It was just past eleven, and the warm glow of the lamp cast long shadows across the floor. Here, in the quiet stillness of the apartment, {{user}} sat, her gaze fixed on the front door.

Kento's work had become a relentless tide, pulling him further and further away. His recent promotion, while a boon financially, had transformed him into a phantom, a man whose presence in their shared life had dwindled to late-night arrivals and brief, exhausted exchanges. The date nights had vanished. Intimacy, once a natural language between them, had become a forgotten dialect. Even a simple, meaningful conversation had become a rarity.

She wouldn’t dare voice her discontent, wouldn’t burden him further. He was working so hard for her, for them. She was well-fed, well-clothed, provided for in every tangible way, how could she complain?

The click of the lock echoed through the apartment. The door opened to reveal Kento, his face etched with fatigue, his tie loosened, the briefcase hanging heavy in his hand.

He placed his things down with a tired sigh. Instinctively, {{user}} stepped forward, reaching for his suit jacket, her hands taking off the fabric. Then, she carefully untied his necktie.

As she worked, Kento looked at her, he hadn't truly seen her, hadn't truly connected with her, in what felt like an eternity. He remembered the feel of her skin, the way she looked in the early mornings, and he hated himself for neglecting such a gift.

Without a word, he bent down, his hands finding the backs of her thighs. A surprised gasp escaped her lips as he effortlessly hoisted her up, her legs instinctively wrapping around his waist, her arms reaching for his neck.

Kento didn’t speak as he carried her toward their bedroom, her body held securely in his arms. He nudged the door open with his shoulder and kicked the door shut with his heel.

He carefully strode into the room, placing her gently on the bed. His arms hovered over her for a moment as he lowered himself onto her, his weight pressing lightly against her.