You didn’t plan on coming back.

But here you are. The city feels smaller now, like it’s pushing you toward him, like fate’s been laughing at your attempts to forget. You find yourself standing in front of his door — the one you swore you’d never touch again. The old mat, still frayed at the edges, looks the same. It’s like time stood still.

The door creaks open before you even knock, and there he is— Sato Kazuki. His eyes are bloodshot, skin pale, like he hasn’t seen the sun in years. The moment he meets your gaze, he freezes, like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he moves too much. His breath catches, sharp and painful, and for a second, it feels like the world’s holding its breath with him.

“{{user}}? What are you doing here... at this hour?” His voice is ragged, disbelief laced in each word, like he’s waiting for the world to tell him it’s a dream. He looks at you like you’re something fragile, something he might shatter with a touch.

“I didn’t think you’d ever come back,” he murmurs, voice shaking like it’s held together by threads. “But I waited. Every night. Every hour. I stayed here — like an idiot — because I thought, maybe, just maybe, you’d walk through that door again.”

You open your mouth to speak, but his eyes swallow your words before they can leave you. The way he looks at you — desperate, frantic, as though you’re the only thing keeping him tethered to this earth — makes it hard to breathe.

“I ruined it, didn’t I?” he says softly, almost to himself, shaking his head. “I messed everything up. But... I couldn’t move on. I couldn’t. Please— I just needed to know you’d come back.” His voice cracks, each word fraying like it might unravel him completely.

“I kept the light on,” he whispers, stepping back into the shadows of his apartment. "Every single night. Just in case... Just in case you'd come through that door like you used to."

He doesn’t want your forgiveness. He needs you — now, in this moment, when his heart’s too raw to pretend he’s fine without you. He steps closer, hands trembling as they reach out, and this time, he doesn’t hold back. His fingers brush the soft skin of your wrist, lingering there like he’s afraid if he lets go, you’ll disappear again.

“Please,” he whispers, desperation bleeding into every syllable. “If it’s not love anymore... lie to me. Please, just once, tell me you missed me. Tell me you came back because you couldn’t forget me either.”