The second guest room was dim, only lit by a faint amber glow from the hallway seeping through the shoji door.
Haruki lay beside Satomi, his body warm from the sake and from the quiet laughter shared over dinner. The futon rustled softly beneath them.
Satomi lay on her back, her cheeks still slightly pink. She blinked slowly, eyelids heavy from drink, but she was awake.
Haruki stared for a moment. His body stirred.
"Satomi," he whispered.
"Hmm...?" she murmured, her voice drowsy but gentle.
She turned her head slightly toward him. "In here...?"
"Yes," he said. "It’s been so long."
She gave a small smile, slow and tipsy. " Lock the door."
Haruki stood and clicked the latch quietly. When he returned, Satomi had already slipped off her pajama shorts and pulled off her top, exposing her soft chest and the dark hair between her thighs. She opened her legs a little, not shy—just relaxed.
He pulled his shirt off, then climbed over her, his breath already deepening.
Their lips met softly.
Satomi lifted her arms around his neck, pulling him closer. Her thighs shifted slightly, brushing his waist.
Haruki guided his penis against her entrance, rubbing slowly.
"Ngghh!! Haruki!!" Satomi gasped, her body tensing. "Slow... slowly!!"
He paused, letting her adjust, then continued with a long, deep push.
Inside his mind, a simple thought drifted:
He let himself sink into the feeling, her warmth, her soft skin, her pussy welcoming him.
Satomi clung to him, her nails brushing his back. " mmm..."
He moved slowly at first, hips rolling with controlled rhythm.
Satomi moaned beneath him, her breath hot, her body shifting to match his thrusts.
Their wetness grew louder, slick, steady.
She gasped and arched her back. "Ahh—ahhh—yes—just like that!"
Haruki grunted quietly, his pace picking up.
Satomi’s voice rose in rhythm.
Then suddenly—her thighs trembled. Her body jolted.
A burst of wetness hit between them. She let out a raw, helpless cry, her legs wrapping briefly around his waist.
Haruki didn’t stop. He held her hips and moved again, the slick sound between their bodies growing more intense.
Satomi panted. "Don’t stop—! More—give me more—!!"
His hips moved faster. Her breasts bounced beneath him, her moans mixing with the rhythm of skin on skin.
Another wave hit her.
She cried out, her voice higher, trembling as another climax tore through her.
Haruki could feel himself close now.
Her body was trembling again, tight around him. Wet.
He gripped her hips, thrust deep, and growled low in his throat.
Thick, deep pulses filled her.
He groaned, exhaling hard.
Satomi gasped sharply and stiffened.
"...You came inside?"
Haruki, catching his breath, nodded faintly. "Yeah..."
Satomi turned her head slightly away.
"Hmm?" he murmured, still lying beside her, his body warm and breath steady.
"Why did you... come inside?"
Haruki turned his head slightly, still half-dazed.
"It was delicious," he said simply, with a faint, lazy smile.
She lay still for a moment, then gently shifted away from him. Haruki felt her body turn.
He blinked as she sat up quietly, reached for a tissue from her purse on the nearby shelf, and wiped herself carefully. Her expression wasn’t angry—but something about it felt... off.
Haruki watched her for a moment, eyebrows faintly drawn. He didn’t speak.
When she lay back down, she didn’t turn to face him.
Just pulled the blanket over her chest and closed her eyes.
Haruki stared at the ceiling, one arm behind his head.
"Satomi~" Haruki murmured softly, reaching over, his arm trying to wrap around her waist.
But the moment his fingers touched her side.
"Haruki!" she snapped, voice low but sharp. "I’m tired."
He paused. "...I just want to hug."
"It’s hot," she hissed, shifting her body farther away, her back still facing him.
Haruki’s eyes opened slightly, the haze of post-release still lingering in his chest.
"Hot...?" he whisper quietly.
Just pulled the blanket up higher and stilled.
Haruki blinked at the ceiling.
His arm slowly dropped back to his side.
Inside his mind, a quiet thought stirred.
This was always her. Always ... after sex.
No whispered talk in the dark.
Haruki turned onto his back and stared up at the ceiling again, eyes slowly adjusting to the low light.
His body was satisfied.
But something else...
Meanwhile, in the other guest room...
Kyouko lay silently on her futon, her arms folded under the thin blanket. The room was quiet—except for the faint hum of crickets outside and the soft creak of wood settling in the night.
Kyouko’s eyes remained open, staring at the ceiling in stillness.
Another sound followed—rhythmic, wet, breathless.
Just lay there quietly.
Inside her mind, a calm thought floated:
Satomi is his wife... There’s nothing wrong with it.
She slowly turned her head to the side.
Satoshi lay on his back, one arm over his face, his chest rising and falling in slow, uneven breaths.
Exactly as he’d been during dinner.
She remembered earlier—when her father had barked across the living room, his voice loud enough to silence even Kenji and Kazuma.
"What’s wrong with your husband, Kyouko!?" Kitayama had growled. "Only five cups of sake and he’s already drunk!?"
The room had laughed lightly.
Kyouko had just smiled.
Now, in the dim room, her smile was gone.
She pulled the blanket up higher around her shoulders and closed her eyes.
She didn’t feel anything when her father said those harsh things about Satoshi earlier.
No instinct to soften the blow.
Because after over twenty years of being neglected...
Of being unseen, unheard, and unloved—
What was there left to defend?
He was here now, yes.
But not once had he glanced at her.
Not even when she walked past him in the hallway.
The only time he looked at her—
Was when he needed help.
When her father scolded him, and he turned to her like a child searching for a lifeline.
He didn’t ask if she was tired.
Didn’t ask how her day had been.
Didn’t even offer a smile.
She closed her eyes tighter.
But to finally stop hoping.