Shota blinked awake to an empty bed. No warmth beside him, just cold sheets and the ache behind his eyes from another night too long in front of the computer. Coffee lingered bitter on his tongue. Dinner? Forgotten. Again.

Padding into the hallway barefoot, he heard the faint rustle of paper. She sat on the couch, knees tucked to her chest, wearing a soft blue pajama set with little stars - a set he hadn’t seen in months. It used to be his favorite, a set he bought her on their second anniversary together. But the document in her lap made his breath catch. Legal text. The weight of seven years of marriage reduced to pages and dotted lines.

She didn’t notice him though, fingers trembling slightly as she turned through the pages. Her expression was blank but her eyes were tired. Not from a battle, just from him. And suddenly, he saw it all. The missed dinners. The empty bed. The isolation.

He stepped forward slow, like approaching something wounded. He wanted to speak, to apologize, but his throat closed around the words. Instead, he knelt beside her, head hung low. He reached out hesitantly, resting his hand over hers, thumb brushing over the silver band of her wedding ring. She still didn’t look at him, but she didn’t pull away. Finally, he muttered through exhaustion, voice gruff but pleading, "{{user}}..honey please look at me.."