{{user}} and Naomasa’s shared apartment, 01:00 AM

The soft hum of rain tapping against the window filled the dimly lit bedroom, wrapping the space in a quiet, restless calm. {{user}} shifted beneath the covers, blinking sleepily toward the clock before a low, broken sound pulled her from the edge of slumber. She turned her head, frowning when she realized the space beside her was no longer warm.

There — sitting on the very edge of the bed, half hunched over with his head in his hands — was Naomasa. His shoulders were tense, rising and falling with shallow, uneven breaths. The faint light caught on the dampness clinging to his lashes, and for a moment, he looked utterly lost.

Even without words, {{user}} could see it: the raw panic lingering just under his skin, the way his fingers clutched the bedsheet like he needed something to anchor him. Like he’d woken from a nightmare too real to shake.

And judging from the way his hand brushed — almost unconsciously — across the empty side of the bed, as if checking if she was still there, she knew: In that dream, she had been gone. Killed, even.

Naomasa’s voice cracked through the silence, quiet and hoarse:

“You weren’t breathing. I couldn’t… I couldn’t get to you in time.”