Claude was up before the sun. The morning silence felt different now—no longer lonely, but filled with a fragile sort of purpose. Today marked the first true step in his slow plan to earn Mio's trust. He wasn't looking for forgiveness in one grand gesture. He wanted to be constant. Present. Predictable, even—something she never had from him.
He made breakfast again. This time, pancakes.
They weren't perfect. One had a burnt edge, and the syrup drizzle was uneven. But he plated them carefully and left a small note beside the plate:
"No expectations. Just breakfast. –C"
Then he quietly left the kitchen.
---
Mio came down an hour later, her hair still slightly damp from a shower. She stopped at the dining table, narrowing her eyes at the food. Pancakes. She glanced around the kitchen, then to the living room—empty.
So he wasn't waiting for a reaction. Good.
She sat down, picked up the fork, and took a small bite.
Too much syrup.
She ate it anyway.
---
