Yuna barely closes the door, sealing out the biting cold of the night. The foyer's soft amber lights flicker on as she steps in. Darkness envelops the house—silent and suffocating—broken only by a faint glow from the kitchen.
It feels achingly familiar—the evenings she used to wait for him until late—and now Ryusei sits alone at the table in the same room. His head droops forward, an empty glass stained with lipstick at the rim. As she approaches, the sharp scent of alcohol fills the space.
Her heart clenches. The joy she felt moments ago at the party evaporates, replaced by gnawing anxiety. Should she call his name, touch his shoulder? After years of marriage, even that decision feels heavy.
Finally, she gently shakes him awake. Ryusei groans, lifting his head with reddened eyes and drawn brows.
"Did you have a good time tonight?" he slurs.
"I... I did," Yuna whispers.
"Good." He nods, then suddenly laughs—a harsh, piercing sound that echoes through the silent house. "Very good."
Yuna freezes. Before she can ask what's happening, Ryusei shoves a small glass toward her.
"Wash this," he orders.
She wordlessly complies, turning on the tap. The icy water scalds her hands, causing her skin to sting.
"Did… that guy take you home?" he asks from behind.
"No," she replies softly, "I walked myself home. He took someone else."
He laughs again—hollow and bitter. "He got lucky then. Congratulations. But doesn't he always want to take you–"
She turns off the tap, shakes her hands over the sink, and faces him—this time with steadiness.
"Ryusei, what's wrong?"
He sits slumped at the table, head in his hands. She approaches, knowing well how he shoulders his burdens alone. But she has to confront it—for their marriage, for him.
"Tell me. Are you going through something you can't share?"
Silence. Yuna takes a deep breath and presses on.
"It's work, isn't it? Are you in trouble at the company?"
He shoots her a cold glance.
"What?"
"Don't hide it. Please, tell me everything." She steps closer, her voice showing cracks of desperation. "I want to share your burden."
Her lips tremble. She clenches her fists to stop herself from crying out. "You've hardly been home these past days, even vanished for a week. We've been married over two years—this isn't too much to ask. You trust me, don't you?"
He strikes back with a brutal question. The tension between them hangs sharp in the room. "I don't just need someone to listen. I need help. Can you even help me?"
"Help with what?" she asks.
He gives a bitter laugh and shakes his head. "Fine. I'll show you." He staggers to a trash bin, flips it over, and spills its contents across the floor.
Sheets of financial reports, loan contracts, inventory documents—everything scatters like paper confetti. Yuna steps back in shock as they flutter down.
He stuffs a handful into her arms. "Read it. If you dare, read every page and tell me why it ended up like this!"
Yuna, stunned, stares at the documents. Among them lies a newspaper headline: "SHINSEI Servc Group Goes Bankrupt After Two Decades." Her hand trembles among the papers weighing heavily in her arms.
Ryusei's voice breaks through the silence:
"Look at this—my company, my shares… it's all collapsing. Our family's legacy—with Father trusting and handing everything to me—gone. I've dragged everything down. The business only survives because I cling to other companies. Without someone by my side, they would never support me. Can you help me like that? Even a little?"
She stands silent, watching him sag with grief and guilt.
"Yuna, I'm sorry... I shouldn't have snapped at you. I'm a terrible husband..." His voice cracks.
She looks around the dim room, tears threatening. None of them have ever argued like this before. But now, the weight of his words hangs in the stale air.
He reaches out and grips her wrist. "Enough, Yuna," he says with forced calm. "Look at me. Do something. Slap me. Hit me. Do whatever—it will wake me up!"
"Yuna... Don't be afraid. Please—break through this fear!" he urges.
She bites her lip and squeezes her eyes shut, tears stinging as his grip bruises her wrist. He stands like a dam about to burst.
"I can't—" she gasps.
"Yuna!" he roars, both a command and a plea. "Slap me and then hug me tight. Do it now!"
Tears roll down her face. She drops the documents to the floor. Through her tears she tries to speak.
"We'll find another way—everything will be okay. I promise. Please..."
"Okay?! I've never been okay! In this marriage, I've hurt you too much. Why can't you understand? Do it—hit me, claw me, break my face—then hold me. Do something! Don't leave me like this!" he rages.
Silence drops again, heavy and complete. She watches his fingers loosen from her wrist, leaving bruises and scars. There's no warmth left in his eyes.
Before she can react, a sharp slap lands on her cheek. She touches her burning skin: he has struck her.
Then, the sound of footsteps. The bedroom door slams. Darkness envelops her once more.
She stands there, stunned—her vision blurred by tears. She crumples onto the sofa, clutching a pillow, weeping aloud like a lost child. She tries to humbly stifle her sobs so he won't hear.
When she finally drifts into a troubled sleep, she dreams of a slipper falling. She reaches for someone but wakes—alone on the cold sofa, utterly abandoned.
In the stillness of the night, someone else lies awake besides Yuna. It's late, and sounds drift from Hiroki's room—restless movements, whispers of unrest. Moonlight spills through the window, sudden and sharp, stirring a wave of anxiety within him. As he gazes up at the full moon suspended in endless sky, he feels something deep inside him cry out, each sob rattling his heart.
Hiroki's hands tremble as he pulls a wooden box crammed with letters from beneath his bed. He opens it, noting how pristine they remain. Lately, he has been revisiting these letters—ones he had originally tossed aside, unread, knowing exactly who sent them and what they contained. But reopening them brings unforeseen consequences, disasters he can no longer stop.
With shaking fingers, Hiroki opens an envelope recently handed to him by Jun. He wants to relive each word, to punish himself again for his guilt.
"Dear Hiroki,
This is the twenty-seventh letter I've written to you... As always, I just want to ask—are you okay? How was your day? Were you too busy to write?
Hiroki, whenever I think of you, my heart feels like it's about to explode—every beat bittersweet, maddening. You were the only light in my life, everything I needed to survive. But now that light is gone... These days are cold and dark.
I watch you in my mind: you at work, laughing with someone else in the office—and if I'm not mistaken, it's her. Each fleeting moment cuts like a blade...
How does it feel to have the one you love be with someone else? It must hurt just like me.
If only the two of us were all that mattered... why didn't you choose me?
Because I slept with him—just one night in Tokyo..."
Yuna jolts awake, a fierce pain throbbing in her head. She pulls herself up on the sofa but collapses—her back heavy, lips burning, nose stinging. She wonders if it's exhaustion or the bruises covering her body. Despite a bitter laugh, she realizes the pain is real.
She drags herself off the sofa, but a gust of cold from the window nearly topples her. She steadies herself, knowing there's no turning back—she still has the strength to keep going.
She shuffles toward the other side of the house. Everything is immaculate: the scattered papers are gone, the trash bin is empty. The kitchen counters are spotless, as if nothing ever happened.
A hollow ache fills her. She returns to the sofa, worn out beyond words. Is this really it? she thinks. Maybe—it has to be.
On the glass table, she notices a small note:
"Yuna,
I cleaned up everything last night. I'm sorry I lost control—drunken words speak poorly of me. If I hurt you, I beg your forgiveness. I have to go now. Can you wait for me at home?"
Wait for him?, she thinks. That's been her daily routine... or maybe he's going far away tonight? Maybe he won't come back. And that slap—did he forget? The one thing that hurt her most is ignored.
Just then, she spots a warm wool blanket on the sofa—something she didn't have last night. It must be his gesture to keep her warm.
Her tears fall. She curls under the blanket, clutching it close. It still bears his faint scent, like a fading memory. Her heartbeat slows; her body softens, as warmth seeps in.
She drifts into a dream, a dream too heavy to escape.
....
"Yuna... what does love mean to you?"
The question once echoed in a dream Yuna can't fully recall—a voice from a lost soul, someone whose face she can't quite place. Was the dream returning, or had she simply never left it?
Ryusei—what about you? What does love mean to you?
I want to hear it from you... and only you.
Four years ago, she never thought much about questions like that. She believed she had found love's definition, something so simple it needed no explanation.
The color pink. Heart shapes. Forever—like a distant, glowing horizon of happiness. Everything seemed to melt into one truth when she is with him.
At twenty-one, she graduated university with decent grades. She had not placed much hope in the school she chose, nor did her parents, but they were not disappointed either. She used to think: if this path isn't truly mine to begin with, why pretend to care so much about it?
Instead, she poured all her hopes, her dreams, and her fragile trust into a love that had blossomed for years—her long-time fiancé, Takahashi Ryusei. On their seventh anniversary, he had given her a smooth silver ring, right on New Year's Eve.
At twenty-two, she landed a stable office job in Osaka. She had long awaited her wedding day, and though both she and Ryusei were still young and busy, their ceremony came earlier than expected, modest and simple. Yet for her, it was enough. More than enough.
Their families approved. Yuna's especially, warmly encouraged the match. Her mother once told her, "This marriage will change your life."
And it did. She believed it would.
On their first night, light rain fell softly beyond the balcony. The white curtain swayed gently in the breeze. Golden lamplight warmed her cheek as Ryusei leant down to kiss her forehead. Yuna lay quietly in his arms, feeling the firmness of his chest and the warmth of his breath on her hair.
She had imagined this moment so many times—in sparkling teenage dreams, in radiant summer days beside him, in those passionate kisses of their early twenties, fingers tightly intertwined.
But Ryusei was different. He was fire—brilliant, intense, all-consuming. In a room scented with camellias and candle wax, his eyes gleamed like they were devouring her soul.
"Yuna," he murmured her name like a vow.
That night, Ryusei had been both tender and wild. His touch had guided her, each movement deliberate, each breath a shared rhythm. Skin on skin, she had followed his lead, giving him everything—her trust, her dreams, and her fears. The fear that loving someone too much might one day mean losing herself.
Afterward, he had held her tight and whispered something vague into her neck. Maybe it had been "I love you," or maybe "I want to stay with you forever." She only knew she had wanted to bury herself deeper into his chest.
He had been fire—dazzling, seductive.
The kind of light that every lost soul seeks.
The kind of flame that awakens desire and passion.
The kind of heat that could burn down everything she had thought was eternal.
Two years into their marriage, they had rarely argued. Ryusei often came home with fresh roses, kissed her on the forehead, and said things like, "These reminded me of you."
On their days off, they had driven around Osaka, exploring luxury corners of the city. He had wrapped an arm around her waist, whispering teasingly in her ear. Sometimes, he had kissed her neck, her cheek, her lips—wherever the moment had taken him. In public, he had never hidden his possessiveness. To him, love had been possession.
Yuna, gentle by nature, had never opposed it. She had spoiled him like second nature. Whatever he had wanted, she had never refused. In the bedroom, they had blended like they were made for each other. No words, no need for understanding—their bodies had found each other long before their hearts ever had. She had given herself to him completely, passionately, to ease the longing that had haunted her for years.
Ryusei had always been the active type—football fields, gyms, bars, social circles. On nights she hadn't joined him, he had always messaged or called, telling her when he'd be home. "Just the guys. Don't overthink it." That phrase had repeated like a simple promise.
As for Yuna, she had disliked noisy places, pounding music, and crowded, drunken rooms. But for him, she had gone anyway. Even if sometimes, she had felt suffocated. Even if, beneath the laughter, she had realized she was the only one silent.
Most importantly, that summer, Ryusei had visited her parents' home with her.
On the outskirts of Osaka, green hills had rolled like waves. Tea fields had stretched endlessly, the scent of tea leaves drifting in the dusk. Sunlight had spilled across old brick paths leading to the yard. The Ikeda family, with her father running a well-known tea estate, had welcomed Ryusei with honest warmth.
That noon, the lunch table had buzzed with casual chatter, food being passed around, and laughter. Under the old golden ceiling light, the energy had been so cheerful and loud it had drowned out any silence. That was just how the Ikeda family was—quiet meals never tasted right.
Yuna had sat quietly beside him, observing. Ryusei had shown no sign of discomfort. In fact, he had adapted fast—cracking jokes with Mr. Ikeda, charming everyone. His eyes had sparkled, and his voice had seemed light. Sometimes, he had rested his hand on her back or her thigh so naturally even her aunt across the table had noticed, teasing, "This one really loves his wife, huh?" Everyone had laughed.
Her mother had declared confidently, "Marrying into the Takahashi family is the best thing that's ever happened to my daughter."
Yuna had pressed her lips together, hiding her smile behind a bite of mackerel. Warmth had bloomed in her chest. Was it happiness? A quiet, fierce joy. Watching him laughing under the lamplight, hearing the familiar clatter of dishes, she had felt her heart ease.
She had wished—just for a second—that moment could last forever.
But she and Ryusei hadn't been born from the same world. While Yuna had grown up with stern teachings and easy laughter, Ryusei had been raised in silence and rigid discipline.