"Konoha's adjusting pretty well, isn't he?"

It was a casual question, delivered smoothly. Kido, towel draped around her neck, turned her head. The humid scent of the shower still clung to her—even from the doorway, Kano could smell her shampoo. Water dripped from the tips of her hair, dotting her shirt's front. His gaze was hidden behind scarlet, but he felt as if he'd been caught in letting his eyes trace the water's path. Something in the look Kido gave him made him aware that she, too, was watching him, though not in the way he was.

"Yeah. He is… even if he still acts like a kid." She scratched the back of her head, eyes on Kano. His face revealed nothing. As he sat beside her on the bed, she sighed. "Looking after him is kinda like babysitting…"

"Kido's really become the mother of our group!"

"Oi, don't say it like that. I'm too young to be one."

"Ah, but you definitely act like one. You cook for us and watch out for us, don't you?"

Kido tugged the towel tighter around her, as if to hide. "It's what a leader does," she muttered. "She looks after her followers."

The tea he prepared had long since cooled. It weighed cold and bitter on his tongue, but he smiled as he sipped. Despite the heat swollen in the room like a bloated mushroom, he could feel something sharp between them. It was telegraphed in the slight hunch of her shoulders, the way she tried to steel her expression to inattention.

Kido never became a good liar, unlike Kano. The thought twisted his smile.

"—with that look?"

Her voice snapped him back to attention. "Eh? What're you talking about?"

Familiar exasperation crossed her face. "You have that shifty look to you again," she said. "What'd you do?"

"I'm hurt! You're always suspecting me of something."

"That's because you're always up to something."

Kano grinned. "Ah," he said. "It's nothing like that. It's because I'm thinking of something very funny."

"Idiot," she answered automatically, an instinct. But he noticed how she watched him. Did she suspect? "Everything's funny to you."

"I guess Kido wouldn't like to know, then. That's a shame, because I came to see her to tell her a wonderful joke."

She eyed him incredulously, but he kept his mask, gesturing for her to come closer. And just as he thought she would, she leaned in. Close up, he could make out the way her hair wove within itself. It was a shame how easy this was. Kano tried his best not to laugh.

"What is—" was as far as she got before his lips covered hers, muffling surprise.

It began as an itch, a small irritation similar to a flea's bite. Easy to ignore when out of sight, but when the sore spot was exposed to him on a constant basis he couldn't help but scratch.

It was the little things that flared it up—a grateful smile given to Seto, a soft word of thanks given to Shintaro. Kano, a practiced pierrot, knew not to take it to heart when his jokes and his jabs gained nothing from her. He was accustomed to bruises and glares, these defenses erected by a girl who almost faded from the world. When she had grasped for his hand desperately so long ago, he promised he'd save her. And in a way, he had. Tsubomi Kido's fear of becoming a ghost would never come true.

But something was missing.

If there's one thing I could have…

Tsubomi was gone. With her eyes opened, the girl who smiled brightly shed her skin after the world she loved spat on and scarred it. The soft girl hardened inside and stepped out as Kido, Mekakushi Dan's leader. Her kind heart was buried, as were the smiles that she taught Kano to give.

Kano understood. And for a decade he would chase after that girl like a moth to a flame, searching for the kindness she coated beneath an aloof mask. Yet, though he held her hand, though he stayed in darkness with her, though he listened to her cries to be remembered—

Konoha was special and helpless, terribly strong yet terribly weak. The world confused him and he accepted everything with the stare of a half-awake dreamer. He was an outcast like them, and so they welcomed him.

Perhaps it's because Kido was terrible at hiding that caring part of her. Perhaps it's because Konoha reminded her of him and Seto when they were little. It didn't matter. What mattered was that, on a day in which the rain roared, Kano watched the two of them on the couch, leaning against one another. The bright smile he'd been reaching for shone on her face, for the white-haired boy she met only a week ago, the boy sleeping on her shoulder.

And with that, something toxic ignited in his heart.

… please, smile for me like that.

The sound of her punch burst through the room.

They didn't say anything as they sat on opposite sides of the bed. Kano, with his rueful smile and bruised cheek; Kido, with her scarlet face, fists clenched against her lap. The silence was overwhelming, like the summer haze.

"Sorry. Ah, a warning would've been nice, wouldn't it?" Kano pressed his fingers to his lips lightly. "It was a joke, a bad joke, that's all."

It was a lie. He had every intention to kiss her when he entered the room. It'd been a thought that trickled at the back of his mind, ever since he saw Konoha lean against her, exploding into a sudden downpour of impulse that drenched him from head to toe. He sucked in a breath. The rush of adrenaline was draining from him, leaving a heavy feeling weighing down in his chest.

"So you think kissing me is a joke." Beneath the chill of her voice, he could hear the quiver.

"Isn't it funny?" His mind ordered him to stop but his mouth kept running, words pouring out like a steady stream of syrup, sweet and sticky to match his mask. "The childhood friend, pining after the other, eventually catching her off guard with a sudden kiss! Ah, what a twist, what a twist, the audience would say at that point. But that's a cliche plot meant for the movies. It'd obviously never happen in real life—"

"Quit rambling!"

"—and it was worth it to see Leader's face! She was quite red… Kido?"

She walked quickly to the door, towel clutched in her hands as though to squeeze every last drop out. She stopped at the sound of her name, but her eyes would not meet his when she glanced back.

Kano smirked. "C'mon," he said. "Smile a little!"

Just once.

"… wipe that smirk off your face, idiot."

She disappeared, leaving only the lingering traces of her scent.

Outside, the cicadas screamed. He touched his mouth again, remembering that brief moment of warmth, and bowed his head.