The TV blared in the background of Momo's living room as she munched nervously on her cereal. The news anchor wore the usual forced smile, the kind that made everything sound less horrible than it was.
"—the man was found face-down in a koi pond behind a local ramen shop. Authorities say the scene was unusually clean. The only clue left behind was a single black hair…"
Momo blinked. The screen flashed a photo of the victim.
It was him.
The creepy guy who tried to flirt with her near the school gates last week. The one who called her "cutie-chan" and offered her expired gum.
She dropped her spoon.
Clink.
Her whole body filled with that special kind of dread where your stomach falls into your knees and your brain starts sweating.
"Oh no," she whispered. "Oh no no no no no no no—"
[Later that day – School rooftop.]
Momo stood with her back to the door, the wind dramatically whipping her hair like she was in a soap opera. She clutched her schoolbag like a shield.
Yozora stepped up behind her silently.
She didn't even turn around. "Yozora," she said softly, "did you… kill someone?"
He blinked. "Which one?"
"WHAT?!"
"I mean, who?" he corrected smoothly. "Who are we talking about?"
Momo spun around and held up her phone, showing the news article. "The guy who flirted with me last week! He's dead! They found one black hair at the scene! You're literally built out of black hair!"
Yozora stared at the screen. Then at her.
Then he smiled.
"Oh. Him."
He chuckled softly, hands in his pockets. "No, Momo. I didn't kill him."
Relief flooded her face. "O-Oh, okay. That's—thank goodness."
"I was too busy that night," Yozora continued, tilting his head slightly.
A pause.
Then he added:
"I was taking pictures of you sleeping."
Momo froze.
"...I'm sorry?"
Yozora's smile widened just slightly. His eyes, normally cold and black, began to shift—darkening into void-like pools, as if emotion was bleeding into him through some cosmic leak.
"You curled into your pillow like a kitten," he murmured, voice hushed, dreamy. "You sighed in your sleep at exactly 3:08 a.m. I wrote it down. Your breathing pattern changed when your blanket slipped off your shoulder. So I fixed it. Gently."
His voice was velvet, like a lullaby made of police reports.
Momo dropped her phone.
"I also counted your eyelashes," he added helpfully. "You have one more on the left eye than the right. It's adorable. Imperfect symmetry. I like that in prey—people. I meant people."
His pupils dilated like a predator seeing a bunny twitch.
Momo's lip trembled. "How did you—how did you even get in my house?!"
"I have your spare key. You dropped it last week. I made five copies. Don't worry—four are in safes."
Her mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again like a traumatized goldfish.
"See?" Yozora said calmly. "I didn't kill anyone. I was being romantic."
Cue Momo fainting like a Victorian heroine.