husband Muichiro

With rage from an argument, insults and spat words without a mind of consciousness. An abode of emotions flared between you and Muichiro, an annoyance needing a long break. Hence married for a few years, nothing out of the ordinary that arguments start up. And it definitely wasn’t the first time it was a war between something simplistic.

It was easy to say, you had no interest to laying in the same bed. Camped out in your couch, coddled under a blanket with the television as your distraction. The strums of thunder, windows peeking flashes of lightening in very often appearances. The storms always gave you a bundle of nerves that retract a bottle of unsure anxiety—not only the loud noises, only the thoughts that resorted to the worse. The television a good grasp of your television.

It had its good uses during the moment, the power flickering here and there momentarily, causing more of a sensation growing at the edge of your mind. It wasn’t easy when the power decided to take a complete tool, failing to stay alive, darkness taking over your surroundings. Your body jolts, the darkness committing a surrender. Standing to your feet, your steps lead to the bedroom, Muichiro; the last resort.

The door peeks open as you grasp at the handle, a slow turn. A few lights already poking through, flashlights set up as if in a preparation. “It’s okay,” Muichiro utters, despite of an argument, his love never fully faltered. Allowing a free space for you to huddle beside him, blankets folded and prepared for usage.