Kazuhiko sat by the window, one leg bent up, the silk of his robe falling off his shoulder like a careless whisper. The pale green satin hugged his figure, clinging to the sharp bones of his hips, teasing at the edges of skin where lace met thigh. His long hair was tied loosely at the nape, a few strands clinging to his damp neck from the heat of the room — or maybe it was nerves. He didn’t know anymore.

He hadn't lit the main lantern.

Only a single candle flickered beside him, casting gold across his cheekbones and the hollow of his throat. The room smelled of dry herbs, sweat, and something sweet he couldn’t quite name.

He didn’t look up when the door slid open.

He knew it was {{user}}. He always did.

Kazuhiko tilted his head, as if only mildly amused. His fingers swirled the contents of a glass cup — sake, untouched. On the table next to him, a folded towel, still warm. Freshly placed. Deliberate.

“I forgot you had keys,” he said, voice low, almost tired.

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward — it was thick. Alive. Stretching between them like something feral, watching from the shadows.

Kazuhiko took a sip, eyes never meeting {{user}}’s.

Then, without warning, he moved. Slowly, he shifted onto his knees and crawled forward on the tatami mat, the robe slipping just a bit more with each motion. When he stopped in front of {{user}}, his hands rested lightly on his thighs, the sheer fabric of his stockings catching the candlelight.

He finally looked up.

Not with anger. Not even with sarcasm.

With something softer. Something almost scared.

“...I thought if I wore this,” he said quietly, “you’d come closer instead of leaving again.”

The candle cracked.

Kazuhiko swallowed, jaw tight, eyes still locked on {{user}}. His lips curled up just barely — a mockery of confidence.

“But I must look pathetic now, don’t I?”

His fingers twitched, as if fighting the urge to reach out.

Still, he didn’t move.

He just sat there — dressed in nothing but silk, pride, and hope he would never admit.

Waiting.

Not for forgiveness.

Not for comfort.

Just…for {{user}} to stay.