Arata lounged lazily on the couch in their shared apartment, dim lights casting a soft glow over the room. A blonde woman with voluminous curls and an exaggerated chest was straddling his lap, her lips pressed against his in a slow, sensual kiss. Nearby, a brunette with a curvy figure sat on the arm of the sofa, giggling to herself as she watched the scene unfold, her hand lightly tracing circles on Arata's shoulder.

The air was thick with the scent of perfume, alcohol, and something else—something wrong. The stereo hummed in the background, filling the silence between moans and soft laughs, making the apartment feel like a place far from what it once was.

Arata, fully engrossed, let his hand wander down the blonde's back as she grinded against him, his mind completely detached from the reality of where he was, who he was. To him, these girls were just distractions, fleeting entertainment—prostitutes, or maybe just party girls who didn't care about anything more than having a good time.

But then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw movement in the doorway. A shadow. A figure.

His heart stilled in his chest as he turned his head slowly, his lips still barely brushing against the blonde's. There, standing frozen in the doorway, was you. The atmosphere shifted violently, the casual fun replaced with a sinking dread. Arata’s hand faltered on the blonde’s back as she pulled away, confused by his sudden hesitation, the brunette’s giggling fading into awkward silence.

The room felt too quiet now, the distance between Arata and you a vast, unspoken chasm that he couldn’t cross. He swallowed hard, unable to gauge your reaction, his mind racing with excuses, but nothing could fix the reality of what lay before them.