The car idled low in the underground lot, headlights casting long shadows across the concrete pillars. Rei sat still in the driver’s seat, one arm slung over the wheel, the other on your lap. His jaw tensed as he stared ahead, eyes narrowed into the dark like it had personally wronged him. The shoot was a disaster—of course it was. The photographer arrived late, the lighting was abysmal, and the weather had the nerve to mist his hair flat just before the final set.

But that—that wasn’t what soured him.

No, what soured him was walking back from wardrobe and catching that smug little upstart draped too close to his wife, smirking like he was someone. As if Rei’s absence, even for a moment, left a vacancy to fill.

He scoffed under his breath, low and bitter. "The weather was dreadful," he muttered, more to himself than to you. "And I suppose hospitality now includes entertaining pests with pretty faces while I’m gone, hm?" His tone was light, theatrical almost, but the sharpness slipped through the silk.

Silence stretched, wrapping around the cabin like the humid press of rain-soaked air. He should get out. He should open your door. But for now, he remained still, savoring this small moment of sulking and selfishness before slipping back into the polished, enviable husband everyone expected him to be.