Work Text:
The sun was dipping low beyond the Kyoto skyline, casting a warm amber through the sheer curtains of their shared bedroom. Furihata Kouki stirred from a long nap, blinking sleepily against the light before reaching across the bed.
Cold.
The space next to him was cold.
He frowned, slowly sitting up. “Sei…?” he mumbled groggily, rubbing his eyes.
There was no response. Just the hum of the air conditioner and the distant sounds of traffic. Furihata reached for his phone on the nightstand. No messages. No missed calls.
That was odd.
Akashi never forgot to let him know if he was staying late. He was meticulous like that always texting Furihata even if it was just to say he’d be twenty minutes behind.
He dialed his number. Straight to voicemail. Furihata tried again, this time with a slight tug of concern in his chest.
Still nothing.
Maybe his phone died, he thought. Maybe he’s in a meeting. Maybe—maybe he’s fine. He has to be.
Furihata curled up on the couch with a blanket, TV murmuring in the background. He fell asleep again, telling himself Akashi would walk through the door any minute.
Furihata Kouki always tried his best to be a good husband.
Even though he wasn’t rich or famous or impossibly talented like Akashi, he had love. Endless, loyal, unwavering love that he poured into every detail of their home. Into every bentou he packed. Into every message he sent. Into every waiting moment.
It had only been a day, but it felt like forever.
He woke up early, determined to make something warm and comforting for when Akashi got back. Tofu miso soup, Akashi’s favorite a fact he’d once shyly admitted during an old interview with a small, proud smile. Kouki remembered watching it back in high school, cheeks flushed.
And now, he was the one making it for him.
He set the table carefully. Lit the warm lights. Fluffed the couch pillows. Vacuumed. Dusted. Watered the plant in the hallway that Akashi always forgot.
He even left a small note on the table next to Akashi’s seat:
“Welcome home, Sei. I made your favorite. ❤️ —Kouki”
He took a photo of the dinner table and texted it to Akashi, adding:
“I hope work went okay today. Come home safe. I miss you.”
The message sent.
One check.
Not two.
Not read.
Just… sent.
Furihata tried not to think too much of it. Maybe Akashi was still in a meeting. Maybe his phone was on silent. Or maybe
No. Don’t spiral.
Still, as the evening turned into night, and the tofu soup grew cold, and the photo stayed unread, Furihata felt something begin to settle in his chest.
A weight.
A silence.
He slept alone again that night, curled on Akashi’s side of the bed but it wasn’t enough. His arms were empty.
He barely ate. He barely moved. He didn’t sleep much. He tossed. Turned. Checked his phone. Over and over. Still one check.
And when he did finally doze off, it was only to wake up in a cold sweat, mind whispering horrors he tried to push away.
What if Akashi was in a car accident?
What if he collapsed from exhaustion?
What if he was in a hospital right now, alone and unconscious, and no one thought to call him?
Furihata shot up from bed, heart hammering. He immediately dialed again, no answer and dialed his secretary’s number but still no answer. No one is answering him, it’s like he was left like an outcast.
He couldn’t take it anymore.
Furihata’s gut churned with anxiety. This wasn’t normal. This wasn’t Seijuro.
Throwing on his hoodie and running a hand through his messy hair, he grabbed his phone and keys and bolted for the door. The elevator ride felt like an eternity, and the taxi to Akashi Corporation even longer. He practically leapt out when they arrived, his heart pounding in his chest like a war drum.
He entered the luxurious lobby with urgency, breathless as he approached the front desk.
“I need to see Akashi Seijuro. Please. It’s urgent.”
The receptionist blinked at him. “Do you have an appointment, sir?”
Furihata’s brows drew together. “No, I— I’m his husband. Just tell him Kouki’s here.”
The receptionist hesitated, then gave a strained smile. “I’m sorry, but we have no record of anyone by that name scheduled to meet with President Akashi. You’ll need to submit a request through his secretary.”
“What? No, wait, you don’t understand,” he said, voice cracking with rising panic. “We’re married. I—I live with him! He hasn’t come home in two days!”
People were starting to turn their heads. Whisper. Stare.
A security guard approached. “Sir, I’ll have to ask you to calm down—”
“No, please—just call him! He knows me!” His voice trembled. “I don’t understand why everyone’s acting like I’m a stranger!”
Then a sharp, elegant voice rang from across the lobby.
“What’s going on here?”
The room stilled.
Furihata whipped around toward the voice that he missed so bad, and there he was Akashi Seijuro, striding out of the elevator in a tailored suit, his presence as commanding as ever.
Furihata’s eyes filled with tears. “Sei! Where were you? I’ve been waiti—”
He was about to throw himself to Akashi..
A tiny voice interrupted him.
“Papa!”
A small boy no older than five ran past Furihata’s legs, his messy crimson hair catching the light just so—exactly like Akashi’s.
Furihata froze, staring at him in disbelief.
Then a woman followed, her beauty almost surreal. She laughed gently, her arm wrapped around her waist. “Don’t shout, or your dad will get grumpy again,” she teased.
Akashi turned to them, his expression melting into something soft, something Furihata hadn’t seen in days—he smiled, genuinely and fully, and bent down to scoop the boy into his arms.
“What brought you here, guys?” he chuckled, kissing the boy’s cheek.
Everyone around smiled at the tender scene.
Everyone… but Furihata.
His world tilted sideways.
His voice broke. “S-Sei… What about me?”
Akashi blinked. Then looked at him with confusion, like he was seeing him for the first time.
“I’m sorry,” he said calmly. “Do I know you?”
Furihata felt his heart crack in two.
“No. No, Sei—it’s me. Kouki. Your husband Akashi Kouki. Don’t you remember? ” His hands trembled. “We live together, we—this can’t be happening—”
Akashi’s eyes held no recognition and everyone was staring at him like he was some lunatic.
Even Akashi was looking at him the same as them.
“Security,” the receptionist whispered into her headset.
Furihata shook his head, stepping back as if the air itself had turned poisonous.
“No… No, this can’t be real,” he whispered, voice cracking.
Tears streamed down his face, hot and blinding. He couldn't breathe, the air caught in his lungs like glass shards. His knees gave out beneath him, and he collapsed to the marble floor with a choked sob.
But Akashi didn’t move.
He didn’t kneel.
He didn’t even reach out.
Instead, he stared at Furihata with distant eyes, expression cold, almost cautious. Like Furihata was a stranger. A disturbance.
Like he was dangerous.
Furihata’s vision blurred. The murmurs of the people around him twisted into a warped, underwater hum. His heart pounded so hard it drowned out everything else.
And just as the world began to crumble
Then—
He gasped, sitting bolt upright in bed, drenched in sweat, his breath hitching violently in his throat.
“Sei!” he cried, heart racing, eyes wild. “Sei—don’t leave me—please!”
The room was dark again, lit only by the dim glow of the hallway.
The door burst open.
“Kouki?!” Akashi’s voice cut through the panic as he rushed inside, still in his suit, tie loose, worry etched deeply into his face.
Furihata choked on a sob, covering his face with trembling hands.
“Kouki, what’s wrong? What happened? Are you hurt?”
Furihata couldn't speak. The dream was too raw, too real. It felt like his soul had been dragged through glass.
Akashi climbed into bed and pulled him into his arms without hesitation. Furihata clung to him desperately, pressing his face into his chest as the sobs overtook him.
“Hey, hey… it’s okay,” Akashi whispered, running a soothing hand through his hair. “I’ve got you. I’m here.”
Furihata couldn’t stop crying. “Y-You acted like y- you didn’t know me… you forgot me… y-you had a son and a wife and… and everyone thought I was crazy and—”
“It was just a bad dream,” Akashi said gently, cupping his cheeks to make him look at him. “Just a bad dream. I’m right here. You’re my everything, Kouki.”
Furihata’s lip trembled. “You weren’t answering your phone… I thought…”
Akashi kissed his forehead, over and over. “I’m sorry, my love. I had a board meeting that ran late, and my phone died on the way home. I never meant to scare you.”
Furihata held him tighter, still shaking. “It felt real, Sei… It felt so real. You looked at me like I didn’t matter. Like I was no one.”
Akashi’s heart ached at the pain in his voice.
“I would never forget you,” he whispered fiercely. “I will never stop loving you. You’re not no one—you’re my home.”
Furihata finally let out a small, shuddering breath as the panic began to loosen its grip on him.
“I love you so much it hurts sometimes,” he murmured.
Akashi tucked them both under the blanket, wrapping his arms securely around him. “Then let it hurt. I’ll take all your pain, every single tear. Just stay by my side. Always.”
Furihata closed his eyes, pressed to Akashi’s heartbeat, grounding himself in the present, where he was safe, loved, remembered.
The dream might fade. But Akashi’s warmth was real.
And he wasn’t going anywhere.
It had been days since the nightmare that shattered Furihata’s heart.
Even after waking up in Akashi’s arms, even after hearing his voice real, warm, and loving, Furihata hadn’t fully recovered. The fear still clung to him like a second skin, and Akashi noticed it in everything he did.
That very night, Akashi took a week off from work without hesitation. No meetings, no calls. He silenced his phone and closed his laptop, devoting every second to Furihata.
And Furihata?
He clung to him like a lifeline.
He followed Akashi from room to room, always a step behind quiet holding the edge of his shirt, eyes still swollen from crying, arms often wrapped around Akashi’s torso or fingers hooked into the hem of his shirt like a child afraid of getting lost.
Even when Akashi got up just to go to the bathroom, Furihata’s voice would trail behind him in a soft, almost pleading tone:
“Where are you going?”
“I’ll be right back, love,” Akashi would assure him gently, always returning with a kiss to his forehead, or pulling him into his lap the moment he sat down again.
He never complained. Not once.
Even when Furihata would crawl into his lap while he was trying to eat, or squeeze into the shower just to feel his presence, Akashi welcomed every touch, every hug, every trembling breath pressed into his chest.
In fact, he held him tighter.
“I don’t mind,” he murmured one afternoon, brushing Furihata’s hair back as the latter nuzzled into his shoulder. “You can hold onto me as long as you need. Even if it’s forever.”
Furihata didn’t respond with words just tightened his arms around him, burying his face in the curve of Akashi’s neck.
And Akashi smiled softly to himself.
Even if the world demanded he return, even if his inbox overflowed, this was where he belonged. Not in boardrooms or meetings. But right here, wrapped up in the arms of the man who loved him so deeply, he feared losing him even in dreams.