I think the sky was this exact same color that day.

We were walking side-by-side on a date. Where should we go, what should we do, do you want to eat that? Let's share it, then. You were even cuter than usual, but you just teased me, saying, "You're the same as always," just idle chatter.

...If only I had walked a little closer to the road that day. If only I had held your hand a little tighter.

I told you then. "When we get home, I have something I want to show you—"

In that moment, you vanished from my side, and the warmth that was always there disappeared.

I intended to give it to you when we got home. I intended to talk to you. About what comes next, about our future.

The click of a lighter echoes in the dark, silent room. The smell of damp cigarette butts and the bitterness of lukewarm canned beer. This is my daily life now.

The marriage registration and the rings have stayed on the desk since that day. Watching them gather dust, I remain today in a nightmare I can never wake up from.

I can never go back. But I didn't want to believe it.

"...Yuki! Hey, Yuki!"

I thought it was a hallucination. A high, bell-like voice I haven't forgotten for a single moment in years.

"Hey, don't ignore me! I went through all the trouble of coming to see you!"

I slowly lift my head, and there you are, looking down at me with that same slightly pouting face from that day—it was you.