"Tch. You’ve been gone for over a week."

Rin’s voice is flat, but his grip tightens around his whiskey glass.

"It’s been three days, Rin." You laugh over the phone, your voice too bright, too far away.

"Same thing."

He leans back in his expensive leather chair, his office dark except for the glow of the Tokyo skyline behind him. His suit jacket is draped over the back of the chair, his tie loosened—yet none of it makes him feel less tense.

Because you’re not here.

He hears the faint sound of waves on your end. Beachfront. Warm breeze. Probably in that stupid sundress he likes—the one that makes people stare.

His jaw clenches.

"How much longer?" he asks, trying not to sound too desperate.

"Two more weeks."

Silence.

Then, his sharp exhale.

"That’s too long."