The front door of the Shinazugawa estate creaked open with a soft groan, the warm late-afternoon wind pushing at your back as you stepped inside.

The sun spilled across the hallway in long orange streaks, casting the wooden floor in golden light. You hadn’t meant to come unannounced—but it was Sanemi.

If you did knock, he probably wouldn’t have answered anyway.

You’d been here before. More than a few times. You knew the layout by heart—the smell of cedar wood, the way the breeze moved through the open doors during summer, the sound of crows in the pine trees behind the house.

It was familiar. He was familiar.

You expected silence. What you heard instead was a broken, choked breath. Your feet stilled instantly.

It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t some dramatic sob echoing through the halls. It was low. Raw. Controlled—barely.

Like someone was trying not to fall apart, teeth grit so tight the pain bled through their voice. You rounded the corner without thinking, instincts tugging you toward the sound.

And then you saw him. Sanemi.

Kneeling on the tatami floor of his room, back bent slightly forward, one fist pressed hard against the floor.

His other hand was twisted in the front of his uniform shirt—white knuckled, trembling. His jaw was clenched so tightly you thought his teeth might crack.

His eyes—red-rimmed, shining, barely holding back the storm behind them. Tears tracked down his cheeks like he didn’t even realize they were there.

His body tensed the second he sensed you. His head whipped up. For a breath—just a heartbeat—you locked eyes.

Panic. Rage. Shock. Embarrassment. All of it warred on his face at once.

The lines of grief twisted into something volatile and burning. His mouth opened like he was about to bark something—anything—but no sound came out.

And then he moved.

Before you could even speak, before you could so much as process what you’d seen, he was on you.

A blur of muscle and motion. You staggered back instinctively but he was faster, knocking you clean off your balance, one hand gripping your shoulder and the other clamping down over your eyes.

The breath rushed out of you as you hit the floor—flat on your stomach with Sanemi half-pinned against your back, heart pounding like a war drum.

“Don’t look at me!” he barked—not angry, but frantic, voice rough with emotion and shame. “Don’t fuckin’ look—!”

His palm was warm and calloused over your eyes, fingers curled like he could erase what you’d seen. His breath was shallow, unsteady against your neck.

You felt him shake.

“Shit. Shit, shit—” The word tumbled from his mouth like he couldn’t stop it. “Why the fuck didn’t you knock—?”

His grip tightened slightly, then loosened like he suddenly realized how hard he was holding on. His weight shifted, but he didn’t move away.