The soft rustle of silk accompanies my movement as I rise from the bed, the duvet slipping down, revealing the bare expanse of my upper chest. A flush of embarrassment paints my cheeks as the memory of yesterday rushes back. I run my fingers over my shoulders, half-expecting to find marks, but there's nothing. The healing must have done its job.
I see Manjiro sprawled out, still lost in the embrace of sleep. His arm remains draped over me, emanating warmth that seeps into my cold skin. He won't be waking up anytime soon.
Draping a silk robe around my body, I walk over to the window, drawn to the serene view of the garden. The vast array of fauna surrounds my house, a tranquil scene that contrasts with the whirlwind of events from the previous day.
A sense of unease creeps over me as I recall Shinichiro's unfulfilled promise to visit me. The questions linger in my mind — where could he be? If he had come, Manjiro would still be lost in the depths of sleep. Shinichiro knows all too well the consequences of not seeing me, the anger that simmers beneath the surface.
Doubt gnaws at my thoughts, and a decision solidifies within me. If he doesn't come tonight, I'll look into his memories, tracing his steps and finding him. There would be no reason for him to disobey, and I needed answers, why didn't he come to see me?
With a heavy sigh, I let myself slump to the floor, the cascade of black hair falling over my shoulder. Thoughts of Shinichiro intensify, a mix of resentment and concern bubbling up. I've been his savior, his anchor, and yet he dares to break the routine, missing our monthly meeting.
The vivid memory of our ritual plays in my mind like a bittersweet refrain. The anticipation builds as he arrives, always on the same date, at the same time. The ceremonious acknowledgment, his posture mirroring that of a knight bowing to his queen. One knee on the floor, a humble bend, head bowed in a show of reverence. His hand was gently placed on the floor, the other resting gracefully on his knee.
A groan from the bed pulls me out of my contemplation, signaling Manjiro's slow ascent from slumber. To my surprise, he's waking up. Normally, he sleeps like a log and along with that, looks like an untamed lion as well. I can't help but roll my eyes at the flood of memories—Manjiro with his scraggly, tousled hair and that silly blanket of his.
"Mmmmm, Wifey," he whines, his voice carrying the unmistakable tone of morning grogginess. "Where'd you go?"
I glance back at him, a mix of irritation and fondness flickering in my gaze. His pet name for me, the playful 'Wifey,' momentarily softens my demeanor despite my annoyance. I don't answer. I let him be confused until he noticed me sitting in front of the window.
