The scent of grilled miso and eggs greeted Aiko as she stepped into the hallway, her bare feet brushing against the cool wooden floor.
She rubbed the sleep from her eyes, hair tousled from restlessness rather than true sleep. The night still clung to her skin—its memory wrapped around her like a second blanket. Her cheeks flushed at the thought.
In the kitchen, Ren stood by the stove, sleeves rolled up and hair slightly damp—either from a quick morning shower or the steam rising from the pan. He didn't turn around, but his voice carried over, soft and casual.
"Up already, princess? It's the weekend, you could've rested more."
His tone was light—too light. As if he could simmer down the heaviness of last night like oil in a hot pan. The eggs sizzled as if echoing the tension.
Aiko didn't answer. Instead, she walked over in silence and wrapped her arms around his waist from behind, pressing her cheek gently against his back.
Ren froze.
It was always like this. Her—soft and careless with affection. Him—rigid and desperate not to break.
She always came to him like this—so willingly, so trustingly. Like she didn't know what she was doing. Like she didn't realize the danger she invited by being close to him.
He hated it.
And yet...
He gave a soft nudge with his elbow, gentle but insistent. "C'mon, sit. It's almost done."
Aiko let go reluctantly, her fingers brushing along the hem of his shirt before she moved to the dining table, settling into the chair with a yawn.
Ren plated the food with practiced ease, placing a bowl in front of her before taking the seat across. He leaned back, stretching just a little, then settled into his usual posture—relaxed, charming, like nothing in the world weighed on his shoulders.
"Any plans for today?" he asked, voice smooth but eyes too alert—watching her every blink, every breath.
Aiko shook her head, stabbing a piece of tamagoyaki with her chopsticks. The rice was warm, but her appetite was lukewarm at best.
Ren tilted his head, resting his chin on his palm, a grin teasing his lips.
"Do you have to go today...?" she asked suddenly, not looking up.
Ren stilled.
It was quick, barely noticeable—but it was there. The flicker of guilt, of hesitation. Of the war inside him.
Then he smiled—smaller this time, softer.
"Well... if it's not urgent," he said with a shrug, "I guess I can stay here with you."
A pause.
Then, his tone shifted, dropping into something playfully warm.
"So, what does my princess want to do?"
Aiko didn't answer right away.
She looked at him—really looked at him. The curve of his smile. The faint crease in his brow. The man who raised her, fed her, held her hand when she was scared of thunder... the same man who kissed her last night like he'd been starving for years.
And she had kissed him back.
Her lips parted, but no words came. The silence stretched.
---
The bedroom was dim, the curtains drawn halfway, letting the afternoon sun fall in golden lines across the floor like prison bars made of light.
Ren stood by the open balcony door, shirtless, cigarette burning slow between his fingers. The smoke curled around him like a ghost—unshakable.
Behind him, Aiko lay beneath tangled sheets, her body curled on its side. Her breathing was soft, slow, threaded with sleep and something heavier.
He didn't turn to look at her. He couldn't.
His eyes fixed on the horizon. On the rooftops in the distance. On anything that wasn't the girl behind him.
"I'm such a monster," he muttered to himself, flicking ash into the wind.
And yet, he hadn't stopped it.
He hadn't stopped her.
The cigarette trembled slightly between his fingers.
Memories surged—years ago, back in the echoing halls of the Himura estate. The heavy doors. The taste of blood in his mouth. Daiki's body falling in front of him, the sharp scent of betrayal in the air.
Ren's hands had held the knife.
And later, those same hands had buttoned up a little girl's school uniform. Had braided her hair when she cried because her nanny left. Had clapped for her at every school play.
He was everything her father asked him to be—her protector, her shadow.
And now?
He was the very thing Daiki would've killed with his bare hands.
She stirred behind him. A soft sigh. Sheets rustling.
He turned slightly, just enough to catch a glimpse of her bare shoulder in the dim light. His jaw tightened.
She had chosen him.
He had let her.
And it was only a matter of time before the truth devoured everything.