It had taken him longer to plan Satsuki's proposal than any of the others, not because he understood her any less, but because everything about her — the documentation, the patience, the thoroughness — demanded something equally precise in return.
He'd asked Hiroto for help, an unusual decision that had surprised even Satsuki's father, who had agreed with the particular satisfaction of a man who found the request itself a confirmation of everything he'd quietly hoped about Kaito's character.
What he'd arranged required Hiroto's resources specifically, and a level of secrecy that, for once, even Satsuki's careful attention hadn't penetrated.
The day started, deliberately, like any other Tuesday.
Satsuki arrived at the café at her usual time, settled onto her usual stool, ordered her usual coffee. Kaito made it with his usual care, the rhythm between them so established now that neither needed to comment on it anymore.
"You seem tired," she observed, watching him work.
