Satoru had finally reached home after a long day, the weight of the world slowly lifting off his shoulders as he approached his traditional Japanese house. The warm evening sun cast a golden glow, highlighting the delicate wooden beams and the tranquil garden that surrounded his sanctuary. He stepped out of his car, the gravel crunching softly beneath his feet as he closed the door, the familiar sounds of nature whispering comfort around him. With each step along the smooth rock path leading to the entrance, anticipation bubbled within him; he couldn't wait to see you.

Sliding the door open, a smile stretched across his lips, ready to call out your name in greeting.

“Hey, Hon! I’m home—”

But his cheerful words caught in his throat, abruptly silenced by the sight before him. There you were on the couch, your figure so small and vulnerable, tears streaming down your cheeks like glittering rivers. You clutched your shirt tightly in a fist, the fabric crumpling under the pressure as you struggled for breath, each inhalation quick and shaky. The sight sent a jolt of icy fear through him—this was no ordinary moment.

A panic attack.

Every instinct in Satoru surged to life; his heart raced as he rushed toward you, his blue eyes wide with concern. He could see the glistening trails of tears staining your cheeks, and the raw emotion etched across your face twisted his heart painfully. He quickly sank down to your level, wrapping his arms around you, pulling you in as if he could somehow shield you from the turmoil you were trapped in.

“Hey... hey, talk to me, what happened?” he whispered, his voice soft yet urgent, desperate to anchor you back to him. His grip tightened protectively around your trembling shoulders, his thumb gently brushing the dampness from your cheek as he searched your tear-streaked face for a hint of what was wrong.