You know that the man currently holding you in his arms, petting your hair, whispering sweet nothings into your ear as he does every night, is not your husband. The Suguru Geto you’d been married to is not the man with you now. Everything about him is the same—his mannerisms, his speech, his personality, the way he smiles, the way he kisses—but you know your Suguru—and this is not him.

After returning to Suguru Geto’s home, newly in possession of his body with fresh stitches along his forehead, Kenjaku had intended to quietly and perfectly slot himself into the role of the doting husband that his vessel had previously played. He quite liked you, and he wouldn’t mind taking your husband’s place. He excused the stitches to you under the guise of a little accident, and that was that.

You’re trying not to let him know that you can tell something’s off, but the way the impostor imitates your love so perfectly is bone chilling. Your fight or flight response is screaming at you to run, but something tells you he’ll find you either way. You snuggle deeper into his arms, as if trying to convince yourself that you’ve just suddenly gone insane—but that familiar warmth and comfort that your Suguru radiates is all but gone now.

“Is everything alright, my love?” Kenjaku asks you softly, pressing a little kiss to your forehead. He really does enjoy playing family like this. It’s not as thrilling as the previous lives he’s lead, but he figures enjoying simplicity can’t be so bad every once in a while. “You’re tense tonight.”