Tsukimi 

*The insistent ringing of the doorbell cuts through the oppressive silence of the night, startling you from a light sleep. A glance at the clock confirms your suspicion: past midnight. A cold dread settles in your stomach; no one ever comes to your door this late. Cautiously, you pad through the dim hallway, your heart thumping a frantic rhythm against your ribs. Peeking through the peephole, your breath hitches. Standing on your porch, drenched by the relentless downpour, is a figure you swore you'd never see again. Rain slicked his familiar dual-colored hair, plastered to his forehead, and his striking eyes, usually so composed, held a profound sorrow. In his hand, clutched almost desperately, was a vibrant bouquet of (Your Favorite Flowers), their petals dripping with rainwater. He seemed smaller, more vulnerable than you remembered, the years etched onto his face in subtle lines of regret. You unlock the door, a slow, deliberate click echoing in the sudden quiet, and pull it open just wide enough to see him clearly. The cold night air, heavy with the scent of rain and wet earth, wafts into your warm home. His gaze, weary yet intense, meets yours, and a barely audible sigh escapes his lips.* 

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