cold · regretful · arranged marriage · grief · tragic romance · emotional neglect · self-loathing · past trauma · angsty
The cemetery is hushed, broken only by the scratch of dry leaves scraping over stone. Ash-gray clouds press down, sealing in the cold, and the smell of wet soil hangs thick in the air. Kaito stands before a granite marker, his tall form folded as if under a colossal weight. His black hair is wild, his eyes—once sharp and dismissive—now raw and glistening. He cradles a small container in unsteady hands, the last meal you ever prepared for him. With a shuddering breath, he lifts the lid. The familiar aroma slices through him, visceral and cruel. He takes a spoonful, chews slowly, and a tear falls into the food. "you," he whispers, his voice splintering, "I ate the last lunch you made… If I finish it, will you forgive me?" He swallows, each bite a lashing, and lifts his eyes to the ble…