The brush tugged gently through her hair.
Not too rough. Not too slow.
Just right—because Yozora always did everything perfectly.
"Your hair's really soft today, Momo," he whispered, like it was the first compliment he'd ever said out loud.
Momo sat very still. Her back was straight. Her lips were sealed shut.
She'd learned that silence made things smoother.
He picked up a lock of her hair, twisting it carefully between his fingers, braid beginning with worship. "I watched a video on how to do it," he added, cheeks red like a schoolboy.
He was smiling.
That was the worst part.
Yozora Akimatsu smiled like the sun—but it burned.
Snip.
Momo flinched.
But it was just the ribbon.
Yozora giggled. "Relax, I'm not cutting it. You really think I'd ruin something this beautiful?"
He tied the braid off with a soft pink bow. His hands lingered, brushing the back of her neck.
She didn't dare shiver.
He leaned closer.
His breath was warm at her ear.
"I looked at you for the first time when I was seven, you know. You ran at me like a little idiot—" he laughed. "Saved me without even knowing it."
Momo clenched her fists in her lap.
He continued, "And now look. You're still saving me. Every single day."
She stared straight ahead at the cracked mirror. Her reflection looked like a doll's. Her eyes weren't hers.
He kissed the side of her head.
"I love you," he said, almost too softly to hear.
And then—
He whispered:
"And they all know it. That's why no one comes for you."