The snow fell softly on them, quiet flakes drifting like time itself had paused into a silence.
Kaito and Haruka stood on the dock, arms around each other, hearts against each other. Neither of them spoke. The lake lay still, glassy under the darkening sky, reflecting whispers of indigo and silver as night fell.
It was like the world had taken a deep breath and then chosen not to exhale.
Haruka's cheeks were wet, but her shoulders had stopped shaking. There was heat now. Not of temperature, not of tea, but of being seen. Of being really seen. Of the realization that the person beside her had never stopped carrying her in small, invisible ways.
Kaito stepped back, just enough to catch sight of her face. Their eyes locked—and held. For a moment, it seemed like nothing else could fit between them.
Then he leaned in, slowly, cautiously.
Their first kiss wasn't wild or crazy. It was slow, tender, and full of things they couldn't put into words. Not because they didn't know what to say—because they both did.
This wasn't about romance or adrenaline. It was about recognition. Safety. Trust.
When their lips parted, they didn't speak. Kaito let his forehead rest lightly against hers, his breath fogging in the cold between them.
"I should go," Haruka whispered after a long while, her voice barely audible.
"My place isn't far."
Kaito looked reluctant to let her go, but he nodded. "I'll walk you."
They left the lake, steps crunching in quiet over new snow. The village had quieted again, day's blur giving way to a still night. Lamps were lit in windows, and woodsmoke hung in the air.
They said nothing as they walked.
They didn't have to.
When they reached the familiar corner near the bakery, Kaito pulled over. Haruka glanced back at him, unsure whether to smile or say anything, but he stepped out first and gently kissed her forehead.
"Call me when you get here?" he asked.
"I will," she said.
He remained standing and observed her walk away, her figure blurring into the descending snow until she vanished behind the corner.
Haruka pulled up to the apartment she was renting—a small, groaning second-floor room above an antique stationery store. The lights inside were off. She fished out her key, shaking snow from her hair, her lips still tingling from the kiss.
The heat she'd felt by the lake stayed with her. It remained like something holy. Something discovered.
She pushed open the door, stepped inside, and set her bag on the floor with a sigh.
And that's when she noticed him.
A tall man standing in the narrow hallway between the tiny kitchen and her desk. His outline was still and unrecognizable. The light of the streetlamp outside shadowed him like a statue carved in darkness.
"Haruka."
Her blood went cold.
".Dad?"
His voice remained unchanged. Even. Calm. But there was an edge beneath it—a repressed sharpness that caused her chest to tighten.
She didn't stir.
Didn't breathe.
"I've been calling you," he said slowly. "Your phone's off. Your bank transactions finally gave us a location."
Us.
Her stomach twisted.
Of course they'd found her. She should have known it wouldn't last forever—this tenuous peace she'd built here. The snow, the bakery, the silence. Kaito.
"What do you want?" Her voice came out raw, defensive.
"I'm here to take you home."
"This is my home."
"Don't be silly. You're barely surviving here."
His gaze swept the room: the thin mattress on the floor, the pile of books, the half-used heater, the empty cup from the bakery.
Her cup.
Kaito had bought her tea in it this morning.
Haruka took a step back, suddenly protective of the space, of everything it meant to her. "I'm not going back."
"Haruka—"
"No."
She didn't raise her voice. She didn't need to. The single word hit like a wall.
Her father's brow furrowed.
"You have no idea what you're doing," he said to her. "You're not thinking straight. Bolting was foolish. You're wasting your time here."
"I'm not bolting," she said, having cooled down now. "I walked out. That's different."
He closed his lips in protest, but stopped as her hand reached for her phone.
"I think you should leave," she said, racing heart. "If you don't, I'll call someone."
"You think some boy can protect you?"
She stopped cold.
Her father's eyes narrowed at her immobility.
"Yeah," he spat out with a dark tone. "We know about him."
That was all.
Her fingers trembled slightly as she held on to the edge of the table. But she refused to back off.
"I don't need anyone to protect me," she said. "But I won't allow you to ruin what I've built up."
His face set into lines.
Haruka moved to the back and opened the door slowly once more.
Snow was blowing in. The wind was quiet but there, a touch on the side of her ear.
"You need to go away," she told him again.
Her father lay still for an incredibly long time. Then finally he stirred beyond her, out into the snow.
He flinched once—on the steps—but didn't look back.
When he'd gone from the room, Haruka closed the door firmly behind him.
Silence was thick. Her knees failed her as she fell to the ground, plunging her face into her knees.
The weeping did not begin—not yet.
But some crack opened within her.
Not the way in which it crushed her.
But the way which made room.
She stood after a few moments, entered the tiny bathroom, and splashed water on her face.
She then grabbed her phone and sent messages with fingers gone numb.
"I got in safely. Thank you."
Three dots appeared.
Then a reply.
"I'm still outside."
Haruka blinked.
She rushed to the window, yanked open the curtain—and there he was.
Kaito, standing at the edge of the sidewalk, his breath visible in the cold. He looked up, caught her eyes through the glass, and gave the smallest smile.
As if he knew.
As if he'd waited, just in case.
Haruka's heart cracked open a little more.
This time, it did not hurt.