Because he had no choice, Aoko knew, and if it hadn't been this bad, he would have never told her at all, and she could feel the world receeding from her as he talked on and on and on.
Because it was too late, didn't he see that? It was too late to made amends, too late to mend long-burned bridges. Too late, and he didn't see that, couldn't see that. Too late by far.
But as she listened Aoko knew that she would help, would forgive, even though she'd promised herself a thousand times that she wouldn't. She was breaking, she was broken, she was lying on the ground in a little pile of shards and he didn't even notice. Just kept on talking. Asking her if she was okay.
Yes, of course she was okay, she assured him with a smile, of course she forgave him. And she damned herself to the deepest pits of hell, and looked into his eyes.
It was too late. It would always be too late.
She would help him anyway.
"What do you need, Kaito?"
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A/N: Real life is about breaking into a million pieces, and then picking them up again and going on. Definition of a hero? Maybe, maybe not.