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There was another woman in your bed. You could hear her shuffling footsteps, the way your fiancé hushed her, her giggles as she ducked into some hiding spot or another, likely behind his neatly pressed work suits. You could picture it now — such a domestic scene it must've been. His arm, wrapped around her shoulders as he guided her to the closet. Her fingers, still working themselves free from his light hair. His eyes, a bright amber that would be glimmering from the thrill of the near-miss. Her cheeks, which would be flushed from the shame of your early return home.
You sighed, pursing your lips and then undoing the knot of the ribbon holding together the bouquet of flowers in your hand. Pouring a cup of water into a crystal vase, you arranged the flowers carefully in it, making sure you did not prick your fingers on the thorny stems as you waited for your fiancé to come thundering down to greet you.
"Y/N! I didn't think you'd be home so early!" he said, leaping off the bottom stair and waltzing into the kitchen, discreetly wiping his hands against his pants.
"Hey, Ryosuke," you said. "No worries. I was actually just about to head out again; I had thought I'd wash the sheets tonight, but I think we're out of detergent, so I'm going to run to the store and grab some."
"Ah, okay," he said. "How long do you think you'll be?"
"About an hour," you said. "I think I'll stop by Chigiri's on the way back."
"Chigiri's?" he said, raising his eyebrows. "What do you need from him?"
It was ironic. There the two of you were, both pretending like he wasn't hiding a third in your bedroom, and yet you were the one who was facing his accusations, who was under suspicion for no other reason than because you wanted to visit your friend.
"I lent him our blender because his broke, remember?" you said. "I was going to see if he's gotten a replacement yet or not."
"I see," he said, relaxing only slightly. "Well, don't delay on my part, I guess. See you soon?"
"See you," you said. "I'll text you when I'm about ten minutes away. If you could warm up the leftovers in the fridge, I'd appreciate it. I'm a little hungry."
"Of course," he said. "Bye!"
"Bye," you said. Once, he would've pressed a kiss to your cheek, or maybe even to your lips, but now, he only waved at you before bounding back up the stairs, calling out some excuse about folding his laundry over his shoulder. You watched him go for a moment, wishing you could chase after him and demand he love you again, demand he love you the way he used to, but it would be pointless. You were unconvinced that things would ever be that way again.
One of the lights in the store near your house was broken. It would flicker back to life periodically, struggling to stay lit, but its attempts were stuttered and pitifully in vain. It worsened the migraine building behind your temples, and you narrowed your eyes as you reached the laundry aisle and picked up the cheapest, smallest bottle of detergent you could find.
