A/N: Major warning here that this story depicts a dark romance, and contains sensitive themes. [Dead Dove: Do Not Eat] Also huge thanks to ncisduckie for proofing the 1st chapter of the original draft.

DAFFODIL

Kyoko gazed, entranced, at the dimly-lit stage on the vast television screen.

The young singer's raven head was tilted slightly, his dark eyes lidded as he belted out a slow jazzy song into the microphone. His deep, husky voice was incredible; with his impressively wide vocal range, especially for a male, he could hit the high notes of the song with an ease that Kyoko envied. One of his hands was tucked in the pocket of his form-fitting pants while the other held the microphone.

A single word rose from the audience, chanted over and over again in a feverish mantra.

Ren.

How long had it been since they'd first met? A decade, if she was not wrong. He had been a mere twelve-year-old, and she, twenty-five.

His name, too, had been different.

He had been so small and adorable, with his bright golden curls—which would be straightened and dyed ten years later—and large, guileless green eyes.

"Say hello to Kyoko, Kuon," Kuu had said. His son didn't greatly resemble him, and Kyoko would later learn that Kuon resembled his mother much more than his father. "As you know, she's going to become your stepmother in a few months."

Kuon had returned her smile shyly, and said, in the meekest tone, "It's nice to meet you, Mother."

"Oh, there's no need to call me that," Kyoko said at once. "You can just call me Kyoko, sweetie."

She had no intention of replacing Kuon's late mother, and neither did she want the twelve-year-old to call someone who was a literal stranger his mother. It wasn't fair to either of them, and she didn't want to put him on the spot.

"Kyoko," Kuon repeated. He gave her another warm, shy smile, eyes lighting up. "Your name's really pretty."

"Thank you," Kyoko answered gently. She had been so relieved that Kuon didn't seem to dislike her. It was nerve-wracking meeting the son of her fiancé for the first time, not knowing how he would take to her integration with his family. It was almost funny that a twelve-year-old had rendered her so anxious, and she'd bit back a laugh at herself.

The next half an hour had passed by comfortably as the trio tucked into their home-cooked dinner of mashed potatoes, peas, and grilled chicken in Kuu's apartment. Everything had been going well, with Kyoko asking Kuon about school and Kuu making small jokes here and there to keep the atmosphere light and friendly. The food was good, which was no surprise given Kuu's profession, and the conversation flowed smoothly.

Then, Kuon had reached over to get a fresh helping of buttered chicken when his elbow accidentally knocked his glass of water over, sending its contents splattering over the front of Kyoko's blouse. He recoiled, jaw falling in shock.

"Kyoko!" Kuu exclaimed, standing up. "Let me get you a napkin."

"I'm so sorry," Kuon cried, horrified.

"It's fine, it's fine," Kyoko assured him, letting out a soft laugh as Kuu rushed to the kitchen to get the napkin. "I'm sure you didn't mean to…"

Her throat caught as she saw the expression on the boy's face once his father had vanished into the kitchen.

A sneer.

The childlike friendliness from before had been wiped off his cherubic features; it was replaced by a small but unmistakably vicious curl of his mouth. Kyoko had been shell-shocked. She sat here, the front of her blouse soaking wet, staring at the pretty twelve-year-old boy sitting opposite her with the sneer twisting his lips.

Then Kuu returned from the kitchen with a fresh towel, and the malice disappeared. He immediately took on a contrite expression as Kuu reached over and dabbed at Kyoko's sodden pink blouse with the towel.

"I'm so sorry, Kyoko," Kuu said. "Kuon isn't usually so careless."

"I'm sorry," Kuon said again, in a small voice. "I hope you're okay."

Stunned, her brain scrambled, trying to process what had just happened. It took her several seconds before she realised both father and son were now staring at her, waiting for her response.

Kuon began, "I'm sor—"

"I'm fine," she said hastily, snatching the towel from Kuu. "Don't worry about it. It was just an accident."

Only it wasn't, and it never was. This had been nothing but a warning—a prelude.

Once she had moved into Kuu's apartment, her life spiralled into a nightmare. Her things would go missing, particularly her jewellery and cosmetics. She'd remembered feeling painfully miserable at the disappearance of a treasured brooch her mother had given her many years ago.

Kyoko knew all too well who had been behind the disappearance of her belongings. There was never any proof, and an unsuspecting Kuu had made an obedient Kuon search for the missing items with Kyoko, but she was indubitably sure who the thief was.

Kuu never guessed who. Kyoko knew he'd assumed she had been careless and misplaced her things. Why would he suspect his own son, when Kuon had looked so disheartened on Kyoko's behalf and helped search every nook and cranny of the apartment?

Once, on a rare occasion Kuu had been away at work and Kyoko had taken sick leave from her office job because of the flu, she had gone to Kuon's room. This was the first time she could remember being alone with Kuon at home, and she'd decided to confront him then.

He had been sitting quietly in his room, notebook open, poring over his Mathematics textbook. While many boys his age liked the outdoors and engaging in all kinds of rambunctious sport activities, Kuon tended to keep to his room, devouring fiction novels and doing his homework. Always scoring at the top of his class, he seemed to genuinely enjoy studying.

He also loved music; there was a piano in the living room which Kuon's piano tutor used to conduct his lessons every Tuesday and Wednesday. As if that wasn't enough, he also went for lessons in the dance studio to practise contemporary dance. His mother had been a dancer herself, and she'd taught students at that very studio when she'd been alive.

With Kuon's many talents and angelic mien, Kuu had never once suspected his son of theft. It had never occurred to the chef that his son, behind his flawless façade, might be completely warped inside.

"Kuon," Kyoko had said, standing at the door. "We need to talk."

There was a long pause, and the flaxen-haired boy lifted his head away from his book and turned to regard her without saying anything. He had put down his pen, which he'd been using to write his notes with his gorgeous cursive handwriting.

"Kuu isn't home," she went on stiffly. "So if there's anything you'd like to say to me, you should say it now."

Confess. Confess.

Another pause greeted her words.

"I… don't understand what you mean," he said slowly, brows knitted with confusion. "Why would I want to say anything?"

"Kuon—"

"Let me clarify," Kuon said, cutting her off. "Why would I want to say anything to my father's whore… Kyoko?"

Kyoko had turned as rigid as a rock, and she had been so stunned—so utterly flabbergasted, that she couldn't speak for several seconds.

He was only twelve years old. What twelve-year-old talked like that? Was this even fucking normal?

"You," she had said in a strangled voice. "You… shouldn't talk like that."

"And you shouldn't have gone near my father," Kuon said. "So, tit for tat."

"Is this what this is about?" Kyoko asked weakly. "Because I'm with your father? Why didn't you tell us sooner about how you felt? The wedding is in a week—"

"There's nothing to tell," he said. "If you're happy being my mother's sloppy seconds, then who am I to stop you?"

Kyoko swallowed. The boy was cruel, vindictive—she could feel his words like a knife at her throat.

But her fears from the start had turned out to be true: he absolutely hated her for replacing his deceased mother.

Hizuri Juliena was beautiful. Kyoko had seen pictures of the laughing golden-haired woman framed on the wall, her feline-tipped peridot eyes—Kuon's the carbon copy of hers, right down to the shape and colour—gleaming beneath long thick lashes. Milky-pale and red-lipped like a statuesque Snow White, she had been tall, leggy and willowy, her physique exemplifying the dancer she had once been.

She had passed away from a car accident shortly before Kuon had turned eleven.

Kyoko knew she could never compare to Juliena in beauty.

But she was not interested in comparing herself to Juliena. She was not Juliena, nor were they in a competition. There was no love in her upcoming marriage to Kuu, and she knew there never would be. They had both lost their other halves—and they would never find another again.

They had, however, agreed on the wisdom of finding a spouse to spend the rest of their lives with. It was better than being lonely, and it was better than being celibate or constantly going through empty one night stands.

And they had both been so lonely, with Kuu losing Juliena and Kyoko losing Sho. Somehow their pain had brought them together.

What neither had taken into account, however, was the bitter and angry child who had only just lost his mother.

For the next few years, his pain had torn everything she knew apart.

Kyoko jumped.

Her phone was ringing, the wail strident and jarring through her eardrums. Shaking her head to snap herself out of her reverie, she switched off her TV, smiling ruefully as Kuon's gorgeous image vanished from the screen, his deep, soulful voice cut off.

Taking a breath, she stood up from the leather couch, her expensive satin night robe sweeping past her long, shapely legs as she went to get her iPhone.

Why had she thought so far into her past? All of that had happened a decade ago. How strange; she hadn't thought about how ugly her relationship with Kuon had used to be, not since she'd started visiting her therapist. Hating each other felt like a lifetime ago.

Kyoko picked up the call, sitting back down on the couch as she did so. "What's up?"

As always, Kanae cut straight to the chase from the other end. "Wanna go out for drinks tonight?"

"I can't," Kyoko said apologetically. "I'm meeting Kijima."

Kijima, her current 'boyfriend', for lack of a better term. It was nothing serious—they'd met for a couple of drinks some nights ago, and had slept together twice. Kyoko was physically attracted to him, and having sex with someone beat sleeping alone at night, which summed about everything up.

"I see." Kanae let out a dry sigh. "Guess I'll be drinking alone tonight."

"I'm sorry. Maybe another day?"

"Before Kuon gets back from tour, we'd better."

"What do you mean? Does it matter if it's before or after?"

Kanae sighed again, and Kyoko could already picture her rolling her eyes. "Duh, it does. I'll never see you when he's back."

Kyoko frowned. "I don't understand."

"Whatever." Kanae changed the subject. "You must miss him."

"I do," Kyoko said, and she meant it. "But…" She smiled. "It won't be too long now before I see him."

"He's probably out there, fucking a different girl every night after his concert."

"Kanae!" Kyoko choked. "Kuon is my stepson. This is gross. Can we not talk about him like that?"

"Fine," Kanae conceded with an amused huff. "You know I'm only messing around, right? Though I mean it when I say he's the furthest from boyfriend material."

"I wouldn't know."

"Where's he at now, anyway?" Kanae asked, changing the subject.

Kyoko fidgeted. "He's on the last leg in Asia now."

Tsuruga Ren. His stage name was a household one all over the world. His four studio albums had all gone number one, with over a million copies sold in their opening weeks, and all four albums, all certified diamond, were among the best selling albums of all time.

Kuon was famous for writing his own songs, mostly of R&B and jazz. Surprisingly, he rarely did contemporary pop songs, which were commonly associated with celebrated singers. It was a rare phenomenon in this day and age for a singer to release R&B and jazz albums back-to-back that were so critically and commercially acclaimed.

Interestingly, his album covers never depicted pictures of himself. Every album cover was a simple background picture of varying dark colours with the title—the year of the release dates—emblazoned across the centre.

"Which part of Asia?" Kanae pressed.

"I'm not sure, I think Korea?" Kyoko said absently. She had wandered into her bedroom inside her penthouse apartment and was sifting through the many garments in her wardrobe. "Hey, what do you think would knock Kijima's socks off? My halter dress—you know, that blue one I always wear—or the off-the-shoulder one?"

"It doesn't matter," Kanae scoffed. "He's gonna bang you anyway, so just show up in your birthday suit."

"I don't think the people at the restaurant are going to like that."

"Well, it's dumb to make dinner date arrangements when you know you're really just meeting to bang later," Kanae grouched. "Why waste time? Just have sex instead of dancing around—"

"Food is a part of foreplay too, you know," Kyoko disagreed. "To me, the food is even better than the sex."

"Basically, you like a warm body next to you," Kanae deadpanned. "It really isn't sex you like, Kyoko, it's companionship. And if that's the case, you might as well get a dog."

"No thanks." Despite her objection, she knew Kanae was partially right. She didn't get off from sex; she had her vibrators for that. What the toys failed to do was curb her loneliness night after night. "Dogs are expensive. I don't have the energy to clean up after them either."

"Girl, you've got nothing but money and time," Kanae said.

Kyoko groaned. "For the last time, it's not my money."

"Yeah, it is. You deserve every cent of it after everything you've done for—"

"I didn't do any of it for money," Kyoko spoke softly. "I did it because I love Kuon."

There was a brief silence.

"That's the thing about you," Kanae pointed out. "You're so compassionate, Kyoko. You're honestly the most compassionate person I've ever met."

"Maybe," Kyoko said with a small smile. "I do believe that the world can never have enough compassion."

That was the one thing she had stood by for all of her life, and throughout her time with Kuon. She refused to let hatred and hurt win. Compassion had always been her remedy.

"Yes, but…" Kanae hesitated. "Sometimes it can only help someone so far."

Kyoko's chest tightened. She knew what Kanae was trying to get at—the same point she had been making for the past few years—and she really, really did not want to hear that topic again.

"Look, I have to go," she said breezily. "I have to start preparing for my dinner date tonight. Take a bath, do my hair and makeup… You know the drill."

"Yeah, sure," Kanae muttered. The real reason Kyoko was ending the call was obvious, but her friend was, for once, tactful enough not to comment on it. "I'll talk to you later then."

Kyoko hung up, her mind heavy with thoughts she hadn't entertained in a long time.

Compassion.

Back then, when Kuon was twelve, he'd tried to wreak hatred and chaos into her life. And she, in return, had retaliated with compassion.

That was why she had decided to carry on with her decision to marry Kuu. If she had chosen to leave Kuu, then it would mean that Kuon would have won. And the last thing Kyoko wanted was for an impressionable, pitiful twelve-year-old to believe that hatred could win in this world.

She couldn't do that to him, not when he was a mere child, not when he had just lost his mother, and not when he was wallowing in his own pain and grief.

Maybe Kyoko was a martyr—a fool. But after Sho had passed, she'd lost all direction in life. And somehow she had focused all her efforts into twelve-year-old Hizui Kuon if it meant regaining some form of purpose in her life.

Kyoko still recalled her wedding day. It had gone surprisingly smoothly. It had been a small affair, with Kuu and Kyoko renting a small villa and inviting about twenty guests. The truth was, their wedding was merely a guise—it had been sweet, something Kyoko looked back at fondly, but neither she nor Kuu had regarded it as anything life-changing. The only wedding in their minds that truly mattered was Kuu's to Juliena, and Kyoko's impending wedding to Sho that had tragically never occurred.

Kuon had resembled a flawless angel that day, dressed in a miniature white tuxedo that complemented the sunlit curls framing his fair, cherubic face and large emerald eyes. He'd appeared so happy for both of them, and performed his duty as the ring bearer to perfection. Moreover, he'd volunteered to play a piece that he'd apparently practised beforehand on the piano to congratulate the newly wedded couple. As wary as Kyoko was of the boy, there was no denying his talent; no denying that he played the piano like it was second nature to him, his long, elegant hands dancing gracefully over the ivory keys, the sinuous melody rich and triumphant.

Kuu had been so proud of him, and so oblivious to how anxious Kyoko had secretly been that the boy might be up to something. After several uneventful hours into the wedding, she'd hoped that maybe, just maybe, Kuon had accepted her in the end. He had been so sweet to her, too, indicating no hints of the malevolence she'd witnessed a few weeks back.

That was until Kyoko had gone privately to her room in the villa after most of the festivities were over. She'd gone to take her purse, which she'd left lying on the vanity, to freshen up her lipstick. Clad in a white bandage dress that snugly fit her petite frame, her copper hair had been done up in a chignon with a pale rose pinned to the side of her head. Both Kyoko and Kuu had decided on forgoing a wedding veil and a full-on bridal gown—while this wedding was legitimate, it was anything but a real one to either of them.

Kyoko had opened her purse, only to let go of it with a strangled scream. The leather object hit the floor with a heavy thud, and a pool of seemingly endless tiny black spiders crawled out of the unzipped opening, followed by a bloated adult one, its hairy legs twitching. Some of her cosmetics had spilled out, too, and Kyoko saw with horror that the red tube of her lipstick had broken off into two. Her powder palette had splintered, the cracks running through the variety of colours like an ugly spider web.

And she also spotted one more thing that sent her heart into overdrive.

Her mother's brooch, lying in two separate broken halves as the centrepiece among her ruined cosmetics.

"Kyoko?"

She started at the sound of the concerned voice, and looked up into Kijima's widened eyes from where he sat opposite her by the table of the Italian restaurant they were at.

"Oh, my God," Kyoko said embarrassedly, blushing as she hastily picked up her spoon again. "I'm so sorry. I just completely zoned out on you, didn't I?"

"Yeah," Kijima grinned. He was a good-looking, big guy with dark hair and eyes—attractive, she thought, but not overwhelmingly so. It was exactly what she wanted. "You okay?"

"I'm good." Kyoko scooped the creamy rice from her mushroom risotto with her spoon, then brought it to her lips, the cold steel sliding through. "My brain's a little frazzled today, is all. What were we talking about?"

"I was asking what you did for a living," he said. "Kind of funny that topic never came up the last two times."

Because we were too busy screwing, Kyoko thought, but didn't say it out loud. Instead, she replied, delicately, "Well. To put it simply, I don't have a job at the moment."

"Oh." Kijima looked baffled. She couldn't blame him—after all, she lived in an opulent penthouse, she wore branded clothes, and she was driven everywhere she went by a personal chauffeur. "Then how, er, do you…"

Having anticipated the question, Kyoko said, "I have a stepson."

Kijima looked taken aback. His fork dropped against his plate of chicken marsala. "What?"

"My husband passed away some years ago," Kyoko explained softly. "I have a stepson now. We live together, and he's been financially supporting me for a while now."

There was a long pause, and then—

"I didn't know you were married before," Kijima said tightly.

"I'm sorry. I should have told you earlier."

"No, it's just—" He shook his head. "This is quite a bit for me to sink in, Kyoko."

"I'm sorry," she repeated, genuinely apologetic.

"No, it's not your fault," Kijima answered, summoning a watery grin at her. "I mean, you barely know me, and that seemed pretty personal."

"I should have told you anyway. It's not a big deal to me, being a widow."

"I, um…" He looked hesitant. "I'm really sorry about your husband."

"It's fine," Kyoko said quietly. "He died many years ago."

"And your stepson?" Kijima asked. "You said he's supporting you financially?"

She took a sip of her Pinot Noir. "Yes."

"That's one filial stepson you've got," he said.

"I know," Kyoko beamed proudly. "He's a sweetheart."

"He must be a mighty rich fellow too, to be able to give you the kind of lifestyle you have now," Kijima said. "What does he do?"

She flashed him a coy smile. "That's a secret."

She almost wished she could tell him, but she never, ever told anyone that her stepson was 'Tsuruga Ren' unless she had to. It was more for privacy reasons than anything else; after all, the penthouse she stayed in was also Kuon's home that they shared whenever he was off-tour.

If anyone found out she was his stepmother, she would never get any privacy—the last thing she needed was for the singer's ardent fans to come after her and stalk her residential address. While she doubted Kijima would stalk her (though he already knew where she lived), she couldn't be absolutely sure he wouldn't tell anyone her secret.

"What?" Kijima looked incredulous. "Why's it a secret? Does he work in the FBI? Or is he from the mafia?"

Kyoko giggled. "I think you've watched one too many movies, Kijima."

"You can't blame me," Kijima protested. "You're the one being all secretive about your stepson."

"Yeah, about that…" Kyoko cleared her throat awkwardly. "It's just that he's a very private person. For now, I'd like to respect that."

It was true. Kuon was private by nature. A highly coveted star he might be, but it didn't change the fact that he was quiet, introverted—though he had an alarming knack in pretending otherwise—and despised sharing details of his personal life to the press.

Even his Instagram account, which boasted almost a hundred million followers, was notably impersonal. He wasn't very active on social media, with his posts consisting mainly of pictures of crowds at his concerts and random photos of inanimate objects—sometimes flowers, sometimes his piano, sometimes paintings at whichever decadent hotel he was staying at—with laconic captions. He rarely, if ever, took selfies.

"I guess I'll have to respect that, too," Kijima conceded with a sigh, then gave a sheepish grin. "But any time he's okay sharing, I'd like to know—if that's all right."

"Definitely," she promised. Partly in an attempt to change the subject, she added, "I found a job. I start next week."

It would be her first job in many years. She hadn't worked, not since Kuon's musical debut had turned out so incredibly successful.

"Really?" Kijima looked intrigued. "What job?"

"Oh, nothing interesting," Kyoko said. "Administrative work at an office."

She hadn't told Kuon yet. She wasn't sure how he'd react. The funny thing about Kuon was that he'd rarely, especially after he'd gotten older, expressed anything to the extreme when it came to his emotions. Never fury, never glee, never anything of the sort. Yet for some reason, Kyoko was nervous sometimes about telling him certain things.

Why? He didn't overreact anymore—and he had never explicitly expressed that he hadn't wanted her to work. She couldn't put a finger to the roots of her nervousness. Nevertheless, since the ordeal the past couple of years had been up to his adulthood, she guessed that he didn't want her to work anymore.

The past years. Everything seemed to go back there, and somehow it was all she could think of lately. It probably had to do with Kuon's extended absence at home because of his world tour.

What had happened at her wedding? Right, she'd found a monstrous nest of spiders in her purse. Kuon had planted them there. He'd broken her precious brooch, and destroyed her makeup.

Petty? He had been. Evil? She didn't know.

She had been scared to find out.

Kyoko remembered stomping all the spiders to death and clearing the mess up with tissues from the bathroom, hot tears stinging her eyes and nausea bubbling in her throat as she did so. Half of it was due to revulsion, the other half with anger, rage, hurt, fear…

She didn't know how long she stayed in her room, evaluating her options. Should she go downstairs and confront Kuon in front of everyone, including his father and the wedding guests?

Was that the right decision?

No, that was surely what Kuon was expecting Kyoko to do.

She had been petty, too. She didn't want to give him the satisfaction that he'd gotten to her. That was what he wanted, to see her make a scene, to have her scream at him in front of Kuu and the guests, and defile the picturesque wedding with her fury.

Kyoko had flushed the toilet, watching the arachnid-smeared wedge of tissue paper disappear in a gush of water. Then she went back to her purse, stuffed her splintered cosmetics back inside with a shaking hand, and zipped it shut again. She picked up the two pieces of her broken brooch and pinned the separate half that had the needle pin attached to it onto the front of her white dress, discarding the other half on the vanity table along with her purse.

She looked into the mirror of the vanity, eyeing the jagged half of her brooch on her chest. Forcing a plastic smile at the mirror, she left the room with a turn of her heel.

The first thing she sensed as she reached the drawing room was Kuon's viridian gaze on her. Dressed in his miniature tuxedo and sitting at the window seat with an opened book in his hands, he said nothing, and his angelic face betrayed nothing—but she sensed it: anticipation buzzing in those too-bright green eyes, hooded by fair lashes. The eyes dropped to the side of her chest, where the ruptured half of the brooch was pinned.

"Kyoko!" Kuu had gotten up from the chaise lounge. "You sure took a while. Is everything—" He broke off confusedly as his gaze flickered to her broken brooch. "Sweetheart, your brooch is broken."

Kyoko didn't bother to look down.

"Yes, it is," she said lightly. She was aware that everyone was staring at them. "It's the brooch my mother got me before she died. You remember I told you, Kuu?"

"Yeah," Kuu said, looking bewildered but saddened at the same time. "Oh, Kyoko. How did it get broken?"

"And why are you wearing it when it's broken, Kyoko?" Kanae Kotonami added with concern, sashaying over to the couple. Her long raven hair was done up in a pretty French braid and she wore a burgundy wrap dress that accentuated her curves nicely. Her husband followed behind.

Kyoko looked up and watched Kuon. She could see a furrow in his brow, and she knew he was confused. He'd expected her to come in screaming and shouting, not standing here making civil conversation and acting as if nothing was wrong.

Then his eyes intensified into malachite fire as he met her amber ones, and the tiniest sneer twisted the corner of his lips, so faint that she wouldn't have noticed it had she not been studying his face so intently.

"Because this brooch means a lot to me," Kyoko said softly, but loud enough for Kuon—and possibly the other guests—to hear. She went on:

"Broken or not, I love it, and I'm wearing it."

At the present, Kyoko walked out of the restaurant with Kijima, her coat tucked over her blue halter dress to combat the evening chill. She knew the routine—it was either his place, or hers, but at the moment she hoped it was his, because all the memories about the past were making her ill at ease. She wanted to go somewhere foreign for a change, and lose herself in it.

Before Kijima could make the suggestion, however—the look on his face certainly indicated his intention—her chauffeur, Ruto, cleared his throat and spoke from where he stood next to her parked BMW.

"Mr. Hizuri has returned home, Miss Kyoko," he said.

Kyoko stilled, her heart beating madly in her chest, both from surprise and joy. "What? But—isn't he—" She broke off when she realised Kijima was standing there, listening.

Making up her mind, she turned to her date.

"I'm sorry," she said contritely. "But it looks like my stepson is back in the country. So—"

"You have to see him," Kijima finished for her ruefully, tugging at his own topcoat over his suit. "Don't worry about it, Kyoko. I'll call you tomorrow." He bent and kissed her lips lightly.

"I'm sorry," she said again.

"Don't apologise," he said. "Besides, you can always make up for it on another night." He winked at her.

Kyoko laughed. "I will. Promise."

She looked up at the starry night sky, her heart thrumming furiously. She didn't know which she felt more: disbelief, or delight.

After months of absence, Kuon was waiting for her at home.

Everything was finally coming together again.

:tbc: