Haruta came home, looked at Ome, and smiled faintly.
"Love isn't as twisted as I thought… but even if it is… I don't hate it."
He lay in bed, took off his glasses, and let out a quiet breath.
"Grandma would love her as my wife," he whispered, and this time, the smile on his face was real—no walls, no mask.
After a while, he sat up and reached into the bottom drawer. He pulled out an old, dusty box, the wood creaking like it hadn't been touched in years.
"Good to see you again after four years," he muttered, opening it slowly.
Inside was his stitching kit, a light blue ball of yarn sitting on top. He ran his fingers over it, then sat on the floor and got to work—slow, careful, patient. Stitch by stitch, like he was piecing together the broken parts of himself.
He spent the whole night like that, quietly smiling, finally picking up a piece of himself he'd forgotten.
Maybe that's what healing looks like.
---
Meanwhile, back at Alya's place, she leaned against the kitchen counter, eyes bouncing nervously between her phone and Sera.
"Hey, uh… what do you think I should give Haruta?"
Sera raised an eyebrow, smirking while drying her hands.
"Why the sudden urge to give him something?" she teased.
"We're… we're just good friends," Alya stammered, trying to hide her face, but the blush was already giving her away.
Sera walked up, lifted her chin gently, and grinned.
"Oh, my sweet little sister, how deep have you fallen in love?"
"I have not!" Alya squeaked, face redder than tomatoes.
"Yeah, yeah. Lovebird denial stage," Sera laughed, turning back to the dishes.
"Y'know what? Stitch him something."
Alya tilted her head.
"Stitch… what?"
"Maybe a sock? It's simple, but it means a lot. And it's cute."
That night, Alya curled up on her bed, yarn in her lap, stitching carefully, trying not to mess it up. Her heart beat a little faster with every thread, her mind drifting to Haruta's smile, his voice, the way he looked at her like she mattered.
And just like that, in two quiet rooms, two souls found themselves reaching for the same warmth.
One finally rediscovered joy after years of shadows.
The other listened to the soft whispers of her heart.
And without even knowing, they were stitching a story that neither of them wanted to end.
---
—To be continued
~Rei