The late sun shone into the bakery through the windows, sending long strips of shimmering gold across the tiled floor. Haruka hunched on a stool by the kitchen door, fists clenched around a mug of hot barley tea. Kaito's sticky note, left earlier, was stuffed beside her, read so frequently it had started to fray around the edges.
She hadn't expected Kaito to return so soon, but there he was, coming in with the quiet that didn't suit someone normally so lively. His usual vigor was still tempered, a bit more contemplative than before, but he was trying—and that tugged at something gentle in Haruka's chest.
He carried two steamed buns in one hand, offering her one without words.
Haruka took it. "Thanks."
They just sat there quietly for a moment, the kind that wasn't heavy, just… unclear. Until Kaito finally broke it.
"I owe you a truthful explanation," he said, not looking at her. "Not just about Ayaka. But everything."
Haruka's heart fluttered. "You don't have to try so hard."
"I'm not." He took a deep breath. "You were right… I did disappear. I didn't say anything to you. And I had you make up all kinds of things because I didn't explain things."
Haruka looked down at her tea. The steam was fading.
"Ayaka's my stepsister," Kaito continued. "We don't get along at home. To be honest, we don't even speak unless Mom is around. But out in public, where we don't have to cope with family stuff, it's fine. She's a great person. Sarcastic. Blunt. She was the one who told me I looked like garbage when I hadn't slept in two days after the funeral."
Haruka blinked.
"We've lived under the same roof since I was fifteen," he went on. "But it never really felt like family. Not at all. I think we both kinda stuck to our own thing. But when my grandfather passed away… she stepped in. Helped with the arrangements. Took care of Mom. Supported me because I think… she knew I was going to lose it."
Haruka listened in silence. The image of the girl in the graveyard still stayed in her mind, but it was clearer. Sharper. More logical.
"I should have told you," Kaito said, his voice softer. "But I guess I got used to keeping secrets. My family's always been that way—silent, far-off. I thought… perhaps if I didn't say anything, it wouldn't complicate things between us."
Haruka breathed slowly. "It made it messier anyway."
"I know." He smiled guiltily. "I didn't think you'd care so much."
"Well, I didn't mean to," she muttered.
He raised an eyebrow. "But you did."
Haruka scowled at him for a moment, then looked away. "I thought you were someone I trusted. And when you just left, without a word, it felt like… maybe I didn't count."
Kaito's smile dropped.
You do, he declared firmly. "You do make a difference. Probably more so than I was ever able to say."
The chest of Haruka tightened once again, only this time quietly.
"I believe I was scared," she whispered, her tone softer. "Scared that I was depending on you too much. That I was the only one being helped in this… whatever this is. I never even asked about your family. Your problems. I didn't even know about your grandfather until after he died."
Kaito sat back against the counter. "You carried your weight."
"That's no excuse."
"Maybe not. But I did it because I wanted to. You didn't owe me anything."
There was silence between them again—only this time, it wasn't awkward. It was something more. Something unspoken, yet known.
"I'm sorry I jumped to conclusions," Haruka said, her fingers fidgeting as she ran her nail along the rim of her mug. "About Ayaka. About everything."
"I'm sorry for making you feel like you had to," Kaito said.
Their eyes met then. A silent bond passing between them—rough, a bit rough-around-the-edges, but real.
"I have missed this," Kaito said at last. "Just having this conversation with you like this."
Haruka nodded.
He pulled out another sticky note from his pocket, half joking.
"Another one?" she asked, eyeing him suspiciously.
Kaito laughed. "Just this one. I swear."
He handed it over.
She unfolded it.
It stated: "Sometimes, the things we don't say are the ones we're most afraid to lose."
Haruka stroked the note with her fingers, her expression easing. "You like writing things you can't say out loud, huh?"
"It's easier," Kaito admitted. "But… I'm learning."
She smiled a little. "Me too."
He stood, dusting crumbs from his knees. "Come on. Clean up before your tea gets cold again."
As they walked around the bakery, side by side again—still stiff in places, but closer now than before—Haruka thought maybe this was healing.
Not whole. Not all at once.
But bit by bit.
Together.