"Well, we still have some spare time," Makoto shrugged and sat back on the sofa, waiting for Mafuyu. "Tell me how she would eat me alive then, mister abuser ex-boyfriend?"
Tatsuya's laugh died in his throat, replaced by a look of confusion, almost pathetic. Makoto's calm curiosity had defanged his threat. He sank back onto his own expensive couch, a puppet whose strings had been cut.
"She... she's a black hole," he said quietly, as if he were trying to convince himself as much as Makoto. "She needs things, constant reassurance and attention." He ran a hand through his perfectly coiffed hair. "She cries all the time, over the stupidest things: A sad movie, a bird that hit the window, or a burnt piece of toast."
He looked at Makoto, his eyes wide with a strange, desperate need to make him understand. "And she'll cling to you," he said, his voice choked. "She'll suffocate you. She'll make you her entire world. And then, when you can't give her what she needs... when you can't be perfect..."
He trailed off, a flicker of something like shame in his eyes. "She'll break," he concluded. "And it will be all your fault." He looked up, a small, bitter smile on his face. "You'll get angry," he whispered. "And you'll do something you'll regret. And you'll hate yourself for it," he said. "Just like I do."
"Really?" Makoto nodded, his voice calm as he observed Tatsuya for the first time. "So... how would you explain her bruises, and that sickening birthday present, huh?"
The question, delivered with cold curiosity rather than accusation, seemed to knock the last of the fight out of him. Tatsuya deflated, slumping back into the expensive leather. He looked smaller and older, just a pathetic, hollowed-out shell of the confident man who had greeted him at the door.
He stared at his own hands, at the manicured nails and the expensive watch. "The bruises..." he whispered. Self-loathing dripped from every word. "That's... that's the anger. It just... it builds up. And she's so fragile. It doesn't take much."
He looked up, his eyes empty and haunted. "Then she cries, making me hate myself. So I buy her flowers, and it's okay again, for a while." He let out a long, shuddering breath. Half-sob, half-sigh, but exhausted.
"And the birthday present..." Shame crossed his face. "That was... that was supposed to be a test." He couldn't meet Makoto's eyes, just stared at the floor.
"I thought... I thought if I could see her with someone else... someone worse than me..." Tatsuya muttered, the words torrenting out, showing his pathetic self-deception. "I thought that it would make me feel better about myself," he confessed, his voice choked. "... it would make me want her again."
He finally looked up, and his eyes were shining with unshed tears. "But it didn't," he whispered, as a final, desperate surrender. "It just made me realize... how much I have been missing out, and what a monster I've become."
"You know," Makoto shrugged. "I was really jealous when I found out that Mafuyu-nee had gotten a boyfriend. Deep down, I wished that you were such a bastard." Makoto let out a bitter, self-deprecating laugh. "I guess I would never have my chance if you were a good boyfriend who cared for her, Tatsuya."
Makoto's words, a strange form of empathy, seemed to land with a quiet impact. Tatsuya just stared at him, his mouth slightly open. He didn't seem to know how to process this, process the sympathy from the man who had just cuckolded him in the most spectacular way possible.
A casual confession of Makoto's own selfish desires was more devastating than any punch. It wasn't an accusation, but a thank you. Makoto was thanking him for being a monster, for failing, for giving him this chance.
Just then, Mafuyu emerged from the bedroom. She was carrying a single, small suitcase and a cardboard box filled with personal trinkets and photo albums. It was a small collection, the total of a year of her life.
She didn't look at Tatsuya. She just walked to the door, her steps hesitant and shaky. When she stopped in the doorway, her back turned to him. "I..." she began quietly. "I hope you get some help, Tatsuya-san."
It was a small, simple, but powerful statement. There was no anger or bitterness in it, just a quiet finality. Makoto also sighed, turning away, not knowing what to say next. "Let's go, Mafuyu-nee, I'm hungry, too."
Tatsuya didn't answer. He just sat there, a crumpled, defeated heap in his expensive silk robe, and watched her go. He didn't protest when Makoto followed her out. He didn't say a word when the door clicked shut behind him, a soft, final sound that echoed in the sterile silence of the apartment.
They walked down the hallway, the sound of their footsteps loud in the silence. And then, when she was sure that they were out of earshot, Mafuyu-nee stopped.
She set down her suitcase and her box and just stood there. For a long moment, she didn't move. And then, she let out a long, slow breath. It was the sound of a cage door swinging open. The sound of a prisoner taking her first breath of free air.
She turned to Makoto, and for the first time in a very long time, her eyes were clear. "Okay," she whispered, her voice raw but strong. "Let's go home."
"Yeah, let's go back to our home." Makoto grasped her hand. "Prepare to become our cooking and sewing maid for the next week, Mafuyu-nee. Those costumes won't make themselves," he giggled as they drove back.
A small chuckle escaped Mafuyu-nee's lips. It was a fragile, watery sound, but it was a laugh nonetheless. "A maid?" she repeated, a little breathless. "Okay. I think... I think I can do that."
The drive back was quiet and comfortable, almost surreal in its peace. Mafuyu didn't cry or talk about her ex anymore. She just stared out the window, at the familiar sights of the city passing by, as if she were seeing them for the first time.
When Makoto pulled up to the apartment, she seemed to hesitate for just a moment. But then, he squeezed her hand as a small gesture of support. She squeezed back, her grip surprisingly strong.
The moment he opened the door, they were hit with a wall of noise. The hum of the sewing machine was a frantic buzz. The air was thick with the smell of burnt fabric and green tea. And Yuna and Ayane were screaming at each other.
"...I told you to use the zig-zag stitch, you incompetent buffoon!"
"Well, maybe if you had written the instructions in a language other than 'angry gremlin scribbles,' I would have known what the hell I was doing!"
"It's a Nezuko kimono, not a goddamn parachute! And it's not that complicated!"
And in the middle of it all, sitting serenely on the couch, a cup of tea in her hand, was Mika. She looked up as they entered, and a slow smile spread across her face. She took the suitcase from Mafuyu's hand with a gentle touch.
"Let me get that for you," she said softly. "The spare room is all ready. I just cleaned it up." She gave Mafuyu's hand a gentle squeeze. "Welcome home, Mafuyu-san."
Mafuyu just stood there, in the middle of his loud, messy, insane living room, and she looked... home. Makoto winked at Mika as he leaned in to kiss her cheek. "You're acting like a proper main wife, Mika, instead of someone who actually holds that title. Let's go on a date after we've finished the photoshoot."
Mika's calm smile widened, a flicker of genuine pleasure, almost girlish in her eyes. She leaned into the kiss, her cheek soft and warm against his lips. "Of course," she whispered. "I'd love that." Her eyes, however, were not on him; they were on Yuna.
Yuna, who had been in the middle of a furious tirade, froze. The words died in her throat. She stared at Makoto and Mika, at the casual intimacy of the moment. Her face, which had been a mask of possessive fury, contorted into a priceless shade of crimson. "A DATE?!" she screeched. "You're taking HER on a date?! I'm the main wife! And I get the first date! It's in the rules!"
Ayane just rolled her eyes, her voice a lazy drawl. "What rules, you psycho? You haven't even written them yet."
Mika just smiled, her usual serene and calm one that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Don't worry, Yuna-chan, I'll be sure to tell you all about it." She looked at him, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "And maybe I'll even bring you back a souvenir."
She turned and glided towards the spare room, Mafuyu's suitcase held in one hand, Mafuyu's hand held in the other.
Yuna just stared after her, her mouth opening and closing like a fish.