Aiko sat on the couch, her damp hair falling over her shoulders as she stared at the scarf resting in her lap. The glow of the embroidered lotus had faded. She wondered again what it meant, why it reacted to her emotions, and how Kaito always seemed to know more than he let on.
The door creaked open, and Kaito stepped back into the room, carrying a bundle wrapped in cloth. His movements were calm and deliberate, but his presence carried an undeniable intensity.
"Feeling better?" he asked, his voice as smooth as the cool morning air.
"Much," Aiko replied cautiously, her gaze flickering to the bundle in his hands. "What's that?"
Kaito sat across from her, unwrapping the cloth to reveal a small sewing kit, a few scraps of fabric, and a tangle of threads in various colors.
"Thought you might want something to keep your hands busy."
Aiko's fingers instinctively brushed the lotus embroidery. "You noticed?"
Kaito's lips curved into a faint smile. "Hard not to. It glows when you're… stirred."
Her cheeks flushed, and she quickly looked away. "I don't know why it does that," she murmured.
"Maybe it's tied to your emotions," Kaito suggested, leaning back against the wall. "Or maybe it's more than that."
"More?"
He shrugged. "You tell me. It's your scarf."
Aiko hesitated, unsure whether to confide in him. She barely knew Kaito, and yet there was something about him that made her want to trust him—or maybe it was just her desperation for answers.
"You're deflecting," she said instead, narrowing her eyes. "You always do that."
Kaito chuckled softly, his eyes glinting with amusement. "And you always ask questions you're not ready to hear the answers to."
The tension between them was palpable, a push and pull of unspoken words and unresolved emotions.
"Why are you helping me?" Aiko asked, her voice quieter this time.
Kaito's smile faded, replaced by a thoughtful expression. "Let's just say I have my reasons."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only one you're getting for now."
Frustrated, Aiko picked up a scrap of fabric and began threading a needle. The repetitive motion of sewing steadied her nerves, giving her something to focus on besides Kaito's maddeningly cryptic nature.
He watched her in silence for a while before speaking again. "You're good at that."
"My mother taught me," Aiko said without looking up. The mention of her mother brought a pang of longing to her chest. "She used to say that sewing is like life—you just have to keep stitching, even when the threads get tangled."
Kaito tilted his head, his expression softening. "Wise words."
Aiko nodded, her hands stilling for a moment. "I wish I could talk to her now. She'd know what to do."
The room grew quiet, the weight of her words settling between them. Kaito didn't respond immediately, but his gaze lingered on her, as if he understood more than he let on.
"What about your family?" she asked, breaking the silence.
For the first time, Kaito's mask slipped. A flicker of something—pain, perhaps—crossed his face before he quickly looked away.
"I don't have one," he said flatly.
Aiko's heart clenched at the emptiness in his tone. "I'm sorry."
"Don't be," he replied, his voice sharp. "Some things are better left in the past."
She wanted to press him further, but the look in his eyes stopped her. It was a warning, a wall she wasn't ready to climb.
Instead, she changed the subject. "Do you always live like this? Moving from place to place, hiding from the Syndicate?"
Kaito smirked, the tension in his posture easing slightly. "You make it sound so dramatic. It's just… survival."
"That doesn't sound like much of a life."
"It's not," he admitted. "But it's the only one I've got."
Aiko studied him, trying to piece together the fragments of his story. There was so much he wasn't telling her, so much he was keeping hidden.
"And me?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. "Where do I fit into all this?"
Kaito leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. "That depends on you," he said, his tone serious. "Do you want to keep running? Or do you want to fight back?"
"Fight back?"
"You have something the Syndicate wants," he continued. "Something they're willing to kill for. That makes you valuable, but it also makes you dangerous."
Aiko swallowed hard, the weight of his words sinking in. She had always felt like an ordinary girl, but now her life was anything but.
"I don't know if I can fight," she admitted.
"You can," Kaito said firmly. "You just don't know it yet."
The conviction in his voice sent a shiver down her spine. She wanted to believe him, to believe that she could be more than the scared girl she felt like.
As the conversation died down, Kaito stood and stretched, his movements fluid and precise.
"I'm going to check the perimeter," he said, grabbing a small knife from a nearby shelf. "Stay here and lock the door behind me."
Aiko nodded, watching as he disappeared through the door. Once he was gone, the room felt colder, emptier.
She returned to her sewing, her thoughts swirling with questions and doubts. What did Kaito see in her that she couldn't see in herself? And why did she feel this strange pull toward him, like he was both her refuge and her ruin?
As the hours passed, Aiko found herself glancing at the door, waiting for his return. She hated how much she depended on him, how much his presence reassured her.
When he finally came back, his expression was unreadable. "All clear," he said, locking the door behind him.
"Good," Aiko replied, trying to sound nonchalant.
Kaito sat across from her, his gaze intense. "You should rest," he said. "Tomorrow's going to be a long day."
"Why?"
"You'll see," he said cryptically, his lips curving into that infuriating smirk.
Aiko rolled her eyes but didn't argue. As she lay down on the couch, her thoughts drifted to Kaito, the glowing scarf, and the mysterious threads of fate that seemed to bind them together.
She didn't know what the future held, but one thing was certain—her life would never be the same.