もののけ | monster | soshiro hoshina (Kaiju No. 8) (COMPLETE)

さんじゅうきゅう | thirty nine

もののけ | kaiju | monster

39

[A lengthy chapter ahead]

Soshiro

A DEEP FROWN FORMED ON MY FACE as I stood in the doorway of her bedroom, my arms crossed over my bare chest. I was dressed only in my sweatpants—ready to hit the bed. My back pressed against the doorframe, as I watched my woman from across the room, her form hunched over her desk, buried deep in paperwork and reports. The soft glow of the desk lamp cast a halo of light around her, highlighting the tension in her shoulders and the exhaustion etched into her features in that cold stone expression.

I couldn't help but feel a pang of frustration mixed with a profound sadness. Where was the woman who had begged me to stay with her, to hold her all night? The one who had whispered desperate pleas and clung to me as if I were her lifeline? Now, she was lost in her work, her focus entirely on the documents before her, as if she had forgotten I was even there.

I knew she was exhausted, and I knew she was sore down there yet there she was, still not taking a break. Did she have an endless reservoir of stamina or something? She had proven to me time and again that she couldn't keep up with my pace—now I'm questioning my abilities...

Suddenly, her cold voice cut through my thoughts. "You have that look again. What's on your mind?" Kiyomi asked nonchalantly, not even looking up from the mountain of papers in front of her.

"I have a lot on my mind, thanks for asking," I said, annoyance evident in my voice. The edge to my tone didn't go unnoticed, but Kiyomi remained focused on her work, her pen scratching against the paper with methodical precision.

She glanced up briefly, her expression impassive. "I'm sure you do, Soshiro. But I have a lot on my plate too, as you can see," she replied, her voice steady, almost detached.

I nearly scoffed at her response. Now she's giving me this attitude? From the moment we walked into the room, she hadn't spared me even a glance, not a hint of acknowledgment. Instead, she buried herself in a mountain of paperwork, her focus unyielding. My patience was wearing thin, frustration simmering with every passing second.

"Why don't you delegate some of this work to Akira?" I suggested, trying to keep my voice steady and controlled. "Everyone knows you're still recovering."

"I've already given her a week off," Kiyomi replied, her voice cool and matter-of-fact, her eyes locked on the papers in front of her. "She's earned it." Her tone was final, dismissive, as if our conversation was inconsequential.

I paced back and forth in the doorframe, trying to figure out how to get her attention. It was infuriating, the way she completely ignored me. I glanced down at the fresh dressing she had applied to my injured area not too long ago. Maybe I should act like it's hurting, I thought. Maybe that would make her look at me, just for a moment.

"Ow!" I clutched my side, doubling over and grimacing as if in pain. "Ow, baby, it hurts... Would you like to check it?" I asked, forcing my breath to come out in short, strained gasps, my face contorted in a mock display of agony.