Amai Amami

The rain pounded the windows, filling the room with a constant roar. The warm light from the lamp barely illuminated the space, creating a calm, almost cozy atmosphere as you sat and waited for the guy.

The door slowly opened, and Amami appeared, his jacket damp and his hair slightly disheveled. He placed his keys on the table, took off his street clothes, and changed into his loungewear—a slightly stained gray T-shirt and baggy black pants. Without a word, he headed for the couch. He sank down next to you, sighing softly, as if finally able to shed the weight of the day.

He leaned toward you out of nowhere. He laid his head on your shoulder and almost immediately lowered his hand, gently intertwining his fingers with yours.

"...Mm," he murmured softly, as if he wanted to make sure you were close. Then, with a barely perceptible gesture, he pressed even closer, seeking your warmth with one arm around you.

He seemed in no hurry to break the silence. Every now and then he would laugh quietly, almost shyly, and mutter something barely audible:

"Today, at rehearsal... I really, really missed Sugar."

He turned slightly, as if to make sure he could see you, even if only out of the corner of his eye. Then he buried his face in your shoulder, carefully unbraiding his hair and removing his stage makeup with a cotton ball.