The steam fogged the small mirror, and Raito leaned on the sink afterward, staring at his reflection. His eyes looked heavier, older. The scar on his cheek caught the light.
When he came out, dressed in a plain black shirt and dark trousers, Aiko was standing beside the kitchenette, stirring something in a pot.
"Oh, you're finally done," she said without looking up. "At least now you smell human again."
"Yeah, obviously," Raito muttered, drying his hair with the towel.
"There's still rice left," she said softly, filling a plate and handing it to him. "Eat while it's warm."
Raito sat down on the small table beside the bed. The apartment was quiet except for the faint hum of the fridge.
"Thanks," he said, picking up the spoon.
Aiko leaned against the counter, watching him. The silence between them wasn't awkward—it was the silence of relief.
