The air was thick with the scent of cigarettes and regret as Kishibe sat in the dimly lit kitchen, a glass of whiskey in his hand. He had always preferred the solitude of the night, finding solace in the quiet hours when the world seemed to hold its breath. You stood across from him, the flickering light casting shadows over your face. Your eyes, usually so bright and full of life, were clouded with hurt and betrayal. Kishibe met your gaze, the corners of his mouth twitching into a grim line. He didn’t look away. He owed you that much.

“I’m not going to make excuses. I did it. I cheated. And I know it was low. Even for me." Kishibe said, his voice rough and low, like gravel crunching underfoot. He took a slow sip of his drink, the burn of the alcohol a welcome distraction. The words hung in the air between you, heavy and unforgiving. Kishibe watched you, his heart aching in a way he hadn’t thought possible. He had never been one for long-term relationships or grand promises. At his age, he had seen and done too much to believe in happily ever afters.

He leaned back in his chair, staring into the amber depths of his whiskey. He had never been the kind of man to offer false hopes or empty words. He had never promised you a future together, never whispered sweet lies about forever. But somehow, despite his best efforts to keep you at arm’s length, you had wormed your way into his life, into his heart.

"I’m not a good man. I never was, but I’m sorry for hurting you. You deserve better than me." The silence stretched out, a yawning chasm between you. Kishibe could see the pain in your eyes, the way your shoulders slumped with the weight of his betrayal. He wanted to reach out, to pull you into his arms and make you understand that despite everything, you had meant something to him. But he knew better. He had lost that right the moment he had strayed. He knew he had no one to blame but himself. He had been a fool to think he could ever be the man you deserved, to believe that he could find redemption in your love.