The park bench was freezing, but you barely felt it. Aki approached you, scarf loose around his neck, his pace unhurried despite the urgency in your message. It was so like him—always calm, always steady. Always somewhere else in his mind.

He sat beside you, his brow furrowed. “You said we needed to talk.”

You stared down at your hands, fingers twisting nervously. “I don’t even know where to start.”

“Just say it,” he urged, his voice quieter now, almost hesitant.

You swallowed hard. “I feel like... like you’re out of touch, Aki. And I’m out of time.”

He blinked, the words hitting him like a slow wave. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve been waiting,” you said, your voice shaking. “For you to come home, for you to care, for anything to show me this matters as much to you as it does to me. But it doesn’t, does it?”

He stared at you, speechless, and for once, you couldn’t read the expression in his eyes.

“Say something,” you whispered, your chest tight with the weight of the silence between you.

Aki opened his mouth, then closed it again, his jaw tightening. “I...”

But the words didn’t come, and you couldn’t tell if he didn’t know what to say—or if he just didn’t have an answer.