Aiko stood in the quiet living room, watching Kaito sleep.
He was completely still, his head resting against the arm of the sofa, his long legs stretched out. The deep exhaustion from the past few days had finally claimed him. In sleep, the hard lines of his face were softened. The constant, simmering tension was gone. He wasn't the formidable Ishikawa heir or the ruthless commander who commanded shadow spirits. He looked younger. He looked... peaceful.
She realized this was the first time she had ever seen him with his guard completely down. He had watched over her every night, a sleepless guardian. But now, here, with her, he had finally allowed himself to rest. The silent trust in that simple act was more profound than any promise.
Moving as quietly as possible, she retrieved a pillow and a soft blanket from the bedroom. She gently slid the pillow under his head, her fingers brushing against his hair. He stirred, a low murmur escaping his lips, but didn't wake. Then, she carefully draped the blanket over him. It was a reversal of their roles, a small act of care she felt compelled to perform. She was no longer just the protected; she was a protector, too, guarding his moment of peace.
She spent the rest of the night in a large armchair, watching over him, Mochi curled in her lap.
When the first rays of dawn crept into the apartment, Aiko was already up. She found coffee beans in the pantry—real beans, not instant—and the kitchen had a grinder and a coffee maker. The rich, warm aroma of freshly brewed coffee soon filled the sterile apartment, chasing away the last of the shadows. It was the first time the place had ever smelled like a home.
She was pouring two cups when Kaito finally began to stir. He woke slowly, then all at once, sitting up with a jolt, his eyes wide and alert as instinct kicked in. He scanned the room, his body tense, ready for a threat.
And then he saw her.
He saw Aiko, standing by the counter in the soft morning light, a coffee mug in her hand. He saw Mochi stretching lazily on a patch of sun on the floor. He heard the quiet drip of the coffee maker. He smelled the coffee. He saw a scene of pure, simple, domestic peace.
The tension drained out of him, leaving a look of quiet confusion on his face. This was an experience he was not familiar with.
"Good morning," Aiko said softly, holding out a mug to him.
He took it, his fingers brushing against hers. He looked from the mug to her face, a thousand unspoken questions in his eyes.
"You slept," she stated, a small smile on her face.
He looked at the sofa where he had woken up, at the blanket now neatly folded, at the pillow. "I did," he said, his voice rough with sleep. The unspoken reason hung in the air between them: Because you were here. Because I finally felt safe enough to.
They drank their coffee in a comfortable silence. It was a new beginning. The war with the Kageyama was a distant storm, for a moment forgotten. In the eye of the hurricane, they had found this small, quiet pocket of peace.
Aiko looked around the apartment, at the man sipping coffee on her sofa, at her cat sunbathing on the floor. It was a bizarre, impossible picture. Her life. She thought of the convenience store, of her meticulously organized shelves, of her lonely, predictable routine. It felt like a memory from another person's life.
She looked at Kaito, who was watching her over the rim of his mug, his expression thoughtful. The fear was gone. The awe was still there, but it was mixed with something else. A deep, burgeoning affection.
The future was a terrifying blank page. The war was not over. Her life was not her own. But in this one, perfect, quiet moment, she felt a strange and unfamiliar sense of hope.
She lowered her mug, her gaze meeting his.
"So..." she said, the word soft but holding the weight of everything to come. "What happens now, Kaito?"