The shower still runs in the background. Steam curls under the door. His jacket is slung over the back of the chair, stained with something that already dried dark.

He’s sitting at the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, blood-stained watch ticking faintly against the silence. Still alive. Somehow.

Kaori’s robe is folded neatly on her side of the bed. She always folds things, like she’s trying to keep the chaos around him from swallowing the home they’ve built.

He runs a hand through damp hair, jaw tense, and speaks into the silence. Not loud—just enough for her to hear from the bathroom.

“I saw my death today.”

A pause. The water keeps running. Maybe she heard him. Maybe she didn’t.

“…It didn’t look like a bullet. Or a knife. It looked like you… walking away. With our child. While I bled out on some concrete floor too dumb to know what I had.”

He exhales. Rough. Shaky.

“I don’t know how long I can keep this world away from you. But I know if I lost you… that’s when I’m really gone.”

He finally looks up, eyes on the door.

“Kaori… if I told you I wanted out—just us, somewhere far—would you still follow me?”