What He Doesn’t See

POV:Haruto

Later, when the house finally calmed down, the weight of the day shifted toward the bedroom.

Haruto stood in the bathroom, toothbrush in hand, staring at his reflection. He looked older than he was. Shadows under his eyes, a heaviness in his shoulders he didn’t remember ever carrying when he was younger. The man in the mirror didn’t look like someone who deserved the woman waiting in the next room.

When he stepped into the bedroom, his breath hitched for a second.

Sumi lay half on the bed, propped up on one elbow, the light from the nightstand painting soft lines across her skin. She wore a stuning, nightgown that somehow made her look even more unreal — the fabric hinted at her shape rather than hiding it, the curve of hip and thigh visible in the dim light. Her hair was loose, spilling over her shoulders. Her eyes were dark, focused, alive.

“Wow,” he said, and it came out as a mix of honest awe and quiet defeat. “Why do you look so… incredible tonight?”

She smiled, small and crooked, but there was something sharper underneath. “I wanted to look pretty for my man,” she said.

The words hit something tender in him. She still means me, he told himself, a little too quickly. Of course she does.

She held out her hand. “Come here.”

He sat down beside her, feeling the warmth of her body even before she leaned in. When she kissed him, there was a spark — memory of nights when things had been simple, when desire had been enough.

Her hand slid over his chest, lower, fingers tracing the line of his stomach, searching for a response that used to be automatic.

It didn’t come.

Not properly. Not in time. It was like his body was lagging behind his mind, stuck in some heavy, sticky place that refused to move, no matter how much he wanted it to.

Panic prickled under his skin, cold and sharp. He could feel her — her tension, her hunger, the way her body pressed closer, absolutely ready — and at the same time the awful, humiliating emptiness in himself.

“Come on,” she murmured against his throat, still moving her hand. “I dressed up for you, you know?”

“I’m trying,” he whispered, hating the tremor in his voice. “I just… it’s not… I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

After another moment, she let her hand fall away.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, pulling back a little. “I… I’m just really tired today.”

Sumi rested her forehead against his shoulder and exhaled slowly. When she spoke, her voice was soft, but not quite gentle.

“Hey,” she said. “It happens. Some men just have less testosterone. That’s all. Bodies are different.”

The word dug in deeper than it should have. Testosterone.

“You’ve probably always been like that,” she went on, almost thoughtful. “Sensitive. Caring. It’s not a bad thing.”

“Yeah,” Haruto said slowly. “I guess you’re right. Like Eli…”

The comparison slipped out in his head, not his mouth — a reflex thought, sharp and ugly. Like Eli has it. I don’t. He caught himself and shoved it down so hard it almost made him dizzy.

Aloud he only managed, “Maybe I’m just… built different.” He tried to laugh and failed.

She lifted her head and looked at him, eyes unreadable.

“Stop beating yourself up,” she said. “You’re exhausted. That’s all.”

He looked away. “Maybe… tomorrow. When I’ve actually slept.”

It sounded weak even to his own ears.

She stroked his cheek, her touch light, almost absent-minded. “It’s fine,” she said. “I still have a few things to finish for tomorrow. You should try to sleep, okay?”

“You don’t have to—”

“Yes, I do,” she cut in. “Just lie down for a minute. Don’t worry about me.”

She pressed a quick kiss to his forehead and stood up. The nightgown shifted around her as she walked to the door, the line of her legs strong and graceful.

He lay back, watching the door click shut behind her.

Minutes dragged.

Haruto stared at the ceiling, the dim room blurring a little around the edges. At first he counted in his head. Five minutes. Ten.

“She just went to finish some work,” he told himself. “A few emails, some reports… she said she had things for tomorrow. It’s nothing. Just paperwork.”

But the house was quiet. Too quiet. No water running. No muffled movements in the hallway. Just silence.

His thoughts started to slide into darker corners.

He saw her again in his mind as she had come home: laughing with Eli in the hallway. Their heads close together. The easy rhythm of their voices when they talked about the gym, the future, “our plans.” The way she lit up when Eli spoke. The way they stood side by side at the clinic, bodies unintentionally — or intentionally — close.

What if she’s not in the bathroom at all?

He squeezed his eyes shut.

“This is stupid,” he whispered. “You’re being paranoid.”

He thought of Eli at the table, leaning back with that calm, annoying certainty while he talked about biology and signals and how people “naturally” reacted to a man like him. You’re overthinking. This is just how things are.

Maybe he was right. Maybe all of this — Sumi lighting up around Eli, the kids orbiting him — was just… normal. Haruto’s chest tightened. If this is normal, then I’m the one who’s wrong, he thought, and **** himself to breathe out slowly.

“Stop it,” he muttered. “She’s working. That’s all.”

But the images wouldn’t quite leave. Sumi, closing the bedroom door behind her and then slipping silently down the stairs. Eli, still awake in the living room or guest room, phone in hand. A quick glance, a shared look, something unspoken passing between them.

“Just needed to relax for a minute,” he imagined her saying, in a tone that was almost the same as the one he knew — just enough off to hurt.

He realized his hands were trembling.

Fifteen minutes. Twenty. An hour. An hour and a half. Two hours.He pushed himself up, heart beating too fast now, somewhere between worry and panic. Maybe she’d gotten dizzy. Maybe she’d slipped on the stairs. Maybe—

The door opened.

Sumi stepped in, a strip of hallway light framing her for a moment before she closed it again. She looked a little flushed, her hair slightly more disordered than before, her breathing not quite even.

“There you are,” Haruto blurted out, too quickly. “You were gone so long, I… I was worried.”

She paused, just a fraction of a second, as if choosing her words carefully, then smiled apologetically.

“I just needed to unwind a bit,” she said. “It was a long day. And…” She lifted the bottle in her hand. “The kitchen somehow feels farther at night.”

He searched her face, **** for some clear sign, something that would prove his fears wrong or right.

“Two Hours, Sumi,” he said quietly. “I thought something had happened.”

“Oh, Haruto.” She crossed to the bed and sat down on the edge, resting a hand on his chest. “You always overthink.”

Before he could answer, she leaned down and kissed him. It wasn’t a deep kiss, more a reassuring touch — See? I’m here — but something about it caught him off guard.

A faint, unfamiliar taste. A little too sharp, a little too salty, cutting through the normal warmth he knew so well.

He pulled back a fraction, blinking. “You taste… different,” he mumbled before he could stop himself.

“I grabbed something to eat quickly and washed my face,” she replied at once, without visible hesitation. “Probably just a special mix. Don’t worry about it.”

Her fingers slid into his hair, soothing. “Here. Drink.”

She unscrewed the bottle and held it out to him.

Haruto hesitated for a heartbeat. Maybe he just wanted the simple reassurance of doing something ordinary. Of trusting her, because the alternative — not trusting her — felt like stepping off a cliff.

He took the bottle and drank.

The water was cold, metallic, the way tap water could taste when the pipes were older. But there was a faint aftertaste he couldn’t place — a sweetness, or bitterness, he wasn’t sure. It made him frown.

“Did you put something in this?” he asked, voice already sounding heavy to his own ears. “It tastes…”

“Maybe you’re just exhausted,” she cut him off gently. “Your body is playing tricks on you. Drink a bit more.”

He obeyed. Half out of habit, half out of the need to stop thinking for a moment.

The heaviness hit fast. Not just normal end-of-the-day tiredness, but something thicker, like warm sand slowly filling his limbs. His thoughts, still circling around Sumi and Eli and the word gym, started to lose their edges.

“Sumi…” he tried again. “The water… I feel—”

“Shh.” She put a finger to his lips. “It’s okay. Your body needs a break. You’re at your limit, Haruto.”

She shifted closer as she said it, and his hand, heavy and clumsy now, brushed against her thigh beneath the nightgown. The fabric there was damp — not just with the warmth of her skin, but soaked through.

A sluggish thought pushed to the surface. Wet. From what…?

He tried to form the question, but only managed a faint, “Sumi… you’re… wet…it´s sticky”

She caught his hand and moved it away again, her touch gentle and firm.

“I spilled something earlier,” she murmured, the lie smooth and practiced. “Don’t think so much. Just rest.”

Her hand moved over his forehead, stroking slowly, the way she had once done when the kids were little and had nightmares.

His vision blurred. The room dimmed. The taste of salt from her mouth and the memory of the damp fabric against his fingers clung to him for a moment, then began to slide away with everything else. In the blur he saw fragments — Sumi’s face above him, calm and intent; a shadow in the doorway that might have been nothing at all; the echo of Eli’s voice at dinner, saying burnout, saying you don’t have to carry everything.

“I’m right here,” Sumi’s voice said, close to his ear and somehow very far away at the same time. “Sleep.”

He tried to open his eyes one last time, to hold on to her outline, to the questions forming sluggishly in his mind.

By the time the darkness finally closed over him, the fear that something was wrong had already slipped from his grasp.