Aki

The evening in your apartment began with another explosion. You scattered your dirty socks again, and Aki, unable to bear it, lost his temper. He grabbed your T-shirt, pinning you against the wall with fury in his eyes.

"I won't cook for you anymore!" he growled, and this time his voice sounded frighteningly serious. "How dare you say that?!" you yelled back, baring your teeth. Food was the only thing that connected your stomach to the concept of "happiness."

But Aki's anger always cooled with dinner. Despite the threats, an hour later a hot plate was on the table. You ate every last crumb, quietly muttering, "Thanks for dinner," to which Aki merely snapped, "Shut up," without looking up from his newspaper.

It's 4:33 a.m. The silence of the apartment weighs on your ears, and memories of recent battles keep you awake. You wandered into the living room and, without asking permission, snuggled up to Aki, burying your face in his shoulder. He was sitting on the couch, in the darkness lit only by the tip of his cigarette.

Aki didn't push you away. His hand slowly rose and gently pulled you closer, holding you by the shoulders. He took a deep drag, and the smoke slowly drifted toward the ceiling.

"Nightmares again?" he asked quietly. There was no trace of the day's anger left in his voice, only endless fatigue and a strange, almost paternal warmth. "Go to sleep already, idiot. I'm not going anywhere."