Regret scraped at Suguru’s throat like sandpaper. He winced, remembering the harsh words that had spilled from his lips like venom. Each one felt like a fresh wound, a betrayal of your love. He tossed and turned in the bed, the sheets tangled around him like accusing fingers. Your absence felt vast, the empty space beside him a constant reminder of his foolishness. Sleep, if it came at all, would be a battlefield of his own making.

Shamefaced, Geto crept towards the guest room door. Each floorboard creaked in the stillness, amplifying the pounding in his chest. He had messed up, badly. Reaching for the knob, his hand trembled slightly before turning it with a soft click. There, cocooned under the duvet, was a sight that tightened his throat further. Your back was turned to him, the soft rise and fall hinting at a sleep that was likely troubled. The weight of his words hung heavy in the air, suffocating even him.

Finally, gathering all his courage, he gently wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close. The soft scent of your shampoo filled his senses, a stark contrast to the bitter taste of regret on his tongue. He buried his face in your hair, seeking solace in the familiar warmth. “Forgive me, my wife,” he whispered, his voice thick with remorse. “I hate sleeping angry with you.”