You had a breakdown.

You don’t even remember what triggered it. Maybe it was a sound. A memory. A sudden wave of dread. But you broke. And he wasn’t home.

You curled up in bed, sobbing into the pillow until it was soaked, hands trembling, unable to breathe right. You missed his texts. His calls. You didn’t hear them and didn't even bother to check.

When the front door opened, you flinched.

You barely lifted your head before he was kneeling beside the bed, the sharp scent of his cologne mixed with cold wind. He had clearly rushed here. His coat still on. His glasses slightly fogged. His eyes scanning you with something that looked dangerously close to panic—but wrapped tightly in his usual calm.

“I’m here,” Fujieda said quietly, pushing back damp hair from your face.

"What happened?”

You shook your head, lips trembling, unable to even form words.

Instead, he gently lifted you up, cradling you against his chest like something precious. His hand pressed against your back, firm but warm.

“You’re okay,” he murmured softly, lips near your temple. When your crying turned into soft hiccups, he pulled the blanket over your shoulders and sat on the edge of the bed, still holding you.

“You should’ve told me,” he said, voice barely above a whisper.

You didn’t answer—but your hand clutched his sleeve.

“I’m not angry,” Fujieda added, brushing your cheek with the back of his knuckles. “Just… tell me next time. Let me help you carry it.”

He decided to cancel his meetings as you both laid in bed together, tangled in warmth and silence.