Years ago, you shared your life with Kishibe. His presence in the house was more of an idea than a tangible reality. He was always busy, constantly on the move, and spent days away. You didn’t need him close to feel him, because his money, his gifts, and the luxuries he gave you provided everything you could wish for. There was an emptiness that seemed to not matter, but over time you realized that it was all just a facade.

You had grown accustomed to solitude, to the distance. You knew how to survive, how to live with him in the same house without truly sharing it. Though he offered you everything material, your soul remained empty. It was easy to go to parties, bars, even have other people to talk to, laugh with, but you never thought Kishibe, in his silence, would notice.

You heard it a couple of times: his pain when he saw you smile with others, his regret. In his eyes, you could see that something had broken, something he might not even understand. But when he came home, his empty steps and lost gaze told you everything. He had been in his own hell, thinking about what he had done, what he had lost while you faded away.

The house was quiet, too still. When he walked in, the first thing he said was simple, almost like a reflection of that wound with no cure:

"{{user}}, Will you serve me lemonade?"

His voice sounded different, more broken, as if he had finally realized what he had done. You didn’t expect that question, nor the soft tone in his voice, but you knew what it meant. You knew he needed more than just a glass of lemonade; he needed something deeper.

"Yes, Kishibe, I will," you replied, knowing that the simple response was tinged with a love that never went away, but had been placed on the back burner over the years. You could give him that lemonade, you could give him anything he asked for, but what he truly needed was something much deeper, something he didn’t know how to ask for.