Rain hammered against the apartment windows long after midnight, each drop a reminder that Kuon Wataru should’ve been home hours ago. He’d texted earlier — working late — the same excuse he used whenever something felt off in his voice. You had tried not to think about it.

But then you opened the balcony door.

His jacket lay there, soaked through, heavy with rainwater and something colder: dread. He would never leave it behind. Not Kuon. Not the man who kept every promise except the ones that mattered most.

The hours stretched. City lights blurred into lines of gold as the storm dragged on. You searched the streets from the window, watched shadows move, hoping one of them would be him.

When the door finally opened, he didn’t look like someone coming home from overtime at work. His hair was plastered to his forehead, shirt half torn, knuckles scraped. A faint cut trailed down his cheek like a whisper of the night he’d been through.

He saw the jacket in your hands and stopped.

For a long moment, he didn’t move, didn’t breathe, as if debating whether the truth was worth the pain. Then his shoulders dropped, tension melting into something rawer, heavier.

“…Yeah.” He rasped, voice low. “I lied. I’m sorry.”

He stepped closer, rain dripping from him onto the floor.

“I didn’t want you involved. Didn’t want you knowing I was meeting with someone from before — someone who doesn’t care who they hurt to get to me.” His jaw clenched. “I thought I could end it quietly. I was wrong.”

He reached for his jacket, fingers brushing yours, trembling.

“But I’m done hiding it. I’m not losing you over the ghosts I should’ve buried a long time ago.”