Chapter 77: The Distance Between Us ( 77 )

Chapter 77: The Distance Between Us ( 77 ) Haruki lay on the firm futon inside the rental house, eyes fixed on the ceiling fan spinning slowly above. The blades made a soft whirring sound. It’s been a week already. And yet, it felt longer. Days moved, work happened, but none of it stuck in his memory. What stuck was the echo of a voice he couldn’t hear anymore. What made him feel like an idiot was so simple, it was painful. He forgot his damn phone. He could have laughed at himself. But it wasn’t funny.Not when that meant no calls, no messages, no way to even hear Kyouko’s voice. The one thing that grounded him. The one person he couldn’t go a day without. And the worst part? He never asked for her social media. Not her LINE ID. Not even a hidden alt account. Nothing. If we’d at least added each other...I could message her now with this new phone. I could say something. Anything. But now he couldn’t. All he could do was lie here, alone in a house too big for one person. "God, I’m an idiot," he muttered, dragging a hand through his hair. She had probably waited. Kyouko always waited. Softly. Quietly. Sitting by the window with tea in hand, maybe wearing that thin house dress he loved so much. Maybe she’d cried again. Maybe she thought he forgot her. This rental house... it was too big for him. Two bedrooms, a wide kitchen, tatami floors, a little garden in the back. The company covered everything. He didn’t pay a single yen. Still, it felt cold. Quiet. A company car was parked out front, waiting for him if he ever wanted to use it. But he never did. Instead, Haruki had asked the Okinawa branch manager for something else. A scooter. He preferred it. The freedom. The quiet hum. The breeze brushing past his jacket as he cruised the coastal roads. That last day before I left... The image flashed vividly in his mind. He closed his eyes, and her voice came back to him. "Haruki~! Wait! No, not there—ah!" She’d slapped his arm, face red, voice somewhere between laughter and panic. He could still feel her legs wrapped around his waist, her hands gripping his shoulders as he pinned her to the wall—face to face—shoving his penis deep into her asshole. It was reckless. She was already worn out from countless of climax.But he couldn’t stop. She’d screamed. He’d groaned. And when he emptied everything inside her. She pouted afterward, red-faced and breathless... but damn, she was cute. He missed that. He missed her. Her scent. Her voice. The way she trembled when he kissed her neck. The way she moaned his name like it belonged only to her. Three months? That was too long. Far too long. "...What are you doing right now, Kyouko?" Haruki smiled to himself, the memory stirring something warm and restless in his chest. He didn’t miss Kyouko just because she looked younger than Satomi. Or because her body was hotter—though, God, it was. She was. But that wasn’t it. It was her smile. That soft, rare smile she only showed when she forgot to be shy. The way her eyes would crinkle slightly, lips curling as if happiness surprised her. The gentleness in her voice when she called his name. She was quiet. Modest. Always a little too polite around others. But with him... she became someone else. No—she became herself. And Haruki loved it—especially when she got lost in the pleasure he gave her. He could still see it—her flushed cheeks, parted lips, the way her eyes fluttered open wide in shock the first time she climaxed. She didn’t scream like in porn. She gasped, whimpered, trembled. Every climax looked like it surprised her—as if no one had ever brought her there before. And maybe no one had. She wasn’t too loud during sex. She didn’t talk dirty, didn’t beg with words. But her body... told everything. The way her thighs clamped around his waist. The way her fingers clung to the sheets. The way her back arched so perfectly when he hit just the right spot inside her. The way her breasts bounced—full and soft and so responsive to his mouth. The way her nipples hardened the second his fingers brushed them. The way her pussy clenched around him, welcoming every inch like it was meant to hold only him. And that skin... smooth, glowing, untouched by time. Her face when she tried to stifle a moan. Those lips when they trembled after a kiss. Kyouko was perfect. Too perfect. Not just for sex—but for him. He missed her cooking. The quiet sound of her humming as she poured his coffee. He missed how she fussed over his tie. How she blushed when he looked at her too long. From the curve of her waist to the slope of her shoulder... from her soft cheeks to those full lips... to the gentle way she brewed his coffee in the morning and placed it beside him with a quiet, "Here you go." I want that again. I want her cooking. I want her coffee. And then... I want to eat her for dessert. Slowly. Deeply. Until she forgets how to speak and only knows how to moan my name. "Haruki...?" The voice was soft. Faint. Like wind brushing against his ear. "Haruki~" He stirred on the futon, breath shallow. The room was quiet—too quiet—but her voice lingered. Sweet. Yearning. Wrapped in need. "Haruki..." He could almost feel her fingers trailing across his bare chest. Her lips pressing gently to his neck. That warmth... that scent... that impossible softness he craved like air. "Ah... Haruki!" A gasp. Desperate. Close. His hand tightened in the sheets, body twitching as if responding to her without thought. "Ngghh... Haruki..." He could hear it now. Feel it. Her thighs around his hips. Her breath hot against his cheek. The soft moan of her surrender in the dark. "Ha... ru... ki..." Drawn out. Breaking. Sweet and sinful at once. He exhaled shakily, eyes still shut, heart pounding. It wasn’t just a dream. It was her. Even here. Even far away. Her voice stayed inside him—just like everything else she gave him. "Kyouko..." Haruki’s voice was barely more than a whisper, swallowed by the wind. "I miss you..." He stepped out the back door of the rental house, into the stillness of the Okinawan night. The stars above scattered like broken glass across the sky—sharp, distant, untouchable. He sat on the wooden bench quietly, elbows resting on his knees, staring up. The cool air kissed his skin, but it didn’t chase away the heat in his chest. The ache. "...So much." Maybe he should go home. Just for a day. Pick up the phone he left behind. And maybe—just maybe—if she was home... he could press her against the door before even saying hello. Peel her dress off. Taste her lips. Her skin. Her soul. Devour her whole. But he knew. It wasn’t that simple. Three months without Kyouko... How was he supposed to survive that? Before this—before he moved in with Satomi’s parents. Before that awkward first dinner. Before that quiet woman with kind eyes poured him tea and bowed politely. Before he saw her real face. The younger, beautiful face beneath the gentle mask. Before he tasted her cooking. Before he saw that smile meant only for him. Before he knew that Kyouko wasn’t just Satomi’s mother... She was his dream woman. Perfect. Wife material in every sense. Gentle, sensual, nurturing, quiet—but with fire deep down, hidden until he unlocked it. Before he took her the first time. Before her legs wrapped around him the second. Before the third, and the fourth, and every time after—when her moans grew freer, her body more addicted to him, her soul more his. Before all of that... He thought he knew what loneliness felt like. Satomi had neglected him before—always work, always her job, never him. He’d felt alone in bed before. But back then... it was manageable. Now? Without Kyouko? Her scent. Her touch. Her voice trembling beneath him. Her eyes fluttering when he whispered her name. Her smile when she handed him coffee with soft fingers and lowered lashes. Without her—his beautiful, youthful mother-in-law, who had become his woman— It wouldn’t be the same. It could never be the same again. ( End Of Chapter )