There's a kind of silence that exists not in the absence of sound—
But in the presence of two hearts quietly breaking and trying to mend at once.
The cafeteria around them continued on like nothing had changed. Students moved past in clusters of chatter and clinking trays. Somewhere, a soda machine buzzed loudly. Laughter rang from a table near the windows. Life went on with casual indifference.
But for Kaito and Sayaka, time had stopped.
He looked at her with wide, unreadable eyes. The kind of eyes that seemed to hold a thousand emotions, all jumbled together like puzzle pieces spilled across the floor. Confusion. Concern. Affection. And something else something fragile.
Sayaka sat across from him, fingers curled tightly in her lap, knuckles white. Her voice, just moments ago so bold, now trembled under the weight of silence. She didn't look away, though. She met his gaze, even if it hurt to do so.
"I care about you," she repeated softly, as if her heart was still trying to convince itself that saying it aloud wouldn't shatter her.
Kaito opened his mouth, but no words came. He lowered his eyes to the table, his brows furrowed, lips slightly parted like he was trying to breathe through a storm.
The storm was inside him.
Because Sayaka's words didn't echo through his mind like confessions usually do in stories. They didn't explode like fireworks. They didn't paint the world in vibrant colors or set off romantic music in the background.
No.
Her words sank.
Like stones dropped in still water soft but heavy. Real.
And in their descent, they stirred something old, something buried. Memories. Shared laughter in middle school hallways. Quiet walks home in the rain. Her fierce voice yelling at him to "stop being so emotionally constipated" while gently handing him his favorite bread.
Memories he had tucked away. Because he thought he didn't deserve them.
Because Sayaka was sunlight with too much fire. And he… he was just a boy made of shadows.
"I… I don't know what to say," Kaito finally murmured.
"I don't need you to say anything," Sayaka said, quickly. Too quickly. "I didn't come here to force anything out of you. I just… I was tired of pretending I didn't care."
Kaito looked at her then, really looked.
And something shifted in his chest. Not a spark. Not a bang. Something quieter, deeper. Like the slow melting of winter into spring.
"I never thought you didn't care," he said.
She blinked. "What?"
"You were always there. Even when I was unbearable. Even when I shut everyone out."
"Yeah, well…" she shrugged, suddenly embarrassed. "You were kind of my project."
That made him smile. Genuinely. And Sayaka's heart thumped against her ribs in betrayal.
"But you've changed, Kaito," she added quietly. "You're not the same anymore."
He looked away again. "That's the scary part."
"What do you mean?"
He reached up and ran a hand through his hair. "I spent so long hiding. Avoiding people. Avoiding… myself. I thought if I stayed invisible, I wouldn't break anything. Wouldn't break anyone."
"You didn't break me," she said.
"I pushed you away."
"Maybe. But you were never invisible to me."
The words slipped out before she could stop them, and this time, he did look at her—and something in that look made her heart twist.
"Sayaka," he said, her name a feather on his lips. "You were my only anchor for a long time. I just didn't know how to say it. I thought maybe if I said it, you'd run away."
"I don't run," she whispered. "Even when I probably should."
He chuckled under his breath. "I know."
There was a moment of silence—this time not painful, but necessary. A moment to let words settle. To let emotions bloom slowly, like flowers opening in uncertain sunlight.
Then, Sayaka said, "Do you want to go somewhere quieter?"
Kaito blinked. "Now?"
She nodded. "There's this spot on the old library rooftop. No one goes there anymore. I go when I want to think."
He hesitated. But then again, hesitation was part of who he was. And still, despite that—he nodded.
It was just as Sayaka described it quiet, dusty, forgotten. An old bench sat crookedly in the corner, and vines crept up the stone railing like time trying to reclaim what people had abandoned.
The city stretched in the distance, a glowing tapestry under a sky smeared with violet and gold. The setting sun cast their faces in warm hues.
Sayaka sat on the edge of the roof, her feet swinging slightly, arms resting on the cold stone.
Kaito sat beside her, more relaxed now. Something about the wind, the height, the quiet hum of the world far below—it helped. Like they were finally above everything. Above the expectations. Above the whispers.
"I used to come here a lot," Sayaka said. "Back when you started drifting away."
He winced slightly. "I'm sorry."
"You don't have to be. I get it now. You were trying to survive."
Kaito turned to her, his voice soft. "So were you."
Sayaka didn't speak for a while. She watched the horizon like it held all her unspoken feelings.
"You know," she said, "when you started helping Yuuki, I hated her."
Kaito stiffened.
She laughed awkwardly. "I know, childish, right? It wasn't her fault. But I just… hated how close you were getting. How you were growing into this… *person,* and I wasn't part of that journey."
He didn't speak.
"I was jealous," she added. "Because she got to see the version of you that I've always been waiting for."
"That version only exists because of you," Kaito said, quietly. "You never let me disappear."
And then it happened.
Sayaka reached out and took his hand.
It was a small gesture, but for Kaito, it felt like someone lighting a candle in the dark. Slowly. Tenderly.
"I'm scared too," she whispered. "Scared of what we're becoming. Scared I'll mess it up."
"You probably will," he said, deadpan.
She laughed. "So will you."
"But maybe we can mess it up together?"
She smiled then, not her usual smirk, but something soft. Something real.
"Maybe," she said. "Just don't expect me to go easy on you."
"I never do."
The wind picked up slightly, carrying with it the scent of rain and earth and something else—something warm. Something hopeful.
They sat there, watching the sky bleed into night, two childhood friends sitting side by side, no longer running from their hearts.
No fireworks. No dramatic music.
Just two people, trying to learn how to not be alone.