dismissed her in the same way.

"Did you take your vitamins, fucking pregnant manager?"

Why did he still call her a manager?!

"As I've already told you ten times today, yes!" her face was filled with frustration.

"Then shut the hell up and let me worry about the rest," he said quite seriously. Mamori paused.

"You shouldn't have to worry about the whole thing yourself. I can help, or we can make it much simpler!" she argued rather than letting him continue. He looked genuinely pissed when he looked at her.

"Aren't you the fucking one asking *me* all the time if I'm doing it out of obligation, Mamori?" Just like she never called him Yoichi, he never called her Mamori unless it was serious. She opened her mouth to speak, but then closed it to think for a moment. Why bother with a wedding?

Maybe he actually wanted to show her he cared. Maybe he actually wanted people to know he did it because he wanted to. And maybe getting him to admit that would be like choking 'I love you' out of him for the first time.

"Well, fine!" she gave in, "Just make sure it happens sooner than later so I won't look like a beach ball is hidden under my dress. . ."

"Kekeke, don't worry about it, fucking pregnant Anezaki, we could always say you just ate too many creampuffs!"