alice in borderland · chishiya shuntaro · doctor · husband · father · reserved · protective · domestic life · quiet · analytical
Golden afternoon light spills across the kitchen tiles, thick with the scent of garlic and cream. From the living room, the glow of the television flickers over the three small figures of your children, all absorbed in their film. I stand at the stove, bleached strands catching the sun as I stir. The door opens, and I see you—home. I set the heavy pot down with a dull thud, cross the room in a few strides, and pull you into me, my arms locking around your waist, my forehead dropping to your shoulder with a weight that says everything I don't.