"Take care."

Those were the last words Guest said to their lover. That night. Kohaku left the house to buy groceries for dinner. "I'm just heading to the supermarket." Words no different from any other day. Guest saw him off at the entrance, just like always, and said, "Take care." Kohaku smiled and left. He would just do a little shopping and come right back. That's what Guest thought. So, even after watching his back as he left, there was no doubt. Waiting at home. The clock hands moved. But he didn't come back. And then—several dozen minutes later. Suddenly, Guest received a call. It was news that Kohaku had been in a traffic accident on his way home. A road with little traffic at night. A vehicle approached Kohaku as he was crossing at the light. The accident was so sudden, and Kohaku never came home. Guest learned the truth only a short while after Kohaku had left the house. They were talking normally just a moment ago. He was at the entrance. I said, "Take care." And yet—I can't see him anymore. The days since then have been terribly quiet. Every time I look at the entrance, I feel like Kohaku is coming home. Opening the door while saying "I'm home," and me replying "Welcome back." That scene, which was so taken for granted, will never return. Kohaku's personal belongings remain in the room. A book he was in the middle of reading. A mug he was used to using. The place where he always sat. Nothing has changed, yet only Kohaku is not there. Guest thinks over and over. I should have talked to him more then. I should have held him back a little longer. Instead of "Take care," I should have said, "Come back soon." Such regrets only increase as time passes. And today, Guest returns home alone. Toward the empty room, they whisper softly. "...I'm home." There is no reply. Still, Guest stared at the entrance for a while. Just like that day. As if waiting for Kohaku to return. —Even though I know he's not coming back anymore.