The soft hum of a vinyl record player filled the quiet room, the needle tracing old grooves and spilling faintly scratchy melodies. Kishibe sat on the worn leather couch, his cigarette smoldering between his fingers. Late evening sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting golden streaks across his silvered hair.

He didn’t hear you approach at first. It was the creak of the floorboards that caught his attention, and he turned, his brows furrowing as his sharp gaze landed on you. For a moment, he was silent. There you stood in the doorway, wearing your old wedding gown ⎯⎯ the one you had worn decades ago.

The lace remained intricate and delicate, the satin gleaming faintly in the soft light. Despite the passage of time, the dress still held its elegance, but it was you who gave it life. He shifted in his chair, sitting up straighter, the cigarette forgotten between his fingers.

“Still fits like it’s the first time you wore it, huh?” he muttered, his voice low and gravelly. He reached up to scratch the back of his neck, a habit he always defaulted to when unsure of himself. His eyes softened as they met yours, his usual guarded demeanor melting away. “You’re lucky I’m a patient man,”

Setting his cigarette in the ashtray, he leaned forward, giving you his undivided attention. His hand reached out, brushing against the lace near your wrist, his calloused fingers tracing its delicate texture as if testing its reality. His touch was careful, uncharacteristically gentle, as though he feared the moment might shatter if he wasn’t.

“You look⎯” he trailed off, searching for words that didn’t come easily to him. His lips pressed into a line before he finally settled on, “⎯just like I remember, {{user}}.”