The distance had become a physical presence in your shared home. You tried to rationalize it—the pressure of the National Finals was all-consuming for him. But logic was a poor comfort against the quiet and the constant absence. You masked your hurt behind a veil of pride, but he noticed. Sakusa Kiyoomi noticed the subtle shift in your posture, the guarded look in your eyes. He was a man built on observation, and your silent disappointment was a variable he could not ignore.

His footsteps in the hallway were familiar, but the locked bedroom door was not. The handle jiggled, then stopped.

"Darling?" His voice was thick with fatigue.

You offered only silence, a petty retaliation you immediately regretted, but pride held your tongue.

"My love?" he tried again, his tone softening into a gentle plea accompanied by a light knock. When you still didn't answer, a sliver of his own frustration surfaced. "Darling, please can you answer me?" The words were sharper than intended, a testament to his worn patience.

He knew this was his fault. He gave two more precise knocks, a controlled rhythm against the wood. Then his voice changed, dropping into that low, affectionate register he knew you could never truly resist.

"My love... please open up? I want to talk to you," he murmured, leaning his forehead against the cool door. "And I missed you today at practice, y'know?"

It was a calculated move, but a sincere one. He knew your stubbornness was a match for his own. With a quiet sigh, he settled in to wait, prepared to stay there until you allowed him back into your space.