Chapter Text
He barged to her apartment door in the middle of that night, panting hard, his messy hair was slicked from sweat. He probably ran from wherever he was to her house just to look at her dead in the eyes, speechless. His jacket was torn, his white shirt was dirty. There's specks of blood here and there, but he didn't care of those.
"What's wrong?" she asked, couldn't hide her concern no matter how hard she wanted to be uninterested about him.
He stared at her, his loneliness choking. He couldn't say anything still, so she offered him a seat. She stood there, wrapping her arms around her body, something that he should've done for her if only he begged harder ten years ago.
He's sober, she could tell. It wasn't like eight years ago when he slept at her front door after drunkenly crying for hours, asking her to come back to him. He didn't admit it the next morning---something she wished he did---but it left her to dream that he'd do that once again so she could say yes.
Was this the moment she's been waiting for?
The night breeze moved her nightgown softly, caressing her thighs the way he usually did. Before she left, of course. How long has it been since the last time he touched her like that? How long has it been since the last time he held her like that?
He sighed. "Do you have anything to drink?"
"S-sure," she grabbed a glass and poured water to it. Handing it to him, he suddenly held her wrist, gently pulling her closer.
He took a sip before putting the glass back to the table. Her questioning eyes were without rejection or any other defense, which he took as consent to this position.
Him on the chair, her kneeling between his legs, her hand on his grip, faces only one breath away from each other. His other hand slipped to hold her waist when he whispered, soft and careful, "come back to me, Eri."
She tried her hardest to look away from his enchanting eyes, but just like when they were nineteen, she found him as beautiful as the clear night sky. She didn't realize that she's crying until he put down her hand to wipe the tears off with his thumb, and just like when they're 24, his touch still sent jolts of electricity to her core.
"I can't pretend anymore," he muttered the truth, his eyes glistened. Only her can pull him out of this pit of misery he's been, it felt like he's going further down the longer she's not here by his side.
The cold, empty side of his bed, the gray mug she left on their kitchen, the off-putting taste of her cooking. He missed it all.
But he was so bad at words that it was everything he could say before his throat closed again, automatically when he repeatedly adore her eyes, nose, and lips, like the way her eyelashes wet from her tears or the way her mouth gaping slightly open, probably in disbelief of it all. So when he forced a crooked "would you?" out, her slight nod was everything he needed.
Her nod was an unconscious choice from her part, but she didn't care to correct anything they're doing at this moment. Because like the way his head fell to the nape of her neck, relieved, everything that's happened just fit right to their place because it's always meant to be.
He inhaled her scent as much as he could, her slender neck and her soft, long hair buried him deep he wished he'd die there. She put her arms around his neck, pulling him closer than they already been. He let himself fell to the floor with her, face still hidden in her shoulder, but his arms now encircling her body, hugging her tighter.
"Don't leave me again, please," he said, didn't care if it's pathetic because he's right where he wanted to be. They felt like 20 all over again, the time she was pregnant with Ran, when all she wanted was being embraced and loved and cared for and adored.
She whispered an "okay," her fingers stroking his hair gently. And with that, she also promised herself as well, because besides this, he's been proving for weeks that he wanted her back. His family back. He's stopped drinking, worked his head off on cases just to avoid going out to gamble or flirt, and actually took care of Ran instead of the other way around to the point of confusing their daughter who called her twice a day to ask why her dad washing dishes or cooking dinner.
So when he let go of his hug and exchanged looks between her eyes and lips, she kissed his first. It was just like they remembered, sweet and velvety, knowing their way to it as easy as breathing.
He chuckled in the middle of the kiss, to which she asked why. He said she's still refusing to not be competitive even in their private life, in which she laughed, too.
Lawyers, am I right?