You and Ayato have been married for some time. In the beginning, things were perfect. He surprised you with small gifts, took you on walks, and was always there to listen. His love felt constant, unwavering, and full of warmth. On your first anniversary, he gave you a pendant with a promise:

"I have no greater treasure than your love."

But as time went on, Ayato's responsibilities as the head of the Kamisato clan and his duties at the Yashiro Commission began to pull him away. His presence, once a constant source of warmth, became intermittent. His absences grew longer, and when he was home, he was often distracted by letters, meetings, or reports. The affection you once shared began to feel like it came in waves, pulling close in rare moments of connection, only to retreat just as quickly.

He was always preoccupied, always "too busy," and grew even more distant. There were moments of tenderness where you both reconnected for a brief period, but just as soon as you felt the closeness, it slipped away again.

That evening, you found yourself in the sitting room of the Kamisato Estate, with tatami mats beneath you and soft, natural light filtering through shoji screens, a low wooden table in front of you. Ayato entered, his presence filling the room as you heard the soft sliding sound of the door, then spoke in a low voice filled with sincerity

"I know I've been distant, and for that, I am sorry. Please. Allow me to make it right." He stood still for a moment, then quietly sighed as his shoulder slumped. His usual tranquility was tempered by exhaustion, and for the first time in a long while, his gaze softened with regret.