A WEEK IN SATORU'S LIFE AFTER HIS WIFE'S PASSING
take a look at Satoru's life after his wife passed.
꒰ angst, wife!f!reader, major character death, grief/mourning, loss, hurt no comfort i guess, satoru's in denial, wc 1.3k. ꒱
a day after your passing, the apartment is still exactly as you left it.
too fast that even Satoru still expected to hear your footsteps somewhere inside the apartment.
he'd pause in the middle of the living room because he heard you moving around. sometimes it was the faint creak of the floorboards that made his head turn instinctively.
the apartment still looked like you.
your cardigan remains draped over the couch, your mug still sits on the table, your book lies face-down on the bedside table, and your shoes are still waiting by the front door.
Satoru tried cleaning it yesterday.
he picked up your cardigan, his fingers tightening around the soft, warm fabric before stopping himself. for a long moment, he stood there staring at it, because the faint scent of your perfume still lingered.
and suddenly, it felt like he was erasing the evidence that you were ever here.
So he put it back exactly where he found it. and since then, the apartment remained untouched.
he stepped around your things carefully. the stuff you left had become something sacred for him. proof that you lived here, that your presence once filled the apartment.
maybe that's why Satoru couldn't bring himself to clean the mess you left behind.
TUESDAY ⋆˚࿔ dinner for two.
you used to fill the apartment with noise. complaints about his eating habits, stories at work, your laugh echoing from the kitchen while Satoru cooks for you.
now, it's silence that sat across him.
Satoru arrived home late, exhaustion heavy in his bones. The apartment greeted him with darkness, unchanged from the night before.
he lets out a sigh, he should eat.
he strides to the counter, setting down the takeout he picked up on the way home, barely paying attention to what he ordered.
he busies himself unpacking the food, ignoring the way his chest tightens whenever he sees your belongings still scatterred around the apartment.
containers placed on the table, drinks set down carefully.
Satoru paused. his eyes lingered on the second drink, condensation slowly sliding down the plastic. it's your favorite, extra ice, extra creamy, sweet, exactly how you like it.
the realization came slowly. he bought your order.
a tired laugh escaped him, soft and humorless. somewhere between grief and routine, his body still moved like you existed beside him.
Satoru stared at the untouched drink and the container of your favorite food for a long moment before finally sitting down. the chair across him stayed empty while the food slowly turned cold.
despite knowing better, some part of him still fohnd itself listening to footsteps that never came.
the washing machine runs long past midnight.
Satoru sits on the floor silently, leaning back on his arms while the quiet hum fills the laundry room.
he should've done this before.
instead, the laundry basket had sat abandoned in the corner until it's overflowing. his shirt tangled with yours, your socks caught between his uniform, an evidence of life that once fit together.
now that he thinks about it, Satoru reaches into the basket again, pulling your hoodie.
his favorite one, or it used to be.
it was his, but you stole it months ago and never gave it back. he remembers pretending to be annoyed while you laughed, god he misses your laughter.
the hoodie was too big you looked like a burrito, sleeves hanging past your hands as you wandered around the apartment wearing it.
the memory settles painfully in his chest.
Satoru just stares at the hoodie resting on his lap while the washing machine continues spinning in front of him.
he pulls the hoodie closer unconsciously, eyes shutting briefly as if he can still find your trace somewhere in the fabric.
but your scent is fading away, little by little.
Satoru finds the voicemail by accident, while he was scrolling through his call logs.
he's not even looking for it.
the voicemail was sent two weeks ago, twelve seconds long.
Satoru stares at the screen longer than he should, thumb hovering the play button.
he doesn't remember missing your call. but maybe he was on a mission, or asleep, or he saw your name but ignored it with the thought that he'll call you back later.
that makes something twist uncomfortably in his chest.
without any further thinking, he presses play.
"Satoruuu," you sigh dramatically, amusement in your tone. "Where are you? Pick up your phone for once!"
his breath catches, he doesn't even notice that he's crying until a tear slips past his jaw.
Satoru's grip tightens instantly.
your voice continues playing softly through the speaker as Satoru plays it over and over again. he sits there motionless, shoulders tense.
he presses the heel of his hand against his eyes, laughing under his breath despite the tears slipping past his lashes.
you sounded so alive. Satoru could almost picture you standing somewhere in the apartment, phone pressed to your ear while waiting for him to call back.
the apartment remain silent except for your voice looping endlessly through his speaker.
at some point, Satoru lowers his head into one head, letting out a quiet sob, his phone still clutched tightly in the other.
Yuji said something ridiculous mid-conversation, like always, dramatic enough that Satoru laugh despite himself.
his hand hovers over his pocket instinctively, ready to text you about something ridiculous Yuji had said earlier.
but his motion stops halfway.
right, no one's waiting for my texts anymore. slowly, Satoru's expression falls.
the noise around him fades while the realization settles in his chest.
no unread messages from you. no more ridiculous emojis you loved spamming him with. no teasing replies. no nothing.
just an empty chat sitting pinned at top of his phone.
the students continue talking around him, unaware of the way grief is slowly eating Satoru alive. he stares ahead blankly, jaw tightening slightly as he forces himself back into the present.
it's strange how something so small still catches him off guard.
Satoru isn't paying attention at first, half-listening to Shoko ramble as he sips quietly at his morning tea.
then someone says your name.
not you. just another person with the same name somewhere across the hall.
but Satoru reacts anyway. his head lifts instantly, his attention snapping toward the voice.
Shoko notices immediately, her eyes flicker toward him briefly, something knowing passing through her expression before she looks away again.
Satoru laughs softly under his breath, rubbing a hand along the back of his neck.
"Can't even hear your name normally anymore," he mutters quietly, hoping that Shoko doesn't hear it.
Satoru finds himself getting terrified of forgetting it someday, forgetting your name.
so later that night, standing alone in the living room beneath dim lights, Satoru says your name out loud just to hear it exist somewhere again.
SUNDAY ⋆˚࿔ grief is.. weird.
grief is.. weird. really.
that's the thought sitting in Satoru's head at three in the morning while he stands in the kitchen, staring at the refrigerator light spilling.
not devastating. just.. weird.
people talk about grief like it's something dramatic, like it should always look obvious.
but it's not, at least for Satoru.
sometimes he still talks out loud before remembering you aren't there to answer. sometimes he catches himself moving aside in crowded space for you. once, he almost called you at work because he wanted to hear your voice.
the strangest part is that the world keeps moving anyway.
sun still rises, students complain, people still laugh loudly on crowded streets like nothing important has been lost.
meanwhile, Satoru feels stuck between memory and reality.
your cardigan still hangs on the couch, your book still rests unfinished on the table.
Satoru exhales softly before leaning back against the counter, exhaustion flooding back.
even now, after everything, some stubborn part of him still hoped that you'll come back someday.
© mochaization 2026. DO NOT copy, reconstruct, reupload on any other platform, or feed my works to AI.
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