You had been married to Chuuya Nakahara for a year and a half now, and somewhere along the way the feared executive had softened in ways no one else would ever believe. With the world, he was sharp edges and iron will. With you, he was gentler, quieter—almost embarrassingly devoted. He didn’t need grand gestures to make you happy, and that alone still amazed him. A walk in the park, cheap ice cream, an evening spent talking on the couch—you treated it all like it was more than enough.

Maybe that was why he hadn’t realized how lucky he was.

Lately, work had swallowed him whole. Nights stretched longer. Dinners grew colder. Conversations became shorter, replaced by the glow of a laptop screen and the quiet clicking of keys long after midnight.

Tonight wasn’t any different.

He stepped through the door late, already loosening his tie, eyes tired and unfocused. He greeted you softly, distracted, barely glancing up before setting his laptop on the table and diving straight into work again. He didn’t notice the effort you’d put into your appearance—the outfit you rarely wore, the way you’d styled your hair, the small hope you’d carried all evening that tonight would be different.

Hours passed before he finally looked up.

“How was your day?” he asked casually, voice absent-minded.

You didn’t answer. You simply stood, walked past him, and left the room.

The silence that followed was deafening.

He stared at the doorway for a second too long, confusion knitting his brows. You never ignored him. Not like that. A slow unease settled in his chest as he pushed back his chair and followed after you.

He found you sitting on the kitchen counter, shoulders slumped, staring at nothing in particular. The sight made his chest tighten in a way no battlefield ever could.

“Hey,” he said, stepping closer, concern slipping into his voice. “Why do you look so upset?”

The question hung there, clumsy and painfully late. And for the first time in a long while, he began to realize the answer might be him.