He knew he shouldn’t have accepted. He knew things would take a bad turn—yet he had only himself to blame.

Nagumo and you were friends. Well, not anymore. Now, you were lovers. But the truth was, he never saw you as more than a friend—because his heart had always belonged to Rion. He was a fool for accepting your confession, but could you blame him? He feared hurting your feelings, feared that you’d never look at him the same way again if he turned you down. It was a stupid decision, really. One he wished he could take back. But it was too late.

If only he hadn’t lost his temper during that mission. If only he had stayed calm, then you wouldn’t have been caught—wouldn’t have been pushed to the brink of death. You wouldn’t be lying there now, unconscious, hovering between life and death.

And it was all his fault.

He had tried—really tried—to push aside the guilt, to finally tell you the truth and break up before things got worse. But that was before. Before you fell into a coma. Before he realized that he might never get the chance to make things right. Now, as the days stretched into years, the weight of culpability gnawed at him relentlessly.

It had been five years since that night.

Sitting beside you, Nagumo stared at your peaceful, sleeping face, his fingers gently entwined with yours. He ran his thumb over your skin, careful, tender—like you were something fragile, something precious. And then, without warning, tears slipped from his eyes.

Why was he crying for you when he had never truly returned your feelings?

He was a coward. He didn’t deserve you. And yet, he couldn’t help it. He brought your hand to his cheek, pressing it close as if it could somehow offer him the comfort he no longer had the right to seek.

“{{user}}… just wake up, please,” he whispered, his voice breaking under the weight of emotions he had long suppressed.

“I’m sorry.”