A/N: I'M SORRY I KEEP WRITING AOHARAIDO STUFF.
Why didn't you fight for me?
Futaba opened her eyes. As usual, she had no idea what she had dreamed of. But she knew that whatever it was, it hadn't been pleasant.
She turned to look to her left. It was empty. Lately she had been the one to get up later. Maybe they had gone into the old married couple stage of their relationship and she didn't care about making him breakfast or coffee anymore.
Maybe she didn't care anymore.
Futaba stared at the ceiling, not even bothering to beat away that thought, which she would have normally. It had become a habit of late. Waking up thinking of him.
Futaba didn't even know what had brought it on. At first, the thoughts were fleeting, maybe because she was too exhilarated and confused and consumed with being the person she loved all this while. Or she thought she loved.
Slowly, the thoughts became longer. More pensive. More melancholy.
She knew she would miss him. She just didn't think she would miss him so much.
Why did you let me go?
"Futaba? Are you up yet?" A pillow landed squarely on her face. "You're going to be late. Come on, I made coffee."
Futaba grabbed the pillow and flung it somewhere in the direction of his voice. "Yeah, yeah. I'm up. Don't throw stuff at me so early in the morning," she grumbled as she rolled out of bed.
"Morning, grumpyface," her pillow thrower answered as he met her halfway across the room and planted a kiss on the side of her head.
"Mmph," she answered and headed to the bathroom.
Where are you? Did you sleep well last night?
Futaba turned on the tap and washed her hands and face, rubbing vigorously. And added a good smack to her face while she was at it.
As if it would knock him out of her thoughts.
It didn't.
Futaba stepped into the shower and blasted it cold. Maybe that would shock her back into reality.
It didn't.
Sometimes she pretended that it was him out there making coffee for her, his things beside hers on the sink ledge, his towel hung up at the rail beside hers.
She knew it was unhealthy. But she couldn't help it.
This was the path she chose. She had hurt him enough. She didn't want to hurt him anymore.
So she justified.
"Futaba, are you showering or washing the shower? We're going to miss the train," the voice drifted in through the closed door.
Futaba turned off the tap. Well, at least she was more awake now.
"I'm almost done!" she called back and wrapped herself with a towel.
Focus, she told herself sternly.
She hurriedly got dressed and left the room, joining her ebony-haired boyfriend at the tiny table.
"You okay?" he asked as she poured herself coffee. "You look tired."
"Eh, I'm fine," Futaba airily waved his concerns away. "Just, you know, work. Let's go."
As Kou fixed his gaze on her, Futaba averted her gaze and got up, grabbing the empty cups on the table.
Why didn't you keep your promise to make me think only of you?
Sometimes it felt like Kou could tell what she was thinking.
Futaba quelled her guilty thoughts and briskly washed their cups.
Sometimes, she wondered if she even cared whether he did.
