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You enter your apartment, sighing heavily as you pull your black heels off before heading to your kitchen to pour a glass of wine. You yank your wine fridge open, another sigh rushing past your lips when you see there’s only reds left; his favorite, but you were never a fan.
“Maybe one day you’ll put down the moscato and enjoy real wine. That shit’s basically juice.”
His voice echoes through your head as you pluck a random bottle from the fridge and grab a glass. These days, alcohol is the only way you’re able to get to sleep. You wouldn’t normally be chugging a bottle of wine before bed and risking the awful wine hangover you’ll be sure to have tomorrow, but you’re out of your usual liquor. You’d been too out of it to make a trip to the liquor store and honestly, leaving the comfort of your apartment was just too difficult for you right now.
You’d grown accustomed to doing everything with him . It could be picking up a bite to eat, grocery shopping, checking the mail…no matter how mundane, you did it together.
And now, you had no other choice but to do it alone.
You pop the cork from the bottle and pour until the glass is filled to the rim. You pick up the glass and make your way to the living room, not caring that it’s spilling over the sides and sure to stain the rug. He’d be so pissed if he saw you right now, but it doesn’t actually matter, does it? He’s not here to see you right now.
As you plop down on the couch, you put your lips to the rim of the glass and tilt the glass up, chugging and chugging and chugging the red liquid until the glass is almost empty. It’s fucking gross, as expected and you wish for a second that it was moscato in the cup. You’d have to work through all of those bottles of reds so you could make room for the wines you liked – sweet, fruity and delicious.
“All that sugar is why you have a hangover today, dumb dumb,” He’d tease. “I’ll grab you an aspirin and we can just stay in today.”
You rub your eyes quickly when you feel the sting of tears threatening to spill. You’d shed enough tears over him. After today, it was time to move forward.
The tall windows of your apartment give you a front row seat to the gloominess outside. The overcast skies and the fat raindrops slamming into your window do little to lighten your mood.
On the cushion next to you, your phone vibrates with a text message. You’d been getting a lot of those today, all of them receiving no response from you.
But it’s Satoru, your best friend…well, his best friend.
Satoru: Please let me know if you need anything. I’m here for you.
You drop your phone back on the cushion. Maybe you’ll respond, maybe you won’t. Right now, you don’t fucking care. You don’t fucking care that you hate this shitty wine you have no choice but to drink, you don’t fucking care that Satoru is trying to be a good friend by supporting you through this, you don’t fucking care that the apartment is full of memories of him, and you don’t fucking care that he left you to do all of this alone.
You don’t care.
You don’t care.
You don’t–
The pitter patter of droplets pulls your gaze down to your lap where you see the small circular shadows staining the fabric of your dress. Lifting a hand, you touch your cheek and feel the wet streaks running down your face. Your lip quivers and you quickly set the glass of wine down just as your body follows.
Why? Why did it have to be you left alone to deal with this?
Why couldn’t he just stay?
Why did he have to go?
It wasn’t fair.
The tears keep falling no matter how many times you swipe them away. Out of the corner of your eye, you catch a glimpse of fabric laid across the back of the couch. It’s navy blue with little yellow checker patterns on one side. It was his favorite sweater. You snatch it from its spot on the couch, staring down at it as your shaky hands trace the pattern.
Sniffling, you bring the sweater up to your nose, inhaling the scent greedily, sobbing when the familiar smell assaults your senses.
“Suguru…” you whisper into the cloth, choking back a sob. “Suguru, what am I supposed to do without you? How can I do this without you? I need you here with me.”
In that moment, everything hits you at once.
Your husband is dead. The love of your life is dead. Suguru is dead .
Today, you buried him. You stood next to your husband’s best friend, both of you holding each other’s hands as tight as possible as they lowered him into the dirt; hanging on to the other because if you let go, one of you is going down there with him. You’d buried your best friend, your lover, your everything.
You’d never see him again after this.
Inhaling deeply, you press Suguru’s sweater to your face and let out a piercing wail. You do it over…and over…and over, the smothered sound also drowned out by the thunder and rain outside.
It goes on like this for who knows how long. You keep screaming, crying, begging for Suguru until you curl up on the couch and drift asleep.
..........
Strong arms wrap around your waist, pulling you until you can feel a hard, warm body against your back.
You hum contentedly when you feel a kiss to the top of your head.
“Morning, baby,” a raspy, sleepy voice whispers.
“Hi, Sugu,” you groan, stretching as much as you can as he squeezes you tighter.
You peek at the window and see the sun is barely beginning to rise, the sky all shades of pinks and yellows and oranges.
“You’re up so early,” you tell him and he snuggles even closer, kissing along your bare shoulder. He loosens his hold on you, sliding a hand down your waist, over your hip, to your thigh where he squeezes the soft flesh. He quietly moans into your ear, his hips rolling forward to press against your ass and you can feel the way his cock hardens against you.
“You know I have an early day at work. I couldn’t wait for you to get up,” he brings his mouth up to your ear and runs his tongue along the shell. “I want you so bad right now.”
“Ugh, it’s so early, babe,” you let out a whine that quickly turns into a moan when you feel Suguru slip his hands under the waistband of your shorts, his fingers going straight to your clit.
“ Please ,” he groans, pressing himself against your ass insistently.
You spread your legs for him, and his fingers press against the sensitive bud, rubbing tight circles. Any drowsiness you previously felt is gone when his fingers circle just right and a lightning bolt of pleasure shoots straight up your spine.
“Ah- fuck , Sugu. Right there,” you sigh, your hand finding Suguru’s wrist and holding tight.
“You like that, baby?”
You nod, moaning once more when Suguru rolls his hips against your ass again and again.
He grunts behind you. “Fuck, baby,” he grinds against you again. “Gonna get you nice and wet for me. Need you to take my cock so fucking good like you always do, okay?”
You nod again, your breathing picking up as Suguru works your clit with his fingers. You can feel your slick pooling in Suguru’s hand, his motions becoming messier, more slippery.Suguru presses his lips to the side of your head, hips rolling against your ass faster and harder, his breaths coming rapidly as his digits continue to rub your clit.
“Soooo fucking wet already,” he breathes against you. “You’re so ready for me. You want this dick, baby?”
You nod, unable to speak as the sensation of your orgasm builds and builds. Suguru chuckles against you.
“Use your words, love.”
“Yes, Suguru. I want it. I need it.”
It’s all he needs to hear. He stops playing with your clit and you’re grateful for the break so you can catch your breath. But he doesn’t give you much time. With his free hand, he tugs your shorts off, then reaches into his own shorts and pulls his cock out with a groan.
“Shit,” he mutters, pressing his throbbing erection against your ass. It’s so fucking hot, burning against you the second it touches your skin. The tip is sticky with his dripping precum and it’s so fucking sexy, you can’t help the whimper that leaves your lips when you feel his bare skin against yours.
Suguru’s free hand comes up to your face, cupping your cheek and turning your head to him so he can crush his lips into yours. He nips at your bottom lip, pressing himself against you harder when you gasp into his mouth. He holds you there, kissing you, your lips fitting together perfectly the way they always have.
He finally lets you go, breaking the kiss and bringing his hand back down to your thigh to lift your leg.
“Keep your leg up for me,” he says and you do as you're told, ignoring how your leg shakes in anticipation.
Suguru reaches down, gripping his length in his hand and bringing it down to sit right at the entrance of your aching pussy. He rubs himself through your wet folds before smacking his cock against your clit, making you jump right before you let out a loud moan.
“Suguru, stop teasing,” you whine and he listens, chuckling as he lines his cock up with your entrance.
“So needy,” he chides, pushing into you with a moan. “So – ngh – fucking tight . So fucking wet .”
Your back arches, Suguru kissing down the side of your head, your neck, your shoulder as he slowly slides into you. When your ass meets his hips, he grits out a raspy “fuuuuuck” into your ear. He fills you so deliciously, so completely. He moans as he presses as deep into you as he can, a shudder wracking through his body as your walls squeeze down on him.
Suguru’s free hand grabs onto your hip, holding tight as he wastes no time fucking into you at a relentless pace.
“I’ve been waiting for hours for you to get up. I can’t wait to fuck this pretty little pussy anymore,” he grunts, into the crook of your neck.
The lewd smacking sounds of your ass meeting his hips fills the room. The bed shakes and creaks with every thrust of Suguru’s hips. He hooks his hand underneath your thigh, lifting your leg higher, spreading you open wider for him.
His balls slap hard against your clit and you keen into the darkness of your bedroom, feeling the hot coil in your belly tighten when Suguru’s arm around your waist pulls you even closer to him.
“I love you, baby. I never wanna leave this pussy,” Suguru rambles as he pounds into you. “I never wanna leave you .”
“I love you, Suguru. I love you so fucking much,” you whimper, your walls beginning to flutter as Suguru whispers his sweet words to you.
“You’re my everything,” he breathes into your ear. “My one and only. The love of my life. I fucking love you.”
You’re panting, your hands balling into fists as you grip onto the sheets while Suguru keeps up his brutal pace. You feel your walls begin to flutter around Suguru’s cock and he knows it because he kisses your head, whispering a raspy “cum for me” into your ear.
You lean forward, hiding your face in the mattress as your orgasm rips through you. You’re screaming Suguru’s name into the sheets Suguru presses his face into the crook of your neck from behind and thrusts himself into you one, two, three times before his own release has his hips stuttering, grunting as he paints your walls white with his cum.
“I fucking love you, baby. I love you. I love you,” Suguru whines against you, thrusting slowly in and out of you.
You open your mouth to speak, but no words come out. You clear your throat and try again, but there’s no sound. You turn around to look at Suguru only to find yourself in the center of a cold room surrounded by metal walls.
It feels familiar, like you’ve been there before, but you can’t quite place your finger on it. The walls are covered in what you can only describe as refrigerator-like doors.
“Mrs. Geto?” A woman’s voice calls out to you. “Mrs. Geto.”
You shake your head, turning to see a beautiful brunette woman standing before you. She’s clearly a doctor, her white coat being the dead giveaway. She looks tired and overworked and you can just barely smell the stench of cigarettes wafting off of her over the smell of…you really can’t tell…in the room.
“I’m sorry, what was that?” You ask the doctor.
“I said I’m Dr. Ieiri. I’ll be assisting you with identification this evening.”
You notice then you’re standing in a pair of Suguru’s sweatpants and his sweater, arms wrapped tight around your body. It’s so fucking cold in this room.
“Identification…right.”
“I’ll pull back the sheet and if you can take a look and let me know, we can make this process quick for you.”
You nod only now seeing the metal table in front of you. There’s a large mass on it, almost like a giant doll covered with a thin white sheet. You wonder momentarily why you’re here.
Then Dr. Ieiri pulls the sheet back and you see him, lying on the table peacefully, almost as if he’s asleep.
You snort, a laugh bubbling up in your chest and bursting from your mouth before you can stop it…Because this has to be a joke, right? It can’t be real. Your husband was just being silly.
“Suguru, get up. You’re so stupid,” you laugh as you move closer to the table.
He doesn’t move.
“Get up, Suguru. Let’s go home.”
He doesn’t move.
Your eyes roam over his face, drinking in his perfectly unblemished skin, his chocolate hair spilled around his shoulders, his lips –usually pink – now a dull gray.
“Suguru,” you whisper, pleading, “ Suguru, get up .”
He doesn’t move.
“Suguru–”
“Mrs. Geto–”
“ Shut up!" You screech.
“Suguru, this is not fucking funny. GET UP! ” You scream, voice echoing through the room that now feels ten degrees colder. You want to shake him, slap him, anything to make this cruel joke stop .
Your body shakes, your head is pounding as you wait for Suguru to sit up, kiss you and tell you he’s sorry for being so mean.
He doesn’t move.
The door to the morgue flies open and you hear a shaky “oh my god. Suguru” behind you, but your eyes are glued to your husband’s body lying on the table.
He’s sleeping. You’re convinced he’s sleeping. You just saw him this morning. You know what he looks like when he’s asleep. You try to convince yourself he’s simply napping, though as each second ticks by, the color seems to drain from him.
The voice behind you calls your name. It’s Satoru. He puts a hand on your shoulder, shaking you out of your thoughts. You look up at him, his cheeks blotchy and red, eyes bloodshot. He tells you he’s sorry, though you’re not sure what for. Then he pulls you into a tight hug, holding you for dear life as his body is wracked with sobs.
You wrap your arms around Satoru, patting his back as you turn your head to look back at Suguru, still lying motionless on the table.
The doctor steps forward, grabbing the sheet and covering him again.
“Satoru, what’s going on? Is this some kind of sick prank you and Suguru are pulling?” You ask quietly.
He pulls back, sniffling loudly. His expression is that of shock, looking at you as if you’d lost your mind. “What? We would never do something like this to you,” he assures you. He chokes back a sob as he says your name. “We’ll get through this.”
“Get through what?”
Satoru pulls you back into his arms. “Suguru’s dea–”
..........
You jolt awake with a loud gasp, shooting up on the couch. It’s morning now and the rain still hasn’t subsided. It beats hard against your windows as you observe your surroundings.
You’re home, you’re safe, and you’re still alone .
You’ve been reliving the day Suguru died since you received the call to identify his body. Ever since then, you dread going to sleep. It’s why you drink until you blackout – to decrease the chances of having to experience that day all over again. It’s a never-ending nightmare.
You slip Suguru’s sweater on, ignoring the way the motion makes your head pound, and you head to the kitchen. The headache has become a normal part of your everyday routine. Usually, you were wasted when you went to bed, waking up with a hangover the next day. At this point, the headache was the only thing keeping you company everyday. The only thing greeting you every morning.
As you make your way to the kitchen, you can already smell the coffee. You’re grateful, but you hate yourself a little for never thanking Suguru for setting up the auto brew feature on the coffee machine for you. Reaching into the cabinet, you grab a mug and pour yourself a cup to drink, sighing when the caffeine kicks in and helps to alleviate a bit of the pain in your head.
There’s not much on your schedule today. You’ve taken bereavement leave from work and you’re avidly avoiding your friends and family. You don’t plan on leaving your apartment today due to the rain, not that you’d leave if the weather was perfect. So it’s just you, something you’ll need to get used to. Because you don’t have a choice in the matter anymore.
You sip your coffee again, opting to skip out on making breakfast and grabbing a shower instead. Maybe washing away yesterday’s sadness will make you feel better about today’s sadness that has yet to set in.
As you exit the kitchen to go to your bedroom, you hear a soft knock at your door. You want to ignore it. It’s probably another flower delivery that you don’t want. You’re about to resume your trip to the bathroom when another knock comes from the door. This time, there’s a nagging feeling that you should answer it. So you head to the front door and unlock it, ignoring the way your stomach tightens for some reason. Maybe the hangover nausea is setting in? Or maybe it’s the coffee you nervously sip as you reach for the doorknob.
You turn the knob in your hand and pull the door open slowly. It’s only when the door is nearly open that you wonder why the hell you didn’t just look through the peephole. But then you would think your mind was playing tricks on you...The same way you think it’s playing tricks on you when the door fully opens and you see none other than your dead husband standing in the doorway, smiling down at you.
The mug of coffee in your hand shatters as it hits the floor, the hot liquid splashing across your feet. You can’t even register the pain, your mind damn near shutting down in shock.
He’s standing before you, tall and handsome like you remember him being. His long black hair is tied in his signature half up, half down hairstyle. He’s grinning that catlike grin you were so familiar with, the same one that made you fall in love with him. Suguru looks…like Suguru. Except there’s something new – a long, thin line of stitches across his forehead, right underneath his hairline.
He opens his mouth to speak and the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.
“Hi baby,” he purrs. His eyes slowly roam down your body, drinking you in from top to bottom. “That sweater looks good on you.”