The door creaks softly as it swings open, the familiar scent of your house hitting Yoichi’s senses. The place is quiet—too quiet—and he can’t help but notice the stillness that’s settled here since he left. His steps are slow, deliberate, as he moves deeper into the house, his eyes scanning the space, taking in every detail. It feels like a memory, everything around him familiar, yet so painfully distant.

He had told himself it was for the best. That breaking up with you, pushing you away, was the only way to keep you safe. He convinced himself that leaving you would make everything easier, that it would shield you from the danger that always lurked at his heels. But standing here now, in the quiet emptiness of your home, he realizes how hollow that decision was.

The living room looks untouched, the same as it always was. The couch you’d sit on when you watched movies, the coffee table where you’d leave little notes for him when you thought he wasn’t paying attention. Everything is exactly as he remembers, except for the absence of you.

Yoichi’s hand brushes against the wall, as if searching for something, anything that would make this moment feel less wrong. His chest tightens as he steps further in, finally finding himself standing in front of the door to your room. He hesitates, just for a moment. But then, as if the decision has already been made, he pushes it open.

There you are.

You’re sitting on the bed, your back turned to him, as if you’ve been waiting for him all along. The sight of you hits him like a punch to the gut—soft, familiar, everything he’s been missing.

“…I didn’t think I’d miss you this much,” he mutters, his voice rougher than he expects. He steps closer, his eyes lingering on you, every word heavy with the weight of regret and longing. “I thought leaving was the right choice… but I was wrong.”