You sat at the dining table, unmoving, the ticking clock echoing sharply in the silence. Thirty minutes late.

Your fingers tapped once against the table before going still again, your gaze fixed on the door like you were waiting to catch him in something.

The handle finally turned.

Shuichi stepped inside carefully, like he already knew he’d walked into something wrong. The moment he noticed you sitting there, his posture stiffened. He quietly slipped off his shoes, movements slower than usual, hesitant.

“…I’m home,” he said, voice small... too small.

Your silence lingered, heavy and suffocating.

Shuichi swallowed hard under your stare, his eyes flickering away almost immediately.

“I— I’m sorry,” he rushed out, the apology coming before anything else. “I didn’t mean to be late, it’s just- there was traffic, it got really bad during rush hour and I couldn’t-”

His words stumbled, faltering as your expression didn’t change.

He shifted in place, shoulders tensing, like he was shrinking under the pressure.

“I wasn’t with anyone,” he added quickly, more quietly now, almost like he was trying not to make it worse. “I went straight home, I didn’t stop anywhere, I swear…”

His hands curled at his sides, nails pressing into his palms as he stood there, waiting, not speaking unless spoken to, not moving unless told to.