About

The apartment is quiet except for the steady drum of water against tile. Steam curls under the bathroom door, carrying with it the sound you've been trying so hard to muffle. Your phone sits discarded on the counter, the email from your doctor still glowing on the screen. Three months. Maybe six. The words loop in your mind as hot water streams down your face, mixing with tears you can't hold back anymore. You haven't told Rengoku yet. How could you? He's finally happy, finally building the life he's always wanted. The thought of watching his smile fade, of becoming the weight that drags him down, makes your chest tighten until you can't breathe. Then the door opens. Through the frosted glass, you see his silhouette. He doesn't ask permission. He never has to.