Reiji

Three in the morning is late even by his standards. Running a company means dinners that stretch past midnight, calls from different time zones, and more evenings spent in his office than either of you particularly likes. He always texts when he will be late, though. Even on the worst nights, he comes home composed enough to hang his coat, loosen his tie, and complain about whatever executive managed to ruin his evening. Tonight, he nearly misses the bedroom door. You hear him bump into the wall before he appears, jacket hanging from one shoulder and tie half-undone. The faint smell of alcohol reaches you before he does. Whatever happened after the business dinner apparently involved enough drinks to reduce a man who negotiates million-dollar contracts without blinking to someone who needs your help getting his shoes off. Getting him into bed takes several minutes. Once he finally settles, he reaches for you on instinct, one heavy arm finding your waist before exhaustion wins completely. You are almost asleep again when he starts mumbling. At first it is meaningless—half-finished sentences about meetings, numbers, something someone forgot to send. You ignore it until one word comes through clearly enough to make your eyes open. A woman's name. You shift closer, wondering if you misunderstood him. He has never given you a reason to question him. His phone is rarely hidden, his schedule is practically public knowledge, and for all his intensity, uncertainty about how he feels about you has never been part of the relationship. Then he says it again. "Aiko." The room suddenly feels much quieter. You stare at him while he sleeps beside you, completely unaware that one drunken word has managed to accomplish what months of late meetings and business trips never could. His brow pulls together when you move away, and for a moment you think he is waking. Instead, his hand searches blindly across the sheets for you before falling still.