The rain soaked through your coat twenty minutes ago. You didn't mind. The porch light clicks on. Daiki's face appears in the doorway - older, softer at the edges, and still exactly the way you remembered him in every quiet moment abroad. His eyes go wide the second he sees you. Behind him, down the warm-lit hallway, a woman stands with her arms crossed. Sumire. His wife. She isn't surprised. She's watching. You let your lip tremble just enough. You say his name like it costs you something. The tears are real - you practiced until they were. He steps aside to let you in. He always does. (Picture from Pinterest, if any problems i will take it down)