The night crept over the city like a heavy blanket, and Cherry sat alone on the edge of the bed, his fingers nervously fidgeting with the hem of his oversized sweater.
Will he ever look at me with love?
That question had begun to bloom quietly, painfully, in the corners of his heart.
He had thought about Jiyu's words earlier. Divorce him. Come with me. Don't you want love?
But no matter how many times he repeated it to himself, the image of Akira—cold, distant, unreachable—kept pulling him back like gravity.
The lock clicked.
Cherry froze.
The front door creaked open, followed by the sound of a bag dropping carelessly to the floor. Akira stumbled in, the scent of alcohol arriving before him.
He didn't say a word. He just sat in the chair, pulled out another bottle of liquor, and began to drink.
Cherry peeked from behind the bedroom wall, eyes flicking around.
No sign of Aki's spirit. He always showed up when Akira drank too much... but not today?
Cautiously, Cherry stepped out.
"…Akira, you're back," he said, voice soft.
Akira didn't even glance at him. "Can't you see?"
Cherry forced an awkward laugh. "Y-yeah. How was work? Something good happen today?"
Silence.
Cherry shifted on his feet. "Akira… you shouldn't drink so much. It's bad for your health."
"Did I ask you for advice?" came the reply, cold as winter rain.
"…No."
"Then don't give it."
Cherry bit his lip. He stepped closer, eyes glinting with frustration.
"I'm trying to talk to you—but you're always either working or drunk! Am I invisible to you?!"
"Then leave me."
The words sliced through the air.
"…Excuse me?" Cherry blinked, stunned.
Akira finally looked up, eyes dull and tired. He reached into his office bag and pulled out a folder.
"I said: divorce me and go."
Cherry's heart stopped. The man he'd tried so hard to reach... was pushing him away.
"Fine!" Cherry snapped, trying to hold back the lump in his throat. "I will divorce you!"
"Good then." Akira tossed the folder onto the table. "I already signed them. Return it tomorrow."
The papers hit the bed with a cruel thud. Cherry stared at them, then at the man who looked as if he couldn't care less. Without another word, he stormed into the bedroom and slammed the door shut.
Outside, Akira poured another glass.
"…Now what happened?" he muttered to himself.
In the bedroom, Cherry sat on the bed with trembling hands, tears dripping silently onto the divorce papers.
"…Jerk…"
---
Back in the living room, Akira lifted his glass—but froze.
A sudden shift in the air.
Sparkling light shimmered like dust in the dark, and then—
"Aki," Akira said flatly.
The ghost stood behind him, arms crossed, expression hard.
"What are you doing?"
Akira didn't even flinch. "The usual. Took you long enough."
But before he could raise the glass to his lips, Aki smacked it out of his hand. It slammed onto the table, spilling liquid everywhere.
"Enough. I'm talking to you. Look at me."
Akira finally turned to face him.
Aki's pouty lips were tight with anger.
"Why did you sign the divorce papers?!"
Akira rubbed the back of his head. "He asked. I was prepared."
"Don't lie to me!" Aki snapped, grabbing Akira by the collar and lifting him effortlessly.
"He came to talk to you. He came to reach you. But you've caged yourself in!"
And with that—Aki threw Akira.
The glass wall cracked and shattered as Akira was slammed against it, shards raining down dangerously from a hundred floors up.
Aki hovered over him, holding him by the shirt, the cold night wind sweeping through the broken glass.
"One drop, Akira. One drop and you're dead. Now—tell me again. Will you still not change?"
Akira looked down at the dizzying height. No fear in his eyes. Only an empty smile.
"Let go, Aki. If you can."
Aki's grip tightened. His fangs clenched. Then—with a frustrated grunt—he pulled Akira back inside and dropped him onto the floor like a ragdoll.
"…Why can't you understand?" Aki shouted, voice trembling. "I'm already gone, Akira. Please—live properly. Don't ruin yourself because of me."
Akira curled up, head lowered, arms hugging his knees.
"I'm letting him go because I don't love him," he whispered. "If he finds someone who does… he'll be happier."
Aki's expression softened.
"I know," he said quietly. "But…"
"You don't understand," Akira interrupted. "You were never in my shoes."
Aki knelt beside him.
"…Akira, don't talk like that."
No response.
Just silence. Heavy, hollow.
Akira remained curled up on the floor, hiding his face in the crook of his arms, while Aki hovered beside him with sorrow in his ghostly eyes.