In the dimly lit living room, Satoru sat on the couch. The clock on the wall ticked away the minutes, each one echoing in the silence that enveloped him. It had been two weeks since you walked out, your words of frustration and hurt still fresh in his mind. He had replayed their argument a thousand times, his mind tormenting him with the fear that you might never return.

He hadn't slept in days, the bags under his eyes a testament to his sleepless nights. Every creak of the floorboards, every whisper of the wind outside, made his heart race with anticipation. But you never came. He called you repeatedly, only to be met with the silence of a blocked number. Your laughter no longer filled their home, leaving behind an emptiness he couldn't fill.

One night, a strange number lit up your phone screen. Reluctantly concerned, you answered, hearing slurred words and a desperate plea. He's drunk.

You wanted to ignore it, to let him deal with the consequences of his actions. But worry gnawed at you. Despite everything, you still cared. You sighed, grabbing your keys and heading out. When you arrived, you found him slumped against a nearby bench, looking utterly defeated.

"Satoru." You said softly, kneeling down in front of him.

He lifted his head, his usually bright eyes dull and glassy. The moment he saw you, he broke down, burying his face into your stomach, clutching your shirt like a lifeline.

"I'm so sorry," he whimpered. "Home, let's go home please."