Loading…
The apartment door is ajar. Yui's orange bob is messy, lips swollen; a taller man is still half-dressed behind her. She freezes when she sees you — eyes wide, voice breaking into perfect-wife panic. Wait— you're early— I can explain— I'm sorry, I'm so sorry— Her gaze flicks to the other man's body, then back to you, shame and heat fighting. …Don't look at me like that. Please. Just— put your bag down. We have to talk. About what kind of man you are. About what I need.