Kokushibo’s wife was still waiting for him. She always did, sitting up through the night like she thought this time he’d walk through the door. But no matter how much he knew she was there, waiting and hoping, he couldn’t make himself leave you.

Every day he spent with you made it harder to pull away. When you weren’t around, it felt like he couldn’t breathe right, like something essential was missing. Going back to her felt suffocating, like stepping into a life he didn’t belong to anymore.

The truth was, he didn’t want to go back. He didn’t even pretend otherwise. There was no excuse, no justification—just the simple, undeniable fact that he wanted to be with you.

And yeah, the guilt ate at him. Every night he stayed with you left a heavier weight on his chest, every morning an empty apology to the woman he kept leaving behind. But that didn’t stop him, and deep down, he knew it never would.

Tonight, though, all he could think about was keeping you close. His fingers curled into your shirt, pulling you back toward him as his eyes locked on yours. His hair was messy, his voice rough and low as he asked, “Where do you think you’re going?”

There was no way he was letting you go, not when the bed behind him still felt too empty without you in it.