Work Text:
He should have come back to you.
He promised.
He told you he'd be right back.
Minutes turn to hours. Hours turn to days. And days turn into weeks and you still haven't heard from your husband.
You can’t sleep, you can’t eat, you can hardly breathe without him.
He should have come back to you.
This is just so unlike him. He doesn't do this, he doesn't go ghost, vanish without a trace. He never leaves you in the dark about what he's up to, where he's going or when he'll be back.
And yet, each and every call goes straight to his voice-mail, leaving you hanging on every word he says through his answering machine.
You actually haven't been able to reach anyone at his job, Jujutsu Technical School, either. You've left countless messages, meek at first, soon becoming frantic and desperate pleas for someone - anyone to call you back. You've sent emails, all polite until you reach your boiling point and spam their inbox with bodies of messages riddled with caps lock and profanity.
But you need them to understand. They need to understand that he was supposed to come back to you. You need him to come back to you.
You've even driven up to the school to find it barren, empty, save for a few staff who are just as lost as you when you question where everyone is. They don't appear to know a thing.
You visit his office and find it just the way he always leaves it, the photo of you and him on your wedding day sitting neatly at the center of his desk. You remember his words.
“So I have a reminder of why I do this everyday. A reminder of what I need to make it home to.”
And you bite down on your lip until you can taste the bitter, metallic tang of blood as you gently swipe away the thin film of dust beginning to cover the frame.
He should have come back to you.
You sit in his chair and you swear you can feel his presence with you as your eyes rake over his belongings. Pens neatly lined along the corner of his desk. An empty coffee mug you'd gotten him for one of your anniversaries. Books that he's yet to touch.
You know he hasn’t touched them because he has a habit of placing a slip of paper at the top of the page he's left off and these books have none. A small film of dust is beginning to form on them and you know he hasn’t been here recently. It doesn’t appear anyone has except for you.
This place never holds any answers for you and every visit pulls you further and further into your pit of despair. So you leave empty handed.
It's only when you're home, phone in hand as you scroll through photos that you take your time to think about events of the past few weeks.
On October 31st, 2018, you kissed your husband goodbye, smiling when he promised you he'd return shortly.
“I love you, my heart,” He told you, hand coming to hold the back of your neck as he kissed you once more. Deeply, passionately, lovingly. The way he always did. He poured all of the love he had for you into that kiss. You know it. You felt it.
He should have come back to you.
Now you clutch your phone in your hand, eyes filled to the brim with tears and laser focused on his contact picture. Smiling a smile only reserved for you. His sharp cheekbones accentuate his beautiful features as his blonde hair sways wildly in the wind. An impromptu date to a vineyard. His idea, of course.
He was always the planner.
Always knew what was next. Always a step ahead.
So why hadn't he planned for this?
Your hands tremble violently as you hit the call button. Fat tears fall freely from your eyes and onto your screen as you stare at his now distorting picture. You hope above all else, he picks up this time. You hope to hear a voice that isn’t pre-recorded. You just want him to answer with a “Hi, my love”.
But it takes you straight to voice-mail.
“You've reached Nanami Kento. Leave a message and I'll return your call shortly.”
Your sobs come uncontrollably now, wracking through your body viciously. The phone beeps, his voice-mail recording every choked cry, every plea for him to pick up just once. You're gasping for air, sputtering as you clutch at your chest. This pain is unbearable. You want answers, you want to crawl out of this darkness that's been forced upon you, but you can't.
Not until you know what happened.
Not until you know why he never came back to you.