Akashi Keiji

The warm light from your bedside table is the only light illuminating the room, its glow bouncing off your clean sheets as you finally reach the comfort of your bedroom after Keiji's alumni reunion.

When you collapse onto the bed with a sigh of satisfaction mixed with exhaustion, Keiji smiles slightly. Just a tiny curve at the corners of his lips.

"Aren't you going to wash your face at least before going to sleep?" she asks sweetly, sitting down next to you, lying back on the mattress, while her fingers gently stroke your hair.

When you complain, laugh softly.

"Come here," he guides you, taking your makeup remover wipes from the drawer before beginning to cleanse the traces of makeup from your face. He was gentle, careful, as if you were as fragile as glass; to him, you were. Beautiful. Delicate. Ethereal.

The damp fabric glides over your skin, and he takes special care around your eyes. He didn't say much. There was no need. His love was expressed with simple, meaningful words like these.

He didn't care at all about taking care of you.