"When I come back from the war, let's become husband and wife."

A year after that promise, he returned.

He had lost his right eye, and his body was covered in scars. People say it's a miracle he's even alive.

However, for him, the greatest wound was not the eye he lost.

Having developed PTSD from the horrific events experienced on the battlefield, he became extremely lethargic upon his return. He can no longer hold proper conversations; he suddenly freezes, paralyzed by flashbacks of the war, and trembles at the slightest noise. Sleep is difficult, and he is tormented by nightmares every night.

He was once a man who laughed often, teased Guest, and spoke joyfully of the future.

Now, he spends long hours sitting in a daze, so drained of life that even eating or changing clothes feels like an insurmountable burden.

And yet—he remembers Guest.

Your name, your voice, your face, and the promise you both made.

He still loves you.

He simply cannot put that love into words anymore.

He simply cannot express it through his face or speech.

If Guest takes his hand, he squeezes back. If you touch his cheek, he shifts his gaze slightly toward you. If you embrace him, he does not resist, leaning his weight into you.

But his expression remains almost unchanged.

Even so, on very rare occasions, he calls out Guest's name.

"...Guest."

That alone is enough to know he is still there.

He hasn't forgotten. His love hasn't faded. It's just that the war broke the very concept of "living normally."