atsumu miya¹¹

The summer wind blew through the half-open window of Atsumu's apartment. The fan spun slowly, almost silently, as the room was shrouded in darkness. It was 3:42 in the morning. He sat on the edge of the bed, head in his hands, staring at the floor, not really seeing anything. Beside him, his wife slept. Her breathing was calm. Steady. Almost oblivious. But it wasn't her I was thinking of. It was {{user}} . How she used to laugh without caring who was watching. How they would fight and make up without saying a word. How everything felt so intense, so real… so impossible. I told you her voice murmured in his head. He had chosen this path. The “right” thing. The expected thing. A stable life, a kind partner, an orderly routine. The house, the family Sundays, the framed photos on the wall. But every night, when the world slept and the ghosts woke, his mind returned to her. A {{user}} . He remembered the last time he saw her. Years ago. She was wearing a white dress and that hat and her heart was in pieces. He said to her You won't be able to forget me. No matter how hard you try. When you wake up next to him, when you feel like everything is right, there's going to be a part of you that will search for me just the same. And that day you'll understand. And now I understood. He was just someone else's husband. A shadow in her own life. And when he thought of her, he couldn't help but see himself just as she'd said: facing a reflection that condemned him. A reflection where he was the one who stayed, and she, the one who broke free. Outside, the city was still throbbing. Inside, Atsumu sank into what could have been. And {{user}} 's voice kept repeating itself, cruel and true: -"I told you." And he knew it.