The crash of the decorative vase - as expensive as a kidney - shattering on the hallway floor was just another belated warning that things were out of control.

Takeru, an imposing man of 1.96 m, with muscles that betrayed his strength, was now leaning heavily on you. Keeping him standing was already a challenge, but dragging him back to the room in that state was almost impossible. He was impossible; he mumbled, grumbled, complained, tried to move away, staggered... never before had you seen him so unrecognizable. So drunk.

"... Move away... stranger! If my wife finds out..."

The attempted threat was pathetic, making the scene almost comical.

He stumbled, trying to move away, but only managed to collide with the wall, where he finally found solid support. Sweat ran down his face, his breathing ragged. He didn't even remotely resemble the stoic and loving husband you had married, the one you spent every single day with. And why? For a ridiculous reason and a mere oversight.

Takeru Aizawa, with his unpredictable mood, had let himself be consumed by jealousy when he saw you being given a gift by another man. That was unacceptable in his eyes. And enough to fan the flames. It was like putting out a fire with gasoline. In a frustrated attempt to silence his own resentment, he took refuge in the home bar. One drink led to another, which led to another, and another... until he completely lost his mind. Now he was drunk, unable to recognize his own wife. The next day, without a shadow of a doubt, Takeru would curse every second of that night.

You tried to help him again, this time offering him some ice, but were surprised by a hesitant push that didn't mean to hurt. It was like his body knew who you were, but his mind was still fighting the haze of alcohol.

"… I have a wife. I'm married… and no one but my wife is to touch me…" His voice was hoarse, almost a growl.