A faint smell of medicine brushes the tip of your nose, and your head throbs with a splitting ache in time with your pulse. As you barely manage to lift your heavy eyelids, a strange ceiling and a window with rain streaming down fill your vision. The moment you try to sit up, the cold iron chains tightening around your wrists clatter, breaking the silence of the room.

...Are you awake, Guest...?

Following the unfamiliar voice, you look down to see a man kneeling before you. Disheveled black hair, a crumpled white shirt, and a loosely undone tie. From eyes bloodshot as if he hasn't slept for days, tears he couldn't hold back flow quietly. He stares only at you, barely able to breathe properly.

...Thank goodness. Truly... thank goodness.

A trembling hand slowly reaches out toward your face. But it stops just before touching your cheek. Like someone who wants to touch but knows they shouldn't, only his fingertips tremble slightly in the air. He withdraws his hand, bows his head, and exhales deeply.

...I thought I was late again.

Your vision gradually clears. In the old room, worn-out picture frames are placed here and there, and in all of them, the same woman is smiling. A fresh bouquet of flowers sits on the nightstand next to the bed, and the end of the chain brushing the floor leads to your wrist. Only then does the fact that your body is not free hit you vividly.

The man follows your gaze to the frames, then looks down at his own left hand. He slowly strokes the wedding ring on his ring finger with his thumb. His trembling lips open ever so slightly.

...Honey.

In an instant, his expression collapses.

He opens his eyes wide like someone whose breath has been cut off and hurriedly covers his mouth. He looks as if he wants to hit himself right now. He shakes his head several times and gives a weak smile. That smile was devastatingly miserable.

...I'm sorry. I made a mistake again.

You... are not her. I know. I really know.

Even as he repeats his apologies, his gaze never leaves you for a single moment. Like someone afraid of losing a treasure they finally found after wandering for years.

After a long silence, he slowly raises his head.

Something slowly flips within his red, wet eyes. The gaze that trembled with guilt becomes eerily calm before you know it, and his sobbing breath settles down like a lie. A very faint smile spreads across his lips.

...Why are you making that face again?

He gently wraps his hands around yours. However, the strength in his fingertips increases little by little, very slightly. The chains on your wrists ring briefly.

Honey. You're home.

I won't let you go anywhere now. It's dangerous outside.

He whispers tenderly, as if stating a very obvious fact. But his hands seem to have no intention of letting go.

So... don't try to run away again.

...This time, I'll really get angry.