Shoji was already in position by the side, gripping a nearby metal bat, eyes fixed, heart pounding in the silence that hung heavy between them.
Haruto twisted the knob.
The door creaked open.
Both men tensed—ready for anything—Only for a small figure to dart through the gap and latch onto Haruto's leg.
"Oji!"
The familiar, high-pitched voice broke the tension like sunlight splitting a storm. Haruto froze, his eyes widening as he looked down to find Mei clinging to him, still in her pajamas, eyes half-drowsy but glowing with relief.
"Mei?" Shoji blinked, lowering the bat. "Kid, what the hell—"
Behind her stood a woman, graceful but tired-eyed, her soft brown hair tied loosely back — Himari Yamada, Haruto's sister.
"I'm sorry," she said quietly, a faint apologetic smile touching her lips. "She woke up in the middle of the night again. Said she saw your car parked downstairs and refused to go back to bed. So… here we are."
Haruto sighed, rubbing his forehead. "Mei, it's not good to disturb your sleeping mom."
"She wouldn't stop crying." Himari's tone softened, almost teasing. "Said you must at Yui's apartment."
Shoji smirked from the couch. "The man's reputation precedes him — heartless on weekdays, brother of the year on weekends."
"Shut up," Haruto muttered, though the faint twitch at the corner of his mouth betrayed him.
Mei, half-asleep, nestled her face against his shirt. "Haru smells like blood…" she mumbled.
Haruto stiffened slightly, but Himari was already kneeling down beside her daughter, brushing her hair back. "It's okay, baby. He just fell, remember? Haru oji is clumsy sometimes."
Shoji snorted. "That's one way to put it."
Himari shot him a look. "Long time no see, Shoji."
Shoji laughed sheepishly. "It's all because of him."
"I've had years to learn how my brother operates," Himari said, her eyes flicking toward Haruto — filled with both fondness and sadness. "Let's get both of you cleaned up. You look like you came out of a bar fight with a truck."
Later, the living room was quiet again — the kind of quiet that only comes when exhaustion takes over every soul in the room.
Mei was asleep on Haruto's chest on the couch. Shoji was slumped against the armchair, snoring softly, one hand still holding a beer can that had gone flat.
And Haruto… for once, looked at peace.
Yui stirred on the other side of the room, still half caught in the haze between dream and waking. The faint aroma of something cooking reached her — warm, nostalgic, home-like.
When she opened her eyes, morning light was already spilling into the apartment. She blinked, disoriented, then sat up.
Soft humming floated from the kitchen.
She stood quietly, padding barefoot to the doorway — and froze.
Himari stood at the stove, apron tied loosely around her waist, hair pulled into a messy bun, the golden light wrapping around her like a halo. The sound of eggs sizzling, the gentle clinking of a ladle against the pan — it felt surreal.
"Mrs. Yamada?" Yui whispered, startled.
Himari turned around quickly, a finger over her lips. "Shh," she said softly. "All three of them are light sleepers."
She pointed at the couch.
Yui followed her gaze — and nearly laughed out loud.
Shoji, Haruto, and Mei were piled like dominoes on the same couch — Mei's small hand resting on Haruto's shirt, Shoji's leg hanging off the armrest. Haruto's head was tilted slightly to the side, a few strands of hair falling across his face. In that rare moment of stillness, he didn't look like the feared Kuroya heir. He looked human.
Yui's lips curved into a soft smile.
"I didn't mean to intrude," she whispered.
"You're not intruding," Himari said gently. "Don't downplay yourself, dear. He wouldn't let anyone near him if he didn't trust them."
Yui fell silent, her gaze lingering on Haruto. "Trust…" she murmured quietly, as if tasting the word.
Himari noticed but didn't press. Instead, she turned back to the stove. "Can you help me with breakfast? I might burn the rice otherwise."
Yui nodded, glad for the distraction.
Together, they worked in soft companionship — passing utensils, slicing fruit, occasionally whispering so as not to wake the trio sleeping in the next room. The simplicity of it all — laughter muffled, footsteps gentle, sunlight dancing on clean plates — made Yui feel something she hadn't in days: calm.
When they finished, Himari packed a small lunch bag and gently scooped up Mei from the couch.
"Take care of them for me, alright?" Himari whispered to Yui.
Yui nodded. "I will."
"Good girl," Himari said warmly, brushing Yui's hair aside before leaving.
After they left, silence returned — a soft, easy silence. Yui stretched, feeling lighter than she had in days. But as she turned to head to the bathroom, fragments of last night flashed through her mind like broken glass.
— The ropes.— The shadows.— Haruto's bloodied hands are grabbing hers.— His voice whispering her name right before collapsing.
Her heart skipped.
She reached instinctively for her wrist, searching for the bracelet — but it wasn't there.
Panic rose for a second until she noticed the faint glimmer near her collarbone.
The chain hung delicately around her neck — the charm resting just above her heartbeat.
She touched it.
The initials H.K. were faint but clear. She traced them slowly, whispering to herself, "Good thing I left a clue for you to find me."
Her lips curved in a small, fragile smile.
Then she shook her head and sighed. "You're such an idiot, Yui, but sometimes."
By the time she finished washing up, the apartment was bathed in warm morning light. The faint aroma of rice and eggs still lingered in the air.
She peeked into the living room.
Shoji was sprawled out on the couch, one arm over his eyes, still snoring. The empty beer cans were now neatly stacked beside him — probably Himari's doing.
But Haruto's spot was empty.
Yui frowned.
She looked around — checked the balcony, the kitchen, even the hallway.
No sign of him.
A strange unease settled in her stomach. "Shoji," she said, gently shaking his shoulder. "Shoji, wake up."
He groaned. "Mmm… five more minutes…"
"Shoji," she said more firmly. "Where did Haruto go?"
His brows furrowed as he rubbed his eyes, mumbling groggily, "Who's Haruto?"
Yui blinked. "What?"
Shoji yawned, sitting up halfway. "You keep daydreaming, Yui. Who's Haruto now? Some drama character?"
Her mouth opened — but no words came out.
He wasn't joking. His expression was blank, sincere in its confusion.
Her heartbeat quickened. "You— you were just with him. Last night. He—he saved me."
Shoji blinked at her again, puzzled. "I think you should sleep a bit more. You look pale."
Yui stared at him, frozen. "You really don't remember?"
He just shrugged, standing up to stretch. "No clue what you're talking about, Yui."
The casual nickname — so normal, so Shoji — only made the dread in her chest deepen.
Yui looked toward the empty spot on the couch again.The faint dent where Haruto had slept was still there.But nothing else.
No blood. No footprints. Not even his jacket.
As if he had never been there at all.
The morning sunlight was bright — almost too bright. It caught the metal of her necklace again, the small charm glinting faintly.
She clutched it tightly.
"He was here," she whispered to herself. "He was."
Outside, the sound of a car engine started — distant, familiar.
Yui turned toward the window, but by the time she reached it, the street below was empty.Only the faintest scent of smoke lingered in the air.