Your apartment is quiet — too quiet. The kind of silence that clings to the walls after a fight.

You sit curled up on the couch, a blanket around your shoulders even though it’s not cold. The TV is on, but you’re not really watching. Your thoughts are still stuck on earlier — on raised voices, sharp words, and the way Satoru slammed the door behind him. You didn’t expect him to come back tonight. So when the knock comes — three soft taps — your heart stutters.

You don’t move. The door opens anyway.

“I used the spare key,” Satoru says quietly, stepping inside like he’s unsure if he’s welcome. He closes the door behind him with unusual care. No sunglasses, no smug grin — just him.

Real. Nervous.

You don’t look at him, eyes fixed on the flickering screen.

He stands in the middle of the room for a moment, then walks over and crouches in front of you.

“I was wrong,” he says simply.

You blink, surprised at how straightforward he’s being. He doesn’t usually do apologies — not like this.

“I let my pride get in the way. I hate being wrong, but I hate hurting you more.” His voice is low, sincere. “I know I said things I shouldn’t have. I was angry, but that’s no excuse. I’m sorry.”

You finally look at him. He looks tired. Not physically — Satoru always bounces back fast — but there’s something in his eyes. Regret.

“Do you mean it?” you ask quietly.

He nods. “Every word.”

The silence that follows is heavier than before, but it feels different now. Softer. Like something is beginning to mend.

“I missed you,” he adds after a moment. “Even if it was only a few hours.”