Through the Viewfinder

Taiga lay sprawled on the tatami mat, his body a limp echo of the crumpled candy wrappers strewn around him. The ceiling fan whirred overhead, its monotonous rhythm matching the dull ache in his chest. He blinked slowly, tracing the fan’s lazy rotation with vacant eyes.

“At least you’re consistent,” he muttered to the fan. “Unlike my life.”

A snort of bitter laughter escaped his lips. He’d traded the pulsing energy of Tokyo for this—a silent room in his family’s ryokan, where the most exciting event was watching dust motes dance in the sunlight.

The irony wasn’t lost on him. He’d once chased dreams with a camera in hand, capturing moments of beauty and life.

Now, he couldn’t even muster the energy to reach for the TV remote.

Taiga’s gaze drifted to the makeshift darkroom in the corner. The equipment sat untouched, a shrine to his broken ambitions.

He’d sworn off photography, hadn’t he? So why did his fingers still itch for the familiar weight of a camera?

“Because you’re a glutton for punishment,” he answered himself, reaching for another piece of candy. The wrapper crinkled loudly in the quiet room as he unwrapped it, the sound grating on his nerves.

He popped the candy in his mouth, letting the sweetness flood his taste buds. It was a poor substitute for the rush of creativity he used to feel, but it was something.

Anything to fill the void that failure had left behind.

The fan continued its endless rotation, and Taiga found a perverse comfort in its constancy. It didn’t judge. It didn’t have expectations.

It just… was.

Unlike the TV, with its parade of successful people living their best lives, the fan didn’t mock him with false promises of a better tomorrow.

“At least you’re honest,” Taiga mumbled, raising a half-hearted toast with an empty candy wrapper. “You spin in circles, going nowhere. Just like me.”

The door slid open with a soft thud, breaking the monotony of Taiga’s self-imposed isolation. Shintaro’s stocky silhouette filled the doorway, his broad shoulders blocking what little light filtered in from the hallway.”

“Jesus, Taiga-nii, don’t you look pathetic,” Shintaro remarked, his tone a mix of exasperation and concern.

Taiga didn’t bother to lift his head. “Thanks for the ego boost, little brother. Really needed that today.”

Shintaro’s footsteps padded across the tatami, crinkling candy wrappers as he approached. “This is getting ridiculous, nii-chan. You can’t keep wallowing like this.”

“Watch me,” Taiga muttered, but there was no real fight in his voice.

Without warning, Shintaro strode to the window. His hand grasped the curtain, and with one swift motion, he yanked it open.

“No!” Taiga yelped, throwing an arm over his eyes as sunlight flooded the room. “What are you doing?”

“Letting some life back into this cave you call a room,” Shintaro replied, undeterred.

Taiga hissed dramatically, curling into a ball on the floor. “I’m melting! Melting! Oh, what a world!”

Shintaro snorted. “You’re not the fucking Wicked Witch of the West, Taiga-nii.”

“No,” Taiga agreed, peeking through his fingers. “I’m obviously a vampire. Defeated by the cruel light of day, courtesy of my traitorous brother. It’s probably part of some overly complicated plot involving ancient prophecies and brooding immortals with questionable fashion sense.”

“Right,” Shintaro drawled. “And I suppose those candy wrappers are actually the ashes of your victims?”

Taiga considered for a moment. “They could be. Victims of my poor life choices, at least.”

Shintaro crouched down, peering at Taiga’s face. “Speaking of poor life choices, you’ve got chocolate all over your face. And when’s the last time you showered? You smell like a locker room after a sumo tournament.”

Taiga scoffed, waving a dismissive hand. “Please. My natural musk is a delicate bouquet of masculinity. I’ll have you know I can go weeks without deodorant before anyone notices.”

“Really?” Shintaro raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced.

Taiga hesitated, then surreptitiously lifted an arm to sniff. His nose wrinkled involuntarily. “Shit, okay, maybe you have a point,” he conceded grudgingly.

“Thought so,” Shintaro said, a hint of smugness in his voice. He stood up, offering a hand to Taiga. “Come on, time to rejoin the land of the living. And the bathing.”

Taiga stared at the offered hand for a moment before reluctantly taking it. As Shintaro pulled him to his feet, Taiga felt a pang of… something. Gratitude? Shame?

It was hard to pin down.

“When did you become such a responsible adult?” Taiga grumbled, but there was no real heat in his words.

Shintaro shrugged. “Someone had to step up while you were off chasing your dreams in Tokyo.”

The words could have been accusatory, but Shintaro’s tone was gentle.

Still, Taiga felt the weight of them, a reminder of the expectations he’d failed to meet.

“Yeah, well,” Taiga mumbled, running a hand through his greasy hair, “looks like those dreams crashed and burned. Now you’re stuck babysitting your failure of an older brother.”

“Hey,” Shintaro said firmly, gripping Taiga’s shoulder. “You’re not a failure. You’re just… figuring things out. And I’m here to help, whether you like it or not.”

Taiga met his brother’s gaze, seeing the sincerity there. It was almost too much to bear. “Even if that means dragging me kicking and screaming into basic hygiene?”

“Especially then,” Shintaro nodded solemnly. “Now, go take a shower before I have to hose you down myself. I’ve given you two whole days to pout, but now it’s time to rejoin the world of the living.”

Taiga bristled at the accusation. “I’m not pouting,” he protested, his voice rising an octave. “This is dignified self-reflection.”

“Uh-huh,” Shintaro nodded, unconvinced. He pointed at Taiga’s face. “And I suppose that jutting lower lip is just part of your ‘dignified’ expression?”

“Fine,” he grumbled, “maybe I’m wallowing a little. But I’ve earned it, don’t you think? My dreams just went up in smoke.”

Shintaro’s face softened slightly. “I get it, Taiga-nii. But you can’t stay in this room forever, surrounded by candy wrappers and self-pity.” He extended his hand once more. “Come on. Let’s start small. A shower, some fresh air. Maybe even actual human interaction that doesn’t involve me nagging you.”

Taiga eyed the offered hand, torn between his desire to stay curled up in his cocoon of misery and the growing realization that Shintaro might have a point.

His bladder chose that moment to remind him of more pressing concerns.

“Okay, okay,” Taiga relented, grasping Shintaro’s hand. “But only because I need to use the bathroom. Not because you’re right or anything.”

As Shintaro pulled him to his feet, Taiga felt a twinge of guilt. He knew, deep down, that his brother was right. The past two days of self-imposed exile hadn’t made him feel any better about his situation. If anything, they’d just given him more time to replay his failures on a loop in his head.

“There,” Shintaro said, clapping Taiga on the shoulder. “Was that so hard?”

“Yes,” Taiga replied automatically, but there was less conviction in his voice than before. “Absolutely traumatic. I may never recover.”

-----

Two days ago, Taiga’s life in Tokyo had finally crumbled beyond repair. The city that had once seemed full of promise and opportunity had become a labyrinth of disappointment and failure.

With trembling hands and a lump in his throat, he’d dialed Shintaro’s number, swallowing his pride with each ring.

“Shin?” Taiga had said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I… I need help.”

Shintaro hadn’t hesitated. “I’m on my way,” he’d replied, no questions asked.

The next day, Shintaro had arrived in Tokyo, stepping off the plane with a determined set to his shoulders. He’d found Taiga in his cramped apartment, surrounded by the remnants of his shattered dreams—half-finished photo projects, rejected portfolio submissions, and past-due bills.

Taiga had expected judgment, maybe even a lecture about responsibility and planning.

Instead, Shintaro had simply rolled up his sleeves and started packing boxes. “Let’s get you home,” he’d said, his voice gentle but firm.

They’d spent the day dismantling Taiga’s life in Tokyo. Each item packed away felt like an admission of defeat, but Shintaro’s steady presence had made it bearable. His little brother, who had never fully understood Taiga’s need to leave Kumamoto, was now the one bringing him back.

The plane ride back to Kumamoto had been quiet. Shintaro had let him brood, offering silent support in the form of a strong shoulder to lean on when exhaustion finally overtook Taiga.

When they’d arrived in Kumamoto, the familiar sights and smells had hit Taiga like a punch to the gut. This was what he’d run from, what he’d been so sure he’d outgrown.

Now, tail between his legs, he was crawling back.

Shintaro had helped him settle into his old room at the ryokan, unpacking the essentials and leaving the rest for later. He’d been patient, allowing Taiga space to process his return.

But now, two days later, it seemed Shintaro had decided that enough was enough. It was time for Taiga to face the music.

And apparently, a much-needed shower.

-----

Shintaro wrinkled his nose as he gave Taiga a once-over. “Okay, first things first. You need a shower. And then put on something casual but nice.”

Taiga blinked, confusion momentarily overriding his self-pity. “Why? What’s going on?”

“It’s a secret,” Shintaro replied, a hint of mischief in his eyes.

“A secret?” Taiga groaned. “No, no secrets. No surprises. Just let me wallow in peace. I want to order some greasy takeout and hide under my covers until… I don’t know, next year? Maybe the year after?”

Shintaro shook his head, undeterred. “Not happening, big brother. You’ve had your pity party. Now it’s time to rejoin the land of the living.”

“But—" Taiga started to protest, but Shintaro was already moving. With surprising strength, he began physically steering Taiga toward the bathroom.

“No buts,” Shintaro insisted, his hands firmly on Taiga’s shoulders. “Shower. Clothes. Out. In that order.”

Taiga dug in his heels, trying to resist. “Come on, Shin. I’m not ready for… whatever this is. Can’t we just stay in? I promise I’ll shower tomorrow.”

“Nope,” Shintaro said, popping the ‘p’ sound. He gave Taiga another push. “You’re not getting out of this. Trust me, okay?”

Taiga stumbled forward, his protests dying on his lips as he saw the determined look in Shintaro’s eyes. He knew that look. It was the same one Shintaro got when he was learning how to balance the ryokan’s books or dealing with difficult customers. There was no arguing with him when he was like this.

“Fine,” Taiga sighed, shoulders slumping in defeat. “But if this turns out to be some kind of intervention or surprise party, I’m disowning you as my brother.”

Shintaro, clearly not trusting Taiga to follow through, trailed him to the en suite bathroom. As Taiga leaned against the doorframe, Shintaro bustled past him, turning on the shower with practiced efficiency.

“You know, I am capable of bathing myself,” Taiga grumbled, watching as his younger brother adjusted the water temperature. “Been doing it for years now.”

“Uh-huh,” Shintaro replied, unconvinced. He reached for a fresh towel, setting it on the counter within easy reach. “And yet, here we are.”

Taiga rolled his eyes, but a small part of him appreciated Shintaro’s care, even if he’d never admit it out loud. As steam began to fill the bathroom, Taiga tried another tactic.

“Wait a second,” he said, frowning. “Aren’t you skipping work for this? What about your assistant manager duties?”

Shintaro paused, giving Taiga a strange look. “Taiga-nii, it’s Sunday. I can afford a day off.”

Taiga blinked, genuinely surprised. “Sunday? But… I could’ve sworn it was Wednesday.”

“Nope,” Shintaro said, shaking his head. “You’ve been holed up in here since Friday night. It’s definitely Sunday.”

The realization hit Taiga like a bucket of cold water. He’d lost track of time completely, days blurring together in his cocoon of misery. The thought was sobering, and a little frightening.

“Oh,” was all he could manage, suddenly feeling very small.

Shintaro’s expression softened, understanding dawning in his eyes. He stepped forward, placing a gentle hand on Taiga’s shoulder. “Hey, it’s okay. That’s why I’m here, alright? To help you get back on track.”

Taiga felt a lump form in his throat. “Thanks, Shin,” he said softly, the sincerity in his voice surprising even himself. “For picking me up. For always rescuing me.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, a memory flashed through Taiga's mind. It was five years ago, just before he’d left for Tokyo. Shintaro had come to his rescue then too, though under very different circumstances.

Taiga had been dating Ryota, a charming but volatile man who worked as a bartender in downtown Kumamoto. At first, it had been exciting — Ryota was passionate, spontaneous, everything Taiga thought he wanted. But as the months wore on, Ryota’s passion turned to possessiveness, his spontaneity to unpredictability.

One night, after a particularly heated argument, Ryota had raised his hand, stopping just short of striking Taiga. The look in his eyes had been enough to send Taiga running, straight to Shintaro’s room at the ryokan.

Shintaro hadn’t asked questions. He’d simply held Taiga as he cried, then calmly walked to Ryota’s apartment the next day to end things on Taiga’s behalf.

When he returned, his knuckles were bruised, but he just shrugged and said, “It’s taken care of.”

It was in the aftermath of that incident that Taiga had decided to move to Tokyo. He wanted to prove — to himself, to Shintaro, to everyone — that he could stand on his own two feet. That he could achieve his dreams of becoming a renowned photographer without needing to be rescued.

But Tokyo had been a harsh teacher. The city’s relentless pace and sky-high living costs had quickly eaten away at his meager resources. Without the safety net of nearby family, every setback felt magnified, every struggle more isolating.

He’d tried, god knows he’d tried. Freelance photography gigs came sporadically, feast or famine with no middle ground. One month he’d be flush with cash from a lucrative wedding shoot, the next scraping by on instant ramen and convenience store coffee.

His part-time job at a small diner in Shibuya had provided some stability, but between rent, utilities, and the constant need to upgrade his camera equipment, it was never quite enough.

Taiga closed his eyes as he stands in the steamy bathroom, remembering the countless nights he’d sat at his tiny kitchen table, staring at bills and bank statements, trying to make the numbers add up. He’d taken on more shifts at the diner, sacrificed sleep for late-night editing sessions, even considered selling some of his beloved camera lenses.

But in the end, it hadn’t been enough to keep him financially afloat in the unforgiving sea of Tokyo’s economy.

The cascade of events that led to Taiga’s current predicament played out in his mind like a cruel slideshow. It had started when his roommate, Kenji, announced his engagement.

Initially, Taiga had been happy for his friend, but that joy quickly turned to panic when Kenji revealed he’d be moving out to live with his fiancée.

Suddenly, Taiga found himself solely responsible for the rent on their modest two-bedroom apartment. He’d tried to make it work, picking up extra shifts at the diner and taking on any photography gig he could find, no matter how small.

But it wasn’t enough. The rent payments started coming in late, then incomplete, and finally not at all.

As if the universe was conspiring against him, it was during this financial spiral that Taiga had his last photo exhibit. He’d poured everything into it — his savings, his time, his heart. The series, a stark exploration of urban isolation, was supposed to be his breakthrough moment.

Instead, it had been a disaster. The reviews were brutal, tearing apart his technique, his vision, his very worth as an artist.

One particularly scathing critique still echoed in his mind: “Kyomoto’s work is as empty and soulless as the city he attempts to capture.”

The final blow came in the form of an eviction notice, taped unceremoniously to his apartment door. Taiga had stared at it for what felt like hours, the harsh reality of his situation finally sinking in.

With trembling hands, he’d reached for his phone and called the one person he knew would always answer: Shintaro.

Shintaro’s voice cut through Taiga's reverie. “Alright, enough stalling. Get in the shower already. And don’t take too long, we’ve got places to be.” With that, he stepped out of the bathroom, closing the door behind him.

Taiga stared at the closed door for a moment, a small spark of defiance igniting in his chest. If Shintaro wanted him to hurry, well… he’d do the opposite.

Taiga reached for his phone, scrolling through his playlists. With a few taps on his phone, his carefully curated “Sad Songs for Sad Times” playlist began to fill the steamy bathroom through the speakers. The melancholic notes of Sufjan Stevens’ “Fourth of July” enveloped him, fueling his desire for a good, old-fashioned wallow.

Stripping off his days-old clothes, he stepped into the shower, letting the hot water cascade over him. As the first melancholic notes filled the steamy air, Taiga closed his eyes, fully prepared to wallow for as long as possible.

Still, as the droplets cascaded over his body, he felt a small weight lift from his shoulders. Shintaro was right, as usual – a shower was exactly what he needed.

“This is perfect,” Taiga muttered to himself, grabbing the shampoo bottle. “A nice, long shower to match my nice, long pity party.”

He lathered up his hair, letting the suds drip down his face like soapy tears. “Yeah, that’s the stuff,” he mumbled, leaning his head back to let the water rinse away the bubbles.

As the next song, a haunting ballad by Bon Iver, began to play, Taiga felt himself slipping deeper into his melancholy. He closed his eyes, picturing himself as the tragic hero of his own indie film, doomed to a life of misunderstood artistic struggle.

Suddenly, a loud bang on the bathroom door jolted Taiga from his reverie.

“Hey!” Shintaro’s voice called out, muffled but insistent. “You better not be using up all the hot water with your emo shower routine!”

Taiga rolled his eyes, though a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. Trust Shintaro to rain on his pity parade. “I’m just getting started!” he shouted back, reaching for the conditioner. “You’ll have to pry me out of here when I’m good and pruney!”

There was a pause, and for a moment, Taiga thought Shintaro might have given up.

But then, the unmistakable opening notes of Justin Bieber’s “Baby” began blaring from the bathroom speakers.

Taiga’s eyes flew open in horror. “No, no, no!” he yelled, frantically searching for his phone to change the music. “Anything but Bieber!”

But it was too late. The pop star’s saccharine vocals filled the room, assaulting Taiga’s eardrums with lyrics about being his “baby, baby, baby.”

“Shin, you monster!” Taiga cried out, trying in vain to drown out the music with the rush of the shower. “I’ll get out, just turn it off!”

From the other side of the door, Taiga could hear Shintaro’s muffled laughter. “That’s what I thought,” his brother taunted. “Now hurry up, or I’m queueing up the ‘Despacito’ remix next!”

Taiga groaned, but he couldn’t help the small chuckle that escaped his lips. Leave it to Shintaro to find the most obnoxious way to get him moving. As much as he wanted to be angry, to cling to his self-pity and sadness, Taiga found it impossible in the face of his brother’s antics. Shintaro had a way of cutting through his gloom with well-timed humor and unwavering support.

“Okay, okay!” Taiga conceded, reaching for his towel. “I’m getting out. You win, as usual.”

He could practically hear Shintaro’s smug grin through the door as the Bieber song mercifully faded away.

Taiga trudged out of the bathroom, a cloud of steam following him like a personal raincloud of misery. He found Shintaro waiting, holding out a pile of clothes with an annoyingly cheerful grin.

“No,” Taiga groaned, eyeing the oversized shirt and the swimming trunks in disdain. “I’m not going anywhere near water. My delicate skin will shrivel up like a raisin.”

Shintaro rolled his eyes. “It’s just the boat, drama queen. Now put these on before I dress you myself.”

Grumbling, Taiga snatched the clothes and retreated to the bathroom. He emerged a few minutes later, tugging at the hem of his shirt. “I look ridiculous,” he whined. “And it’s too bright out. The sun’s probably at its peak, ready to melt my retinas.”

“Here,” Shintaro said, holding out a pair of sunglasses. “Problem solved.”

Taiga squinted suspiciously at the offered eyewear. “What’s your angle here, Shin? You’re being… nice. It’s weird.”

Shintaro shrugged. “Can’t a guy just want to spend time with his brother?”

“Not when that guy is you,” Taiga retorted. “And not when this brother has a splitting headache from his pity party hangover.”

Without missing a beat, Shintaro produced a small bottle of Advil from his pocket. “Got you covered, Taiga-nii.”

Taiga’s eyes narrowed further. “Okay, now I know something’s up. You’re extra prepared.”

“Just take the pills and let’s go,” Shintaro said, his patience showing the slightest signs of wear. “Unless you’d rather I start blasting my playlist again?”

Taiga winced at the memory of the Bieber assault. “God, no. Your taste in music is worse than your fashion sense.” He dry-swallowed the pills, grimacing. “Fine, let’s get this over with. But I’m not promising to enjoy myself.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Shintaro replied, leading the way out of the room. “Your whining is half the fun.”

Taiga shuffled after Shintaro, his feet dragging like they were encased in concrete. The sunglasses perched on his nose did little to improve his mood, but at least they shielded his eyes from the offensive brightness of the world. He clutched his phone like a lifeline, already plotting his escape into its digital embrace the moment he got a chance.

“Wait,” Shintaro said, pausing at the top of the stairs. “We should let Mom and Dad know we’re heading out.”

Taiga’s stomach dropped. “Hard pass,” he muttered, taking a step back. “I’m not ready for the disappointment parade.”

Shintaro’s brow furrowed. “You haven’t talked to them since you got back?”

“Not much, and I’d like to keep it that way,” Taiga replied, trying to edge past his brother. “Let’s just go.”

But Shintaro was quicker, his hand shooting out to grab Taiga’s arm. “Oh no, you don’t. They’re worried about you.”

Before Taiga could protest further, Shintaro yanked him toward the living room. Taiga’s feet scrambled for purchase on the polished wood floor, but it was useless. His little brother had always been the stronger one.

“Shin, I swear to god—” Taiga hissed.

But it was too late. Shintaro slid open the living room door, revealing their parents seated at the low table.

Hiromi looked up, her eyes widening in surprise. Masaki’s gaze, sharp and assessing, locked onto Taiga like a heat-seeking missile.

Taiga felt his throat constrict. He wanted to bolt, to hide in his room and never come out. But Shintaro’s grip was firm, anchoring him in place.

“Look who I found,” Shintaro announced, his cheerful tone at odds with the vice-like grip on Taiga’s arm. “We’re heading out for a bit, thought you’d want to know.”

Taiga stumbled into the living room, feeling like a deer caught in headlights. The familiar scent of tatami and green tea wafted through the air, a nostalgic blend that only intensified his discomfort. He blinked, his eyes adjusting to the softer light filtering through the shoji screens.

Masaki sat cross-legged on a zabuton, his back straight as a rod. The newspaper rustled as he lowered it, his piercing gaze settling on Taiga over the rim of his teacup.

Across from him, Hiromi and Aoi huddled over a scatter of papers, their heads bent in concentration. At Shintaro’s announcement, they looked up in unison, their expressions a mix of surprise and warmth.

“Taiga!” Hiromi’s face lit up, her smile as gentle as ever. “It’s so good to see you up and about.”

Aoi nodded, her pixie-cut hair bouncing slightly. “Good morning, Taiga-san,” she said, her voice soft but clear.

Taiga’s gaze skittered away from them, landing on the ikebana arrangement in the corner. Anywhere but their faces, which he was sure held a tinge of pity beneath their smiles.

“Well, well.” Masaki’s dry voice cut through the air like a knife. “Look who’s finally decided to join the land of the living.”

Heat crept up Taiga’s neck, settling in his cheeks. He wanted nothing more than to melt into the tatami floor and disappear.

Instead, he forced himself to meet his father’s gaze, mustering up a weak smile that felt more like a grimace. “Yeah, well,” he mumbled, shoving his hands deep into his pockets. “Shintaro insisted.”

Masaki’s eyebrow arched, a hint of amusement playing at the corners of his mouth. “Did he now? And here I thought you were content to spend the rest of your days as a human-sized dust bunny.”

Taiga winced, the words hitting a little too close to home. He opened his mouth, a retort on the tip of his tongue, but nothing came out. What could he say? His father wasn’t wrong.

Shintaro’s hand squeezed Taiga’s shoulder, a silent command to stay put. “We’re heading out to the boat,” he explained, his voice steady and sure.

Taiga’s gaze drifted to the floor, tracing the patterns in the tatami. He could feel his father’s eyes boring into him, searching for... what? Remorse? Determination?

Whatever it was, Taiga was sure he’d come up short.

“Aoi.” Shintaro’s voice softened, drawing Taiga’s attention. He glanced up to see his brother looking at Aoi, his expression gentle. “Would you like to join us?”

Aoi’s eyes widened, a hint of hesitation crossing her face as she turned to Hiromi. But before she could speak, Hiromi waved her hand dismissively.

“Go on, dear,” Hiromi insisted, her smile warm. “I can manage here.”

Aoi’s face lit up, and she nodded, rising gracefully to her feet. “I’ll just go change,” she said, squeezing Shintaro’s hand as she passed.

As Aoi left the room, a memory hit Taiga like a sucker punch to the gut. Last May, his phone ringing in his dingy Tokyo apartment, Shintaro’s voice on the other end, excited and nervous all at once.

“I’m engaged, Taiga-nii!” Shintaro had said, the words hanging in the air between them.

Taiga had felt like the world’s biggest asshole, guilt washing over him as he realized he couldn’t even remember Shintaro mentioning he was dating someone. He’d fumbled through congratulations, promising to visit soon, knowing even then it was a lie.

Now, watching Shintaro’s eyes follow Aoi out of the room, that same guilt gnawed at Taiga’s insides. His little brother, getting married. It still didn’t feel real, like some bizarre parallel universe where Shintaro had somehow leap-frogged ahead in life while Taiga was stuck in neutral.

He shook his head, trying to dislodge the thought. This day was already shaping up to be a nightmare, and they hadn’t even left the house yet.

Hiromi cleared her throat, breaking the awkward silence that had settled over the room. “Taiga, why don’t you sit down for a moment?” She patted the zabuton next to her, her smile warm and inviting.

Taiga hesitated, but Shintaro gave him a gentle push. With a sigh, he shuffled over and sank onto the cushion, his legs folding underneath him. His eyes wandered to the papers scattered across the table, curiosity momentarily overriding his discomfort.

Colorful sketches of flower arrangements caught his attention, each one more intricate than the last. He recognized the style immediately – these were designs for Gonzaemon no Yu’s annual Christmas event. The memory of past years’ celebrations flickered through his mind, a bittersweet reminder of simpler times.

“You’re right,” Hiromi said, noticing his gaze. “We’re planning this year’s Christmas decorations.” She paused, her fingers tracing the edge of one sketch. “Actually, Taiga, I was wondering... Would you be interested in taking some photos for the ryokan? The website could use some new promotional images, and you always did such a wonderful job in the past.”

Taiga felt his stomach twist. In the past, he would have jumped at the chance, eager to prove himself and add to his portfolio.

But now... The thought of picking up a camera made his palms sweat. What if he couldn’t capture the beauty of the ryokan anymore? What if his failure in Tokyo had somehow stripped him of his talent?

He opened his mouth, but no words came out.

His hesitation must have shown on his face because Hiromi’s expression softened. “Oh, don’t worry about it,” she said quickly, waving her hand dismissively. “I’m sure we can find another photographer. It was just a thought.”

“I... I’ll think about it,” he mumbled, unable to meet her gaze.

Taiga felt the weight of his father’s gaze settle on him, heavy as a stone. He glanced up, meeting Masaki’s eyes for a brief moment before looking away again. The silence stretched between them, taut as a bowstring.

“So, Taiga,” Masaki said, his voice carefully neutral as he set down his newspaper. “Have you given any thought to your plans now that you’re back from Tokyo?”

Taiga’s stomach twisted. He'd spent the last two days holed up in his room, alternating between self-pity and mindless scrolling on his phone. The thought of actually planning for the future hadn’t even crossed his mind.

“I... uh...” Taiga stammered, heat creeping up his neck. “Not really, no.”

He braced himself for the lecture, the disappointment, but Masaki’s face remained impassive.

“I see,” Masaki said, taking a sip of his tea. “Well, you’re welcome here at the ryokan, of course. But I’d prefer if you started helping out around the ryokan.”

Taiga blinked, caught off guard. He’d expected… well, he wasn’t sure what he’d expected, but it wasn’t this calm suggestion. “Help out?” he echoed, his mind racing. The idea of working at the ryokan, of facing guests and their expectations, made his palms sweat.

But he knew he couldn’t freeload off his parents forever. And a job, any job, was better than rotting in his room for days on end, wondering what could have been.

Taiga swallowed hard, nodding slowly. “Yeah, okay. I can do that.”

Masaki's eyebrows raised slightly, as if he hadn't expected Taiga to agree so easily. “Good,” he said, a hint of approval in his voice. “We’ll discuss the details later. For now, go enjoy your outing with Shintaro.”

As Taiga stood, relief and anxiety warred in his chest. A job, even one he wasn’t thrilled about, was better than the limbo he’d been floating in.

At least it was something to do, something to focus on besides his own failures.

The soft padding of feet announced Aoi’s return. Taiga turned to see her step into the room, now dressed in a matching crochet shirt and shorts set that hinted at the bikini underneath. He couldn’t help but notice the way Shintaro’s eyes lit up, his gaze traveling appreciatively over his fiancée.

Shintaro moved to Aoi’s side, their hands finding each other with practiced ease. “We’re heading out now,” he said, addressing their parents. “We’ll be back later.”

As they made their way through the ryokan’s winding hallways, Taiga trailed behind the couple, feeling distinctly out of place. He watched as Shintaro and Aoi exchanged soft glances and quiet words, their fingers intertwined. The staff they passed bowed and greeted them warmly, their smiles genuine and familiar.

“Good morning, Shintaro-san, Aoi-san,” a young attendant called out, her eyes darting curiously to Taiga before quickly looking away.

Taiga hunched his shoulders, acutely aware of the whispers that would undoubtedly follow in their wake. The prodigal son returns, tail between his legs.

They reached Shintaro’s car, a modest sedan that gleamed in the morning sun. As Taiga slid into the backseat, a wave of self-pity washed over him.

“Looks like I’m the third wheel on this little excursion,” he muttered, more to himself than to the couple in front.

Shintaro caught his eye in the rearview mirror as he started the engine. A knowing smile played at the corners of his mouth. “Don’t worry, Taiga-nii,” he said, his tone light but holding a hint of something Taiga couldn't quite place. “We're making one more stop before we head to the boat.”

Taiga’s brow furrowed in confusion. “What? Who else is coming?”

Shintaro’s smile widened. “Hokuto,” he said simply, turning his attention to the road as he pulled out of the parking area.

-----

Taiga leaned his head against the cool glass of the car window, watching as the familiar countryside rolled by. Fields of green stretched out to meet the horizon, dotted with the occasional cluster of houses or a lone tree standing sentinel. It was a view he’d seen countless times before, yet now it felt almost foreign, like a postcard from someone else’s life.

In the front seat, Shintaro and Aoi’s voices washed over him in a gentle murmur. Their conversation drifted back to him in fragments.

“… thinking maybe light pink for the bridesmaids’ dresses?” Aoi was saying, her voice soft but animated.

Shintaro hummed in agreement. “That would look nice with the cherry blossoms, if they’re still blooming in May.”

“Oh, I hope so,” Aoi sighed dreamily. “It would be so beautiful for the photos.”

Taiga felt a twinge in his chest. He slouched lower in his seat, feeling like an intruder in an intimate moment. The easy back-and-forth between Shintaro and Aoi only highlighted how out of place he felt, how disconnected he’d become from his family’s life.

“What do you think, Taiga-san?”

Aoi’s voice, directed at him this time, startled Taiga out of his brooding. He blinked, realizing he'd completely lost track of the conversation.

“I’m sorry, what?” he asked, straightening up.

Aoi turned in her seat, offering him a kind smile. “About the cherry blossoms for the wedding. Do you think they’ll still be blooming in May?”

“Oh, uh...” Taiga fumbled, caught off guard by her attempt to include him. “Yeah, probably. They usually last pretty late into spring around here.”

Aoi’s smile widened. “That’s good to hear. I was hoping you might have some insight, given your experience with photography.”

A wave of gratitude washed over Taiga. He made a mental note to make more of an effort to get to know Aoi. He realized with a pang of guilt that he knew next to nothing about her, beyond the fact that she worked in customer service at the ryokan.

Here she was, about to become his sister-in-law, and she was practically a stranger to him.

Taiga watched as the familiar landmarks of his childhood slipped by outside the car window. The old convenience store where they used to buy popsicles on hot summer days, the park where they’d spent countless hours playing soccer, the winding road that led up to their favorite lookout point. Each sight stirred a mix of nostalgia and unease in his chest.

As they turned onto the street leading to Hokuto’s house, Taiga found himself wondering about his old friend. He realized with a start that he knew almost nothing about Hokuto’s life now.

“Hey, Shin,” Taiga said, breaking the comfortable silence that had settled in the car. “What’s Hokuto been up to these days?”

Shintaro glanced at him in the rearview mirror. “Oh, he’s been doing well. He’s working at a travel agency in town. Actually, we’ve been collaborating quite a bit lately.”

Taiga’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “A travel agency? Really?”

“Yeah,” Shintaro nodded. “He’s been helping us promote the ryokan to tourists. He’s got a real knack for marketing, believe it or not.”

Taiga leaned back, trying to reconcile this new information with his memories of Hokuto. He remembered a quiet, bookish boy who always had his nose buried in a novel or a textbook.

“Huh,” Taiga mused aloud. “I always imagined Hokuto would end up working in a library or something. You know, surrounded by books.”

Shintaro chuckled. “People change, Taiga-nii. Hokuto’s still a big reader, but he’s found a way to combine that with his love for Kumamoto. You should see some of the campaigns he’s come up with for the ryokan. They’re really impressive.”

Taiga felt a twinge of something he couldn’t quite name. Pride for his friend’s success? Envy that Hokuto had found his path while Taiga was still floundering?

Or maybe just a sense of disconnect, realizing how much he’d missed while he was away chasing his own dreams in Tokyo.

As the car wound its way through the familiar streets, Taiga’s mind drifted back to his childhood days with Shintaro and Hokuto. A kaleidoscope of memories flickered through his mind, each one tinged with the warm glow of nostalgia.

He remembered countless summer afternoons spent exploring the woods behind their houses, Taiga always in the lead, with Shintaro close behind and Hokuto trailing after them, his quiet voice a constant reminder to be careful. Taiga could almost hear Hokuto’s worried tone, “Maybe we shouldn’t go too far…” even as they pushed deeper into the forest.

There was the time they’d snuck into the abandoned house at the edge of town, ignoring the “No Trespassing” signs. Taiga had been determined to capture the eerie beauty of the decaying building, while Shintaro egged him on.

It was Hokuto who’d finally convinced them to leave, his eyes darting nervously to the setting sun.

But the memory that stood out most vividly was from when they were sixteen. Taiga had climbed an old oak tree, camera in hand, determined to get the perfect shot of the sunset. He’d inched out onto a branch, ignoring Hokuto’s anxious warnings from below.

“Taiga, please be careful! That branch doesn’t look stable,” Hokuto had called up, his face a mask of concern.

Taiga had just grinned down at him. “Don’t worry so much, Hokku! I’ve got this—”

And then, with a sickening crack, the branch had given way.

Taiga remembered the heart-stopping moment of freefall, the world spinning around him. But instead of hitting the hard ground, he’d landed on something softer.

Hokuto.

In his attempt to catch Taiga, Hokuto had broken his arm. The pain must have been excruciating, but Taiga remembered how Hokuto had simply looked up at him, relief flooding his features.

“Are you okay?” Hokuto had asked, his voice strained but gentle.

Taiga had been stunned by Hokuto’s selflessness. Even with his arm bent at an unnatural angle, Hokuto’s first concern had been for Taiga’s safety.

In the days that followed, Taiga had been consumed with guilt. He’d visited Hokuto every day, bringing him books and snacks, trying to make up for his recklessness. But Hokuto, true to form, had been endlessly forgiving.

As the car neared Hokuto’s house, Taiga’s mind drifted to the night before he left for Tokyo. The memory washed over him, as vivid as if it had happened yesterday.

He and Hokuto had sat side by side on the ryokan’s balcony, their legs dangling over the edge. The night air was cool, carrying the scent of pine and distant hot springs. Before them, the mountains loomed, their silhouettes dark against the star-studded sky.

Taiga remembered the electricity in his veins, the excitement of his impending departure mingling with a bittersweet sadness. He’d been so ready to leave, to chase his dreams in the big city.

But sitting there with Hokuto, he’d felt a momentary pang of doubt.

Hokuto had been uncharacteristically quiet that night. Taiga recalled glancing at his friend, noticing the way Hokuto’s brow furrowed, his lips parted as if on the verge of speech.

But whatever Hokuto had wanted to say remained unspoken.

Instead, Hokuto had reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, wrapped package. “Here,” he’d said, his voice soft. “I got you something.”

Taiga had unwrapped it to find a camera strap, beautifully crafted with intricate patterns woven into the fabric. It was practical yet personal, perfectly encapsulating their friendship.

“Hokku,” Taiga had breathed, running his fingers over the strap. “It’s perfect. Thank you.”

Hokuto had smiled, a gentle, almost sad curve of his lips. “I thought… well, I wanted you to have something to remember us by. To remember home.”

Taiga had used that camera strap religiously in Tokyo. It had been a constant companion, a piece of home that he carried with him through every shoot, every failure, every small victory.

Now, it lay buried in one of the boxes he'd brought back from Tokyo, a painful reminder of his shattered dreams.

As the car turned onto Hokuto’s street, Taiga felt a lump form in his throat. That camera strap, once a symbol of his aspirations, now felt like a mockery of his failure. He’d left Kumamoto full of hope and ambition, and he’d returned with nothing but a box of memories and a heart heavy with disappointment.

Taiga's heart rate picked up as they pulled into Hokuto’s driveway. The house before them was a traditional home, its wooden exterior weathered but well-maintained. It looked exactly as Taiga remembered it.

Shintaro killed the engine and pulled out his phone. “I’ll let Hokuto know we're here,” he said, his fingers tapping out a quick message.

Taiga nodded, his mouth suddenly dry. He stared at the front door, trying to picture the Hokuto he remembered—a shy, mousy-looking teenager with a perpetual book in hand.

But that image felt outdated, a relic from a time that seemed impossibly distant now.

What would Hokuto look like now? Taiga wondered. Would he still have that same hesitant smile, those gentle eyes that always seemed to be observing everything around him? Or had time changed him as much as it had changed Taiga?

More pressing than Hokuto’s appearance, though, was the question of how he would react to seeing Taiga again. The guilt of neglected friendship sat heavy in Taiga’s stomach. He’d been so caught up in his life in Tokyo, his struggles and fleeting successes, that he’d let their connection fade to sporadic texts and occasional likes on social media posts.

Would there be awkwardness between them now? Would Hokuto be disappointed in him for not keeping in touch?

Or worse, would he be indifferent, their once-close friendship reduced to nothing more than polite small talk?

Taiga’s fingers drummed nervously against his thigh as he waited, his mind racing with possibilities. He’d faced countless challenges in Tokyo, but somehow, the prospect of reuniting with his childhood friend felt more daunting than any of them.

The front door of the house slid open, and Taiga’s breath caught in his throat. A man stepped out, and for a moment, Taiga didn’t recognize him.

He was tall, taller than Taiga remembered, with a sharp jawline that caught the afternoon light. His black hair fell in gentle waves, framing a face that was both familiar and startlingly new.

But then Taiga’s eyes caught on a detail he knew as well as his own reflection — the small mole perched just above the man’s upper lip.

In that instant, recognition crashed over him like a wave.

Hokuto.

This was Hokuto.

Taiga’s mind reeled, trying to reconcile this striking figure with the quiet, bookish boy from his memories. He watched, frozen, as Hokuto approached the car with long, confident strides.

The car door beside Taiga opened, and suddenly Hokuto was there, leaning down to peer into the backseat. His eyes met Taiga’s, and a shy smile spread across his face — a smile that was achingly familiar despite everything else that had changed.

“Long time no see,” Hokuto said softly, his voice deeper than Taiga remembered but still carrying that same gentle tone.

Taiga found himself dumbfounded, his usual quick wit deserting him entirely. He stared up at Hokuto, suddenly and acutely aware that his childhood friend had grown into an undeniably attractive man.

Shit.

Hokuto leaned his head against the cool glass of the car window, watching the familiar streets slip by. The rhythmic hum of the engine and the gentle sway of the vehicle were comforting, a stark contrast to the tumult of emotions swirling inside him.

He’d made this trip to the marina countless times with Shintaro and Aoi, always the amiable third wheel to their couple’s outings. But today was different.

Today, the dynamic had shifted, and Hokuto could feel the change like a tangible presence in the car.

His eyes drifted to the right, catching a glimpse of Taiga next to him. Taiga’s gaze was fixed out the window, his expression distant and unreadable.

Hokuto’s heart clenched at the sight. It was surreal to see Taiga here, back in Kumamoto after all these years.

The memory of Shintaro's text message from a few days ago flashed through Hokuto’s mind. “Picking up Taiga-nii from Tokyo,” it had said, simple and matter-of-fact.

Those five words had sent Hokuto’s world spinning.

He’d always assumed Taiga’s silence over the years meant success. In his mind, Taiga had been too busy living his dream, too caught up in the whirlwind of Tokyo’s photography scene to keep in touch with his old friend back home.

Hokuto had told himself it was fine, that Taiga’s silence was a good sign. After all, wasn’t that what they had all wanted for him? To spread his wings and soar?

But now, seeing Taiga’s subdued demeanor, Hokuto realized how wrong he’d been. The Taiga he remembered had been vibrant, full of life and endless enthusiasm. This Taiga seemed… diminished somehow, as if Tokyo had worn away at his edges.

Hokuto’s fingers itched to reach out, to offer some sort of comfort or reassurance. But he held back, unsure of where they stood now. Five years was a long time, and Hokuto didn’t know if he still had the right to that kind of intimacy with Taiga.

Instead, he let his gaze wander over Taiga’s profile, cataloging the changes time had wrought. Despite the obvious exhaustion etched into Taiga’s features, the dark circles under his eyes speaking of sleepless nights and heavy burdens, Hokuto couldn’t help but marvel at how stunning Taiga still looked.

Time had changed them both, but Taiga’s beauty remained unchanged, perhaps even enhanced by the subtle marks of maturity. His jawline was sharper now, giving him an air of refined elegance that hadn’t been there in their youth.

But it was Taiga’s eyes that truly captivated Hokuto, just as they always had.

Those doe eyes, wide and expressive, had been the first thing Hokuto had noticed about Taiga when they were children. Even now, despite the weariness clouding them, Hokuto could remember how they used to sparkle whenever Taiga talked about photography. His passion would light up his entire face, his eyes shining with an inner fire that Hokuto found irresistible.

Hokuto’s mind drifted back to their college days, to the moment he realized he had fallen in love with Taiga. It wasn’t like the clichéd revelations he had read about in his favorite romance novels. There were no fireworks, no sudden epiphanies, no dramatic declarations in the rain.

Instead, it had happened on an ordinary day, just like any other. They had been relaxing after classes, sprawled out on the grass in the campus quad. The late afternoon sun had painted everything in warm, golden hues, and Taiga had his camera out, as usual.

Hokuto remembered watching Taiga work, his movements fluid and natural as he adjusted settings and framed shots. Taiga had been completely in his element, lost in the world he saw through his lens. His brow had been furrowed in concentration, his bottom lip caught between his teeth as he focused.

And then, Taiga had looked up, catching Hokuto’s eye. He’d grinned, that bright, unguarded smile that seemed reserved just for Hokuto, and something in Hokuto’s chest had shifted.

It was as if the world had tilted on its axis, everything realigning around this new truth: He was in love with Taiga.

The realization hadn’t been earth-shattering. It had settled over him gently, like a warm blanket, comfortable and right.

Of course, he was in love with Taiga. How could he not be?

Taiga, with his boundless enthusiasm, his fierce determination, his ability to find beauty in the most unexpected places.

Taiga, who could make Hokuto laugh even on his worst days, who understood Hokuto’s silences as well as his words.

Hokuto had kept that realization to himself, treasuring it quietly. He’d been content to bask in Taiga’s presence, to support his dreams, to be the steady rock Taiga could always rely on.

Even when Taiga had announced his plans to move to Tokyo, Hokuto had swallowed his feelings and offered nothing but encouragement.

Now, years later, with Taiga back in Kumamoto, those feelings resurged with a vengeance. Seeing Taiga again, even in this subdued state, made Hokuto’s heart race just as it had back then. The urge to reach out, to offer comfort, to somehow erase the lines of worry from Taiga’s face was almost overwhelming.

But Hokuto held back, unsure of where they stood now. Five years was a long time, and he didn’t know if he still had the right to that kind of closeness with Taiga. So instead, he contented himself with these stolen glances, memorizing every detail of Taiga’s face, comparing it to the image he’d held in his heart all these years.

“Do I have something on my face?” Taiga’s voice cut through Hokuto’s reverie, tinged with a mix of amusement and embarrassment.

Hokuto blinked, suddenly aware that he’d been caught staring. Heat rushed to his cheeks as he realized how long he must have been lost in his thoughts, his gaze fixed on Taiga.

“I…uh…” Hokuto stammered, his usual eloquence deserting him. He watched as a faint blush spread across Taiga’s cheeks, mirroring his own.

Shintaro’s laughter filled the car, breaking the tension. “Give him a break, Taiga-nii,” he said, his eyes twinkling with mirth in the rearview mirror. “Hokuto’s probably just amazed you’re actually here with us. It’s been so long, after all.”

Grateful for the lifeline, Hokuto latched onto Shintaro’s explanation.
“Y-yeah,” he managed, trying to keep his voice steady. “It’s just... surreal, you know? Having you back here.”

He forced a smile, hoping it looked more natural than it felt. Inside, his heart was racing, a mix of relief at not being caught out and disappointment at having to hide his true feelings.

The truth was, Hokuto had never told anyone about his feelings for Taiga. Not Shintaro, not Aoi, not even his own family. It was a secret he’d kept close to his heart for years, nurturing it in private while presenting a façade of simple friendship to the world.

Shintaro, in particular, was a complication Hokuto hadn’t known how to navigate. He'd always been protective of Taiga, stepping into the role of the responsible older brother despite being the younger sibling. Hokuto had seen firsthand how Shintaro could react to anyone he perceived as a potential threat to Taiga’s wellbeing.

The fear of losing not just Taiga, but Shintaro as well, had kept Hokuto silent all these years. The Kyomoto brothers were such an integral part of his life; the thought of jeopardizing those relationships terrified him.

So he’d buried his feelings deep, content to remain in orbit around Taiga, close but never quite touching.

Now, with Taiga back and those feelings resurging stronger than ever, Hokuto found himself on shaky ground. He’d spent so long convincing himself that his love for Taiga was a thing of the past, a youthful infatuation he’d outgrown.

But one look at Taiga, one moment of being caught in those doe eyes, and all his carefully constructed defenses came crumbling down.

The car came to a stop in the marina parking lot, the engine’s hum fading into silence. Shintaro was the first to exit, quickly rounding the vehicle to open the door for Aoi. Their fingers intertwined naturally as they started walking toward the docks, their silhouettes cutting a picture-perfect couple against the backdrop of bobbing boats and glittering water.

Hokuto hesitated, watching as Taiga slowly emerged from the car. There was a reluctance in Taiga’s movements, a subtle drag in his steps as he trailed behind Shintaro and Aoi.

Without thinking, Hokuto found himself hanging back, falling into step beside his old friend.

The silence between them felt heavy, laden with years of unspoken words and missed opportunities. Hokuto’s mind raced, searching for the right thing to say. Eventually, he settled on the most obvious question, though he already suspected the answer.

“So, um... how have you been doing, Taiga?” Hokuto asked, his voice soft and tentative.

Taiga’s lips quirked into a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’m fine,” he said, the words sounding rehearsed. “Just... adjusting, you know?”

Hokuto nodded, recognizing the lie for what it was. He knew Taiga well enough, even after all these years, to see the pain hidden behind those two simple words.

But he didn’t press, understanding that Taiga might not be ready to delve deeper.

“I’m sorry,” Taiga suddenly blurted out, his eyes fixed on the ground. “For not keeping in touch, I mean. I should have—"

“Hey, no,” Hokuto interrupted gently. “I’m equally to blame. Communication goes both ways, right? I could have reached out more too.”

Taiga looked up at him then, gratitude softening his features. For a moment, Hokuto caught a glimpse of the boy he’d fallen in love with all those years ago, hidden beneath the weariness of the man walking beside him now.

“What about you?” Taiga asked, changing the subject. “Shintaro mentioned you’re working at a travel agency now?”

“Ah, yeah,” Hokuto confirmed, nodding. “It’s not exactly what I imagined I’d be doing, but...”

He hesitated, unsure how to continue. There was so much he wanted to say, about his job, about his life, about the dreams he’d put on hold.

But before he could find the words, Shintaro’s voice cut through the air.

“Oi, you two!” Shintaro called back, his tone playfully scolding. “What’s with the slow walking? We don’t have all day, you know!”

Hokuto and Taiga exchanged a look, a flicker of shared amusement passing between them. For a moment, it felt just like old times, the three of them heading out on another adventure.

But the moment passed quickly, reality settling back in as they quickened their pace to catch up with Shintaro and Aoi.

As they approached the dock, Hokuto paused for a moment to admire Shintaro’s boat. The sleek vessel bobbed gently in the water, its navy blue hull gleaming in the afternoon sun. It was proof of Shintaro’s dedication and hard work, a dream realized through years of saving and planning.

Hokuto remembered how Shintaro had always talked about owning a boat someday. As an avid fisherman, Shintaro had spent countless hours by the water, dreaming of the day he’d have his own vessel to take out onto the open sea. It had been more than just a wish; it was a goal he’d worked tirelessly towards.

The memory of Shintaro’s excitement when he'd finally purchased the boat brought a small smile to Hokuto's face. It had been a proud moment for his friend, the culmination of years of hard work at the ryokan. Shintaro had put in long hours at the family business, taking on extra responsibilities and saving every yen he could.

When he’d been promoted to assistant manager, that first salary had been the final push he needed to make his dream a reality.

Hokuto recalled the day they had taken the boat out for the first time after Shintaro bought it. It had been a perfect summer day, the sky a brilliant blue and the sea calm and inviting. They had spent hours on the water, Shintaro proudly showing off every feature of his new boat while Hokuto listened with genuine interest. The joy radiating from his friend had been infectious, and Hokuto had found himself swept up in the celebration.

But even in the midst of that happy memory, there had been a bittersweet undercurrent. Taiga had already been in Tokyo by then, chasing his own dreams far from Kumamoto. His absence had been keenly felt that day, a silent third presence in their duo.

It was on that boat, under the warm summer sun, that Hokuto had made a silent promise to himself. He had sworn that he would move on from his feelings for Taiga, that he would let go of his first love and focus on the life he was building in Kumamoto. It had seemed like the right thing to do at the time, a necessary step towards adulthood and moving forward.

Now, standing on the dock with Taiga just a few steps away, Hokuto realized how futile that promise had been. All it had taken was one look at Taiga, one conversation, and all those carefully buried feelings had come rushing back to the surface. The years of distance and silence hadn’t diminished his love; if anything, it had only deepened it, transforming from a youthful infatuation into something more mature and enduring.

As Hokuto watched Taiga cautiously approach the boat, he knew with certainty that he couldn’t keep that promise to himself. His heart, it seemed, had never truly let go of Taiga.

And now, with Taiga back in Kumamoto, back in his life, Hokuto found himself facing feelings just as strong, if not stronger, than they had been all those years ago.

Shintaro’s voice cut through Hokuto’s reverie, snapping him back to the present.

“Alright, let’s get her ready to sail!” he called out, effortlessly slipping into the role of captain. “Hokuto, can you check the lines? Taiga-nii, I need you to help me with the gear.”

Hokuto nodded, moving towards the mooring lines without hesitation. He noticed Aoi was already in motion, retrieving life jackets and stowing away loose items in the cabin. There was an easy synchronicity to their movements, speaking of countless trips taken together.

As he worked, Hokuto couldn’t help but observe the subtle interactions between Shintaro and Aoi. A shared glance here, a brief touch there — small gestures that spoke volumes about their relationship.

It warmed Hokuto’s heart to see his friend so happy, so settled.

The memory of Shintaro confiding in him about his plans to propose to Aoi surfaced in Hokuto’s mind. He remembered the mixture of excitement and nervousness in Shintaro’s voice, the way his eyes had lit up when he talked about his future with Aoi. Hokuto had felt honored to be trusted with such a significant moment in his friend’s life.

That recollection, however, brought with it a twinge of resentment toward Taiga. Hokuto glanced at him, watching as he awkwardly tried to follow Shintaro’s instructions. It bothered Hokuto that Taiga hadn’t even taken the initiative to ask Shintaro about his life, about the significant changes that had occurred while he was away in Tokyo.

The engagement, the boat — these were huge milestones in Shintaro’s life, and Taiga seemed oblivious to them.

Yet, Hokuto couldn’t help but notice how quickly Shintaro had rushed to Taiga’s aid when he called from Tokyo. Whatever resentment Shintaro might have harbored seemed to have been overwritten by brotherly concern.

As he watched the brothers fumble through their task together, Hokuto found himself hoping that they could recapture the easy rapport they once shared. He yearned to see them fall back into their old patterns, to witness the playful banter and unspoken understanding that had always characterized their relationship.

Despite the years and distance between them, Hokuto believed that the foundation of their brotherhood remained strong. Maybe, with time and patience, they could rebuild what had been lost.

With preparations complete, Shintaro took his place at the helm, his hands confidently gripping the wheel. Aoi stood beside him, her presence a steady support.

Hokuto settled into a seat nearby, then turned to Taiga, who was still standing awkwardly on the deck.

“Hey,” Hokuto called softly, patting the space next to him. “Why don’t you sit here?”

Taiga hesitated, his eyes darting between Hokuto and the offered seat. For a moment, Hokuto thought he might refuse, but then Taiga nodded and began to make his way over.

Just as Taiga took a step forward, Shintaro started the engine. The sudden roar and lurch of the boat caught Taiga off-guard. He stumbled, losing his balance and pitching forward directly toward Hokuto.

Instinctively, Hokuto reached out, his arms encircling Taiga and preventing him from falling further. The momentum brought Taiga crashing against Hokuto’s chest, their faces suddenly mere inches apart.

Time seemed to slow as they stared at each other, both too stunned to move. Hokuto found himself lost in Taiga’s eyes, noticing for the first time the flecks of gold in their brown depths. He was acutely aware of every point of contact between them — Taiga’s hands gripping his shoulders, the warmth of Taiga’s breath on his cheek, the weight of Taiga’s body against his own.

At that moment, Hokuto was struck anew by Taiga’s beauty. The afternoon sun caught in Taiga’s hair, highlighting strands of auburn among the brown. His skin was smooth and pale, a faint blush spreading across his cheeks.

Taiga’s lips were slightly parted in surprise, and Hokuto felt a sudden, overwhelming urge to close the distance between them.

The spell was broken as Taiga seemed to come to his senses. He scrambled backward, nearly tripping again in his haste to put distance between them.

“I-I’m sorry,” Taiga mumbled, his face now a deep shade of red. He quickly sat down next to Hokuto, but left a noticeable gap between them.

“N-no, I’m sorry,” Hokuto sputtered in return, his own face feeling hot. “I didn’t mean to... I mean, I was just trying to catch you.”

As Taiga nodded awkwardly in acknowledgment, Hokuto found himself hyper-aware of the lingering warmth where Taiga had been pressed against him. The phantom sensation of Taiga in his arms made his heart race, and he struggled to regain his composure.

As the boat glided smoothly across the water, an uncomfortable silence settled between Hokuto and Taiga. Up front, Shintaro and Aoi chatted quietly, their voices barely audible over the hum of the engine and the splash of waves against the hull. Their easy conversation only highlighted the awkwardness hanging between Hokuto and Taiga.

Hokuto found himself at a loss for words. In the past, silence between them had been comfortable, even enjoyable. He could vividly recall afternoons spent with his nose buried in a book while Taiga moved around him, camera in hand, capturing the world through his lens.

Those quiet moments had been some of Hokuto’s favorites, each of them absorbed in their own passions yet still connected by their shared presence.

But now, the silence felt oppressive. Hokuto snuck a glance at Taiga, noticing with a pang that he hadn’t brought his camera. It seemed wrong somehow, Taiga without his constant companion. The absence of the camera felt like a physical representation of all that had changed between them.

Struggling to find a way to break the tension, Hokuto fell back on his most reliable coping mechanism. He reached into his backpack and pulled out his current read: “Influence: The Psychology of Persuasion” by Robert Cialdini. The familiar weight of the book in his hands brought a small measure of comfort.

Hokuto opened the book to where he had left off, trying to lose himself in the words on the page. But even as his eyes scanned the text, his mind kept wandering back to the man sitting next to him. He was acutely aware of every shift in Taiga’s posture, every soft exhale, every moment their arms almost, but not quite, brushed against each other.

The words on the page blurred as Hokuto found himself reading the same sentence over and over again, unable to focus. Still, he persisted, clinging to the book like a lifeline in the sea of awkwardness that surrounded him and Taiga.

Hokuto’s concentration was broken by a soft chuckle from beside him. He looked up from his book to find Taiga watching him, a hint of amusement in his eyes.

“I’ve never seen that before,” Taiga remarked, nodding toward the book in Hokuto’s hands. “Actually, I don't think I’ve ever seen you read anything but fiction before. That’s new.”

Hokuto blinked, surprised. “You remember what I used to read?”

Taiga shrugged, a faint smile playing on his lips. “Of course. You always had your nose buried in some fantasy novel or another.”

The fact that Taiga remembered such a detail about him sent a warm flutter through Hokuto's chest. He ducked his head, feeling suddenly shy. “Ah, well... This is kind of for work, actually. Non-fiction helps with the travel agency stuff.”

Taiga’s eyebrows rose in curiosity. "I really wouldn't have pegged you for that kind of work. No offense, but you’re not exactly the most extroverted person out there.”

Hokuto chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “None taken. You’re right, it’s not the most obvious fit. But... I love Kumamoto, you know? I wanted to do something to help our hometown, especially after the earthquake six years ago. Promoting tourism seemed like a good way to contribute.”

At the mention of the earthquake, Taiga’s expression changed. His eyes widened slightly, and he seemed to tense up.

Hokuto opened his mouth, about to ask if something was wrong, when Shintaro’s voice rang out from the front of the boat.

“We’re here!”

Taiga squinted against the bright sunlight as the boat glided into the hidden cove. The harsh glare that had been irritating him all morning suddenly softened, as if nature itself was trying to soothe his frayed nerves. He blinked, his eyes adjusting to the tranquil scene before him.

The water, a striking shade of turquoise, lapped gently against the pristine white sand of a crescent-shaped beach. Tall cliffs draped in lush greenery surrounded them on all sides, creating a natural barrier that seemed to shut out the rest of the world. The air was filled with a mix of salt and earth, a scent that stirred something deep within Taiga’s memory.

As Shintaro expertly maneuvered the boat closer to shore, Taiga found himself transported back to a summer long ago. He and Shintaro, barely teenagers then, had tagged along with their uncle on a trip to Okinawa.

The memory of crowded beaches, relentless sun, and noisy tourists came flooding back. He’d hated every minute of it, sulking in the shade while Shintaro eagerly explored the islands.

But this…this was different.

The cove was eerily quiet, save for the occasional call of a seabird or the soft splash of water against the boat’s hull. It felt intimate, almost sacred, as if they were the first people to ever set foot in this hidden paradise.

Taiga’s gaze drifted to the jagged rocks jutting out into the sea, their edges softened by time and weather. He could almost picture himself perched on one of those outcroppings, camera in hand, capturing the play of light on the water or the way the vines trailed down from the overhang of trees at the far end of the beach.

As they approached the small dock jutting out from the pristine beach, Taiga felt the boat slow. Shintaro expertly guided it alongside the weathered wooden planks, the gentle thud of the hull against the pier breaking the cove’s tranquil silence.

“Alright, we’re here,” Shintaro announced. He stepped onto the pier first, then turned back to offer his hand to Aoi. She took it gracefully, allowing him to steady her as she made the transition from the gently rocking boat to solid ground.

Hokuto was next, moving with an easy confidence that made Taiga feel suddenly self-conscious. As Hokuto’s feet hit the dock, he turned back towards the boat, extending his hand to Taiga.

“Need a hand?” Hokuto asked, his voice casual but his eyes holding a hint of something Taiga couldn’t quite read.

Taiga hesitated, the memory of their earlier awkward moment flashing through his mind. He could still feel the ghost of Hokuto’s steady presence against him, could still smell the faint scent of his cologne. It had been embarrassing enough to nearly tumble into Hokuto’s lap once; he wasn’t about to risk a repeat performance.

“No, I’ve got it,” Taiga replied, aiming for a tone of casual indifference. He stood up, willing his legs to cooperate and not make a liar out of him.

But as he moved to step onto the dock, the boat shifted unexpectedly. Taiga felt his balance waver, his arms windmilling in a desperate attempt to stay upright.

Just as he was certain he was about to take an ungraceful plunge into the crystal-clear water, he felt strong hands grasp his waist, steadying him.

Hokuto had moved quickly, his reflexes saving Taiga from a watery embarrassment. For a moment, they were frozen in place — Taiga half on the boat, half on the dock, Hokuto’s hands firm on his waist. Taiga could feel the warmth of Hokuto’s palms through his thin t-shirt, and he suddenly found it hard to breathe.

Snapping out of his daze, Taiga quickly stepped fully onto the dock, breaking contact with Hokuto. He mumbled a hurried “Thanks” without meeting Hokuto’s eyes, then strode off after Shintaro and Aoi, who were already making their way down the pier.

Taiga trailed behind the others as they made their way along the narrow strip of beach. Unlike the crowded, touristy islands he’d been dragged to in the past, this cove felt like a world unto itself. The tall cliffs surrounding them blocked out any sign of civilization, creating an illusion of isolation that was both unsettling and oddly comforting.

As they approached the far end of the beach, Taiga noticed a dark opening in the rock face. A cave, he realized, feeling a mixture of curiosity and apprehension.

Shintaro, walking ahead with Aoi, suddenly picked up his pace. “Look!” he called out, pointing excitedly at the cave entrance. “Do you see it, Taiga-nii?”

Taiga squinted, trying to figure out what had gotten his brother so worked up. As they drew closer, he began to make out the distinctive shape of the cave’s opening. The silhouette formed by the rock looked remarkably like…

“A cat,” he murmured, surprise coloring his voice.

Aoi turned back to him, a warm smile on her face. “That’s right,” she said. “We call it the Lucky Cat. Legend has it that just being inside brings good fortune.”

Taiga raised an eyebrow, skepticism clear on his face. He’d never been one for superstitions or local legends. Still, he had to admit the cat-shaped entrance was striking, its pointed ears and round head unmistakable against the craggy rock face.

Despite not having his professional camera, he felt a sudden urge to capture this moment. His hands instinctively reached for a camera that wasn’t there, a phantom reflex from years of habit.

Sighing, he pulls out his phone instead, opening the camera app.

Old habits died hard. Even with just his phone, Taiga found himself fiddling with the settings, adjusting the exposure and playing with filters. He wanted to capture the perfect shot, to do justice to the unique silhouette of the Lucky Cat.

“Oh no you don’t,” Shintaro's voice cut through his concentration.

Before Taiga could react, his brother had plucked the phone from his hands.

“You’re always behind the camera. Time for you to be in front of it for once.”

“Wait, Shin—”

Taiga’s protest was cut short as Shintaro began snapping photos. Caught off guard, Taiga stood awkwardly by the cave entrance, his posture stiff and his expression a mix of surprise and mild annoyance.

“Come on, Taiga-nii! Smile!” Shintaro encouraged, seemingly oblivious to Taiga’s discomfort. After a few more solo shots, Shintaro waved everyone over. “Group photo time!” he announced cheerfully.

Aoi nestled into Shintaro’s side, while Hokuto hesitantly stepped closer to Taiga.

Shintaro extended his arm, angling the phone to fit them all in the frame. “Say ‘Lucky Cat’!” He grinned, snapping several selfies in quick succession.

When Shintaro finally handed the phone back, Taiga’s first instinct was to critique the photos. The lighting wasn’t ideal, the angle could have been better, and the filters Shintaro had randomly applied were far from what Taiga would have chosen.

But as he opened his mouth to voice these thoughts, he paused. There was something about the imperfect, candid nature of the photos that struck a chord within him. In the group selfie, his own awkward half-smile was there, along with Shintaro’s exuberant grin, Aoi's gentle expression, and Hokuto’s soft, almost shy look.

The photo transported Taiga back to their childhood days. Summers spent exploring Kumamoto, Shintaro always dragging them into some new adventure, Taiga following along, and Hokuto going along while making sure they didn’t get into trouble.

A small, genuine smile tugged at Taiga’s lips as he looked at the photo. For a moment, he forgot about filters and perfect compositions. This wasn’t about technical perfection; it was about capturing a moment, a feeling.

And in that, these hastily snapped photos had succeeded beautifully.

-----

Taiga followed the others into the Lucky Cat cave, his footsteps echoing off the damp rock walls. The cave’s interior was surprisingly spacious, with a high ceiling that arched overhead like a natural cathedral. Shafts of sunlight filtered through cracks in the rock, creating a mesmerizing play of light and shadow.

As his eyes adjusted to the dimmer light, Taiga found himself marveling at the untouched beauty of the place. The walls were adorned with intricate patterns of mineral deposits, glittering faintly in the diffused light. Small tide pools dotted the cave floor, each a miniature ecosystem teeming with life.

“How has no one else discovered this place?” Taiga murmured, more to himself than anyone else.

Shintaro, overhearing his brother’s comment, grinned. “Oh, people know about it. But it’s kind of an unspoken rule around here to keep it quiet. You know, preserve the magic and all that.”

Taiga nodded, impressed by the collective effort to protect this hidden gem. It was a far cry from the overcrowded, commercialized tourist spots he’d grown accustomed to seeing in Tokyo.

As they ventured deeper into the cave, Taiga found his gaze repeatedly drawn to Hokuto. His childhood friend was examining a particularly interesting rock formation, his profile illuminated by a stray beam of sunlight.

Taiga couldn’t help but notice how the years had sharpened Hokuto's features, transforming the boy he remembered into a strikingly handsome man.

Hokuto’s dark hair fell across his forehead in a way that made Taiga’s fingers itch to brush it back. His jawline was more defined now, and there was a quiet confidence in the set of his shoulders that Taiga didn’t remember from their youth.

Taiga swallowed hard, trying to reconcile this attractive stranger with the Hokuto of his memories. It was disconcerting, this sudden awareness of Hokuto as more than just his childhood friend. He felt a warmth creeping up his neck, a mixture of embarrassment and something else he wasn’t quite ready to name.

Lost in his thoughts, Taiga didn’t realize he’d been staring until Hokuto suddenly turned, catching his gaze. Hokuto’s brow furrowed slightly, a look of concern crossing his face.

“Is something wrong, Taiga?” Hokuto asked, his voice echoing slightly in the cave.

Taiga felt his face flush hot, the warmth from his neck spreading rapidly to his cheeks. He opened his mouth to respond, but no words came out. Panicking slightly, he shook his head vigorously.

“N-nothing’s wrong,” he finally managed to stammer out, wincing internally at how unconvincing he sounded. “Just... admiring the cave.”

Hokuto looked unconvinced, but thankfully didn't press the issue. He offered Taiga a small, slightly puzzled smile before turning back to examine the rock formation.

Taiga let out a quiet sigh of relief, silently berating himself for getting caught staring. He needed to get a grip. This was Hokuto, for crying out loud. His childhood friend. The guy he used to build pillow forts with and trade Pokémon cards with.

Not someone he should be ogling like some lovestruck teenager.

But as Hokuto moved further into the cave, the play of light and shadow accentuating his features, Taiga couldn’t help but steal another glance. He had a sinking feeling that this newfound attraction wasn’t going to be easy to ignore.

Taiga followed the group to the end of the cave, where the narrow passage opened up into a wider chamber. The sight took his breath away. A long body of water stretched before them, its surface glimmering with reflected light from an unseen opening. The water flowed gently from somewhere outside the cave, creating a natural pool that looked invitingly cool in the dim light.

Shintaro wasted no time. He grinned at the group and started shimmying out of his shirt. “Last one in is a rotten egg!” he called out, his voice echoing off the cave walls.

Taiga watched as Aoi laughed, pulling off her own shirt and shorts to reveal a modest bikini underneath. She joined Shintaro at the water’s edge, both of them testing the temperature with their toes before wading in deeper.

He felt a presence beside him and turned to find Hokuto standing there, a questioning look in his eyes. “Are you going to join them?” Hokuto asked softly, nodding towards the water.

Taiga shook his head, feeling a mix of embarrassment and irritation. “Nah, I’ll sit this one out. I didn’t exactly plan on swimming when Shintaro dragged me out of my room this morning.”

He tried to keep the bitterness out of his voice, but some of it must have seeped through because Hokuto's expression softened with understanding. Without a word, Hokuto reached into his beach bag and pulled out a large towel.

“Mind if I join you?” Hokuto asked, gesturing to a relatively dry patch of rock near the water’s edge. “We can wait it out together.”

Taiga felt a flutter in his chest at Hokuto's offer. He nodded, not trusting his voice, and followed Hokuto to the spot he’d indicated. Hokuto spread out the towel, creating a makeshift seating area for them both.

As they settled onto the towel, Taiga couldn’t help but be acutely aware of Hokuto’s presence beside him. The cave suddenly felt much smaller, the air between them charged with an unfamiliar tension.

He shifted uncomfortably on the towel. The silence between them stretched on, broken only by the distant splashing and laughter of Shintaro and Aoi. He stared at the shimmering water, trying to ignore the warmth radiating from Hokuto’s body.

“So,” Hokuto’s voice cut through the quiet, startling Taiga. “What are your plans now that you’re back?”

Taiga felt a flush of shame creep up his neck. He’d been dreading this question, knowing it would come eventually. He swallowed hard, forcing himself to meet Hokuto’s gaze.

“I, uh... I’m going to work at the ryokan for a while,” he mumbled, his voice barely audible over the echoing sounds of the cave. “Just until I figure things out, you know?”

Hokuto nodded, his expression unreadable in the dim light. Taiga felt a sudden urge to explain himself, to justify his failure.

“It’s kind of embarrassing, actually,” he continued, the words tumbling out before he could stop them. “I left Tokyo to make a career in photography, and now I’m back with nothing to show for it. Just another failed artist, I guess.”

Hokuto’s brow furrowed, a look of concern crossing his face. “Failed? Taiga, you’re not a failure,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “I’ve always loved your photos. You have a real talent for capturing moments that others miss.”

Taiga scoffed, shaking his head. “Talent isn’t enough, apparently. Not in Tokyo, anyway. I thought I had what it took to make it, but...” He trailed off, unable to finish the thought.

“But what?” Hokuto pressed gently.

Taiga sighed, running a hand through his hair. “But I was wrong. Sheer talent wasn’t enough. I couldn’t compete with the hundreds of other photographers all vying for the same jobs, the same recognition. In the end, I was just another face in the crowd.”

He felt a lump forming in his throat and swallowed hard, determined not to let his emotions get the better of him. Not here, not in front of Hokuto.

“I disagree,” Hokuto said after a moment, his voice quiet but firm. “Your photos were always special, Taiga. They had a way of making people feel something, of showing the world in a different light.”

Taiga felt a warmth bloom in his chest at Hokuto’s words, but he quickly squashed it down. He couldn’t afford to let himself hope again, not after everything that had happened in Tokyo.

“Maybe,” he conceded, not wanting to argue. “But feeling something doesn’t pay the bills or make a career. In the end, it wasn’t enough.”

Hokuto opened his mouth as if to say more, but Taiga cut him off.

He cleared his throat, eager to shift the focus away from his own failures. “So, uh, what about you? What’s working in a travel agency like?”

Hokuto’s eyes lit up at the question, and Taiga felt a twinge of relief at successfully changing the subject.

“Oh, it’s been quite an experience,” Hokuto began, his voice taking on an animated tone that Taiga hadn't heard in years. “I’m in charge of collaborating with restaurants and hotels for promotions to attract tourists. It’s a lot of coordinating and negotiating, but it’s fascinating to see how different businesses can come together to create unique experiences for visitors.”

Taiga raised his eyebrows, genuinely impressed. “Wow, that sounds like a lot of responsibility. Do you enjoy it?”

Hokuto nodded, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “I do, actually. It’s challenging, but in a good way. I also work with the local government to help organize festivals and events. It’s all about showcasing the best of Kumamoto, you know?”

As Hokuto spoke, Taiga found himself captivated by the passion in his friend’s voice. It was a stark contrast to the quiet, reserved Hokuto he remembered from their childhood. This Hokuto seemed more confident, more sure of himself and his place in the world.

“That must be exhausting,” Taiga remarked, trying to imagine Hokuto navigating the complex world of business negotiations and government bureaucracy. “All that coordinating and dealing with people... I’d be wiped out after a day of that.”

Hokuto chuckled softly, the sound echoing slightly in the cave. “You’re not wrong. My social battery is pretty much drained almost every day. But,” he paused, his eyes taking on a distant look, “I do genuinely enjoy it. There’s something satisfying about bringing all these different elements together to create something special for people to experience.”

Taiga watched as Hokuto’s expression shifted, a flicker of something crossing his face. It was as if he wanted to say more, but was holding back. Hokuto opened his mouth slightly, then closed it again, seemingly deciding against whatever he had been about to say.

Curiosity piqued, Taiga leaned in slightly. “But what?” he prompted gently.

Hokuto shook his head, that unreadable expression still on his face. “It’s nothing,” he said, his voice soft. “Just... sometimes I wonder what it would be like to experience those things myself, you know? To be the tourist instead of the one planning for tourists.”

Taiga felt a pang in his chest at Hokuto’s words. He remembered how they used to dream about traveling the world together when they were kids, making grand plans for adventures they’d never taken. It seemed Hokuto still held onto some of that wanderlust.

“Have you ever thought about taking a vacation?” Taiga asked, surprised by how much he wanted to know the answer. “I mean, you must have connections now, right? You could probably get some great deals on trips.”

Hokuto’s smile turned wistful. “I’ve thought about it,” he admitted. “But there’s always so much to do here. The job keeps me busy, and then there’s family obligations..” He trailed off, his gaze drifting to where Shintaro and Aoi were still splashing in the water.

Taiga followed his gaze, suddenly aware of the weight of responsibilities that seemed to rest on Hokuto's shoulders. It was a reminder of how much things had changed since they were kids. While Taiga had been chasing his dreams in Tokyo, Hokuto had been here, building a life and career, putting down roots.

“Maybe someday,” Hokuto added, his voice so quiet Taiga almost missed it.

Taiga turned back to look at Hokuto, struck by the mixture of contentment and longing he saw in his friend’s eyes. He wanted to say something, to offer some words of encouragement or understanding, but found himself at a loss.

Instead, he simply nodded, letting the conversation lapse into a comfortable silence.

As they sat there, the sound of water lapping against the cave walls filling the air, Taiga couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more Hokuto wanted to say.

But whatever it was, Hokuto seemed content to keep it to himself for now.

Taiga stifled a yawn as he trudged down the stairs to Gonzaemon’s ground floor. The early morning light filtered through the windows, casting a soft glow on the polished wooden floors. He’d never been much of a morning person, but the past two weeks had forced him into a routine that felt alien to his photographer’s lifestyle.

He pushed open the door to the Activities Office, the familiar scent of paper and ink greeting him. His eyes fell on his desk, still bare and impersonal. No framed photos, no quirky knick-knacks, not even a sad little potted plant.

Just a computer, a stack of papers, and a company-issued calendar.

Taiga’s hand hovered over the desk drawer. He’d bought a small framed photo of Tokyo’s skyline, thinking he might place it on his desk. But every time he considered it, something held him back. Personalizing the space felt too much like admitting defeat, like accepting that this was his life now.

He shook his head, trying to dispel the conflicting thoughts. Instead, he turned and headed back out to the vending machine in the hallway. The familiar hum of the machine was oddly comforting as he inserted his coins and pressed the button for the hot green tea.

As the bottle clunked into the dispenser, Taiga caught his reflection in the machine’s glass front. He looked tired, the shadows under his eyes proof of another night of restless sleep. Dreams of Tokyo still haunted him, memories of bustling streets and neon lights mixing with the bitter taste of failure.

But there was something else in his reflection too. A hint of something he wasn’t quite ready to acknowledge. A growing familiarity with this place, with this role.

It scared him more than he cared to admit.

Grabbing the tea bottle, Taiga made his way back to the Activities Office. He settled into his chair, the leather creaking slightly under his weight. The hot tea warmed his hands as he took a sip, letting the familiar taste ground him in the present.

He booted up his computer, determined to focus on the tasks at hand. There were activity schedules to finalize, local tour guides to coordinate with, and a stack of guest feedback forms to go through. It wasn’t glamorous work, nothing like the artistic freedom he’d chased in Tokyo, but it was work. It was something.

The door to the Activities office swung open, and Yugo stepped in, his usual cheerful energy filling the room. Taiga glanced up from his computer, a mix of relief and amusement washing over him at the sight of his coworker.

As the computer hummed to life, Taiga’s eyes drifted once again to the empty spaces on his desk. The urge to fill them warred with his reluctance to commit. He was still torn, still clinging to the idea that this was temporary, that someday he’d return to Tokyo and pick up where he left off.

But doubt gnawed at him. What if this was it? What if the family business was where he was meant to be all along?

The thought both terrified and comforted him, a paradox he wasn’t ready to unpack.

Taiga shook his head, forcing the thoughts away. He had work to do. Whatever the future held, right now he had a job, responsibilities.

He opened the first file on his computer, pushing all other thoughts aside. For now, at least, this was his reality. And he was determined to make the best of it.

The door to the Activities office swung open, and Yugo stepped in, his usual cheerful energy filling the room. Taiga glanced up from his computer, a mix of relief and amusement washing over him at the sight of his coworker.

“Morning, sunshine,” Yugo chirped, his grin impossibly wide for this early hour. “Ready for another thrilling day in paradise?”

Taiga rolled his eyes, but couldn’t suppress a smirk. “Oh, absolutely. I live for spreadsheets and activity schedules.”

Yugo chuckled, settling into his desk across from Taiga. “Speaking of thrilling, did you hear about our favorite restaurateur?”

“Ah, you mean Mr. ‘My-Way-or-the-Highway’ Hamada?” Taiga leaned back in his chair, curiosity piqued. “What’s he done now?”

“Well,” Yugo began, lowering his voice conspiratorially, “apparently, he got into a shouting match with a foreign guest over the ‘proper’ way to eat soba. Went viral.”

Taiga groaned, remembering their encounter with the man just yesterday. “Why am I not surprised? That guy could start an argument in an empty room.”

“I swear, if I have to sit through another hour-long meeting with him about ‘authentic dining experiences,’ I might just spontaneously combust,” Taiga muttered, rubbing his temples.

Yugo’s eyes lit up with mischief. “Ooh, spontaneous combustion! Now that would be an authentic experience for our guests. We could market it as a new attraction: ‘Watch the grumpy photographer burst into flames! Limited time only!’”

Taiga snorted, unable to hold back his laughter. “You’re terrible, you know that?”

“I prefer ‘creatively resourceful,’” Yugo quipped, standing up. “I’m going to grab some tea. Want anything?”

“I’m good, thanks.”

As Yugo left the office, Taiga found himself smiling. The banter with Yugo had lifted his mood considerably. He glanced at the stack of guest feedback forms on his desk, then at the door through which Yugo had just exited.

A wave of gratitude washed over him. Working with Yugo made the transition back to the ryokan so much more bearable. His friend’s easy-going nature and quick wit were a perfect counterbalance to Taiga’s more reserved personality.

Taiga thought about the guests he’d have to interact with later that day. While he didn't mind them most of the time, the constant need to be “on” could be exhausting. He was thankful that Yugo was there to share the load, to step in when Taiga felt his social battery draining.

As he turned back to his computer, Taiga realized that maybe, just maybe, this job wasn’t as bad as he’d initially thought. Sure, it wasn't the glamorous photography career he’d dreamed of, but working with Yugo made even the most mundane tasks enjoyable.

Yugo returned to the office, steaming cup of tea in hand. He settled back into his chair with a contented sigh. “Ah, nothing like a good brew to start the day. Sure you don’t want some? I make a mean cup of sencha.”

Taiga shook his head, a smirk playing on his lips. “I’ve tasted your ‘mean’ sencha before. I think I’ll stick to my vending machine tea, thanks.”

“Your loss,” Yugo shrugged, taking a sip. “So, what’s on the agenda for today? More thrilling spreadsheets?”

“Oh, you know it,” Taiga replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “I might even color-code them if I’m feeling particularly wild.”

They shared a laugh before settling into their respective tasks. Taiga opened his email, sifting through the usual mix of guest inquiries, vendor updates, and internal memos. As he worked, he found himself falling into a comfortable rhythm, the familiarity of the routine both surprising and oddly reassuring.

Once he’d cleared his inbox, Taiga opened the ryokan's social media accounts. He navigated to the scheduled posts, carefully reviewing each one. The text needed to be engaging yet informative, striking the right balance between promoting the ryokan and showcasing its authentic charm.

As he scrolled through the photos, a pang of nostalgia hit him. These were his images, captured during his brief stints back home over the years.

Taiga paused on a particularly striking shot of the onsen at sunset, the golden light reflecting off the steaming water. He remembered taking that photo, how he’d waited for hours to get the perfect light. It was a bittersweet reminder of his passion for photography, now channeled into a different purpose.

As he worked, Taiga’s mind wandered to how he’d ended up in this role. He could still picture his father’s stern face as he’d suggested Taiga work in guest relations.

The thought of constant face-to-face interactions had filled Taiga with dread. But then Shintaro had stepped in, arguing that Taiga’s photography background made him better suited for managing the ryokan’s online presence.

Gratitude washed over Taiga as he thought of his brother’s intervention. Shintaro had always been there for him, even when Taiga hadn’t realized he needed support. Working with social media and photography, even in this context, felt more natural to Taiga than the prospect of full-time guest interactions.

His eyes drifted to Yugo, who was engrossed in his own work. Taiga couldn’t help but feel thankful for his coworker as well. Yugo's easy-going nature and natural charm with guests complemented Taiga’s more behind-the-scenes role perfectly. Together, they made a good team, balancing each other’s strengths and weaknesses.

Taiga closed the social media scheduling tab with a sigh, his finger hovering over the messaging app icon on his phone. He tapped it almost reflexively, his heart rate quickening as he navigated to his chat with Hokuto.

The last message glared back at him, sent at 2 AM on December 4th, just two days ago. His own words, fueled by birthday cheer and perhaps a bit too much alcohol, seemed to mock him now:

“Hokku, remember when we used to sneak out to watch the stars? I miss that. I miss you. Maybe we could do that again sometime? Just us. Like old times, but better.”

Taiga cringed, remembering the string of star emojis and that single, damning heart emoji he’d added at the end. What had he been thinking?

He closed the app quickly, as if the action could erase the message from existence. But the damage was done, and Hokuto’s silence spoke volumes.

Taiga’s mind raced, conjuring up a myriad of scenarios to explain Hokuto’s lack of response.

Maybe Hokuto was just busy with work. That was possible, right? The tourism industry could be hectic, especially with the holidays approaching.

Or maybe Hokuto’s phone had broken. It wasn’t impossible. Maybe he’d dropped it in Lake Biwa while taking promotional photos. The image of Hokuto fumbling with his phone over the water almost made Taiga smile.

Almost.

But as the minutes ticked by, Taiga’s thoughts took a darker turn. What if Hokuto was deliberately ignoring him? Had that message crossed a line? They’d always been close, but maybe Taiga had misread their friendship. Maybe Hokuto was uncomfortable with the idea of rekindling their old bond.

Taiga’s stomach churned as he considered another possibility. What if Hokuto had someone in his life now? Someone who wouldn’t appreciate such a sentimental message from an old friend?

The thought of Hokuto showing the text to a girlfriend or boyfriend, both of them laughing at Taiga’s pathetic attempt at... what? Reconnection? Something more?

He shook his head, trying to dispel the image. No, that was ridiculous. Hokuto would have mentioned if he was seeing someone.

Wouldn’t he?

As Taiga's imagination ran wild, more outlandish scenarios began to take shape. Maybe Hokuto had been abducted by aliens who were allergic to cell phone signals.

Or he’d stumbled upon a time portal and was now stuck in feudal Japan, unable to respond due to the lack of 5G coverage in the 16th century.

Taiga snorted at his own absurd thoughts, drawing a curious glance from Yugo.

“What’s so funny?” Yugo asked, eyebrow raised.

Taiga waved his hand dismissively. “Oh, nothing. Just remembered a meme I saw earlier.” He quickly changed the subject, not wanting to explain the ridiculous scenarios his mind had conjured. “Hey, how's that new hiking tour coming along? Any luck with the local guides?”

Yugo’s face lit up at the mention of his pet project. “Actually, yeah! I’ve got a meeting with a guy tomorrow who knows all the best spots. He’s even offered to show us some hidden waterfalls that aren’t on the regular tourist maps.”

As Yugo launched into an enthusiastic description of the potential new tour routes, Taiga nodded along, grateful for the distraction from his Hokuto-related anxieties.

He was just starting to relax when a ping from Yugo’s computer interrupted the conversation.

“Oh, hold on,” Yugo said, turning to his screen. “Just got an email… Hm. Interesting.”

Taiga watched as Yugo’s eyes scanned the message, curiosity piqued by his friend’s thoughtful expression. After a moment, Yugo looked up.

“It’s from Voyage Verve,” he explained. “They’re inviting local ryokans, hotels, and restaurants to a presentation about their upcoming spring attractions campaign. Sounds like it could be a good opportunity for us.”

Taiga nodded, seeing the potential. “When is it?”

“Tomorrow,” Yugo replied, then grimaced. “Ah, damn. I’ve got that meeting with the hiking guide. I don’t suppose you’d want to go in my place?”

Taiga hesitated. He wasn’t particularly fond of these networking events, but he knew they were important for the ryokan. Plus, it would get him out of the office for a bit. “Sure, I guess I could do that.”

“Great!” Yugo beamed, already forwarding the email to Taiga. “I’ll let them know you’ll be attending.”

As the email notification popped up on his screen, Taiga opened it, skimming the details. His eyes caught on the sender’s name, and his heart skipped a beat.

Matsumura Hokuto.

Taiga felt his palms grow sweaty as he reread the name. Hokuto would be the one giving the presentation.

The same Hokuto who hadn’t responded to his late-night, overly sentimental text. The Hokuto he’d been obsessing over for the past two weeks.

A mix of anticipation and dread washed over him. On one hand, this was a chance to see Hokuto face-to-face, to gauge his reaction and maybe clear the air.

On the other hand, the thought of sitting through a professional presentation while grappling with his unresolved feelings made Taiga’s stomach churn.

Taiga glanced at Yugo, his stomach churning as he watched his friend’s fingers hover over the keyboard. The thought of facing Hokuto after that embarrassing text message made him want to crawl under his desk and disappear.

“Wait!” Taiga blurted out, startling Yugo. “I… I can’t go to the meeting.”

Yugo’s brow furrowed in confusion. “What? Why not? You just said you would.”

Taiga’s mind raced, scrambling for an excuse. “I, uh... I have a dentist appointment tomorrow. Yeah, that’s it. Can’t miss it, you know how hard it is to reschedule.”

Yugo raised an eyebrow. “A dentist appointment? You didn’t mention that earlier. Can’t you reschedule it? This meeting is pretty important for the ryokan.”

Taiga fidgeted in his seat. “Well, actually, it’s not a dentist appointment. It’s... a photography gig. An old client from Tokyo called, wants me to do a shoot.”

“Really?” Yugo’s eyes lit up. “That’s great news! But surely you can reschedule that. The client would understand, right?”

Taiga felt sweat beading on his forehead. “No, no, it’s not that either. The truth is... I’m allergic to PowerPoint presentations. Break out in hives. It’s a rare condition.”

Yugo stared at him for a long moment before bursting into laughter. “Allergic to PowerPoint? Come on, Taiga. What’s really going on?”

Taiga slumped in his chair, knowing he was cornered. He ran a hand through his hair, avoiding Yugo’s gaze. “Fine. The truth is... I sent a really embarrassing text to Hokuto the other night, and now I want to avoid him at all costs.”

Yugo’s eyes widened with interest. “Oh? What kind of embarrassing text are we talking about here?”

Taiga groaned, covering his face with his hands. “The kind you send when you’re tipsy and feeling nostalgic. It’s... it’s bad, Yugo.”

“Well, now you have to show me,” Yugo said, leaning forward with a grin. “Come on, it can’t be that bad.”

Taiga hesitated, his finger hovering over his phone. Part of him wanted to keep this mortifying moment to himself, but another part knew that Yugo wouldn’t let it go.

With a resigned sigh, he pulled up the message and handed his phone to Yugo.

Yugo’s eyes scanned the screen, his eyebrows rising higher with each word. As he reached the string of emojis at the end, a soft whistle escaped his lips. “Wow, Taiga. You really went for it, huh?”

Taiga snatched the phone back, his face burning. “See? Now you understand why I can’t go to this meeting. I’ll die of embarrassment if I have to sit through Hokuto’s presentation after sending... that.”

Yugo’s eyes danced with amusement as he handed the phone back to Taiga. “Well, well, well. Who knew our brooding artist had such a romantic side?”

Taiga groaned, slumping further into his chair. “It’s not funny, Yugo. This is a disaster.”

“Oh, come on,” Yugo said, his tone softening. “It’s not that bad. A little cheesy, sure, but it’s kind of sweet. Besides, isn’t this a good opportunity to clear the air?”

Taiga looked up, skepticism etched across his face. “How exactly is sitting through a business presentation a good opportunity?”

“Well, you’ll be there, he’ll be there,” Yugo explained, ticking off points on his fingers. “It’s neutral ground, and you’ll have a built-in conversation starter. ‘Hey, great presentation. By the way, about that text...’”

Taiga winced at the imagined scenario. “That sounds awful.”

“Worse than avoiding him forever and wondering why he didn’t reply?” Yugo countered.

Taiga opened his mouth to argue, then closed it again. As much as he hated to admit it, Yugo had a point. The silence from Hokuto was eating away at him, and continuing to avoid the issue wouldn’t make it any better.

With a deep sigh, Taiga nodded. “Fine. I’ll go. But if this blows up in my face, I’m blaming you.”

“Fair enough,” Yugo grinned, turning back to his computer. “I’ll send the confirmation email now.”

As Yugo typed, Taiga fidgeted with his phone, anxiety gnawing at his stomach. He was so lost in thought that he almost missed Yugo’s next words.

“You know,” Yugo said casually, hitting send on the email, “I always had a hunch you’d fall for Hokuto eventually.”

Taiga’s head snapped up, eyes wide with surprise. “What? What are you talking about?”

Yugo leaned back in his chair, a knowing smile playing on his lips. “Come on, Taiga. The way you two were always together as kids, how you’d light up when he was around. It was pretty obvious to everyone except you two.”

Taiga stared at Yugo, mouth agape.

Had he really been that transparent?

And if Yugo had noticed, did that mean Hokuto had too?

Hokuto leaned back in his chair, his eyes scanning the digital display. The presentation slides glowed softly, each one showcasing the beauty of Kumamoto’s spring attractions. He tapped his stylus against the polished table, lost in thought.

The conference room’s tranquil atmosphere usually calmed him, but today, an undercurrent of nervous energy thrummed through his veins. In less than an hour, he’d be presenting to a room full of local business owners, and while public speaking didn’t usually faze him, today felt different.

His gaze drifted to the empty chair beside him.

Taiga’s chair.

They hadn’t spoken since that awkward text exchange after his birthday party.

Hokuto’s stomach twisted at the memory. He’d meant to reply, really he had, but every time he’d started typing, the words felt hollow, inadequate.

And now they were supposed to work together on this campaign.

Hokuto sighed, running a hand through his hair. How had things become so complicated?

His gaze drifted to the small garden tucked in the corner, the precise lines in the raked sand pulling at something deep inside him. He stood, stretching his legs as he walked over to it. His fingers itched to rearrange the stones, to create order from disorder.

As he knelt beside the small garden, his mind wandered to the job offer in Tokyo. The deadline loomed, a ticking clock in the back of his mind. He should be excited about the opportunity to finally see the world beyond Kumamoto and to chase his own dreams for once.

But all he felt was a gnawing uncertainty.

Hokuto picked up a smooth river stone, turning it over in his palm. It reminded him of the pebbles on the beach at the cove, of Taiga’s laughter echoing off the cave walls. He closed his eyes, allowing himself to indulge in the memory.

The soft chime of his phone startled him back to reality. A text from Shintaro wishing him luck with the presentation.

Hokuto smiled despite himself. Good old reliable Shintaro, always there with a word of encouragement.

He glanced at the time. Forty-five minutes until the meeting.

Forty-five minutes to pull himself together, to push aside thoughts of Taiga and Tokyo and focus on the task at hand.

He could do this. He had to.

Returning to his seat, Hokuto took a deep breath, centering himself. He pulled up the presentation notes, determined to give it one last review.

He was midway through his final review when the conference room door swung open. Jesse strode in, arms laden with freshly printed stacks of paper, his trademark grin lighting up his face.

“Morning, Hokuto! Got those photocopies you asked for,” Jesse chirped, his enthusiasm cutting through the quiet of the room.

Hokuto felt a small smile tug at his lips despite his nerves. Jesse’s boundless energy was infectious, even on days like this. “Thanks, Jesse. Just in time.”

They moved around the table, placing the presentation packets at each seat. The familiar routine eased the tightness in Hokuto’s chest as his breathing slowed in sync with the motions.

As they worked, Jesse’s casual tone belied the curiosity in his eyes. “So, I heard Gonzaemon’s sending someone for this meeting. Any idea who it is?”

Hokuto’s hand stilled for a moment as he placed a packet down. He knew exactly who it was, but he wasn’t quite ready to voice it aloud. “Ah, yeah. One of their new activities coordinators, I believe.”

Jesse’s face fell slightly. “Oh. So... not Kochi-san then?”

Hokuto couldn’t help but chuckle. Jesse’s crush on Kochi Yugo was painfully obvious to everyone except, it seemed, Yugo himself. The disappointment in Jesse’s voice was almost comical.

“No, not Yugo this time,” he confirmed, watching as Jesse’s shoulders slumped ever so slightly. “But I’m sure you’ll run into him soon enough.”

Jesse’s cheeks flushed a light pink. “I don’t know what you mean,” he mumbled unconvincingly, busying himself with straightening an already perfectly aligned stack of papers.

Hokuto shook his head, lips curling into a quiet smile. At least Jesse’s romantic predicament provided a momentary distraction from his own tangled emotions.

As they finished setting out the packets, Hokuto wondered how Taiga would react when he walked through that door. Would there be awkwardness? Tension?

Or would they fall back into their old, easy friendship as if nothing had changed?

Hokuto was just about to breathe a sigh of relief when Jesse’s eyes widened.

“Wait a minute,” Jesse said, snapping his fingers. “I remember now! The new guy at Gonzaemon is supposed to be the assistant manager’s older brother, right? And you’re childhood friends with them, aren’t you?”

Hokuto felt his heart skip a beat. He opened his mouth to deflect, but no words came out. Instead, he found himself nodding stiffly, his fingers fidgeting with the edge of a presentation packet.

“Y-yeah, that’s right,” he managed to stammer out, cursing inwardly at his sudden lack of composure.

Jesse’s eyes narrowed, studying Hokuto’s face intently. Hokuto could almost see the gears turning in his colleague’s head. Suddenly, Jesse’s expression shifted from curiosity to shock.

“Hold on!” he gasped, his voice barely a whisper, as if every word was a secret too delicate to let out. “Is this... is this the ‘one that got away’ you told me about when we went drinking?”

Hokuto felt his face flush hot. His whole body tensed as he shook his head, trying to regain control of the situation. “No, no, it’s not like that at all,” he protested, but even to his own ears, the denial sounded weak.

Jesse’s eyebrows shot up, a knowing smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. “Hokuto, my friend, you forget that I know your ‘I’m totally lying’ face by now.”

Hokuto’s shoulders slumped in defeat. There was no use trying to hide it anymore. He let out a long, resigned sigh.

“Fine,” he muttered, avoiding Jesse’s triumphant gaze. “Yes, Taiga is... was... the ‘one that got away.’”

Hokuto watched as Jesse’s face lit up with unbridled glee. He immediately regretted his admission, knowing his colleague well enough to predict what was coming next.

“You have to ask him out!” Jesse exclaimed, his voice echoing off the conference room walls.

Hokuto winced, glancing nervously at the door. “Keep your voice down!” he hissed, feeling his face grow hot. “And no, I don’t have to do anything of the sort.”

Jesse leaned in, his eyes sparkling. “Come on, Hokuto. This is your chance! Childhood friends reunited after years apart? It’s like something out of a movie!”

Hokuto shook his head, trying to ignore how his heart quickened at the thought. “It’s not that simple, Jesse. Taiga just moved back from Tokyo. He’s got a lot on his plate right now.”

“So? What better time to reconnect?” Jesse argued, undeterred.

“I don’t want things to be awkward between us again,” Hokuto explained, his voice softening. “We’ve only just started talking after years of losing touch. I can’t risk ruining that.”

Besides, that offer in Tokyo …

But Jesse wasn’t backing down. “You’ll never know unless you try. What’s the worst that could happen?”

Hokuto opened his mouth to list all the ways this could go terribly wrong when his eyes caught the clock on the wall. His heart leapt into his throat.

“Jesse, look at the time,” he said, grateful for the distraction. “Everyone will be arriving soon. We need to finish setting up.”

Jesse glanced at the clock, then back at Hokuto, clearly not ready to drop the subject.

But Hokuto was already moving, straightening chairs and adjusting the presentation materials with renewed vigor.

As he busied himself with last-minute preparations, Hokuto tried to push thoughts of Taiga out of his mind. He had a presentation to focus on, after all.

But Jesse’s words lingered, a persistent whisper in the back of his mind.

What if he did take a chance? What if...

Hokuto shook his head, banishing the thought. Now wasn’t the time for what-ifs. He had a job to do, and he was determined to do it well, regardless of who walked through that door.

-----

Hokuto’s heart raced as he watched the attendees file into the conference room. He nodded politely at each person, guiding them to their seats with a practiced smile. Still, his eyes darted constantly to the registration table, searching for a familiar face among the crowd.

Jesse’s cheerful voice carried across the room as he greeted each newcomer. Hokuto caught sight of him welcoming Tanaka Juri, the owner of Hidden Leaf. Hokuto’s fingers fidgeted with the hem of his sleeve as his eyes darted between the friends’ relaxed laughter, his own thoughts buzzing too loud to join in.

Then, he saw him.

Taiga hovered by the entrance, looking as if he’d rather be anywhere else. His hands were shoved deep in his pockets, his shoulders hunched slightly. Even from across the room, Hokuto could see the hesitation in Taiga’s eyes as they scanned the crowded space.

Hokuto’s breath caught in his throat. For a moment, he forgot about the presentation, about the room full of people, about everything except Taiga. He looked different from the last time he’d seen him at his birthday party — more polished, more professional, but still undeniably Taiga.

Hokuto’s breath caught as his heart lurched, his fingers twitching at his sides while his mind scrambled for something to say, but all he could do was stare, frozen.

He watched as Taiga took a tentative step into the room, then another.

Hokuto’s mind raced. Should he go over and greet him? Would that be too forward? Or would it be worse to ignore him?

Before he could decide, Jesse caught sight of Taiga and bounded over, all smiles and enthusiasm. Hokuto saw Taiga’s posture relax slightly as Jesse engaged him in conversation, leading him towards the registration table.

Hokuto forced himself to look away, focusing on arranging the last of the presentation materials. His hands shook slightly as he shuffled papers, hyper-aware of Taiga’s presence in the room. He could feel the weight of unspoken words between them, of that unanswered text message, hanging in the air like a tangible thing.

Hokuto watched as Jesse closed the conference room door with a flourish, his trademark grin spreading across his face. There was a glint in Jesse’s eye that Hokuto recognized all too well — his colleague was about to turn on the charm.

Jesse guided Taiga towards the table where Juri sat, his hand hovering just above Taiga’s lower back. Hokuto felt a twinge in his chest at the sight. He’d seen Jesse work his magic countless times before, but never had it bothered him quite like this.

“Kyomoto-san, meet my friend, Tanaka Juri.” Jesse’s voice carried across the room, smooth as silk. “He owns that amazing cocktail bar downtown, Hidden Leaf. I think you two would hit it off.”

Hokuto’s eyes narrowed as he observed Juri’s reaction. The bartender’s face lit up with interest, his lips curving into a smile that Hokuto had seen him use on countless patrons at his bar.

It was a smile designed to make the recipient feel special, unique.

And it was now directed at Taiga.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Kyomoto-san,” Juri said, his voice low and inviting.

Taiga ducked his head slightly, a faint blush coloring his cheeks. “Uh, nice to meet you, too,” he replied, his voice carrying a hint of nervousness that only Hokuto seemed to notice.

Hokuto’s stomach churned as he watched the interaction unfold. He knew he should be focusing on the upcoming presentation, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from Taiga and Juri. The easy way they fell into conversation, the way Juri leaned in slightly as Taiga spoke — it all felt like a punch to the gut.

“Hokuto?” Jesse’s voice cut through his thoughts. “You ready to start?”

Hokuto blinked, suddenly aware that he’d been staring. He cleared his throat, forcing himself to look away from Taiga and Juri. “Yeah, of course,” he managed, his voice sounding strained even to his own ears.

Jesse gave him a curious look but didn’t comment. Instead, he clapped his hands together, drawing everyone’s attention. “Alright, everyone! Let’s get this show on the road.”

Hokuto took a deep breath, willing his racing heart to slow. He had a job to do, a presentation to give. He couldn’t let his personal feelings interfere with that.

With one last glance at Taiga, who was now fully engrossed in conversation with Juri, Hokuto steeled himself.

He stepped to the front of the room, plastering on his most professional smile. “Good afternoon, everyone,” he began, his voice steadier than he felt. “Thank you all for coming. We’re excited to share our plans for the upcoming spring attractions campaign.”

Hokuto’s voice carried through the conference room, steady and professional, as he delved into the details of the spring attractions campaign. But though words flowed effortlessly, his eyes betrayed him, flickering toward the far corner where Taiga and Juri exchanged quiet smiles, a tension tightening his chest despite his best efforts to focus.

He tried to focus on the slides, on the words he’d rehearsed countless times, but his eyes betrayed him, constantly seeking out Taiga’s familiar form. Each time he glanced over, his heart sank a little further.

Juri had angled his chair towards Taiga, leaning in close as if sharing a secret. Their heads were bent together, Juri’s hand occasionally brushing Taiga’s arm as he spoke.

Hokuto’s grip on his presentation remote tightened, his knuckles turning white.

As he moved to the next slide, Hokuto caught a glimpse of Taiga’s face. The tension that had been etched there earlier was slowly melting away, replaced by something softer. A hint of a smile played at the corners of Taiga’s mouth, and Hokuto felt a pang in his chest. He’d been hoping to see that smile directed at him, not at the charming bartender who’d known Taiga for all of fifteen minutes.

Hokuto stumbled over his words, losing his train of thought as he watched Taiga lean in closer to hear something Juri was saying. He cleared his throat, forcing himself to look away and continue with the presentation.

“And so, we believe that by highlighting the unique aspects of each attraction, we can create a cohesive campaign that—”

“Excuse me, Matsumura-san,” a voice called out from the middle of the room. “I have a question about the proposed budget allocation.”

Hokuto blinked, momentarily thrown off balance. He scanned the room, finding the source of the question — a representative from one of the local tourism boards.

“Of course,” Hokuto replied, grateful for the distraction. “What would you like to know?”

As the attendee launched into their query, Hokuto felt his professional instincts kick in. His fingers lightly on the table as he walked through each line item, eyes flicking between the screen and the attentive faces, ready for the next question.

For a few blissful moments, he was able to push thoughts of Taiga and Juri to the back of his mind, losing himself in the familiar territory of campaign strategies and marketing projections.

Soon, Hokuto released a quiet sigh of relief as he wrapped up the presentation. Despite his inner turmoil, he’d managed to deliver the information coherently, fielding questions with practiced ease.

As the attendees began to disperse, chatting amongst themselves, Hokuto’s eyes immediately sought out Taiga.

He spotted him in a corner of the room, still deep in conversation with Juri.

Hokuto’s stomach twisted as he watched Juri reach into his pocket, pulling out what appeared to be a business card.

With a charming smile, Juri handed the card to Taiga, who accepted it with a nod and a shy smile of his own.

Hokuto’s heart sank. He’d been hoping to catch Taiga alone, to finally address the text message that had been hanging between them. But now, watching Taiga tuck Juri’s card into his pocket, Hokuto felt his resolve wavering.

“Nice job on the presentation,” Jesse’s voice suddenly piped up beside him, making Hokuto jump slightly. “But I think there’s something else you need to take care of.”

Hokuto turned to his colleague, finding Jesse’s knowing gaze fixed on him. “What do you mean?”

Jesse nodded toward Taiga, who was now alone, Juri having bid his goodbyes. “Go talk to him,” Jesse urged, a hint of mischief in his voice. “You’ve been stealing glances at him all day. It’s now or never, my friend.”

Before Hokuto could protest, he felt Jesse’s hand on his back, giving him a firm push forward.

Stumbling slightly, Hokuto found himself propelled towards Taiga, his heart racing with each step.

Taiga looked up as Hokuto approached, his eyes widening slightly in recognition. Hokuto swallowed hard, his tongue heavy and useless as the words crumbled before they even reached his lips.

“Hi,” Taiga managed, his voice soft and uncertain.

“Hi,” Hokuto echoed, the word coming out more breathless than he’d intended.

An awkward silence fell between them, heavy with unspoken words and lingering questions. Hokuto’s eyes darted to the card in Taiga’s hand, desperate for something to break the tension.

“So, um... what’s that?” he asked, gesturing towards the small piece of paper Taiga was fidgeting with.

Taiga glanced down, as if he’d forgotten he was holding it. “Oh, this? These are just some coupons for Hidden Leaf. Tanaka-kun gave them to me.”

Hokuto let out a quiet breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding, his tense shoulders sinking as if a weight had finally lifted. It wasn’t a business card or a phone number — just coupons. He felt a weight lift from his chest, one he hadn’t even realized was there.

Taiga’s brow furrowed, noticing the change in Hokuto’s demeanor. “Why do you look so relieved?” he asked, his head tilted as his gaze lingered.

Hokuto felt heat rush to his face. “Oh, it’s nothing,” he said quickly, waving a hand dismissively. But even as the words left his mouth, he knew he couldn’t let this moment slip away.

Taking a deep breath, he blurted out, “Actually, I wanted to talk to you about that text you sent.”

The effect was immediate. Taiga’s eyes widened, panic flashing across his face. “Oh, that,” he stammered, taking a step back. “You know what? I, uh... I should probably go. Lots of work to do, you know?”

Hokuto’s heart raced as he watched Taiga start to turn away.

Without thinking, he reached out, his fingers closing around Taiga’s wrist. The touch sent a jolt through him, and he felt Taiga stiffen under his grip.

“Wait,” Hokuto said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Taiga turned back, his eyes wide. Hokuto could feel the rapid pulse beneath his fingers, matching his own frantic heartbeat. For a moment, they stood frozen, the bustle of the conference room fading into the background.

“I’m sorry,” Hokuto blurted out, the words tumbling from his lips before he could stop them. "I’m sorry I didn’t reply to your text. I wanted to, but I... I couldn’t find the right words. Not through a message.”

He watched as understanding dawned on Taiga’s face. The tension in Taiga’s shoulders eased, and Hokuto felt him relax under his touch. Relief washed over Hokuto, but it was quickly replaced by a new wave of anxiety.

The conference room suddenly felt too small, too crowded. Hokuto was acutely aware of the curious glances being thrown their way. This wasn’t the place for the conversation they needed to have.

“I want to talk about it,” Hokuto said, his voice low and urgent. “But not here. Let me make it up to you. Dinner? Tonight?”

He held his breath, waiting for Taiga’s response. The seconds stretched into an eternity as Taiga’s eyes searched his face. Hokuto could see the conflict playing out in those familiar eyes, hope warring with hesitation.

Finally, Taiga nodded.

“Yeah,” he said softly. “I’d like that.”

Taiga stood outside the tonkatsu restaurant, his heart pounding in his chest. The familiar scent of fried pork cutlets wafted through the air, stirring up memories of countless after-school meals shared with Hokuto. He glanced at his childhood friend, noting the nervous tension in Hokuto’s shoulders.

“This place hasn’t changed a bit,” Taiga murmured, more to fill the awkward silence than anything else.

Hokuto nodded, his eyes darting between Taiga and the restaurant’s entrance. “Yeah, it’s like stepping back in time.”

Taiga’s stomach churned, and not from hunger. He’d been dreading this moment ever since he’d sent that ill-advised text message. The memory of it made him cringe inwardly again.

What had he been thinking? He’d practically laid his heart bare, and Hokuto’s silence in response spoke volumes.

Now, standing here with Hokuto looking as nervous as he felt, Taiga braced himself for the inevitable letdown. He could almost hear it already: “Taiga, you’re a great friend, but...”

Hokuto cleared his throat, breaking into Taiga’s spiraling thoughts.

“We should probably head inside,” he said, his voice soft and uncertain.

Taiga’s gaze snapped to Hokuto’s face, searching for any hint of what was to come. But Hokuto’s expression remained unreadable, a mix of anxiety and something else Taiga couldn’t quite place.

“Right,” Taiga replied, his own voice sounding strange to his ears. “Let’s go in.”

As Hokuto reached for the door, their hands brushed accidentally. Taiga felt a jolt of electricity at the contact, and he quickly shoved his hands into his pockets. He followed Hokuto into the restaurant, the familiar chime of the bell above the door announcing their arrival.

The interior was exactly as Taiga remembered it — warm lighting, wooden tables worn smooth by years of use, and the comforting sizzle of tonkatsu being fried in the kitchen. For a moment, he could almost pretend they were teenagers again, laughing over their homework and sharing dreams of the future.

But they weren’t teenagers anymore. They were adults with complicated feelings and unspoken words hanging between them. As they settled into a booth, Taiga couldn’t help but wonder if coming here had been a mistake.

Maybe it would have been better to pretend that text message had never happened.

Taiga slid into the booth, acutely aware of Hokuto’s presence beside him. The restaurant buzzed with the dinner rush, the air thick with the aroma of fried pork and animated conversations. Their shoulders brushed as they settled in, sending a jolt through Taiga’s body.

Hokuto reached for the menu, his fingers grazing the laminated surface. He paused, glancing at Taiga with a hint of hesitation in his eyes. “You want your usual?”

Taiga blinked. “Yeah, actually. That’d be great.”

Without missing a beat, Hokuto turned to the waitress who’d appeared at their table. “We’ll have two tonkatsu sets, one with extra sauce on the side, and a side of pickled radish and cherry tomatoes.” He rattled off the order without so much as a glance at the menu.

Taiga’s eyebrows shot up. It was exactly what he always ordered, down to the cherry tomatoes. He hadn’t realized Hokuto had paid such close attention to his preferences all those years ago.

As the waitress jotted down their order and bustled away, Taiga found himself staring at Hokuto, a mix of emotions swirling in his chest. How could Hokuto remember such a small detail after all this time?

And why did that simple act of remembrance make Taiga’s heart race?

“What?” Hokuto asked, noticing Taiga’s stare.

Taiga quickly averted his gaze, focusing on the worn edge of the table. “Nothing, just... surprised you remembered my order, that’s all.”

Hokuto shrugged, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Some things you don’t forget, I guess.”

The casual comment hit Taiga like a punch to the gut. What else hadn’t Hokuto forgotten?

And more importantly, what did it mean?

Taiga fidgeted with his chopsticks, the silence between him and Hokuto growing more oppressive by the second. He wanted to bring up the text, to clear the air, but every time he opened his mouth, the words died on his tongue. The clink of dishes and the murmur of other diners’ conversations filled the void, making their own silence even more conspicuous.

Hokuto cleared his throat, startling Taiga out of his thoughts. “So, uh, you seemed to hit it off with Juri at the meeting.”

Taiga blinked, caught off guard by the sudden change in topic. “Juri? Oh, yeah, I guess we did talk a bit.”

“What did you guys chat about?” Hokuto’s tone was casual, but there was an undercurrent of something Taiga couldn’t quite place.

“Just Tokyo, mostly,” Taiga replied, studying Hokuto’s face. Was that a flicker of... something in his eyes? “He used to live there too, so we swapped stories about our favorite spots.”

Hokuto nodded, his fingers tracing patterns on the tabletop. “That’s nice. You two seemed pretty friendly.”

There was something in Hokuto’s voice that made Taiga pause. Was it just his imagination, or did Hokuto sound... jealous?

The thought sent a thrill through him, followed quickly by confusion. Why would Hokuto be jealous of Juri?

“Yeah, he’s a cool guy,” Taiga said carefully, watching Hokuto’s reaction. “But it was just small talk, you know? Nothing serious.”

Hokuto’s shoulders seemed to relax slightly at that. “Right, of course. I just... noticed, that’s all.”

Taiga’s mind raced. If Hokuto was jealous, did that mean...

No, he couldn’t let himself hope. Not without knowing for sure.

But the possibility, however small, made his heart beat faster.

“Hokuto,” Taiga started, gathering his courage. “About that text I sent—”

The waitress chose to appear at that moment with their food, setting steaming plates of tonkatsu in front of them. The interruption broke the tension, and Taiga’s half-formed confession died on his lips.

As they began to eat, Taiga couldn’t help but wonder what Hokuto had been about to say, and what his apparent jealousy might mean for them both.

Taiga’s chopsticks hovered midway to his mouth, his mind still racing with unspoken words and questions. He chanced a glance at Hokuto, who seemed equally absorbed in his own thoughts, mechanically chewing his tonkatsu.

Suddenly, Hokuto’s hand darted out, his finger brushing against the edge of Taiga’s lips. The touch was feather-light, but it sent a jolt through Taiga’s entire body. His brain short-circuited, thoughts scattering like startled birds.

Hokuto’s eyes widened, as if realizing what he’d done. He quickly withdrew his hand, a faint blush coloring his cheeks. “Sorry,” he mumbled, not quite meeting Taiga’s gaze. “You had some sauce on your lips.”

Taiga blinked, his skin still tingling where Hokuto’s finger had been. “Oh,” he managed to croak out. “Thanks.”

They both turned back to their meals, an awkward silence settling over them. Taiga’s heart hammered in his chest as he tried to process what had just happened.

It was such a small gesture, but it felt monumental. Or was he reading too much into it?

As they continued to eat, Taiga couldn’t help but tighten his grip on his chopsticks. This conversation was going nowhere. They were dancing around the elephant in the room, neither of them brave enough to address it head-on. He wanted to say something, anything, to break this stalemate, but the words kept getting stuck in his throat.

He stole another glance at Hokuto, who was studiously focused on his plate.

Taiga sighed inwardly.

At this rate, they’d finish their meal without addressing any of the things that really mattered. The text, the years of distance, the unspoken feelings that seemed to crackle in the air between them.

All of it left unsaid.

-----

Taiga stepped out of the restaurant, the cool autumn air nipping at his cheeks. Hokuto followed close behind, their footsteps falling into an easy rhythm as they walked side by side. The silence between them felt heavy, laden with unspoken words and lingering questions.

As they ambled down the familiar streets, Taiga’s steps slowed, his hands slipping into his pockets as he glanced sideways. The evening had been a rollercoaster of emotions, and he wasn’t ready for it to end just yet.

His eyes darted to Hokuto’s profile, illuminated by the soft glow of streetlights, and he felt a familiar warmth bloom in his chest.

They rounded a corner, and suddenly, the entrance to the forest loomed before them. Taiga’s heart skipped a beat as memories flooded back — countless afternoons spent exploring those woods, sharing secrets, and dreaming of the future.

Without thinking, he veered off the sidewalk and headed towards the trees.

“Taiga, wait!” Hokuto called out. “It’s too dark in there.”

Taiga turned, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. “Come on, Hokuto. Where’s your sense of adventure?”

He plunged into the forest, leaves crunching beneath his feet. The darkness enveloped him, but it felt more comforting than threatening. This place held so many memories, and being here with Hokuto felt right somehow.

“Taiga, seriously,” Hokuto's voice came from behind him, closer than he expected. “We can barely see anything.”

Taiga chuckled, his heart lightening at the realization that Hokuto had followed him despite his protests. “That’s what makes it fun,” he quipped, reaching out to brush his fingers against the rough bark of a nearby tree.

As they ventured deeper into the woods, Taiga’s eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness. The canopy above filtered out most of the moonlight, leaving them in a world of shadows and whispers. He could hear Hokuto’s breathing, slightly labored from trying to keep up with him.

“Remember how we used to come here all the time?” Taiga asked, his voice soft in the stillness of the forest. “It feels like nothing’s changed.”

Taiga fumbled in his pocket, fishing out his phone. The forest had grown darker, the shadows deepening around them. He tapped the screen, activating the flashlight, and a beam of light cut through the gloom.

“Good idea,” Hokuto murmured, following suit.

Their twin beams danced across the forest floor, illuminating patches of moss and fallen leaves. Taiga moved forward, his feet finding the familiar path without conscious thought. He knew where he was going, drawn by an invisible thread of memory.

And then, there it was. The massive oak tree loomed before them, its gnarled branches reaching up into the night sky like ancient fingers.

Taiga’s breath caught in his throat as he gazed up at it, overwhelmed by a rush of nostalgia. “Wow,” he whispered. “It’s even bigger than I remember.”

Hokuto chuckled softly beside him. “Remember when you fell off this thing?”

Taiga winced, the memory flooding back.

“You were trying to get that photo,” Hokuto continued, his voice tinged with amusement. “Next thing I knew, you were falling, and I was trying to catch you.”

Taiga’s stomach twisted with guilt. “And I landed on you,” he finished quietly. “You broke your arm.”

He turned to look at Hokuto, the beam of his flashlight illuminating his friend’s face. Hokuto's expression was soft, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

“Hey, you made it up to me,” Hokuto said. “You visited me every day in the hospital, remember?”

Taiga nodded, but the guilt still gnawed at him. “I brought you books and snuck in your favorite pudding,” he recalled. “But still, I felt terrible.”

“You were safe. That’s what mattered.”

Taiga’s heart skipped a beat at Hokuto’s words. He glanced at his childhood friend, trying to process the depth of emotion behind that simple statement.

Before he could respond, a glint of light caught his eye. Taiga looked up, his breath catching in his throat. The forest canopy had thinned here, revealing a patch of night sky studded with stars. The sight was breathtaking, a glittering tapestry stretched across the inky blackness.

“Hokku, look,” Taiga whispered, pointing upward.

Hokuto followed his gaze, a soft “oh” escaping his lips.

Without a word, they both sank down to sit at the base of the old oak tree, their backs pressed against its rough bark. Taiga tilted his head back, drinking in the celestial display above them. The forest around them faded away, leaving only the stars and the comforting presence of Hokuto beside him.

For a long moment, they sat in companionable silence, lost in the beauty of the night sky. Taiga felt a sense of peace wash over him, a feeling he hadn’t experienced in years. Here, under the stars with Hokuto, it was as if all his worries and failures melted away.

Hokuto cleared his throat softly, breaking the silence. “You know,” he began, his voice low and hesitant, “I do miss this.”

Taiga turned to look at him, confusion furrowing his brow. “Miss what?”

Hokuto met his gaze, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “This,” he gestured vaguely between them and the sky. “Watching the stars with you. Like in your text.”

Taiga’s eyes widened. Right. They were supposed to talk about this.

“We could still do it,” Hokuto said softly, his eyes fixed on the stars above. “Watch the stars together, I mean. Like old times.”

Taiga swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry. “But better?” he asked, echoing the words from his text.

Hokuto turned to look at him then, and the softness in his gaze took Taiga’s breath away. It was a look he’d seen before, but never fully understood until now.

“I missed you too, Taiga,” Hokuto admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

The words hung in the air between them, heavy with unspoken emotions. Taiga felt a mix of relief and confusion wash over him.

“Then why...” Taiga started, his voice catching. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Why didn’t you ever keep in touch?”

Hokuto’s expression shifted, a flicker of pain crossing his features. “I could ask you the same thing,” he said gently.

Taiga’s shoulders tensed with guilt. He looked down at his hands, fidgeting with a loose thread on his jacket. “I... I felt like too much of a failure in Tokyo,” he confessed. “I didn’t want you to see me like that.”

Hokuto’s hand found Taiga’s in the darkness, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Taiga,” he said, his voice warm and understanding. “We’ve gone through good times and bad together. I would have welcomed you calling me, even when you were having a hard time.”

Taiga swallowed hard, his breath catching as Hokuto’s words lingered in the air, the weight of them pressing against his chest. He shifted his gaze to the ground, blinking rapidly.

“I’m sorry, Hokku,” he finally managed, his voice barely above a whisper. “I should have reached out. I just... I felt so lost, so ashamed. I thought you’d be disappointed in me.”

Hokuto’s grip firmed, his warm palm grounding Taiga in the quiet shadows. “Never,” he said firmly. “I could never be disappointed in you, Taiga.”

The sincerity in Hokuto’s voice made Taiga’s chest ache. He turned to face his friend, searching his eyes in the dim starlight. “I really am sorry,” he repeated, needing Hokuto to understand the depth of his regret.

Hokuto’s expression softened, a mix of emotions playing across his face. He took a deep breath, as if steeling himself for something. “I owe you an apology too,” he said quietly.

Taiga blinked in surprise. “You do?”

Hokuto nodded, his gaze dropping to their intertwined hands. “I... I didn’t keep in touch either. And I had my reasons, but they weren’t good ones.”

Taiga waited, sensing there was more Hokuto wanted to say.

After a pause, Hokuto spoke again, each word careful, as if testing the weight of what came next.

“The truth is, Taiga, I was scared. Seeing you leave for Tokyo, watching you chase your dreams... it just made me run away from what I was really feeling.”

Taiga’s heart began to race, a mix of confusion and anticipation swirling in his chest. “What do you mean?”

Hokuto took another deep breath, finally meeting Taiga’s gaze.

“I have feelings for you. More than just friendship. And I was terrified of ruining what we had, so I... I pulled away.”

The admission hung in the air between them, heavy with years of unspoken emotions. Taiga felt as if the ground had shifted beneath him, his world tilting on its axis.

Taiga’s thoughts raced, colliding in a jumble of half-formed ideas as Hokuto’s words echoed in his ears. The forest around them seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of them in a bubble of starlight and confessions. His heart pounded in his chest, a mix of shock and something else — something warm and hopeful — flooding through him.

“You... had feelings for me?” Taiga finally managed, his voice wavering.

Hokuto nodded, his eyes never leaving Taiga’s face. “I still do,” he confessed, the words slipping out softly, as if they’d been waiting all this time, just beneath the surface.

The words hit Taiga like a physical force, knocking the breath from his lungs. Taiga stared at Hokuto, his eyes tracing the uncertainty etched on his friend’s face, the subtle tremor in his shoulders betraying the quiet vulnerability he carried. The air between them felt charged, heavy with unspoken emotions, as if Hokuto's confession had shifted something irreversibly.

Suddenly, all the little moments from their past — the lingering glances, the casual touches, the unwavering support — clicked into place, forming a picture he’d been too blind to see before.

“Hokku,” Taiga breathed, his mind racing. “I... I had no idea.”

Hokuto’s grip tightened, the warmth of his touch steadying Taiga. “I know,” he said. “I never wanted to burden you with it, especially when you were chasing your dreams in Tokyo.”

A sharp pang of guilt twisted in Taiga’s chest as memories flooded back—countless nights he’d vented to Hokuto about his own frustrations. He could almost hear his own voice echoing in those moments, selfish and oblivious, while Hokuto had quietly listened.

“Is that why you didn’t reply to my text?” he asked, pieces of the puzzle falling into place.

Hokuto nodded, a rueful smile tugging at his lips. “I panicked,” he admitted. “I thought maybe you were just feeling nostalgic, and I didn’t want to read too much into it. I was afraid of getting my hopes up.”

Taiga’s thoughts spun wildly, struggling to catch up with the sudden shift, the world he thought he knew tilting on its axis. Everything felt different now, as if the ground beneath him had shifted, leaving him unsteady, trying to grasp this new reality that Hokuto’s confession had unraveled.

Yet.

Taiga knows he’d been feeling something too these past few weeks, something he’d been too afraid to name

The warmth in his chest whenever Hokuto smiled at him, the comfort he felt in his presence, the way his heart raced when they touched.

It all suddenly made sense.

“Hokuto,” Taiga said, his voice stronger now. He turned to face his friend fully, their knees brushing in the darkness.

“I think... I think I might have feelings for you too.”

Taiga fumbled with his keys in the darkness, his hands still trembling slightly from the events of the evening. The familiar click of the back door’s lock echoed in the quiet night. He slipped inside, immediately enveloped by the comforting scent of cypress and incense that always lingered in the ryokan’s halls.

Home. The word felt different now, charged with new meaning.

His phone buzzed. Another message from Hokuto. Taiga’s heart did a ridiculous little flip as he bent to remove his shoes, nearly losing his balance in the process.

Get it together, he chided himself.

But the grin wouldn’t leave his face as he pulled out his phone, fingers hovering over the screen. How did people do this? Act normal after their entire world shifted on its axis?

The wooden floors creaked softly under his sock-covered feet as he padded through the darkened hallway. Somewhere in the distance, he could hear the gentle burble of the hot springs and the occasional murmur of late-night conversations from the guest rooms.

He typed out a quick message to Hokuto: “Just got home. Still can’t believe tonight happened.”

The reply came almost instantly: “Me neither. Get some rest?”

Taiga’s chest felt too full, like his heart had grown three sizes and might burst right through his ribcage. He leaned against the wall, needing a moment to process the surreal turn his life had taken. Just hours ago, he’d been sitting under their childhood oak tree, terrified of ruining everything.

And now...

The sound of footsteps made him straighten up quickly, shoving his phone into his pocket. He wasn’t ready to face anyone yet, wasn’t sure he could keep the truth from showing all over his face.

Dating. They were actually going to try dating.

The word bounced around in his head like a pinball, setting off little explosions of panic and excitement with each ricochet.

A staff shuffled past, bowing politely. Taiga nodded automatically, but his mind was elsewhere, replaying the moment Hokuto’s hand had found his in the darkness, the way his voice had trembled slightly as he confessed feelings that had apparently spanned years.

His phone buzzed again. Taiga pulled it out, heart racing. But it was just a notification about tomorrow’s activities schedule.

Right. Real life still existed. He still had a job, responsibilities, a family who didn’t know that their failed photographer son had just agreed to date his childhood best friend.

The thought sobered him slightly. They’d have to figure out how to navigate this new reality, how to balance their personal and professional lives.

But even that couldn’t dampen the warm glow in his chest, the feeling that something that had been misaligned for years had finally clicked into place.

He reached his room, sliding the door open as quietly as possible. The familiar space felt different somehow, as if the night's events had altered even this unchanging corner of his world. His futon lay exactly where he’d left it this morning, when he’d been just regular Taiga, not this new version of himself who apparently had a boyfriend.

Boyfriend.

The word made him feel simultaneously fifteen and ancient.

Another message from Hokuto: “Stop overthinking and go to sleep.”

A laugh bubbled up in Taiga’s throat. Of course Hokuto would know exactly what he was doing, even from across town.

He’d always been able to read Taiga like that, hadn’t he? Maybe that should have been a clue.

The soft scrape of a door made Taiga freeze, phone still in hand. Shintaro entered his room, hair slightly disheveled, wearing the dark blue yukata he favored after hours.

“You’re back late,” Shintaro said, keeping his voice low to avoid disturbing the guests.

Taiga shoved his phone into his pocket, heart hammering. “Yeah, lost track of time.”

“How was dinner with Hokuto?”

The name sent a fresh wave of warmth through Taiga’s chest. He focused on the grain of the wooden floor, afraid his face might give everything away. “Good. We caught up. Went to the forest after.”

“The forest?” Shintaro’s eyebrow rose. “Our old spot?”

“Found the tree where I fell.” Taiga’s lips twitched at the memory. “Remember how Hokuto tried to catch me?”

“And broke his arm instead?” Shintaro chuckled. “Mom was furious. Dad had to drive you both to the hospital while she lectured about proper tree-climbing technique.”

The memory felt different now, colored by the knowledge of Hokuto’s feelings even back then. Had he already started falling for Taiga by that point?

The thought made his stomach do a strange flip.

“You okay?” Shintaro studied him. “You seem… different.”

Taiga’s throat tightened. Part of him wanted to tell Shintaro everything — about the oak tree, about Hokuto’s confession, about the terrifying, exhilarating step they’d decided to take.

But the words stuck in his throat. It felt too new, too fragile to share just yet.

“Just tired,” he managed. “Long day.”

Shintaro nodded, though his expression suggested he wasn’t entirely convinced. “Wanna hit the baths? The private bath should be empty this time of night.”

The invitation surprised Taiga. They hadn’t bathed together since he'd returned from Tokyo. But the thought of the hot water’s embrace, of sharing this quiet moment with his brother like they used to, tugged at something in his chest.

“Yeah,” he heard himself say. “Sure. Sounds nice.”

Shintaro’s face lit up with a smile that made Taiga's guilt twist sharper. Here was his brother, still looking out for him, still trying to rebuild their bond, and Taiga was keeping secrets already.

But wasn’t that what he’d always done? Run away, hide, avoid the hard conversations?

Not this time, he thought, remembering the warmth of Hokuto’s hand in his. He’d tell Shintaro soon.

Maybe later.

-----

Steam curled around Taiga’s shoulders as he adjusted the shower’s temperature. The familiar scent of cypress filled his lungs, grounding him in the present moment even as his mind raced ahead.

Behind him, he heard the soft splash of water as Shintaro settled into the stone tub. “Water’s perfect!” he called out. “Don’t take forever with that shower.”

Taiga made a noncommittal sound, focusing on the rhythmic pattern of water against tile. The shower routine was automatic — soap, shampoo, rinse — but his thoughts kept drifting to Hokuto, to that moment under the oak tree.

To the way everything had shifted in the space of a few words.

Would Shintaro understand? The question nagged at him as he worked shampoo through his hair. His brother had always been the sensible one, the one who thought things through. Dating Hokuto would complicate everything — their friendship, their work relationship, the delicate balance they’d all maintained since childhood.

“You’re doing that thing again,” Shintaro’s voice cut through his thoughts.

“What thing?”

“The thing where you get too quiet and I can practically hear you overthinking.”

Taiga snorted, rinsing his hair. “I don’t do that.”

“Right, and I’m not engaged to Aoi.”

The mention of engagement made Taiga's stomach twist. Relationships. Commitment.

His hand paused on the shower dial. Shintaro had always known what he wanted — in work, in love, in life. He’d pursued Aoi with the same steady determination he brought to everything else.

But Taiga? He was the flight risk. The one who ran to Tokyo chasing dreams that dissolved like mist.

The one who’d left everything — and everyone — behind.

“Seriously, the water bill isn’t going to pay itself.”

Taiga shut off the shower, grabbing his towel. The cool air raised goosebumps on his skin as he dried off quickly. Through the steam, he could see Shintaro’s outline in the stone tub, head tipped back against the edge, eyes closed.

I should tell him, Taiga thought. Shintaro deserved to know. He’d been the one who’d brought Taiga back from Tokyo, who’d never judged, never pushed.

Who’d driven them all to the cove that day, unknowingly setting this whole thing in motion.

Taiga slipped into the water, the heat immediately seeping into his muscles. He settled opposite Shintaro, watching the steam rise between them.

The words sat heavy on his tongue: Hokuto and I are dating. Four simple words that would change everything.

“Remember when we used to sneak in here after hours?” Shintaro asked, eyes still closed. “Back when we were kids?”

“Mom always knew,” Taiga said. “She’d leave fresh towels out.”

“But never told Dad.”

The memory sparked another — Hokuto joining them sometimes, all three of them trying to stifle their laughter as they soaked in the forbidden luxury of the private bath. How many times had they sat just like this, not knowing that one of them was harboring feelings that would take years to surface?

“Shin,” Taiga started, his heart thundering against his ribs.

His brother opened his eyes, meeting his gaze across the water.

The steam wrapped around them like a cocoon, intimate and safe. This was the moment. He could say it now, let the truth float between them like the rising vapor.

But what if Shintaro disapproved? What if he thought Taiga was being reckless again, diving into something that could jeopardize their childhood friendship?

“Yeah?” Shintaro prompted.

“Hokuto and I...” Taiga’s throat tightened. The words felt like stones, heavy and rough. “We’re dating.”

Steam curled between them. The silence stretched, each second an eternity. Taiga’s pulse roared in his ears, drowning out the gentle lapping of water against stone.

Shintaro’s expression didn't change. No widened eyes, no sharp intake of breath. Just that same steady gaze that always made Taiga feel like his brother could see right through him.

“About time,” Shintaro said.

The words hit Taiga like a splash of cold water. “What?”

“Come on, Taiga-nii. I’ve known Hokuto had feelings for you since we were teenagers.”

Taiga’s mind reeled. The water suddenly felt too hot, too close. “How?”

“You remember Ryota?”

Shit. The name alone made Taiga’s stomach clench. Memories he’d rather forget — harsh words, bruising grips, the constant feeling of walking on eggshells.

“You should have seen Hokuto then,” Shintaro continued, his voice soft but firm. “The way he watched you both. How he’d clench his fists whenever Ryota showed up. I thought he might actually punch him that time at the summer festival.”

Taiga remembered that night — Ryota’s anger, the public scene, the humiliation.

Hokuto had been there, hadn’t he? Standing close, a steady presence at Taiga’s shoulder.

“I didn’t know.” The words felt inadequate. All those years, all those moments. How had he missed it?

“As for you,”—Shintaro’s lips quirked into a knowing smile.—“There was always something different about how you were with him. Even when we were kids. The way you’d light up when he came over. How you’d actually listen when he talked.”

“I listened to you too,” Taiga protested weakly.

“Sure, when I nagged enough.” Shintaro leaned forward, ripples spreading across the water’s surface. “But with Hokuto? One word from him and you’d drop everything. Remember that time he called at midnight because he couldn’t sleep? You snuck out to go stargazing with him.”

Heat crept up Taiga’s neck that had nothing to do with the bath. He did remember. The cool grass under his back, Hokuto’s shoulder pressed against his, the vast expanse of stars above them.

How natural it had felt, how right.

“Why didn’t you ever say anything?”

“Would you have listened?” Shintaro’s question carried no judgment, just honest curiosity. “You had to figure it out yourself. Both of you did.”

Taiga sank deeper into the water, letting it rise to his chin. His brother’s words echoed in his mind, pieces of a puzzle he hadn’t known he was solving falling into place. All those moments with Hokuto, viewed through this new lens, took on different meanings.

“I was blind,” he muttered.

“Deliberately, maybe.” Shintaro’s tone held no accusation. “You’ve always been good at avoiding things you’re not ready to face.”

Like running away to Tokyo? The thought surfaced unbidden, sharp and bitter. But no — that hadn’t been about Hokuto.

Had it?

Steam rose between them, carrying the sweet scent of cypress. Taiga closed his eyes, remembering other nights in this same bath. The way Hokuto used to laugh at his jokes, how his eyes would crinkle at the corners. The comfortable silences they’d shared, which had never felt awkward until Taiga made them so by leaving.

“That night at the summer festival,” Taiga said slowly. “After Ryota…”

“Hokuto stayed with you all night. Sat on the steps of the shrine until sunrise.”

Right. That detail had gotten lost in the blur of hurt and shame. But now it came back clearly — Hokuto’s steady presence, the weight of his jacket around Taiga’s shoulders, the gentle way he’d said nothing at all.

“He never pushed,” Taiga realized. “Never asked for anything.”

“Unlike some people we know.” Shintaro’s reference to Ryota was clear.

The water lapped at Taiga’s chest as he shifted. “You didn’t like Ryota from the start.”

“Neither did Hokuto. The difference was, I told you. Hokuto just…” Shintaro made a vague gesture. “Waited. Watched. Made sure he was there when things fell apart.”

Heat that had nothing to do with the bath crept up Taiga’s neck. How many times had Hokuto done that? Been there, quiet and constant, picking up pieces Taiga hadn't even known he was dropping?

“You’re good for each other,” Shintaro said. “Always have been. You make him braver. He makes you steadier.”

The words settled in Taiga’s chest, warm and weighty. He thought of Hokuto’s hand in his under the oak tree, the tremor in his voice as he finally spoke truths they’d both been dancing around for years.

“I’m scared,” Taiga admitted. The words felt strange on his tongue — he rarely voiced such things, especially to Shintaro. “Of messing this up. Of running again.”

“Good.”

“Good?”

“Means you care enough to worry about it.” Shintaro’s eyes met his, serious now. “Means you’re not taking it lightly.”

Taiga traced patterns in the water’s surface, watching ripples spread and fade. “What if we can't make it work? What if it ruins everything?”

“What if it doesn’t?” Shintaro countered. “What if this is exactly where you’re supposed to be?”

The question hung in the steam between them. Taiga thought of Tokyo, of all the dreams he’d chased there. None of them had felt as real, as right, as the moment he and Hokuto reciprocated each other’s feelings beneath the oak tree.

A splash of warm water hit Taiga’s face, breaking his reverie. He sputtered, wiping his eyes to find Shintaro grinning at him.

“You’re doing it again,” Shintaro said. “That brooding artist thing.”

“I don’t brood.” Taiga flicked water back at his brother, aiming for those smug eyes. “I contemplate. There’s a difference.”

“Sure there is.” Shintaro’s hand swept across the surface, sending a wave that caught Taiga full in the face. “Just like there's a difference between running away and ‘finding yourself.’”

Heat flared in Taiga’s chest. He lunged forward, both hands plunging into the water.

The resulting splash soaked Shintaro’s hair, plastering it to his forehead.

“Asshole.”

“Language,” Shintaro mock-scolded, though his smile had turned wicked. “What would Mom say?”

“Mom’s not here.” Taiga created another wave, larger this time. Water sloshed over the edge of the tub, pooling on the wooden floor. “And you started it.”

“Did I?” Shintaro ducked under Taiga’s next attack, retaliating with a precise strike that sent water up Taiga’s nose.

They devolved into chaos, years of dignity forgotten as they splashed and dodged like children. Water flew everywhere, pattering against the walls and ceiling. Taiga’s earlier anxieties dissolved in the face of his brother’s laughter, replaced by a familiar competitive urge.

“Stand still!” Taiga growled, trying to get a clear shot at Shintaro’s face.

“Make me.” Shintaro twisted away, agile despite the confined space. His counter-attack caught Taiga in the ear.

Damn, Taiga thought, shaking water from his hair. When had his little brother gotten so quick? Gone was the kid who used to trail after him and Hokuto, replaced by this surprisingly nimble opponent.

A particularly enthusiastic splash from Shintaro sent water cascading over the tub’s edge. The sound of it hitting the floor reminded Taiga of summer storms, of racing through puddles with Hokuto and Shintaro at his heels.

“Dad’s going to kill us,” Taiga said, not stopping his assault.

“Only if he finds out.” Shintaro dove forward, his hands creating a wave that nearly emptied half the tub. “Besides, you’re the one making a mess.”

“Me?” Taiga spluttered through a face full of water. “You’re the one who—"

His protest cut off as Shintaro’s next attack went straight into his open mouth.

Taiga choked, coughing and laughing at the same time. The sound echoed off the wooden walls, mixing with Shintaro’s triumphant cackle.

This is ridiculous, Taiga thought, but he couldn’t stop grinning. His cheeks hurt from smiling, his sides aching with suppressed laughter. When was the last time they’d done something this childish?

Before Tokyo, certainly. Before responsibilities and expectations had weighed them down.

“Getting tired, old man?” Shintaro taunted, readying another splash.

“In your dreams.” Taiga gathered his strength, determined to wipe that smirk off his brother’s face.

His hands swept through the water, creating the biggest wave yet.

-----

Light stabbed through Taiga’s eyelids. He groaned, rolling away from the window and fumbling for his phone. His head throbbed — probably from all the water that had gone up his nose during last night’s impromptu splash war with Shintaro.

Last night.

The memories flashed back.

The oak tree.

Hokuto’s confession.

Shit.

Had that actually happened?

His fingers found his phone, nearly knocking it off the nightstand. The screen lit up, displaying a new message from Hokuto:

“Good morning ❤️ I hope you slept well. Last night was perfect.”

Heat crept up Taiga’s neck. Not a dream then. His thumbs hovered over the keyboard as he debated how to respond. Everything felt different now, charged with new meaning.

“Morning,” he typed back. “It was.” He added a heart emoji, then deleted it. Added it again. God, when had he turned into such a teenager?

The time caught his eye — 7:47 AM.

“Fuck!”

Taiga bolted upright, sheets tangling around his legs. He’s late for work.

He stumbled out of bed, nearly tripping over the camera bag.

The sight of it stopped him mid-stride. His old Nikon peeked out from the worn leather, lens cap missing. Next to it, his tripod lay collapsed against the wall, gathering dust.

When was the last time I actually used these?

Taiga pushed the thought away, focusing on getting dressed. He couldn’t deal with that particular crisis right now. Not when he was already late, and definitely not when his phone kept lighting up with messages from Hokuto that made his stomach do stupid little flips.

But as he grabbed a clean shirt from his drawer, his eyes kept drifting back to the camera equipment. The morning light caught the metal rim of his favorite lens, the one he’d saved up for months to buy. It had seemed so important then — the perfect tool to capture his dreams.

Now it just sat there, accusatory in its silence.

His phone buzzed again. Another message from Hokuto:

“Want to grab lunch later?”

Taiga’s reflection smiled back at him as he typed “Yes. ❤️” This time, he left the heart emoji in.

Right. He was definitely going to be late.

-----

Taiga padded down the stairs, his socked feet silent against the wooden steps. The familiar scent of grilled fish and miso soup wafted up from the dining room, making his stomach growl.

“Look who finally decided to join us!” Shintaro called out as Taiga entered. “Did you get lost between your room and here?”

Taiga slid into his usual spot at the table, pointedly ignoring his brother’s smirk. “Some of us need beauty sleep.”

“Clearly not enough,” Shintaro quipped.

His phone buzzed. Taiga’s heart did a little skip when he saw Hokuto’s name on the screen.

“Need to drop by later with some spring campaign materials. Tea? 🍵”

Warmth bloomed in Taiga’s chest. He typed back quickly: “Yes, please. 😊”

“You’re going to strain something if you keep smiling at your phone like that,” Shintaro observed, reaching for the rice.

“Shut up,” Taiga muttered, but he couldn’t quite wipe the grin off his face. He cleared his throat. “Actually, uh, Hokuto’s coming by later. For work stuff.”

“Work stuff,” Shintaro repeated, drawing out the words. “Is that what they’re calling it these days?”

Taiga’s chopsticks clattered against his bowl. “Actually,” he started, then stopped. His mother was humming as she poured tea, while his father read the morning paper with his usual stoic expression. Aoi sat quietly beside Shintaro, hiding a smile behind her rice bowl.

“Actually, we’re... dating now.”

He waited for the shock, the questions, the awkward silence.

Instead, his mother simply beamed. “Oh, wonderful! I was wondering when you two would finally sort things out.”

Taiga blinked. “Finally?”

His father lowered his newspaper just enough to fix Taiga with a knowing look. “We should have him over properly. There are things we need to discuss.”

“Dad.”

“I’ll make some cookies for when he comes,” Aoi offered, her eyes twinkling. “The matcha ones he likes.”

“Did everyone know about this except me?”

Shintaro snorted into his miso soup. “Taiga, you’re about as subtle as a typhoon. You didn’t know back then, but you’ve been staring at him like a lost puppy since high school.”

“I have not—"

Taiga’s phone buzzed again. Another message from Hokuto:

“Can’t wait to see you. 🥹”

Okay, maybe he was smiling like an idiot again.

“See?” Shintaro gestured with his chopsticks. “That’s the look I'm talking about.”

-----

“You’re late.” Yugo’s sing-song voice greeted Taiga as he stumbled into the activities department. “And you’re glowing. Did something happen?”

Taiga dropped into his chair, his legs still wobbly from practically running across the ryokan. “Nothing happened.”

“Right.” Yugo leaned forward, propping his chin on his hands. “And I’m the Emperor of Japan.”

Might as well get it over with. “Fine. Hokuto and I…” Taiga busied himself with straightening the papers on his desk. “We’re dating now.”

The squeal that erupted from Yugo’s throat could have shattered glass. “Finally! Finally! I knew it! Shin owes me dinner.”

“You were betting on us?”

“Of course we were. The tension was unbearable.” Yugo bounced in his chair like an overexcited puppy. “Oh! Another Kyomoto wedding to plan! We could do a spring theme—”

“Stop.” Heat crawled up Taiga’s neck. “We literally just started dating.”

“But you’ve been pining for each other since high school.”

“I have not been—”

Taiga’s phone buzzed.

“On my way with the campaign materials. See you in at 12? ❤️”

Shit. Taiga glanced at his desk — a wasteland of scattered papers, empty coffee cups, and at least three different USB drives whose contents were a mystery.

“Your family knows, right?” Yugo asked, watching Taiga frantically shove papers into random folders.

“Unfortunately.” Taiga grabbed an old takeout container, grimacing at whatever had started growing inside. “They were insufferably smug at it at breakfast. Even my dad had that look.”

“The ‘I knew it all along’ look?”

“That’s the one.” Where had all these rubber bands come from? And why did he have six different pens? “Mom’s already planning dinner. Aoi’s making cookies. Shintaro won’t stop smirking.”

“As he should.” Yugo rolled his chair closer, watching Taiga’s increasingly desperate attempts to create order from chaos. “You know, normal people clean their desks before their boyfriends come to visit.”

“He’s not—" Taiga’s hands froze over a stack of brochures. Boyfriend. The word felt foreign, thrilling. Terrifying. “It’s a work meeting.”

“Sure it is.” Yugo plucked a withered plant from behind Taiga’s monitor. “That’s why you're having a meltdown over your desk looking like a typhoon hit it.”

Another text: “Brought tea 🍵”

Taiga’s heart did a stupid little flutter. He shoved an entire drawer’s worth of odds and ends into his bag. “I am not having a meltdown.”

“You just alphabetized your sticky notes.”

“I’m organizing.”

“You’re panicking.” Yugo’s grin widened. “It’s adorable.”

-----

At exactly noon, a soft knock at the door made Taiga’s heart leap into his throat. He glanced down at the stack of papers in his hands, suddenly unsure what to do with them.

“Come in!” Yugo called out, shooting Taiga an amused look.

The door creaked open, and there was Hokuto, arms laden with documents and bags. His hair was slightly tousled from the December wind, cheeks flushed from the cold.

Their eyes met, and Taiga’s stomach did a familiar flip.

“Hi,” Hokuto said softly, his smile shy but warm.

“Hi,” Taiga managed, painfully aware that he was frozen in an awkward half-crouch, papers clutched to his chest like a shield. He straightened up, trying to appear casual as he dumped the stack onto his desk. Real smooth.

“Morning, Hokuto!” Yugo’s cheerful voice cut through the tension. “Those look heavy.”

“Ah, yes.” Hokuto shifted the load in his arms. “Actually, I brought something for you too, Yugo-kun.” He pulled a bottle from one of the bags. “Jasmine green tea, right?”

Yugo’s eyes widened as he accepted the bottle. “How did you know?”

“Jesse mentioned it.” A faint blush colored Hokuto’s cheeks. “He talks about you quite a bit, actually.”

Taiga watched as Hokuto made his way across the room, his movements careful and deliberate. When he reached Taiga’s desk, he set down the documents and what looked suspiciously like one of Aoi’s cookie bags. Up close, Taiga could smell his cologne — something subtle and warm that made his head spin slightly.

They stood there for a moment, just looking at each other, matching grins spreading across their faces. Taiga’s hands itched to reach out, to touch, to make sure this was real.

But his body felt locked in place, caught between wanting to move closer and being hyper-aware of Yugo’s presence.

“So!” Yugo’s voice made them both jump. “Those campaign materials look fascinating.”

Right. They were supposed to be working. Taiga cleared his throat, forcing his eyes away from the way Hokuto’s sweater hugged his shoulders. “Yes. Campaign. Materials.”

“Sorry, I…” Hokuto fumbled with the documents, his professional demeanor returning. “Here are the materials for spring.”

Their fingers brushed as he passed the folder to Taiga. The contact sent a jolt through Taiga’s arm, and he nearly dropped the whole stack.

Focus.

But his skin tingled where Hokuto had touched him, and his mind wandered to last night — to warm hands and soft confessions under starlight.

“We’ve secured a full-page spread for Gonzaemon,” Hokuto continued, his voice taking on that confident tone he used for work. He pulled out a sleek presentation folder. “The magazine wants to feature it in April, right at peak season. We’re particularly interested in the traditional aspects, but we’ll also do a social media takeover for a week.”

Taiga tried to concentrate on the documents, but Hokuto’s lips kept drawing his attention. The way they moved as he spoke, how they curved slightly at the corners when he mentioned certain details.

Had they always been this distracting?

Hokuto’s tongue darted out to wet his bottom lip, and Taiga completely lost track of what he was saying.

“Taiga?” Hokuto’s voice snapped him back to reality. “The spring activities?”

“Right!” Heat crept up his neck. Get it together. “We do this annual thing with the cherry blossoms. Traditional tea ceremonies under the trees. Mom and Aoi arrange these incredible displays, and we serve seasonal confections.” The words tumbled out as he tried to cover his lapse in attention. “It’s actually pretty popular with—”

“With foreign tourists,” Hokuto finished, a soft smile playing on his lips. “I remember. We used to sneak extra mochi when your mom wasn’t looking.”

The memory hit Taiga like a wave — teenage Hokuto with powdered sugar on his chin, both of them hiding behind the garden shed, sharing stolen sweets.

His heart squeezed. How many moments like that had he forgotten? How many more could they make now?

“That should definitely go in the write-up,” Hokuto said, pulling out his notebook. His sleeve rode up slightly, revealing the delicate bones of his wrist.

Taiga swallowed hard. This was going to be interesting.

“Actually,” Hokuto cleared his throat, shuffling through his notes. “I was thinking we could arrange a meeting with Hiromi-san? Maybe set up a photoshoot to demonstrate the ceremony and workshop?”

Taiga’s breath caught at the word ‘photoshoot.’

“We have an outsourced photographer, of course,” Hokuto added quickly, his eyes catching Taiga’s reaction. “The magazine wants to maintain a consistent style across their features.”

Relief flooded through Taiga’s body, muscles he hadn’t realized were tense slowly unclenching. He forced his mind away from the camera bag in his room, focusing instead on the way Hokuto’s fingers played with the corner of his notebook. “Right. Yeah, I’ll talk to Mom and Aoi about their schedule.”

“Perfect.” Hokuto’s voice was gentle, almost too careful. “The sooner we can get some sample shots, the better. The magazine’s deadline is...”

Taiga nodded along, but his mind kept drifting to his old portfolio website. He should probably take that down. No point leaving those mediocre attempts at art floating around the internet.

“Taiga?” Hokuto’s voice cut through his spiral. “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” he said automatically. The word tasted stale. “Just thinking about schedules.”

Hokuto’s expression softened in that way that made Taiga’s chest ache. Like he could see right through the lie but was too kind to call it out. “We don’t have to decide everything right now. Maybe we could discuss it over lunch?”

The suggestion hung in the air between them, heavy with meaning beyond a simple business meeting. Taiga’s heart did another one of those annoying flips. “Yeah, that would be... yeah.”

“You two are adorable,” Yugo chimed in, making them both jump. Taiga had almost forgotten he was there.

Heat crept up Taiga’s neck as he forced his attention back to the documents. His mother’s schedule. Right. He could handle that. One step at a time.

“The magazine would probably want shots of the garden too,” Hokuto continued, his voice taking on that professional tone again. But his eyes kept finding Taiga’s, soft and understanding.

“I’ll check with maintenance about the pruning schedule,” Taiga said, pulling himself back to the present. His voice sounded steadier than he felt. “Make sure everything’s timed right for the shoot.”

A soft inhale from Hokuto caught Taiga’s attention. He glanced up from his notes to find Hokuto fidgeting with his pen, an uncharacteristic nervousness in his movements.

“Actually,” Hokuto started, his voice pitched slightly higher than usual. “Not related to the photoshoot, but I was wondering if... if you’re free Friday evening?”

Taiga’s heart stuttered. Oh. This wasn’t about work anymore.

The realization hit him like a splash of cold water — Hokuto was asking him on a proper date.

Their first real date.

His stomach did another one of those annoying flips.

But wait. Shit. Friday was…

“The social with Nippon Travel,” Taiga groaned, the memory crashing back. He’d promised to attend the networking event, hadn’t he?

“Oh.” Hokuto’s face fell slightly, though he tried to hide it. “Of course, that’s—”

“I can cover for you!” Yugo practically bounced in his chair. “Jesse’s going to be there anyway, and you know how I love a good party.”

Taiga shot Yugo a grateful look. “Are you sure? It’s a lot of—”

“Please.” Yugo waved his hand dismissively. “Like I’d pass up the chance to watch you two finally go on a proper date. Consider it my contribution to romance.”

A giggle bubbled up from Taiga’s chest, surprising even himself. When was the last time he’d actually giggled? “In that case,”—he turned back to Hokuto, whose eyes had brightened considerably. “I’m free on Friday.”

Hokuto’s answering smile made Taiga’s knees weak. Thank god he was sitting down.

“Great.” Hokuto’s voice was soft, almost shy. “That’s... great.” He cleared his throat. “Anyway, would you like to get lunch now? We could discuss the details of the magazine write-up. And the date.”

“Yes,” Taiga said, perhaps a bit too quickly. He glanced at his inbox, grimacing at the unread count. “Just give me five minutes to wrap up some emails?”

“Of course.” Hokuto gathered his things, that small smile still playing on his lips. “I’ll wait outside.”

The moment the door closed behind Hokuto, Yugo spun in his chair. “You’re so down bad.”

“Shut up,” Taiga muttered, but there was no heat in it. He couldn’t stop smiling even if he tried.

Hokuto tugged at his collar for the third time, his reflection in the office window mocking his fidgeting. The numbers on his computer screen refused to move faster.

5:45 PM. Fifteen more minutes.

Jesse’s knowing smirk burned into the back of his neck. “That’s the fifth time you’ve checked your phone.”

“I haven’t checked anything.”

“Right. And that’s totally not Taiga’s contact photo I saw.”

Heat crept up Hokuto’s neck. He’d forgotten to dim his screen. Amateur mistake.

The weight of the extra scarf in his messenger bag pressed against his thigh. The forecast showed dropping temperatures tonight, and Taiga never dressed appropriately for the weather. Some things hadn’t changed since high school.

“You know, staring at the clock won’t make it move faster.”

Hokuto ignored Jesse’s teasing, focusing instead on organizing his already immaculate desk. The proposal drafts were filed, client emails answered, and his outbox was empty. Nothing left to distract him from the nervous energy thrumming through his veins.

His phone buzzed.

“Can’t wait to see you,” Taiga’s message read. Three dots appeared, disappeared, then appeared again. “Yugo won’t shut up about my outfit.”

Outfit. Hokuto glanced down at his own carefully chosen clothes. The charcoal sweater over a white button-down felt too formal now.

Or not formal enough?

“Earth to Hokuto.” Jesse waved a hand in front of his face. “You’re doing that thing again.”

“What thing?”

“That soppy smile whenever Kyomoto texts you.”

Hokuto straightened his papers, already perfectly aligned. “Don’t you have work to do?”

“Nope. Finished early just to watch this rom-com unfold.” Jesse propped his chin on his hand. “So where are you taking him?”

“None of your business.”

“Aw, come on! I need details to report back to Juri.”

“Since when was Juri invested in this?”

Jesse’s grin widened. “Since he started complaining about losing his chance with your boyfriend.”

Boyfriend. The word sent a fresh wave of butterflies through Hokuto’s stomach.

His phone buzzed again. Taiga had sent a photo: a mirror selfie showing him in a cream-colored turtleneck that made Hokuto’s mouth go dry.

“Yugo’s choice,” the caption read. “Too much?”

Not enough, Hokuto thought, then immediately felt his face flush. He typed and deleted three responses before settling on: “Perfect.”

5:52 PM.

The extra scarf suddenly felt like a presumptuous choice. What if Taiga thought he was mothering him? But leaving it behind meant risking Taiga getting cold, and he remembered how Taiga used to sneeze his way through winter during their school days.

“Just take the scarf,” Jesse said, reading his mind. “It’s cute that you fuss over him like that.”

“I don’t fuss.”

“Please. You’ve been planning this date since high school.”

Hokuto’s fingers found the soft wool of the scarf. He had, hadn’t he? All those nights under the stars, imagining what it would be like to finally tell Taiga how he felt. To take him out properly, not just as friends who happened to spend every free moment together.

5:55 PM.

His computer chimed with a new email. No. He wasn’t starting anything new with five minutes left. Let tomorrow’s Hokuto deal with it.

He stood, perhaps too quickly, his chair rolling back with a squeak that drew knowing looks from his coworkers. Heat crawled up his neck as he gathered his things, trying to move at a normal, dignified pace.

“Have fun~” Jesse sung out. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

“That’s a very short list,” Hokuto muttered, but his hands shook slightly as he shut down his computer and pulled on his coat.

The extra scarf sat heavy in his bag, a tangible reminder of years of unspoken feelings. Of all the times he’d wanted to wrap Taiga in his warmth, to protect him from more than just the cold.

5:58 PM.

“Oh, one more thing.” Jesse's voice cut through Hokuto’s rush to pack up. “When are you going to tell him about Tokyo?”

The offer letter burned in Hokuto’s desk drawer. He’d pushed it there Monday morning, buried under expense reports and travel brochures. “Not tonight.”

“You’ve got two weeks left to decide.”

“I know.” Hokuto’s fingers tightened around his bag strap.

But now, the thought of leaving felt like swallowing glass.

“He’d want to know.”

“I can’t.” Hokuto’s voice came out sharper than intended. “Not yet. Tonight’s supposed to be...”

Special. Perfect. Everything I’ve waited for.

Jesse raised his hands in surrender. “Your call. But secrets have a way of complicating things.”

As if I don’t know that. Hokuto had spent years keeping his feelings for Taiga locked away. Now that they were finally out in the open, the thought of introducing new secrets made his stomach churn.

“I’ll tell him.” Eventually. When the moment’s right. When I figure out what I actually want.

The clock on his desk clicked to 6:00 PM.

Hokuto grabbed his coat, desperate to escape this conversation. “I have to go.”

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” Jesse called after him, laughter in his voice.

“That’s still a very short list,” Hokuto muttered, but his steps quickened as he headed for the elevator. Behind him, he heard Jesse’s theatrical “Good luck!” echo through the office, followed by a few knowing chuckles from their coworkers.

I’m going to kill him tomorrow, he thought, jabbing the elevator button.

But his hand strayed to the scarf in his bag, and despite everything, he couldn't stop the smile tugging at his lips.

-----

A couple walked past, hands linked, laughing at some private joke. Hokuto shifted his weight, hyper-aware of how he must look — a man alone by the city’s famous wishing fountain, alternating between staring at his phone and scanning the crowd.

6:16 PM.

The rational part of his brain knew that arriving sixteen minutes early was his own choice. That Taiga wouldn’t even be here for another fourteen minutes, assuming he was exactly on time. The irrational part conjured images of empty streets and unanswered messages.

What if he changed his mind?

A notification lit up his screen. His heart jumped, then sank — just Jesse sending a string of suggestive emojis.

Hokuto typed a quick “shut up” before shoving the phone back in his pocket.

The weight of the extra scarf in his bag suddenly felt foolish. Of course Taiga would dress appropriately for the weather. He wasn’t a kid anymore who needed Hokuto’s fussing.

The fountain burbled behind him, its steady splash a counterpoint to his racing thoughts. How many coins had they tossed in here as teenagers? How many wishes had Hokuto made, standing right here, stealing glances at Taiga’s profile as he closed his eyes and made his own silent prayers?

6:19 PM.

The Tokyo offer letter might as well have been burning through his bag.

Two weeks. Two weeks to decide if he’d throw away the biggest opportunity of his career or walk away from everything — everyone — that mattered.

From Taiga, just when they’d finally...

A group of high school students crowded around the fountain, their excited chatter grating against Hokuto’s nerves. He stepped aside, closer to the stone lantern, and pulled out his phone again.

6:22 PM.

No messages.

The students tossed their coins with exaggerated wishes. “Please let me pass my exams!” one shouted, making her friends laugh.

Hokuto remembered Taiga’s theatrical wishes from their school days. “Please let Hokuto stop being such a worrywart!” he’d declare, while Hokuto rolled his eyes and pretended his own silent wish wasn't always about the boy standing next to him.

6:25 PM.

His palms felt clammy. What if Taiga got lost?

No, that was ridiculous. They’d been meeting at this fountain since middle school.

But what if he forgot? What if he thought they were meeting somewhere else? What if—

Hokuto spun around too fast, nearly colliding with an elderly woman who gave him a concerned look before hurrying past.

Not Taiga. Of course not Taiga. It was only 6:27 PM and he was acting like a nervous teenager instead of a grown man with a career and a Tokyo job offer he couldn’t think about right now.

He pulled out his phone again, thumb hovering over Taiga’s name. Would texting to confirm make him seem desperate? They'd just messaged an hour ago. But what if something came up? What if—

The phone buzzed in his hand, making him jump.

“On my way!” Taiga’s message read. “Yugo made me change again. Five minutes!”

Relief flooded through him, followed immediately by a fresh wave of nerves. Five minutes. Five minutes to get his breathing under control, to stop his hands from shaking, to figure out how to act normal when everything felt so new and fragile.

The job offer pressed against his conscience. He should tell Taiga tonight. Should lay all the cards on the table before this went any further. Before they built something he’d have to tear down in two weeks.

But the memory of Taiga's smile in the forest, of warmth blooming in his chest at finally, finally holding him close — how could he risk that? How could he take this perfect moment and complicate it with decisions and deadlines?

6:31 PM.

The crowd thinned as the evening grew cooler. Hokuto’s fingers found the scarf in his bag again, tracing its soft edge. Maybe he could wait. Just a few days. Just long enough to have this one perfect evening he’d dreamed about for so long.

Just long enough to pretend the choice ahead wasn’t tearing him apart.

A flash of dark hair caught Hokuto’s attention. His heart stuttered as Taiga emerged from the crowd, weaving between couples and families gathered by the fountain. The sight of him — hair slightly tousled, cheeks flushed from the cold — made Hokuto’s carefully rehearsed greeting evaporate.

Taiga wore fitted black jeans and a cream sweater that highlighted his slender frame. No coat. No scarf.

Of course. Some things never changed.

Their eyes met. Taiga’s smile bloomed slow and shy, mirroring the warmth spreading through Hokuto’s chest. They stood there, grinning at each other like idiots while the crowd flowed around them. The fountain’s steady splash faded to background noise.

“You look...” Taiga’s voice was soft. “Really good.”

Heat crept up Hokuto’s neck. He’d spent an embarrassing amount of time choosing his outfit — dark jeans, a fitted gray sweater under a wool coat. Nothing special, but Taiga’s appreciative gaze made him feel like he’d done something right.

“You’re going to freeze,” Hokuto managed, reaching for his bag. Now he was glad he’d thought ahead.

Taiga’s eyes crinkled as Hokuto stepped closer. “Still taking care of me after all these years?”

“Someone has to.” Hokuto’s fingers brushed Taiga’s neck as he wrapped the scarf, making them both shiver. This close, he could smell Taiga’s cologne — something woodsy and warm. “There. Better?”

Taiga tucked his chin into the scarf, inhaling. “Smells like you.”

The simple observation sent Hokuto’s pulse racing. He stepped back before he could do something ridiculous like kiss Taiga right there by the fountain.

“So.” Taiga’s eyes sparkled with curiosity. “What’s the plan?”

“I thought we could walk through the illuminations first.” Hokuto gestured toward the shopping district where thousands of lights transformed the streets into a winter wonderland. “Then dinner. Maybe drinks after, if you want?”

“Perfect.” Taiga’s hand found his, fingers intertwining with casual intimacy that made Hokuto’s breath catch. “Lead the way?”

The warmth of Taiga’s palm against his own chased away the December chill. Hokuto squeezed gently, still half-convinced this was all an elaborate dream.

But Taiga was solid and real beside him, thumb tracing absent patterns on Hokuto’s skin.

“Ready?” Hokuto asked, though he wasn’t sure if he was asking Taiga or himself.

“With you?” Taiga’s smile was soft in the gathering darkness. “Always.”

-----

The winter lights transformed the shopping street into a glittering wonderland. Hokuto couldn’t help stealing glances at Taiga as they walked, watching how the golden glow caught in his dark eyes and painted shadows across his cheekbones. Their joined hands swung gently between them, Taiga’s fingers still intertwined with his own in a way that felt both thrilling and achingly familiar.

“Remember when they first started doing these illuminations?” Taiga asked, tilting his head back to admire the canopy of twinkling lights overhead. “We used to sneak out to see them.”

“You used to sneak out,” Hokuto corrected, fighting a smile. “I got dragged along to keep you and Shin from getting into trouble.”

“As if you didn’t love it.” Taiga bumped their shoulders together, drawing closer against the evening chill. “Mr. Perfect Student, staying out past curfew.”

The warmth of Taiga’s body pressed against his side made Hokuto’s heart stutter. He tightened his grip on Taiga’s hand, thumb brushing over his knuckles. “Only because you were impossible to say no to.”

“Were?” Taiga’s grin was illuminated by a cascade of blue lights as they passed under an archway.

“Are,” Hokuto amended. “Definitely are.”

They paused to admire a massive light sculpture — a whale that seemed to swim through waves of shimmering white LEDs. A small crowd had gathered, phones raised to capture photos. Hokuto watched Taiga’s photographer’s eye assess the scene, noting how his free hand twitched like he was framing a shot.

“No camera tonight?” Hokuto asked softly.

Taiga’s shoulders tensed slightly before relaxing. “Still on a break. Besides...” He turned to Hokuto, expression soft in the ethereal glow. “Some things are better experienced than captured.”

Heat bloomed in Hokuto’s chest. He wanted to bottle this moment — Taiga backlit by thousands of twinkling lights, cheeks flushed from the cold, looking at him with that gentle smile that had always been his undoing.

They continued down the illuminated street, trading memories and observations. It amazed Hokuto how easily they fell back into their old rhythm, finishing each other’s sentences and referencing shared jokes from years ago.

But there was something new too — a charged awareness in the spaces between words, in the way Taiga’s thumb traced patterns on his palm, in how their bodies gravitated closer with each step.

“Oh!” Taiga suddenly tugged him toward a side street. “They added more displays this year.”

The narrow alley opened into a small courtyard transformed into a magical garden. Light flowers bloomed along the walls, their petals shifting through rainbow hues. Delicate illuminated butterflies seemed to float overhead.

“It’s beautiful,” Hokuto breathed, but he was looking at Taiga.

The lights painted ever-changing colors across Taiga’s face as he gazed upward in wonder. His eyes reflected the dancing lights like stars, and Hokuto felt that familiar ache in his chest — the one that had been there since they were teenagers, the one that whispered this is it, this is home.

“You’re staring,” Taiga murmured, turning to catch his gaze.

“Can you blame me?”

The words slipped out before Hokuto could stop them. He watched a blush spread across Taiga’s cheeks, visible even in the shifting light.

“Smooth talker.” Taiga’s voice was teasing, but his eyes were soft. He stepped closer, until their joined hands were pressed between them. “When did you get so confident, Hokku?”

“I’m not,” Hokuto admitted. “I’m terrified.”

“Of what?”

Of losing you again. Of the job offer. Of how much I want this — want you.

But Hokuto couldn’t voice any of that. Not yet.

Instead, he brought their joined hands up, pressed his lips to Taiga’s knuckles.

“Of waking up.”

Hokuto’s heart hammered against his ribs as Taiga’s lips parted, a question forming. The weight of unspoken truths pressed against his chest — the job offer, his fears, the depth of feelings he’d carried for so long.

A flash of red caught his eye. The familiar logo of Akaushi-ya glowed warm and inviting through the winter night, offering an escape from dangerous confessions.

“Are you hungry?” The words tumbled out too quickly. Hokuto gestured toward the restaurant, where the rich aroma of grilled beef wafted into the illuminated street. “They opened this place while you were gone. The beef here is incredible.”

Taiga’s fingers tightened around his for a moment, and Hokuto caught a flicker of something — disappointment? concern? — cross his face before it smoothed into a small smile. “Always deflecting, Hokku.”

Heat crept up Hokuto’s neck. Taiga had always seen through him too easily, even back when they were kids. Some things hadn’t changed.

“The owner sources directly from farms in Kumamoto,” Hokuto pressed on, desperate to steer the conversation away from dangerous waters. “Jesse dragged me here once for lunch. Their sukiyaki is...”

He trailed off as Taiga stepped closer, close enough that Hokuto could see the tiny flecks of gold in his eyes, illuminated by the twinkling lights above.

“You’re doing it again,” Taiga said softly. “That thing where you hide behind facts when you’re nervous.”

Damn it. Hokuto’s throat went dry. He’d forgotten how disarming Taiga could be, how easily he could strip away pretenses with a look. The urge to kiss him warred with the need to maintain some semblance of control.

“I’m not—”

His protest died as Taiga’s free hand came up to brush an imaginary speck from his collar. The casual intimacy of the gesture sent electricity dancing across his skin.

“The beef does smell amazing though,” Taiga conceded, letting his hand drop. His eyes crinkled with amusement. “And I know better than to push when you get that deer-in-headlights look.”

Relief and guilt tangled in Hokuto's chest. He didn’t deserve this understanding, this gentle acceptance of his evasions.

But god, he was grateful for it.

“Their private booths have these beautiful carved screens,” he offered, squeezing Taiga’s hand in silent thanks. “Very traditional. You’d probably want to photograph them.”

“Probably,” Taiga agreed, allowing himself to be guided toward the restaurant’s entrance. The paper lanterns cast a warm glow across his features, softening the edges of his knowing smile. “But I’m more interested in watching you pretend you’re not freaking out right now.”

A startled laugh escaped Hokuto. Trust Taiga to call him out while simultaneously letting him off the hook. “That obvious?”

“Only to someone who spent years memorizing your tells.” Taiga paused at the restaurant’s door, tugging Hokuto back slightly. “But Hokuto?”

“Mm?”

“Eventually, we’re going to talk about what’s got you looking like you’re carrying the weight of the world.”

-----

“We could go somewhere else,” Taiga offered, his breath visible in the cold night air. “I know Juri made you uncomfortable the other day.”

Hokuto’s fingers tightened around Taiga’s hand. The memory of Juri’s casual flirting during the presentation still pricked at him, but he refused to let jealousy dictate their evening. “No, Hidden Leaf is perfect. Jesse keeps raving about their cocktails.”

Taiga studied him for a moment, that knowing look in his eyes that always made Hokuto feel exposed. “You sure?”

“I’m not that fragile.” The words came out sharper than intended. Hokuto took a breath, softening his tone. “Besides, I’d rather face it head-on than spend the night avoiding places because I got jealous once.”

The corner of Taiga’s mouth quirked up. “Once?”

Heat crept up Hokuto’s neck. Fine, more than once. But he wasn’t about to admit how many times he’d caught himself glaring at people who looked too long at Taiga, even back in high school.

They stepped into Hidden Leaf’s warm interior. The bar’s intimate lighting cast everything in amber tones, vinyl records lined the walls, and the soft thrum of hip-hop mixed with quiet conversation created an atmosphere that would have been perfect if not for—

“Welcome, Kyomo.” Juri’s voice carried across the bar, smooth and friendly. He stood behind the counter, expertly mixing something with fresh herbs and what looked like yuzu.

Of course he remembers Taiga’s name. Hokuto fought the urge to pull Taiga closer.

“Hey Juri.” Taiga’s casual greeting betrayed no awareness of the tension Hokuto felt thrumming through his body. “This is Hokuto. You’ve met him.”

Juri’s eyes flickered between them, noting their joined hands. Something shifted in his expression — understanding, maybe amusement. “Ah. The childhood friend.”

“Partner,” Hokuto corrected before he could stop himself. The word felt new and precious on his tongue.

A genuine smile spread across Juri’s face. “Okay then. Jesse owes me money.”

“You were betting on us?” Taiga’s incredulous laugh eased some of the tightness in Hokuto’s chest.

“Jesse had to explain why Hokuto here looked like he was about to kill me during his presentation.” Juri gestured toward a cozy corner booth. “Take a seat. First round’s on me — consider it a celebration.”

As they settled into the booth, Hokuto felt slightly foolish about his earlier jealousy. Juri moved with practiced efficiency behind the bar, his attention already turned to crafting their drinks.

“See? Not so bad,” Taiga murmured, his knee brushing against Hokuto’s under the table.

The casual contact sent warmth spreading through Hokuto’s body. “You’re enjoying this too much.”

“Maybe.” Taiga leaned closer, his voice dropping. “But watching you get protective is kind of hot.”

Hokuto nearly choked on air.

Before he could respond, Juri appeared with two elegant glasses — one smoking slightly, the other garnished with what looked like crystallized flowers.

Hokuto stared at the smoking cocktail, trying to appear nonchalant as Taiga took a sip of his own drink. The crystallized flowers caught the amber lighting, creating tiny prisms on Taiga’s face.

Stop staring at his face and drink the damn thing.

He lifted the glass, inhaling the aromatic smoke. “Notes of... cedar?”

Why did I say that? I know nothing about cocktails.

“Close.” Juri’s lips twitched. “Cypress, actually. Mixed with twelve-year whiskey and a house-made bitter orange liqueur.”

Heat crept up Hokuto’s neck. Of course it was cypress — the same wood used in high-end onsen baths. He should have known that.

“This is incredible,” Taiga said, examining his drink with genuine interest. “The flowers — are they local?”

“From a small farm in Kikuchi.” Juri’s eyes lit up as he explained the process of crystallizing edible flowers.

Hokuto took a larger sip than intended, the smoky liquid burning his throat.

“You okay there?” Taiga’s hand found Hokuto’s knee under the table.

“Fine.” His voice came out rougher than intended. The cocktail was excellent — perfectly balanced between bitter and sweet — but admitting that meant acknowledging Juri’s skill.

You’re being ridiculous.

“You know Hokuto works in tourism marketing,” Taiga told Juri, squeezing Hokuto’s knee. “He’s probably thinking about featuring Hidden Leaf in the spring campaign.”

“That’s thoughtful of you.” Juri’s knowing smirk made it clear he saw right through Hokuto’s awkward attempts at cocktail criticism. “Though I hear you’re quite particular about which establishments you promote.”

“I prefer places with... substance.” What does that even mean?

“As opposed to style?” Juri raised an eyebrow.

“Both,” Hokuto amended quickly. “Style and substance. Like the, uh, sophisticated notes in this...” He gestured vaguely at his glass.

Taiga pressed his lips together, clearly suppressing laughter.

Juri didn’t bother hiding his amusement.

“The sophisticated notes,” Juri echoed. “Would those be the ones that made you cough?”

A customer at the far end of the bar waved, saving Hokuto from having to respond. Juri excused himself with another knowing smile.

“You’re cute when you’re flustered,” Taiga murmured, leaning closer.

“I’m not—” Hokuto’s protest died as Taiga’s thumb traced circles on his knee. “He just makes everything look so effortless.”

“It’s his job to look effortless. Just like it’s your job to overthink everything.”

“I don’t overthink—”

“You spent five minutes analyzing the sophisticated notes of your drink instead of actually enjoying it.”

He has a point. Hokuto took another sip, letting himself focus on the taste rather than his wounded pride. The smoke had mellowed, revealing layers of flavor he’d missed before.

The warmth from Taiga’s hand on his knee grounded Hokuto, steadying his nerves. Another customer caught Juri’s attention, and Hokuto watched the bartender’s fluid movements as he prepared their order. Even his casual grace felt intimidating.

“Remember that winter when we snuck out to watch the meteor shower?” Taiga’s voice pulled Hokuto from his thoughts. “You brought that awful instant coffee in thermoses.”

Heat bloomed in Hokuto’s chest. “It wasn’t that bad.”

“It was terrible.” Taiga’s eyes crinkled at the corners. “But you were so proud of yourself for remembering I liked mine with extra sugar.:

The memory washed over Hokuto — Taiga’s face illuminated by starlight, their shoulders pressed together for warmth, the way Taiga had grimaced at the first sip but drank it anyway. “You still finished the whole thing.”

“Because you made it for me.” Taiga lifted his glass, studying the crystallized flowers. “Though I prefer this to instant coffee.”

Juri returned, setting down fresh glasses of water. “Another round?”

“Not yet.” Taiga’s thumb traced absent patterns on Hokuto’s knee. “Tell me more about these local farms you source from. Hokuto and I used to explore all over Kumamoto as kids, but I missed so much while I was gone.”

Something in Hokuto’s chest loosened. The casual way Taiga included him, the shared history in his words — it felt like being chosen, over and over.

“There’s a small collective near Mount Aso,” Juri explained, his earlier teasing replaced by genuine enthusiasm. “They’re doing amazing things with traditional farming methods. Actually,”—He glanced at Hokuto—“they might be worth featuring in your tourism campaigns. I can connect you with the owner.”

Hokuto blinked, caught off-guard by the olive branch. “That would be helpful.”

“Perfect.” Juri’s smile held no trace of competition. “I’ll grab their card before you leave. For now, though...” He nodded toward Taiga, who was attempting to steal one of the crystallized flowers from Hokuto’s empty glass.

“What?” Taiga froze, caught in the act. “You weren’t going to eat it.”

“You don’t know that.” But Hokuto was already pushing his glass closer, watching fondly as Taiga plucked out the delicate flower.

“Some things never change,” Taiga said around a mouthful of sugar-coated petals. At Juri’s questioning look, he added, “Hokuto always let me steal food off his plate in high school. Said it wasn’t worth the fight.”

“It wasn’t.” Hokuto’s voice came out softer than intended. “Still isn’t.”

Juri excused himself with a knowing smile.

Hokuto watched him go, earlier jealousy fading to something like embarrassment. He’d been so caught up in his own insecurities that he’d missed what was right in front of him.

Taiga, who remembered the exact way Hokuto made his coffee fifteen years ago. Taiga, who still stole food off his plate like they were teenagers.

Taiga, who kept finding ways to include their shared past in every conversation.

“You’re thinking too loud again,” Taiga murmured, squeezing his knee.

“Sorry.” Hokuto traced the rim of his empty glass. “I guess I got a bit carried away with the whole... protective thing.” He thought of the job offer again. Not now. “Do you ever miss it? Tokyo, I mean.”

Taiga’s hand stilled on Hokuto’s knee. The ambient music filled the silence between them as he considered the question.

“Sometimes.” Taiga’s voice dropped lower, barely audible over the jazz playing through Hidden Leaf’s speakers. “The energy there was different. Endless possibilities, you know? Like you could reinvent yourself at any moment.”

Hokuto’s chest tightened. He knew that feeling all too well — the allure of starting fresh, becoming someone new.

“But I think...” Taiga’s fingers drummed against Hokuto’s knee. “I think I was running away more than running toward something.”

The admission hung heavy between them. Hokuto waited, watching the play of emotions across Taiga’s face.

“After the earthquake...” Taiga swallowed hard. “Everything felt temporary. Like it could all disappear in seconds.”

The memory hit Hokuto with sudden clarity — the violent shaking, the sound of glass shattering, the weeks of aftershocks that left them all jumping at the smallest tremor.

“I couldn’t stay in my room for months,” Taiga continued, his voice distant. “Kept thinking about how the ceiling could just... collapse. How everything we built could crumble.”

Hokuto's hand found Taiga’s under the table, intertwining their fingers. He remembered the devastation — entire neighborhoods reduced to rubble, the constant wail of sirens, the faces of people who’d lost everything.

“Tokyo felt safe,” Taiga said. “Far enough from fault lines, tall buildings designed to withstand anything. But mostly it felt...” He gestured vaguely with his free hand. “Disconnected. Like nothing could touch me there.”

That’s why you left without looking back. The realization settled heavy in Hokuto’s stomach. All these years, he’d thought Taiga was just chasing his dreams, never considering that he might have been running from his fears.

“The funny thing is”—Taiga let out a hollow laugh—“I ended up losing everything anyway. Just... slower. More metaphorically.”

“Taiga…”

“No, it’s okay.” Taiga squeezed his hand. “I needed to fail. Needed to realize I can’t outrun everything forever.”

The music shifted to something with a deeper bass line. Across the bar, Juri was crafting another elaborate cocktail, his movements precise and measured. Hokuto watched him work, trying to find the right words.

“I still get nervous during earthquakes in Tokyo,” Taiga admitted quietly. “Keep thinking about how the ground just... opened up. How powerless we all were.”

Hokuto remembered finding Taiga after the main shock, both of them covered in dust from collapsed buildings. How they’d huddled together in the evacuation center, counting aftershocks, neither sleeping more than minutes at a time.

“I should have known,” Hokuto said. “Should have realized you weren’t just leaving for photography.”

“How could you? I barely understood it myself.” Taiga’s thumb brushed over Hokuto’s knuckles. “Besides, I did want to be a photographer. The earthquake just... gave me the final push I needed. Made staying feel impossible.”

Hokuto traced the grain of the wooden table, gathering his courage. “Do you ever think about picking up photography again?”

The question had lingered on his tongue all evening, but fear of pushing too hard held him back.

Now, watching Taiga’s fingers fidget with his empty glass, Hokuto wondered if he should have kept it to himself.

“I still have all my equipment,” Taiga said after a long pause. His voice carried a weight Hokuto hadn’t heard before. “It’s set up in my room, actually. Been meaning to pack it away but...” He shrugged, the gesture almost defensive.

But you can’t let go completely.

Hokuto’s chest tightened. He remembered the way Taiga used to light up behind a camera, how his entire demeanor would shift when he found the perfect shot. That passion had been as much a part of him as his dry humor or his habit of stealing food.

“The darkroom stuff is still there too.” Taiga's laugh held no humor. “Kind of pathetic, right? Can’t even commit to giving up properly.”

“It’s not pathetic.” The words came out fiercer than intended. Hokuto squeezed Taiga’s hand under the table, wishing he could somehow transfer his certainty through touch alone. “Having doubts doesn’t make you weak.”

“No?” Taiga’s eyes met his, vulnerable in a way that made Hokuto’s heart ache. “Because from where I’m sitting, it looks a lot like being too scared to make a real decision.”

The vinyl record behind the bar crackled as it transitioned to a new song. In the shifting amber light, Hokuto could see traces of the eighteen-year-old who’d once shown him how to frame the perfect sunset shot.

That memory hit him like a physical blow — Taiga’s hands steady on the camera, his voice soft as he explained about light and shadow, the way his entire face had glowed with certainty.

“Do you remember that autumn festival?” Hokuto asked. “When you spent the whole night taking pictures of the lanterns?”

“Which ended in disaster when I dropped my camera in the river?” A ghost of a smile crossed Taiga’s face. “Hard to forget.”

“No, I mean how you spent two hours afterwards trying to fix it. You wouldn’t give up, even when everyone else said it was hopeless.”

“That camera was expensive.”

“It wasn’t about the money.” Hokuto leaned forward, holding Taiga’s gaze. “You cared that much about every shot you might miss. Every moment you couldn’t capture.”

Something flickered in Taiga’s expression — recognition, maybe, or grief for the person he used to be. His fingers tightened around Hokuto’s.

“The equipment in your room,” Hokuto continued carefully. “Maybe it’s not there because you can’t let go. Maybe it’s there because part of you isn’t ready to.”

“Or maybe I’m just a coward who can’t face throwing it away.” But Taiga’s voice had lost some of its bitterness.

“When’s the last time you actually looked through the viewfinder?”

Taiga’s pause spoke volumes. “Not since Tokyo.”

More than a month. More than a month of expensive equipment gathering dust, waiting for its owner to either reclaim it or let it go. Hokuto thought about the Tokyo job offer that promised everything he’d once dreamed of.

We’re both stuck between holding on and letting go.

“I almost sold it all last week,” Taiga admitted quietly. “Had everything boxed up, ready to take to that camera shop downtown.”

“What stopped you?”

“Honestly?” Taiga’s thumb traced absent patterns on Hokuto’s palm. “I walked past this group of tourists taking selfies by the castle. They were struggling with the angle, and before I knew it, I was offering to help. The way their faces lit up when they saw the shot...” He trailed off, shaking his head.

“You missed it,” Hokuto said softly. It wasn’t a question.

“Maybe. Or maybe I just missed feeling useful.” Taiga’s free hand played with the crystallized flower from his empty glass. “It’s different now, though. The pressure’s gone. No one’s expecting me to be the next great artist or whatever.”

Hokuto watched the vulnerability play across Taiga’s features, his heart aching at how easily Taiga dismissed his own talent. The dim lighting of Hidden Leaf cast shadows across Taiga’s face, reminding Hokuto of all the times he’d watched him frame the perfect shot, completely lost in the moment.

“Maybe that’s exactly what you need,” Hokuto said, his voice low and earnest. “No expectations except your own.”

His thumb traced circles on Taiga’s palm, remembering countless moments when that same hand had steadied a camera with unwavering confidence. The Taiga he knew had never needed anyone’s validation — he simply saw beauty in the world and captured it.

“You didn’t fail in Tokyo because you lacked talent,” Hokuto continued, the words he’d held back for weeks finally spilling out. “You failed because you were trying to be what everyone else wanted.”

Taiga’s eyes widened slightly, the amber lights of the bar reflecting in them.

Hokuto pressed on, his heart hammering against his ribs.

“The Taiga I remember didn’t care about galleries or critics. He cared about catching the exact moment a sunset painted the mountains gold. About showing people the beauty they walked past every day without noticing.”

Like how you showed me to see the world differently, he thought, remembering lazy afternoons when Taiga would point out patterns in tree bark or the way light fractured through leaves.

“That’s... different,” Taiga muttered, but his voice had lost its defensive edge. “That was just messing around.”

“That was you being genuine.” Hokuto squeezed his hand. “And your genuine passion for photography was what made those shots special.”

The vinyl record crackled as it switched tracks. Hokuto watched emotions flicker across Taiga’s face — doubt, hope, fear, something softer he couldn’t name.

“When did you get so wise?” Taiga’s voice came out rough, but his eyes held a warmth that made Hokuto’s breath catch.

“I’ve had years to think about it.” Years of watching you through social media, seeing your smile grow more forced with each polished gallery shot.

“Thank you,” Taiga whispered, leaning closer. His free hand came up to brush Hokuto’s cheek, and suddenly the bar’s ambient noise faded to white static.

Hokuto’s heart stuttered as Taiga closed the distance between them.

The first brush of Taiga’s lips against his was gentle, almost hesitant — so different from the confident Taiga he remembered from their youth. Hokuto responded with equal gentleness, pouring years of unspoken feelings into the kiss.

Taiga tasted like crystallized flowers and possibility. His hand slid from Hokuto’s cheek to the nape of his neck, fingers tangling in his hair. Hokuto’s world narrowed to the soft press of Taiga’s mouth, the warmth of his touch, the faint scent of his cologne mixed with Hidden Leaf’s smoky atmosphere.

When they finally broke apart, Hokuto’s head spun with more than just the cocktail’s effects. Taiga’s eyes were half-lidded, a flush coloring his cheeks. The sight made Hokuto’s chest tighten with a fierce protectiveness he hadn't expected.

The job offer felt less like an opportunity and more like a weight. The thought of leaving now, when Taiga was finally letting his walls down, seemed impossible. Tokyo’s bright lights and endless possibilities paled in comparison to the way Taiga looked at him — vulnerable and real in the bar’s amber glow.

“We should probably head out,” Taiga murmured, his thumb still tracing patterns on Hokuto’s neck. “Before Juri starts charging us rent.”

Hokuto nodded, not trusting his voice. His lips still tingled from their kiss, and his mind raced with the realization that he didn’t want to be anywhere else. Not Tokyo, not some prestigious marketing firm, not even the career he’d dreamed about for years.

They settled their tab, Juri’s knowing smile following them to the door. The night air hit Hokuto’s flushed face, grounding him in the present moment. Kumamoto’s familiar streets stretched before them, the same ones they’d wandered as teenagers.

But now Taiga’s hand found his, their fingers intertwining naturally.

I could have this, Hokuto thought, squeezing Taiga’s hand. The life he’d built here, the connections he’d forged, the chance to help Taiga rediscover his passion — it all felt more valuable than any job offer.

The job offer weighed heavy in his shoulders, its words of a life he had dreamt of like a splinter in his mind.

But as Taiga leaned into him, solid and warm against the December chill, Hokuto knew his decision was already made.

Some dreams were worth letting go to hold onto something real.

“You’re wearing a hole in the tatami,” Yugo said, not looking up from his laptop.

“I’m not pacing.” Taiga stopped pacing.

“Right. And I’m not watching you have a meltdown over your boyfriend coming over like he’s done a hundred times before. And for a write-up that he’s used to doing, by the way.”

Taiga slumped against the wall. The morning sun streamed through the office window, casting long shadows across the floor. His parents would be insufferable today.

Just like they’d been at that dinner two weeks ago.

“A boyfriend!” Hiromi had exclaimed, clapping her hands together. “Finally, someone to keep you from running away again.”

“Mom.”

“What? A mother worries.” She’d turned to Hokuto then, beaming. “Though I suppose you’ve always been good at grounding him, Hokuto-kun.”

Taiga rubbed his temples. His father had been worse, fixing Hokuto with that stern look he reserved for particularly challenging business negotiations. The entire meal felt like an interrogation disguised as casual conversation.

“Hey.” Yugo’s voice pulled him back. “You’re spiraling again.”

“I’m not spiraling. I’m remembering. There’s a difference.”

“Sure there is.” Yugo stretched, his chair creaking. “Look, your parents adore Hokuto. They always have. The only difference now is they get to be smug about it.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.”

“The smugness?”

“The...” Taiga waved his hand vaguely. “Everything. The expectations. The pressure. You know how they are.”

“I know how you are.” Yugo finally looked up, his expression unusually serious. “You’re looking for reasons to panic because things are going well.”

Taiga opened his mouth to argue, then closed it. Damn Yugo and his occasional moments of insight.

The familiar sound of footsteps in the hallway made Taiga’s heart skip. He’d recognize that steady pace anywhere. “I think he’s here.”

“Speaking of your better half...” Yugo’s grin turned wicked.

“Shut up.”

“Make me.”

“I hate you.”

“You love me.” Yugo’s voice carried across the room as Taiga headed for the door. “But not as much as you love—”

Taiga slid the door shut, cutting off the rest of that sentence. He turned just as Hokuto rounded the corner, looking unfairly put-together in his work clothes.

Their eyes met, and that familiar warmth spread through Taiga’s chest.

“Hey,” Hokuto said softly.

“Hey yourself.” Taiga fought the urge to straighten his own clothes. “Ready for the grand tour?”

“I practically grew up here, Taiga.”

“Yeah, but now you have to pretend you’re seeing it for the first time. Very professional. Much objectivity.”

Hokuto’s lips twitched. “Is that why you’re wearing your ‘I’m a serious ryokan employee’ outfit?”

“This is my normal outfit.”

“You ironed your shirt.”

“I did not.” He had. Twice. “And stop smirking at me.”

“I’m not smirking.” Hokuto was definitely smirking. “I’m appreciating.”

Before Taiga could respond, his mother's voice rang out from down the hall. “Hokuto-kun! You’re here early!”

Here we go, Taiga thought, watching his mother practically float toward them, already wearing that knowing smile that made him want to crawl under the nearest rock.

“Hiromi-san.” Hokuto bowed slightly. “Thank you for having me.”

“Oh, please. You’re family now.” She beamed at them both. “Though I suppose that’s more official these days, isn’t it?”

Taiga resisted the urge to bang his head against the wall. “Mom, don’t you have... literally anything else to do?”

“Don’t be rude, Taiga.” She patted his cheek. “I’m just happy to see you both. Together. Finally.”

“Mom.”

“What? A mother can’t express joy at her son’s happiness?”

“Not if her son is trying to maintain some professional dignity.”

“Professional dignity?” His father’s voice joined the fray as he emerged from his office. “Since when do you care about that?”

Taiga shot his father a withering look. “I have depths.”

“Is that what we’re calling it?” Masaki’s eyes held that familiar glint of amusement that made Taiga want to challenge him to an impromptu kendo match. “And here I thought you were just trying to impress Hokuto-kun.”

Heat crept up Taiga’s neck. Next to him, Hokuto cleared his throat, and Taiga could feel him fighting back a smile. Traitor.

“Shouldn’t you be... running the ryokan or something?” Taiga gestured vaguely. “Important owner things?”

“This is an important owner thing.” Masaki crossed his arms. “Making sure our marketing specialist gets a proper tour.”

“Which he won’t if you keep interrupting.”

“Oh?” His father raised an eyebrow. “And what kind of tour were you planning?”

“A professional one,” Taiga ground out, pointedly ignoring his mother’s poorly concealed giggle. “With actual information about the ryokan. For the write-up.”

“I see.” Masaki nodded sagely. “And this professional tour requires you to iron your shirt twice?”

For fuck’s sake. “Does everyone know about the shirt?”

“You weren’t exactly subtle about it,” Hiromi chimed in. “Though it is nice to see you putting in the effort.”

Taiga turned to Hokuto, who had the audacity to look entertained by this entire situation. “A little help here?”

“I think your shirt looks nice,” Hokuto offered, his voice suspiciously neutral.

“That’s not—” Taiga stopped. Took a breath. “You know what? We’re leaving. There’s a whole ryokan to see, and none of it is in this hallway.”

“Don’ forget to show him the gardens,” Hiromi called after them as Taiga grabbed Hokuto’s wrist and started walking. “They’re particularly romantic this time of year!”

“Professional tour!” Taiga shouted back, tugging Hokuto around the corner. He didn’t slow down until they reached the main entrance, where he finally released Hokuto’s wrist and slumped against the wall.

“So,” Hokuto said after a moment. “That went well.”

“Shut up.” Taiga pressed his palms against his eyes. “They’re impossible.”

“They’re happy for you.”

“They’re embarrassing.”

“That too.” Hokuto’s fingers brushed against Taiga’s arm, gentle but grounding. “But mostly happy.”

Taiga lowered his hands, meeting Hokuto’s gaze. The warmth there made his chest tight in a way he was still getting used to. “You’re not helping.”

“I’m not trying to.” Hokuto’s lips curved into that small, private smile that did dangerous things to Taiga's ability to think straight. “Besides, your mom’s right about the gardens.”

“Don’t you start.”

“Just saying.” Hokuto stepped closer, his voice dropping. “They are particularly romantic this time of year.”

“This is supposed to be a professional tour.”

“Is that why you ironed your shirt twice?”

“I hate everyone in this ryokan.”

-----

“… and this public bath in particular dates back to the Meiji period.”

Taiga hung back, watching Hokuto chat with one of their long-time guests, an elderly woman who visited twice a year. The way Hokuto leaned in slightly, nodding at all the right moments, had her practically glowing as she shared stories about her previous stays.

When did he get so good at this? Taiga wondered, remembering the awkward kid who used to hide behind books during school festivals. The Hokuto before him moved with easy confidence, his questions thoughtful and precise.

“Kyomoto-san.” The elderly guest turned to him. “You never mentioned your friend was so charming.”

Heat crept up Taiga’s neck. “Ah, well—”

“He’s here on business today,” Hokuto smoothly interjected, shooting Taiga a look that definitely wasn’t professional. “Helping us document the ryokan’s unique appeal.”

Taiga cleared his throat. “Right. Very professional.”

The woman’s knowing smile made him want to sink into the floor. “Of course. Well, don’t let me keep you boys.”

They moved on, footsteps echoing against the wooden floors. Taiga tried to focus on pointing out architectural details, but his eyes kept drifting to Hokuto’s hands as he took notes, those long fingers wrapped around a pen exactly like they used to wrap around a calligraphy brush.

“You’re staring,” Hokuto murmured, not looking up from his notebook.

“I’m observing. Professionally.”

“Is that what we’re calling it?”

Taiga bit back a smile. “Shut up and look impressed by these authentic Edo-period screens.”

“They’re Meiji.”

“Show-off.”

A staff member approached with questions about dinner arrangements, and Taiga stepped aside, watching Hokuto effortlessly shift into business mode. His voice took on that particular tone — authoritative but gentle — that Taiga had started noticing more and more.

When did you become so capable?

The thought carried a mix of pride and something else, something that made his chest tight. They’d spent five years apart, and somehow the shy boy who used to stutter through class presentations had transformed into this confident man who commanded attention without demanding it.

“Earth to Taiga.” Hokuto’s voice snapped him back. “You were saying something about the garden?”

“Right.” Taiga gestured toward the doors. “Though maybe we should skip that part. Wouldn’t want to seem unprofessional.”

Hokuto’s lips twitched. “Heaven forbid.”

They walked in companionable silence, their shoulders occasionally brushing. Each touch sent little sparks through Taiga’s arm, making it hard to remember why he was trying to maintain any distance at all.

“You’re good at this,” Taiga said suddenly.

“Hmm?”

“The whole...” He waved vaguely. “Professional thing. Talking to people. You used to hate that.”

“I still do, sometimes.” Hokuto’s voice softened. “But it’s easier when it matters.”

“And this matters.”

“You matter.”

The simple honesty in those words knocked the air from Taiga’s lungs. He stopped walking, staring at Hokuto, who continued a few steps before turning back.

“That’s not very professional,” Taiga managed.

“Neither is the way you’ve been looking at me for the past hour.”

“I haven’t—”

“You have.”

“Well.” Taiga crossed his arms. “Maybe you shouldn’t be so... you.”

“So me?”

“Yeah.” He gestured at all of Hokuto. “All confident and competent and... stuff.”

Hokuto’s eyebrows rose. “Stuff?”

“You know what I mean.”

“I really don’t.”

“Yes, you do.” Taiga fought the urge to step closer. “You’re doing that thing where you pretend to be confused but you’re actually just trying to make me say embarrassing things.”

“Is it working?”

“No,” Taiga lied. “Because we’re being professional.”

“Right.” Hokuto’s smile widened slightly. “Professional.”

They held each other’s gaze for a moment too long to be anything close to professional. Taiga broke first, clearing his throat and gesturing down the hallway.

“The, uh, the baths are this way. If you want to see them. Professionally.”

“Lead the way.” Hokuto’s voice carried that hint of amusement that made Taiga want to do very unprofessional things. “I’ll try to look appropriately impressed.”

Moments later, they turned the corner into the old storage area, and memories hit Taiga like a physical force. This narrow hallway, with its worn wooden floors and faded wallpaper, held echoes of childhood laughter and frantic footsteps. He could almost see their younger selves darting between the sliding doors during countless games of hide and seek.

“Remember?” He glanced at Hokuto, who was running his fingers along the wall with a distant smile.

“You always hid in the same spot.”

“I did not.”

“Behind the screen in the corner room.” Hokuto’s eyes sparkled. “Every time.”

“That’s...” Taiga faltered. “Okay, maybe I wasn’t the most creative hider.”

“You were terrible.” Hokuto stepped closer, his voice dropping. “I just pretended it took me longer to find you.”

The confession sent warmth spreading through Taiga’s chest. He watched Hokuto’s fingers trace the grain of the wood, remembered how those same hands used to grab his during their childhood games. Now they wrote notes about marketing strategies and tourism demographics, and somehow that was even more distracting.

Screw being professional.

Taiga moved before he could overthink it, backing Hokuto against the wall and kissing him hard.

Hokuto made a surprised sound that quickly melted into something deeper, his clipboard clattering to the floor as his hands found Taiga’s waist.

“Wait,” Hokuto gasped, pulling back slightly. “I’m supposed to interview Hiromi-san and Aoi about the—”

“Later.” Taiga nipped at his lower lip.

“But the interview—”

“How long until then?”

Hokuto blinked, dazed. “What?”

“Set an alarm.” Taiga kissed along his jaw. “How long do we have?”

“I... ten minutes?” Hokuto fumbled for his phone, his breath hitching as Taiga found that spot below his ear. “Stop that, I can’—there, alarm set.”

“Good.” Taiga pulled back just enough to meet his eyes. “Now shut up about the interview.”

This time when their lips met, Hokuto didn’t protest. His hands slid into Taiga’s hair, pulling him closer with a desperation that made Taiga’s knees weak. They kissed like teenagers, all heat and need, the professional facade crumbling with each shared breath.

Hokuto tasted like green tea and something uniquely him that made Taiga’s head spin. His fingers dug into Taiga’s hips, and Taiga pressed closer, wanting to memorize every point of contact between them.

“You’re going to wrinkle my suit,” Hokuto murmured against his lips.

“Don’t care.”

“I have meetings later.”

“Still don’t care.”

Hokuto laughed softly, the sound vibrating through both their chests. Then he was spinning them around, pressing Taiga against the wall, and coherent thought became impossible.

-----

“Your tie’s crooked.” Taiga reached up to adjust Hokuto’s tie as they hurried down the stairs.

“Whose fault is that?” Hokuto caught his hand, pressing a quick kiss to his palm before releasing it.

They rounded the corner into the function room, where Shintaro was already setting up chairs. His eyebrows shot up as he took in their appearance.

“Well, well. Took the scenic route, did we?”

Heat crept up Taiga’s neck. He tugged at his collar, painfully aware of how disheveled he must look despite their attempts to straighten themselves out. “We were doing the tour.”

“Must have been quite the tour.” Shintaro’s grin widened. “Your shirt’s buttoned wrong.”

Shit. Taiga glanced down, mortified to find that Shintaro was right. He turned away, quickly redoing the buttons while Hokuto became very interested in his clipboard.

The sliding door opened, and Hiromi and Aoi entered, both resplendent in formal kimonos. The deep blue of Hiromi’s obi matched perfectly with Aoi’s lighter ensemble.

“Ah, you’re all here.” Hiromi;’s eyes twinkled as she took in Taiga’s flushed face and Hokuto’s slightly rumpled suit. “I trust the tour was... informative?”

“Very,” Hokuto managed, his professional demeanor cracking slightly.

Shintaro snorted. “I’m sure they covered all the important spots. Especially the storage room.”

“Shin!” Taiga hissed.

“Now, now.” Hiromi’s smile turned mischievous. “Need I remind you about last month’s incident in the garden shed?”

It was Shintaro’s turn to blush as Aoi covered her mouth, giggling. “That’s—that was different!”

“Oh?” Hiromi raised an eyebrow. “Do tell.”

“We were checking the inventory,” Aoi offered, though her pink cheeks betrayed her.

“Is that what they’re calling it these days?” Taiga couldn’t resist the jab, grateful for the shift in attention.

Hokuto cleared his throat, professional mask back in place despite the lingering color in his cheeks. “Should we get started? The photographer should be here soon.”

“Speaking of.” Taiga turned to him, curiosity piqued. “Who did you end up hiring?”

“A local guy Jesse recommended. He’s done work for several ryokans in the area.” Hokuto checked his phone. “He should be here any minute, but we can start with the interviews while we wait.”

Taiga watched as Hokuto settled into his professional demeanor, clipboard poised as he began the interview. The transformation never failed to captivate him — how Hokuto could switch from soft, intimate touches to this poised, articulate marketing specialist in mere moments.

Hiromi spoke with grace about the generations of hospitality that had shaped Gonzaemon no Yu, while Aoi added insights about the unique experiences they offered guests. But Taiga found his attention drifting to the way Hokuto’s fingers moved across the page as he took notes, the slight furrow of concentration between his brows, the way he leaned forward just slightly when something particularly interested him.

“You’re staring,” Shintaro whispered, nudging him with an elbow.

Heat crept up Taiga’s neck. “Am not.”

“Are too. Like a lovesick teenager.” But there was no judgment in Shintaro’s tone, only warm amusement. He kept his voice low as Hokuto asked Aoi about their seasonal events. “You know, I was worried at first.”

“About?”

“You two. Childhood friends dating can get messy.” Shintaro’s expression softened. “But you seem happy. Both of you.”

Something warm bloomed in Taiga’s chest. Coming from Shintaro, who worried about everything, that meant a lot. “Yeah, well. Don’t get too sappy on me.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Shintaro smirked. “Though maybe try to keep the storage room activities to a minimum during business hours?”

“I hate you.”

“You love me.”

Hokuto’s phone buzzed on the table, drawing Taiga’s attention back to the interview. A small frown crossed Hokuto’s features as he glanced at the screen, but he quickly returned to his professional smile.

“Hiromi-san, could you tell me more about the traditional tea ceremony experiences?”

Taiga recognized the slight tension in Hokuto’s shoulders now, the way his pen tapped against the clipboard between notes. Something was wrong. The photographer should have arrived twenty minutes ago.

The interview wrapped up smoothly, but Hokuto’s concern became more evident as he checked his phone again. “Excuse me,” he said, rising from his seat. “I need to make a quick call.”

Taiga watched him step out into the hallway, catching the worried set of his jaw before the door slid shut. So much for our perfectly planned morning, he thought, remembering how excited Hokuto had been about getting the promotional materials done early.

“Everything alright?” Hiromi asked, her intuition sharp as ever.

“The photographer’s running late,” Taiga explained, resisting the urge to follow Hokuto out. “I’m sure it’s fine.”

Hokuto stepped back inside, his shoulders tense. The slight crease between his brows told Taiga everything he needed to know before Hokuto even opened his mouth.

“I apologize, but we have a situation.” Hokuto’s professional tone wavered slightly. “The photographer was in a minor accident on his way here. He’s fine, but his equipment was damaged, and he needs to stay for police reports and insurance claims.”

Shit. Taiga’s stomach dropped. He knew how much work Hokuto had put into coordinating this shoot. Weeks of planning, multiple strategy meetings, carefully crafted mood boards — all potentially derailed by one fender bender.

“These things happen,” Hiromi said. “We can reschedule.”

Hokuto nodded, but Taiga caught the slight tightening of his jaw. “I’ll start calling other photographers, though finding someone available on such short notice might be challenging. We may need to push the shoot back a few weeks, which could affect our publication timeline...”

Taiga watched as Hokuto pulled out his phone, already scrolling through contacts. His fingers moved with barely contained frustration, and Taiga could practically see the carefully laid plans crumbling in his mind. The magazine feature was supposed to be Hokuto's first major project since taking lead on the ryokan account. A delay now could throw off the entire spring campaign.

Before he could stop himself, Taiga heard his own voice cut through the room.

“I’ll do it.”

Everyone turned to look at him. Hokuto's fingers stilled on his phone screen.

“I mean, I can take the photos.” Taiga’s heart hammered against his ribs. He hadn’t touched a professional camera in two months, had sworn off photography completely after the disaster in Tokyo. But watching

Hokuto try to salvage this situation... “I still have my equipment in storage. It would take me maybe twenty minutes to set up.”

“Taiga…” Hokuto’s expression softened with concern. “You don’t have to—”

“I want to.” The words came out stronger than he expected. “I know the ryokan better than any outside photographer would. I know its best angles, where the light hits just right.” I know how important this is to you.

“Are you sure?” Shintaro’s question carried layers of meaning. He, more than anyone, knew what photography represented to Taiga — both the passion and the pain.

Taiga swallowed hard. His camera bag had sat untouched in the corner of his room since his return, a physical reminder of his failures in Tokyo. Every time he looked at it, shame and regret twisted in his gut.

But now, seeing Hokuto’s carefully masked disappointment...

“Yes.” He turned to Hokuto, meeting his gaze directly. “Let me help. Please.”

Something shifted in Hokuto's expression — concern mixing with hope and a touch of understanding that made Taiga’s chest tight. For a moment, they just looked at each other, having an entire conversation without words.

“Your work is excellent,” Aoi chimed in, breaking the tension. “I’ve seen the photos you took years ago — they really capture the soul of this place.”

Hiromi nodded, her eyes bright with something that looked suspiciously like pride. “The light today is perfect. And you always did have a gift for finding the magic in ordinary moments.”

Taiga felt his cheeks warm at their praise, undeserved as it felt. He focused instead on Hokuto, who still hadn’t responded. “I know what you’re looking for with this campaign. Let me do this. For the ryokan.”

For you, he didn’t say, but from the way Hokuto’s expression softened, he heard it anyway.

“Alright,” Hokuto said finally, his professional mask slipping just enough to let a small smile through. “If you’re sure.”

“I am.” The words came out steadier than Taiga felt. “Just give me twenty minutes to grab my equipment and check everything’s in working order.”

-----

Taiga’s fingers trembled as he unzipped the camera bag. A thin layer of dust had settled over the equipment, and the familiar smell of leather and electronics brought back a flood of memories he'd been trying to suppress.

Shintaro set down the lighting gear beside him, watching with poorly concealed concern. “Need help with anything?”

“No, I’ve got it.” Taiga pulled out his main camera body, muscle memory taking over as he checked the battery level. Dead, of course. He fumbled through the side pocket for the spare, nearly dropping it.

Get it together.

The basic setup should have been second nature — he’d done it hundreds of times before. But his hands felt clumsy, uncertain, like he’d forgotten a language he once spoke fluently. The light stand wobbled as he adjusted its height, and the softbox attachment refused to cooperate.

“Shit,” he muttered, fighting with a stubborn clip.

“Here.” Shintaro steadied the stand while Taiga finally got the softbox secured. “Like riding a bike, right?”

“More like riding a bike after someone replaced the pedals with chainsaws.” But the familiar weight of the camera in his hands was starting to feel less foreign. Taiga adjusted the settings, muscle memory slowly returning as his fingers found their old positions.

“Taiga?” Hokuto’s voice was soft behind him. “Can we talk for a moment?”

Taiga nodded, letting Shintaro take over positioning the lights. He followed Hokuto into the hallway, where concerned brown eyes searched his face.

“Are you sure about this?” Hokuto asked. “I know how hard it's been, dealing with... everything. We can find another photographer.”

“And push your timeline back weeks?” Taiga shook his head. “The spring campaign is too important.”

“The campaign isn’t worth—”

“It’s fine.” Taiga cut him off, gentler than he intended. “Really. I want to help.” He reached for Hokuto’s hand, squeezing it briefly. “Besides, who better to capture the ryokan than someone who grew up here?”

Hokuto’s expression softened. “If you’re certain...”

“I am.” Taiga managed a small smile. “Now stop worrying and let me work my magic.”

Back in the function room, things started flowing more smoothly. The camera settings came back to him, muscle memory finally kicking in as he adjusted the aperture and checked his light readings. He positioned Hiromi and Aoi near the window, where the morning light created a natural glow.

“Mom, could you angle slightly toward the light? Perfect.” The viewfinder felt like an old friend as he framed the shot. “Aoi, maybe half a step back? We want to catch how the colors of your kimonos complement each other.”

Through the lens, he could see the story Hokuto wanted to tell — the blend of tradition and warmth that made Gonzaemon no Yu special. The way Hiromi’s graceful movements spoke of generations of hospitality. How Aoi’s presence represented the future, seamlessly integrated with the past.

“That’s beautiful,” he murmured, more to himself than anyone else. “Now, if you could both turn slightly toward each other? Like you’re sharing a secret ...”

The click of the shutter felt like coming home. Each frame captured exactly what Taiga saw in his mind — the subtle interplay of light and shadow, the way fabric caught the morning sun, the genuine warmth in his mother’s smile as she gazed at her future daughter-in-law.

“Could we get a few with the garden visible through the window?” Hokuto’s voice carried that professional tone, but Taiga caught the undertone of excitement. “The contrast between interior and exterior spaces is key for the narrative we’re building.”

The narrative we’re building. Something fluttered in Taiga’s chest at those words. This wasn’t just his vision anymore — it was a collaboration, his eye working in service of Hokuto’s strategy.

The thought should have felt confining, but instead it was oddly freeing.

“What if we...” Taiga adjusted the softbox, creating a gentle fill light that wouldn’t compete with the natural illumination. “Mom, could you demonstrate the tea ceremony preparation? Aoi, watch her movements like you’re learning.”

Through the viewfinder, he watched the scene unfold. Hiromi’s hands moved with practiced grace, each gesture precise yet flowing naturally into the next. Aoi observed with genuine interest, her posture mirroring Hiromi’s unconsciously.

Click. The moment crystallized in digital memory.

“Perfect,” he murmured, checking the preview screen. The composition balanced formal elegance with intimate warmth — exactly what the ryokan represented. “Hokuto, come look at this.”

Hokuto stepped closer, his presence warm at Taiga’s shoulder as he studied the image. His small intake of breath told Taiga everything he needed to know.

“It’s exactly what we discussed in the planning meetings,” Hokuto said softly. “The generational aspect, the passing down of traditions...”

Pride bloomed unexpectedly in Taiga’s chest. Not the desperate, hungry pride that had driven him in Tokyo — this was something quieter, more sustainable. He had helped create something genuine, something that served a purpose beyond his own artistic ambitions.

“Let’s try a few in the main entrance next,” he suggested, already mentally composing the shots. “The morning light hits the wooden panels beautifully this time of year.”

As they moved through the ryokan, Taiga found himself falling into a familiar rhythm. But it was different from his frantic days in Tokyo, chasing that elusive “perfect shot” that would finally earn him recognition. This was about capturing what was already here — the quiet dignity of the space, the warmth of family, the seamless blend of past and present.

“You’re smiling,” Shintaro observed as he helped adjust the lighting setup. “Haven’t seen that in a while. Not while you’re holding a camera, anyway.”

Heat crept up Taiga’s neck. He hadn’t even realized he was smiling. “Just focused on getting the shots we need.”

“Mm-hmm.” Shintaro’s knowing look made Taiga want to smack him. “Nothing to do with a certain marketing specialist’s obvious appreciation for your work?”

“Shut up and hold this reflector.”

But he couldn’t deny the warmth that spread through him whenever he caught Hokuto’s expression as they reviewed the shots together. The way Hokuto’s eyes lit up when Taiga captured exactly what he’d envisioned for the campaign. How their ideas seemed to flow together naturally, building something neither could have created alone.

“We should get some detail shots,” Hokuto suggested, consulting his shot list. “The traditional elements that make Gonzaemon unique — the hand-carved ranma, the antique tea sets...”

Taiga nodded, already switching to his macro lens. This lens had gathered dust in his bag for months, untouched since that disastrous gallery showing in Tokyo. His hands shook slightly as he attached it, but the familiar click of it locking into place steadied him.

“"I know just where to start,” he said, leading them toward the alcove where generations of Kyomotos had displayed their most treasured pieces. The morning light caught the grain of the wooden panels, creating subtle patterns that his camera could capture in exquisite detail.

As he framed the shot, Taiga felt something shift inside him. The weight of his previous failures didn’t vanish — it was still there, a dull ache behind his ribs. I am running a few minutes late; my previous meeting is running over.

But it felt less crushing somehow, balanced by the simple joy of creating something meaningful. Something that would help his family’s ryokan.

Something that made Hokuto smile that soft, proud smile that did funny things to Taiga's heart.

Maybe, he thought, adjusting the focus ring with steady fingers, this is what photography was supposed to feel like all along.

-----

The winter chill nipped at Taiga’s exposed fingers as they walked down the empty streets. His mother’s enthusiastic praise still echoed in his ears, making his cheeks warm despite the cold.

“You’re walking too fast,” Hokuto said, a hint of amusement in his voice.

Taiga slowed his pace, letting Hokuto catch up. Their shoulders brushed, and Taiga fought the urge to grab Hokuto’s hand. “Sorry. Just... needed some air after all that.”

“After all what? The endless compliments? The way your mom kept serving me extra portions? Or how Shintaro wouldn’t stop smirking at us across the table?”

“All of it.” Taiga shoved his hands deeper into his pockets. The streets were quiet, illuminated by the soft glow of streetlights. A cat darted across their path, disappearing into the shadows. “It wasn’t that big of a deal. Just some photos.”

“Just some photos?” Hokuto’s shoulder bumped against his, deliberate this time. “Those shots were exactly what we needed. Better than what we could have gotten from any professional photographer.”

“Now you’re doing it too.”

“Doing what?”

“The... praise thing.” Taiga kicked at a pebble, watching it skitter across the pavement. The familiar streets felt different at night, softer somehow. Or maybe that was just Hokuto’s presence beside him, steady and warm. “It feels weird. Like everyone’s waiting for me to... I don’t know. Make some grand announcement about returning to photography.”

“Are you?”

“I don’t know.” The words came out more honest than he intended. “Today felt different. But that doesn’t mean...”

A vending machine hummed nearby, its glow casting strange shadows on the pavement. Taiga stopped, fishing in his pocket for coins. “Want something? My treat.”

“Changing the subject?”

“Obviously.” Taiga fed the coins into the machine, the metallic clinking loud in the quiet street. “Coffee?”

“At this hour?”

“Right. Green tea it is.”

The cans dropped with a hollow thunk. Taiga handed one to Hokuto, their fingers brushing. The warmth of the can felt good against his cold skin.

They walked in comfortable silence, the crack and hiss of opening cans the only sound besides their footsteps. The tea was too sweet, but Taiga welcomed the warmth spreading through his chest.

“You know,” Hokuto said after a while, “no one’s expecting anything from you. The photos were good because you weren’t trying to prove anything. You were just... seeing what was there.”

What was there. The ryokan’s quiet dignity. His mother’s grace. Aoi’s careful attention. All the things he’d stopped seeing when he’d left for Tokyo, too focused on what he thought photography should be.

A late-night bus rumbled past, empty except for a single passenger dozing in the back. Its headlights swept across them, briefly illuminating Hokuto’s profile. Taiga’s fingers tightened around the warm can.

“Maybe,” he admitted. “But it’s not that simple.”

“Why not?”

“Because...” Taiga struggled to put it into words. How could he explain the way failure had wrapped around his throat like a vine, choking every creative impulse? How today had felt like taking a full breath for the first time in months? “Because I’m still me. And you saw how that worked out last time.”

“You’re not the same person who left for Tokyo.” Hokuto’s voice was quiet but firm. “And maybe that’s not a bad thing.”

Taiga crumpled the empty can, searching for a recycling bin. His eyes landed on one across the street, next to a brightly lit convenience store. As he tossed the can in, a gust of wind sent a shiver down his spine.

“Cold?” Hokuto asked, his voice tinged with concern.

“I’m fine.” The words came out automatically, but another blast of frigid air made him hunch his shoulders. Damn January weather.

They turned down a quieter street, their footsteps echoing off the buildings. The familiar route to Hokuto’s apartment complex felt shorter tonight, each landmark appearing sooner than Taiga expected.

Maybe because he wasn’t ready for the evening to end. Or maybe because his mind kept circling back to the way Hokuto had defended his photography, as if the past five years hadn’t been a complete waste.

A cat meowed from a nearby window, making Taiga jump. Hokuto chuckled, the sound low and warm in the cold night air.

“Shut up,” Taiga muttered, but he couldn’t help smiling. The tension in his shoulders eased slightly.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You were thinking it.”

“Thinking what?”

“Actually, I was thinking about how nice this is.” Hokuto’s shoulder brushed against his again, lingering this time. “Walking home together. Like we used to, but different.”

Different. The word hung in the air between them, loaded with meaning. Different because they weren’t teenagers anymore. Different because now when their hands brushed, it sent sparks through Taiga’s entire body. Different because he couldn’t blame the cold for the way his heart raced whenever Hokuto looked at him like that.

The apartment building loomed ahead, its windows glowing softly in the darkness. Taiga’s steps slowed as they approached the entrance, his stomach doing that weird flip thing it had been doing all evening.

Hokuto paused at the door, keys jingling in his hand. “Would you like to come up?”

The question was casual, but Taiga heard the slight catch in Hokuto’s voice. The same nervousness that had his own pulse thundering in his ears.

Say something, idiot.

But before he could form a coherent response, the building’s security light flickered on, bathing them in harsh fluorescent brightness. Taiga blinked, momentarily disoriented. In the stark light, he could see the slight flush on Hokuto’s cheeks, the way his fingers fidgeted with his keys.

“I mean, it’s cold out here,” Hokuto added quickly. “And I have that cake you like. The fancy stuff from the shop near the office.”

The rambling was endearing, so different from Hokuto’s usual composed demeanor. Taiga’s chest felt tight, but in a good way. Like his heart was trying to expand beyond its normal boundaries.

“Yeah,” he managed. “I’d like that.”

-----

Hokuto’s apartment was... different. Taiga’s gaze wandered over the modest space, taking in the mix of traditional and modern elements. A sleek TV mounted on one wall, but below it sat a low table with calligraphy supplies neatly arranged. The clash should have felt jarring, but somehow it worked.

The couch was comfortable, if a bit stiff from newness. Taiga shifted, trying to find a natural position. From the kitchen came the soft clink of plates and the rustle of packaging. Such ordinary sounds, yet they made his pulse quicken.

Get it together, he scolded himself. It’s just Hokuto.

Except it wasn’t just Hokuto anymore, was it?

A familiar photo caught his eye — three boys grinning at the camera, covered in mud after a failed attempt at “excavating” treasure in the forest. Taiga remembered that day. Shintaro had lectured them about proper safety procedures while secretly enjoying the adventure himself.

And Hokuto... Hokuto had that same quiet smile he still wore sometimes, the one that made Taiga’s stomach do backflips.

“Need help?” Taiga called out, mostly to distract himself from the growing warmth in his chest.

“Almost done,” Hokuto replied. More clinking sounds. “Just finding the right plates.”

Of course he’d care about the plates, Taiga thought fondly. Some things never changed.

Like the neat row of potted plants by the window – smaller versions of the ones Hokuto used to tend in his parents’ garden. Or the carefully arranged books on the shelf, spines aligned with military precision.

But other things... The framed tourism posters spoke of Hokuto’s career success. A laptop sat charging on the desk, sticky notes covered in Hokuto’s precise handwriting dotting its surface. Adult things. Responsible things.

“Here we go.” Hokuto’s voice startled him from his thoughts. He set down two plates of cake — the fancy kind with layers of cream and fruit — and glasses of water on the coffee table. Then he settled beside Taiga, close enough that their knees almost touched.

The cake looked perfect, of course. Hokuto had probably measured the slices to ensure they were exactly equal. But Taiga’s attention kept drifting to the spot where their legs almost met, to the way Hokuto’s shoulder brushed his as he reached for his water glass.

“Your place is nice,” Taiga said, picking up his fork. “Weird seeing you live alone though.”

“Weird being alone sometimes,” Hokuto admitted. “But it’s good. Having my own space.”

Taiga nodded, taking a bite of cake. It was delicious, but he barely tasted it. His mind was too busy cataloging details — the faint scent of Hokuto’s shampoo, the way his fingers curled around his glass, the soft sound of his breathing.

“Remember when we used to sneak snacks up to your room?” Taiga asked, gesturing with his fork. “Your mom always knew, but she never said anything.”

“She still asks about you.” Hokuto’s voice was soft. “Even before you came back.”

Something squeezed in Taiga’s chest. He took another bite of cake to avoid responding.

On the shelf, another photo caught his eye — more recent, showing Hokuto and Jesse at what looked like a work event. Both smiling professionally at the camera. Adult Hokuto, with his career and his apartment and his perfectly measured cake slices.

The same Hokuto who still kept their childhood photos. Who still grew the same plants. Who still looked at Taiga like... like...

“Is the cake okay?” Hokuto asked, misinterpreting the silence.

“Yeah, it’s good.” Taiga set his fork down, suddenly overwhelmed by the domesticity of it all. “Everything’s good.”

Taiga’s fingers drummed against his thigh, a nervous rhythm he couldn’t control. The cake sat half-eaten on the coffee table, forgotten in the growing tension between them. Every breath felt deliberate, like his lungs had forgotten how to work properly.

Hokuto shifted beside him, their shoulders brushing. The contact sent electricity down Taiga’s spine.

Get it together, he scolded himself. But his body refused to cooperate, hyper-aware of every point where they almost touched.

“Want some tea?” Hokuto asked, his voice lower than usual.

“No, I’m good.” The words came out rougher than intended. Taiga cleared his throat. “The cake was enough.”

Another shift. Another brush of shoulders. The apartment felt smaller somehow, the walls closing in until all Taiga could focus on was the warmth radiating from Hokuto’s body and the way his own heart hammered against his ribs.

On the shelf, their younger selves grinned from the photo frame, muddy and carefree. If they could see us now, Taiga thought. Adult Hokuto in his perfectly arranged apartment, looking at him with those same eyes that had watched him climb trees and chase dreams.

And himself – failed photographer, returned prodigal, sitting on this too-new couch with his pulse racing like a teenager’s.

“You’re quiet,” Hokuto observed.

“Just thinking.”

“About?”

Taiga gestured vaguely at the room. “All this. You. How everything’s different but also... not.”

A small smile tugged at Hokuto’s lips. “Different how?”

“You know what I mean.” Heat crept up Taiga’s neck. “The apartment, the job, the... everything. You’ve got your life figured out.”

“Do I?”

Something in Hokuto’s tone made Taiga turn. Their eyes met, and the air between them crackled with unspoken words. Hokuto’s gaze dropped to Taiga’s mouth for a fraction of a second before snapping back up.

Oh.

The realization hit Taiga like a physical force. Maybe Hokuto wasn’t as composed as he appeared. Maybe those carefully measured cake slices and perfectly aligned books were just his way of maintaining control when everything else felt chaotic.

A siren wailed in the distance, the sound muffled by the apartment’s walls. On the windowsill, one of Hokuto’s plants cast strange shadows in the dim light. The moment stretched, elastic and fragile.

“I should probably...” Taiga started, but the words died in his throat as Hokuto’s hand found his knee.

The touch was light, hesitant, but it sent sparks shooting through Taiga’s entire body. His skin felt too tight, like it couldn’t contain whatever was building in his chest. He watched, paralyzed, as Hokuto’s thumb traced small circles on his jeans.

“Stay,” Hokuto whispered. Just one word, but it held the weight of years — of stolen glances and missed chances, of quiet moments in the forest and loud nights in Tokyo bars. Of everything they’d been and everything they could be.

Taiga’s breath caught. The apartment’s silence pressed against his eardrums, broken only by their uneven breathing and the distant hum of traffic. Reality felt suspended, like they were floating in some strange space between their past and future selves.

Taiga wanted to move. To close the distance between them until there was no air left, no space where doubts could creep in. He wanted to feel the weight of Hokuto’s body against his, to lose himself in the comfort of skin and lips and breath.

But he didn’t.

Because this was Hokuto. Childhood friend, now adult lover. The one person he didn’t want to rush or scare off. So he sat there, breath hitching, as Hokuto’s thumb drew invisible patterns on his jeans.

“You don’t have to,” Taiga whispered, his voice thick. “Ask, I mean. I want you to... but you don’t have to ask.”

Hokuto’s touch stilled. “I want to.” His eyes searched Taiga’s face. “But I don’t want to assume.”

The unspoken words hung between them, heavy with the weight of missed chances. Taiga's chest tightened, and he leaned forward, his lips brushing Hokuto’s softly.

A question. An invitation.

Hokuto’s response was immediate. His mouth slanted over Taiga’s, and Taiga tasted the sweetness of the cake, the lingering hint of green tea. A soft sound escaped him, part sigh, part moan, as Hokuto’s fingers tightened on his knee.

It was soft at first. A gentle press of lips, a cautious exploration. Taiga reveled in the feel of Hokuto’s lips against his, in the warmth of his breath. Their kisses had always been like this — slow and sweet and a little bit hesitant, like they were both afraid this moment would break.

But then Taiga’s fingers twisted in Hokuto’s hair, and he deepened the kiss. Hunger surged through him, sharp and sudden, like a match struck in the dark. He pulled Hokuto closer, their bodies flush, and kissed him with all the pent-up longing.

Hokuto made a soft sound that sent a jolt of need straight to Taiga’s core. He shifted, settling more firmly against the couch cushions, and tugged gently on Hokuto’s lower lip with his teeth.

The action earned him a muffled groan, and he smiled against Hokuto’s mouth.

Then he rolled, suddenly on top, and Hokuto was beneath him, eyes dark with desire. His fingers dug into Taiga’s hips, pulling him closer, and Taiga moaned into his mouth, all coherent thought lost.

He wanted. Needed. Now.

But even as his body demanded more, his heart couldn’t ignore the cautious, careful boy he has fallen in love with. So he pulled back, just a fraction, and searched Hokuto’s eyes.

“Bedroom?” The word was half-question, half-plea.

Hokuto’s response was immediate. “Yes.”

Sunlight filtered through the blinds, painting stripes across the sheets. Taiga blinked awake, his body deliciously sore in all the right places.

The heater hummed softly, keeping February’s chill at bay. He stretched, wincing at the pleasant ache in his muscles, and memories of last night flooded back – hands, lips, skin against skin. The way Hokuto had whispered his name like a prayer.

The bed felt impossibly soft, nothing like his own futon back at the ryokan. Everything in Hokuto’s room was meticulously arranged, from the potted plants on the windowsill to the perfectly aligned books on the shelf. Even the clothes they’d hastily discarded last night had been folded neatly over a chair.

Such a neat freak, Taiga thought fondly. He could hear Hokuto moving around in the kitchen, probably making breakfast with the same careful precision he applied to everything else.

The smell of miso soup and grilled fish wafted through the apartment. Taiga’s stomach growled, but his limbs felt too heavy to move just yet. He reached for his phone on the nightstand, squinting at the screen.

Eight AM. February 14th.

Shit. Valentine’s Day.

The group date. How had he forgotten? Shintaro and Aoi would be waiting for them, along with Jesse and Yugo. Poor Jesse had finally worked up the courage to ask Yugo out, and Hokuto had suggested making it a group thing to take the pressure off.

The sizzle of something hitting a hot pan drifted from the kitchen, followed by the rich aroma of coffee. Taiga closed his eyes, savoring the domestic peace of the moment. Months year ago, he’d been in Tokyo, drowning in failed ambitions and instant ramen.

Now here he was, waking up in Hokuto’s bed, with actual plans for Valentine’s Day.

His body protested as he sat up, but it was a good kind of ache. One that reminded him of Hokuto’s hands, his mouth, the way he’d—

Focus, Taiga scolded himself. They had places to be. People to meet. He couldn’t spend all day reliving last night, no matter how tempting that thought was.

The wooden floor was cool under his feet as he swung his legs out of bed. One of Hokuto’s sweaters lay draped over the chair – the soft gray one that brought out his eyes.

Taiga pulled it on, breathing in the familiar scent of laundry detergent and something uniquely Hokuto.

Through the open bedroom door, he caught glimpses of Hokuto moving around the kitchen, still in his sleep clothes, hair adorably mussed. The sight made something warm unfurl in Taiga’s chest. This wasn’t the carefully composed Hokuto that everyone else saw. This was his Hokuto, soft and sleep-rumpled, making breakfast like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Padding across the kitchen floor, Taiga slipped his arms around Hokuto's waist from behind. He pressed his face between Hokuto’s shoulder blades, breathing in the sleep-warm scent of his skin.

The muscles of Hokuto’s back shifted as he flipped the fish one last time. “Morning,” he murmured, his voice still rough with sleep. He switched off the stove and turned in Taiga’s embrace, his eyes softening as he took in the sight of Taiga drowning in his sweater. “That looks better on you than it does on me.”

“Liar,” Taiga said, but warmth bloomed in his chest at the way Hokuto’s gaze lingered on the exposed line of his collarbone. The sweater had slipped off one shoulder, and Hokuto’s thumb traced the mark he’d left there last night.

Hokuto’s lips found his, morning breath be damned. The kiss was slow and deep, tasting of familiarity. Taiga melted into it, his hands sliding up to tangle in Hokuto’s messy hair. Everything felt soft and hazy, like they were suspended in their own private bubble of morning light.

“The fish will get cold,” Hokuto mumbled against his mouth, but he made no move to pull away.

“Can’t have that,” Taiga said, stealing one more kiss before stepping back. “I’ll set the table.”

He knew where everything was now – the chopsticks in the drawer by the sink, the bowls in the cabinet above the rice cooker. It felt natural, moving around Hokuto’s kitchen like this. Like he belonged here.

The thought should have scared him. A few months ago, it would have sent him running. But now he just felt... settled. Content in a way he hadn’t been since before Tokyo.

Taiga arranged the dishes with care, mimicking the precise way Hokuto always did it. Rice bowl on the left, miso soup on the right. The grilled fish looked perfect, because of course it did – this was Hokuto, who never did anything halfway.

“Need help?” Hokuto asked, appearing beside him with two steaming mugs of coffee.

“Almost done,” Taiga said, placing the last bowl just so. He stepped back to admire his work, oddly proud of how domestic it all looked. The morning sun caught the steam rising from their coffee cups, turning it golden.

Taiga’s phone buzzed on the table. A message from Shintaro lit up the screen:

Living at Hokuto’s place now? Mom’s starting to think you’ve abandoned us.

Heat crept up Taiga’s neck. He stabbed at his grilled fish, pretending not to notice Hokuto’s amused glance.

“What did Shin say?” Hokuto asked, taking a sip of his coffee.

“Just being a pain in the ass.” Taiga showed him the message. “It’s not like I’m here that often.”

Another buzz:

Be at the ryokan by 11. I’m driving.

Taiga rolled his eyes. “My brother, the chauffeur.”

“We have time,” Hokuto said, checking the wall clock. “It’s only past eight.”

The casual mention of time made something click in Taiga’s mind. He studied Hokuto across the table, taking in the soft morning light playing across his features.

Two months. They’d been doing this for two months now.

“Hey," Taiga said, pushing his rice bowl aside. “It’s been exactly two months since our first date.”

Hokuto’s chopsticks froze halfway to his mouth. A faint blush colored his cheeks. “You remembered.”

“More like just realized,” Taiga admitted. “But you knew, didn’t you? You’ve been counting.”

Hokuto ducked his head, suddenly very interested in his miso soup. “Maybe.”

“Nothing fancy. Maybe just come back here?” Taiga gestured vaguely at the apartment. “Order takeout, watch a movie. Whatever.”

“Whatever?” Hokuto’s lips quirked up in that half-smile that always made Taiga’s stomach flip.

“You know what I mean,” Taiga muttered, suddenly finding his coffee cup fascinating. The memory of last night flashed through his mind – Hokuto’s hands, his mouth, the way he’d–

His phone buzzed again, saving him from that dangerous train of thought:

Mom wants to know if you’re coming home tonight.

Taiga groaned, dropping his head onto the table. “I swear, they're doing this on purpose.”

“Your family loves you,” Hokuto said, his voice warm with amusement. “Even if they show it by being incredibly nosy.”

“Easy for you to say. You don’t have to deal with their texts every time you spend the night somewhere.”

“No, I just have Jesse’s running commentary at work.” Hokuto reached across the table, his fingers brushing Taiga's. “But I wouldn’t change it.”

The simple touch sent warmth spreading through Taiga’s chest. He turned his hand over, letting their fingers intertwine. It felt natural now, this casual intimacy. Like they’d been doing this forever instead of just two months.

“Me neither,” Taiga said softly, meaning it more than he could express.

---

“We’re here!” Taiga called out as he slid open the door to the living room. The familiar scent of jasmine tea and fresh flowers greeted him, along with four pairs of knowing eyes.

Shintaro and Aoi sat at the low table, already dressed for their group date. His brother wore a crisp button-down that screamed “Aoi picked this out,” while Aoi looked elegant in a flowing dress. His parents lounged on cushions nearby, his mother arranging flowers while his father read the morning paper.

“Oh, look who remembered where he lives,” Shintaro drawled, not bothering to hide his smirk.

Heat crept up Taiga’s neck. He felt Hokuto shift beside him, their shoulders brushing. “I was just—”

“Sleeping at Hokuto-kun’s again?” His mother’s eyes sparkled with mischief as she carefully positioned a branch in her arrangement. “That’s the third time this week, isn’t it?”

“Fourth,” his father corrected without looking up from his newspaper.

“I didn’t realize you were keeping count,” Taiga muttered. Traitors, all of them.

“Someone has to,” Shintaro said. “Since you clearly lost track somewhere between moving half your wardrobe to Hokuto’s place and forgetting you have a perfectly good bed here.”

Aoi elbowed Shintaro, but she was fighting back a smile. “Be nice.”

“I am being nice! I’m just saying, if he’s going to practically live there, he could at least bring back some of Hokuto’s cooking for the rest of us.”

Taiga’s face burned. He grabbed Hokuto’s hand, desperate to escape before his family could embarrass him further. “I need to change. Come on, Hokku.”

“Both of you?” His mother’s voice was all innocence, but her eyes danced with amusement. “I didn’t realize getting dressed required assistance these days.”

“Mom!”

“Just make sure you actually change clothes,” Shintaro called after them as Taiga dragged Hokuto toward the stairs. “We’re leaving in twenty minutes, and I don’t want to hear any suspicious noises from up there!”

“Shut up!” Taiga yelled back, taking the stairs two at a time, Hokuto stumbling behind him with barely contained laughter.

“Your family is...” Hokuto started once they reached the second floor.

“Impossible? Embarrassing? The actual worst?”

“I was going to say entertaining.”

“You’re only saying that because they’re not your family.” Taiga slid open his bedroom door with more force than necessary. “Just wait until they start asking when you’re moving in with me, or when we’re getting married, or—”

He froze, realizing what he’d just said. Marriage? Where did that come from?

Hokuto’s thumb brushed across his knuckles, and Taiga realized they were still holding hands. “Breathe,” Hokuto said softly. “They tease because they care.”

“I know,” Taiga sighed, letting Hokuto pull him closer. “I just... I’m not used to this. Being in a healthy relationship. Having everyone know about it. It’s...”

“Overwhelming?”

“Yeah.” Taiga rested his forehead against Hokuto’s shoulder, breathing in the familiar scent of his cologne. “But in a good way? I think? I don’t know.”

“Take your time figuring it out,” Hokuto said, pressing a kiss to his temple. “No rush.”

“Ten minutes!” Shintaro’s voice carried up the stairs. “And I mean it about the suspicious noises!”

Taiga surveyed his room, wincing at the scattered evidence of his gradual migration to Hokuto’s apartment. Clothes draped over his desk chair, photography magazines spilled across the floor, and his futon lay half-rolled in the corner, untouched for days. He’d only stopped by to grab fresh clothes, spending most nights wrapped in Hokuto’s arms instead.

He shoved a pile of clothes toward the wall with his foot, creating a semblance of order. The thought of his perfectly organized room at Hokuto’s apartment made him cringe. He'd somehow managed to keep that space pristine while letting his childhood room descend into chaos.

“Sorry about the mess,” he muttered, heading for his wardrobe. The familiar creek of the wooden doors filled the silence.

“I like it,” Hokuto said, wandering toward Taiga’s desk. “It feels lived in.”

“You mean it looks like a disaster zone.” Taiga pulled his shirt over his head, no longer self-conscious about undressing in front of Hokuto. His skin tingled as memories of their shared intimacy flooded back – Hokuto’s hands, his lips, the way he’d...

Focus. Clothes. Now.

He grabbed a dark blue sweater, Hokuto had complimented before. “Just don’t look too closely at anything.”

But Hokuto was already examining the photographs tacked to Taiga’s wall, a visual timeline of their childhood adventures. “I remember this day,” he said, pointing to a shot of the three of them – Hokuto, Shintaro, and Taiga – covered in mud after a failed attempt at catching fish with their bare hands.

Taiga pulled on a fresh pair of jeans, watching Hokuto explore. It felt surreal, seeing him move so naturally through this space. Hokuto’s fingers trailed over Taiga’s collection of vintage cameras, lingering on the Nikon FM2 that had captured so many of their shared memories.

“Seven minutes!” Shintaro’s voice drifted up again.

Taiga rolled his eyes, but his heart wasn’t in it. He was too distracted by the way Hokuto had settled into his desk chair, leafing through one of Taiga’s old sketchbooks. The morning light caught his profile, softening his features, and Taiga’s fingers itched for his camera.

“I didn’t know you kept these,” Hokuto said, turning a page filled with rough sketches of their favorite spots around Kumamoto.

“I keep everything.” Taiga ran a hand through his hair, trying to tame it into submission. The mirror showed a lost cause. “I’m basically a hoarder.”

“You’re an artist.” Hokuto’s voice held such conviction that Taiga had to look away. “These are beautiful.”

Heat crept up Taiga’s neck again, but for entirely different reasons than before. He busied himself with his socks, trying to ignore how naturally Hokuto fit into this space, how right it felt to have him here among the scattered pieces of Taiga’s past.

The room held so many memories — years of dreams and disappointments trapped between these walls. But with Hokuto here, moving through the chaos with such careful attention, the space felt different. Less like a reminder of failure and more like...

Home, his mind supplied.

But that wasn’t quite right either. Home had become something else entirely – morning coffee shared in comfortable silence, stolen kisses between meetings, nights spent tangled in Hokuto’s sheets.

“You missed a button,” Hokuto said, stepping closer. His fingers brushed against Taiga’s chest as he fixed the sweater’s alignment, the touch lingering longer than necessary.

Taiga’s breath caught. Even after two months of dating, these casual intimacies still made his heart stutter. “Thanks.”

Hokuto smoothed the fabric across Taiga’s shoulders, his hands warm through the wool. “Perfect.” He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to Taiga’s lips.

The familiar scent of Hokuto’s cologne wrapped around him, and Taiga found himself chasing the kiss when Hokuto pulled away. But his brother’s voice echoed up the stairs again — “Three minutes!” — breaking the moment.

“We should…” Hokuto gestured vaguely toward the door.

“Yeah.” Taiga ran a hand through his hair one last time, scanning the room for anything he might need. His gaze landed on his camera, nestled among the chaos on his desk. The same one he’d used for the Voyage Verve shoot last month.

He hadn’t planned to bring it. Valentine's Day was about being present, about experiencing moments rather than capturing them. But lately, he’d found himself reaching for it more often — snapping candids of guests enjoying the ryokan’s gardens, documenting the way morning light spilled across the tatami mats, catching Yugo mid-laugh during their activities planning sessions.

Small moments. Nothing earth-shattering. Nothing that would land him gallery shows in Tokyo. Just... life, as it happened around him.

His fingers twitched.

“Go ahead,” Hokuto said softly.

Taiga startled. He hadn’t realized he’d been staring. “What?”

“The camera.” Hokuto’s smile held a knowing warmth. “You want to bring it.”

“I wasn’t...” Taiga’s protest died under Hokuto’s raised eyebrow. “Maybe. Just to document our first Valentine’s together?” The excuse sounded flimsy even to his ears.

But Hokuto just crossed to the desk and picked up the camera with careful hands — the same reverent touch he’d used when they were teenagers and Taiga first started taking photos. He held it out like an offering.

“You don’t think it's weird?” Taiga asked, accepting the camera. The familiar weight settled against his palm. “Bringing it on a date?”

“When have I ever thought your photography was weird?”

Never, Taiga's mind supplied. Even when everyone else questioned his choices – moving to Tokyo, pursuing art over stability, coming back defeated – Hokuto had always seen the beauty in Taiga’s perspective. Had always encouraged him to keep looking through the lens, keep finding those moments worth preserving.

The camera strap slid over Taiga’s shoulder, muscle memory taking over. He adjusted it to sit comfortably against his hip, the motion as natural as breathing.

“If you two are making out up there, I swear—” Shintaro's footsteps thundered on the stairs.

Taiga grabbed Hokuto’s hand. “Run?”

They barely made it to the door before Shintaro appeared, looking suspiciously between them. His eyes landed on the camera. “Really? Today?”

“It’s for memories,” Taiga said, fighting the urge to hide the camera behind his back like a guilty child. “You’ll thank me when you want photos of your first Valentine’s group date.”

“As long as you’re actually in some of the pictures this time.” Shintaro’s expression softened. “Instead of hiding behind the camera all day.”

“I don’t—”

“You do,” Hokuto and Shintaro said in unison.

Heat crept up Taiga’s neck. “Fine. I’ll let someone else take a few shots. Happy?”

“Ecstatic,” Shintaro deadpanned. “Now can we go? Aoi’s been waiting patiently downstairs, and you know how she gets when we’re late to reservations.”

They followed Shintaro down the hall, Hokuto’s thumb brushing across Taiga’s knuckles in that soothing way he had. The camera bounced gently against Taiga’s hip with each step, its presence both familiar and strange — like returning to a childhood home and finding everything exactly where you left it, yet somehow different.

-----

Taiga wobbled on his skates, his hand gripping Hokuto’s like a lifeline. The ice stretched out before them, a pristine expanse under the Aqua Dome’s twinkling lights. Couples glided past in graceful arcs while Taiga struggled to find his balance.

“You sure you don’t want me to—” Hokuto started.

“I got this.” Taiga took a determined stride forward, dragging Hokuto with him. His legs trembled beneath him, muscles remembering a motion they hadn’t performed in years. “Shit.”

The camera bag bounced against his hip as he overcorrected, nearly taking them both down. Hokuto’s steady hand at his waist kept him upright – barely.

“When was the last time you skated?” Hokuto’s voice held that careful neutrality that meant he was trying not to laugh.

“Tokyo.” Taiga pushed forward again, more confident this time. “There was this outdoor rink in Roppongi. I went once.” He paused. “Maybe twice.”

“And before that?”

“College?” The admission came out more like a question.

Across the rink, Shintaro and Aoi moved in perfect sync, their matching scarves trailing behind them. Show-offs.

Hokuto’s thumb traced circles on Taiga’s palm. “Maybe we should stick to the wall for a bit?”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Taiga picked up speed, ignoring the way his ankles wobbled. The cold air stung his cheeks, but excitement bubbled in his chest. This was living – the rush of movement, the edge of danger. Like climbing trees as kids or chasing the perfect shot in Tokyo. “Come on, I want to try something.”

“Taiga—”

But Taiga was already pulling them toward the center of the rink, where fewer skaters ventured. His confidence grew with each stride. See? Just like riding a bike. He turned to share his triumph with Hokuto.

The world tilted.

His skate caught an uneven patch of ice, sending him lurching forward. Hokuto’s eyes widened in alarm. Taiga’s grip on Hokuto's hand tightened instinctively, and suddenly they were both falling – a tangle of limbs and startled yelps.

They hit the ice hard, Taiga landing half on top of Hokuto. The impact knocked the breath from his lungs. For a moment, they just lay there, stunned.

“Fuck.” Taiga pushed himself up on his elbows, scanning Hokuto for injuries. “Are you okay? I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have—”

But Hokuto was laughing – deep, full-body laughter that shook both of them. The sound caught Taiga off guard. In all their years of friendship, he’d never heard Hokuto laugh quite like this.

“Your face,” Hokuto managed between gasps. “When you realized—” Another wave of laughter overtook him.

Heat flooded Taiga’s cheeks. “It’s not that funny.”

“It really is.” Hokuto’s eyes crinkled at the corners, and something in Taiga’s chest squeezed tight.

They were still tangled together on the ice, drawing curious looks from passing skaters. Taiga’s camera bag dug uncomfortably into his side. He should move. Should check if the camera was okay. Should be embarrassed about causing such a scene.

Instead, he found himself mesmerized by the way Hokuto’s laughter transformed his whole face — the usual careful composure replaced by pure, unrestrained joy. Without thinking, Taiga leaned down and pressed his cold lips to Hokuto’s warm ones.

The kiss tasted like laughter and winter air. Hokuto’s hand came up to cup Taiga’s jaw, thumb brushing against his cheekbone.

“If you two are done making a spectacle,” Shintaro’s voice cut through the moment, “some of us would like to actually skate.”

“Sorry, sorry.” Taiga scrambled to his feet, wincing as his knees protested. His jeans were soaked through from the ice. “Here.” He extended his hand to Hokuto, who was still grinning like an idiot.

Hokuto grabbed his hand, and together they managed to get him vertical without another disaster. “Wall?” he suggested again, raising an eyebrow.

“Wall,” Taiga agreed, his pride thoroughly defeated. They made their way to the edge of the rink, Taiga’s legs still shaky beneath him. At least the wall can’t laugh at me.

His hands trembled slightly as he checked his camera for damage. The protective case had done its job – no scratches, no broken parts. Relief flooded through him. He’d only just started carrying it again; losing it now would feel like some cosmic sign.

Through the viewfinder, he watched Shintaro and Aoi glide past. Their movements were fluid, synchronized without trying. Aoi’s scarf fluttered behind her as Shintaro guided her through a gentle spin.

Click. The shutter captured the moment – her smile, his steady hands, the way they moved like they’d been skating together forever.

“Show-offs,” he muttered, but there was no bite to it. The image on his screen was perfect – the soft lighting catching the ice crystals in Aoi’s hair, Shintaro’s expression softer than Taiga had seen in years.

A commotion from the center of the rink drew his attention. Jesse had apparently decided that basic skating wasn’t dramatic enough. He launched into what might have been an attempt at a jump, arms windmilling wildly.

“Is he trying to—” Hokuto started.

“Impress Yugo? Obviously.” Taiga raised his camera just as Jesse’s landing went spectacularly wrong.

Click. Click. Click.

The rapid-fire shots caught the entire sequence – Jesse’s determined expression, the moment of weightlessness, and the inevitable crash. Perfect blackmail material.

Yugo, watching from a safe distance, covered his mouth with both hands. Whether he was hiding concern or laughter was anybody’s guess.

“You’re evil,” Hokuto said, but he was peering at the camera screen with obvious interest.

“I prefer ‘opportunistic.’” Taiga scrolled through the shots, satisfaction warming his chest. He’d forgotten how good this felt – catching those split-second moments that told entire stories.

When he glanced up, Hokuto was watching him with a strange expression. The soft lights played across his features, catching in his dark eyes. A strand of hair had fallen across his forehead, and his cheeks were pink from the cold.

Taiga raised the camera before he could think better of it. Click.

“Did you just—”

“Nope.” Taiga quickly lowered the camera, but he couldn’t hide his smile. The image was already burned into his mind — Hokuto’s expression open and unguarded, a warmth in his eyes that made Taiga’s heart skip.

“You’re a terrible liar.” Hokuto reached for the camera, but Taiga twisted away, nearly losing his balance again.

“Careful!” Hokuto’s arm shot out to steady him, pulling him close. “I’d rather not spend the whole afternoon on the ice.”

“Spoilsport.” But Taiga let himself lean into Hokuto’s warmth, grateful for the solid presence beside him. His fingers itched to take another photo, to capture this feeling — the cold air, the warm body pressed against his side, the way everything else seemed to fade into background noise.

“Come here.” Taiga tugged Hokuto closer, angling his camera outward. His hands were steadier now, more confident with the familiar weight of the lens. “Try not to look too awkward.”

“Says the one who can barely stand.” But Hokuto pressed against his side, one arm wrapping around Taiga’s waist. His breath tickled Taiga’s ear.

Taiga adjusted the settings with practiced ease, muscle memory taking over.

Click. The first shot caught their reflection in the ice, distorted but striking.

Click. The second captured the string lights above, creating a halo effect around their heads.

Click. The third–

Warm lips pressed against his cheek, catching him mid-smile. Taiga’s finger hit the shutter reflexively, his heart stuttering in his chest. The camera nearly slipped from his grasp.

“Hey.” The protest came out embarrassingly breathless. Heat bloomed across his face, and not just from the kiss. “I wasn’t ready.”

“That’s the point.” Hokuto’s smile pressed against his skin. “Candid shots are better, right?”

Before Taiga could argue – or maybe steal a proper kiss – a familiar voice cut through the moment.

“Time check!” Shintaro glided to a stop beside them, sending a spray of ice in their direction. Aoi followed more gracefully, her cheeks flushed from exertion. “They’re closing the rink in fifteen.”

“Already?” Taiga lowered his camera, surprised by the disappointment that tugged at his chest. The afternoon had slipped by faster than he’d realized.

“I’m starving.” Aoi rubbed her gloved hands together. “There’s this new tea shop that opened near—”

A crash echoed across the rink, followed by collective gasps and one very distinctive yelp. Taiga didn’t need to look to know who it was.

“That’s the third time,” Hokuto muttered, wincing in sympathy.

Taiga raised his camera again, catching Jesse sprawled dramatically on the ice while Yugo hovered nearby, torn between concern and exasperation.

Click. “Some things never change.”

-----

Steam rose from Taiga’s cup, warming his still-frozen fingers. The heat seeped through the ceramic, chasing away the lingering chill from the rink. Next to him, Hokuto’s shoulder pressed against his – a solid, steady warmth that made his skin tingle even through layers of clothing.

“I can’t feel my toes,” Jesse whined, slumped dramatically across the food court table. His hair was still damp from his many encounters with the ice. “Why did no one warn me skating was this hard?”

“We did.” Yugo stirred his hot chocolate, amusement dancing in his eyes. “Multiple times. You just didn’t listen.”

“The Zamboni’s hypnotic though, right?” Aoi leaned forward, watching the machine glide across the ice in smooth, methodical patterns. Her cheeks were still flushed from skating, making her look younger, more carefree. “Like a really slow, really cold dance.”

Taiga lifted his camera, capturing the way the overhead lights caught the fresh ice. Click. The surface gleamed like polished glass, unmarred by blades or falls. He scrolled through the viewfinder, satisfaction warming his chest at the composition.

“We should hit the arcade next,” Jesse announced, apparently recovered enough for more activities. “I heard they just got this new racing game—”

“No way.” Yugo wrapped both hands around his mug. “I just got feeling back in my fingers. I’m not moving.”

Hokuto shifted beside Taiga, his arm brushing Taiga’s as he reached for a cookie. The casual touch shouldn’t have made Taiga's heart skip, but here they were. “The arcade’s not going anywhere.”

“But the warmth is.” Jesse gestured at their steaming drinks. “Once these are gone, we’ll start freezing again.”

“Drama queen.” Shintaro broke his cookie in half, offering part to Aoi. “We could always get more tea.”

“Or hot chocolate.” Aoi accepted the cookie with a smile. “Though I wouldn’t mind trying that new crane game they installed.”

Taiga lowered his camera, letting the familiar banter wash over him. The food court buzzed with afternoon activity – families sharing snacks, teenagers huddled over phones, the distant hum of the Zamboni creating a strangely peaceful backdrop. His camera sat heavy in his lap, full of moments he hadn’t planned to capture.

“Hey.” Hokuto’s voice was soft, meant only for him. “You okay?”

Taiga glanced at him, caught off guard by the concern in his eyes. Hokuto was close enough that Taiga could see the tiny flecks of gold in his irises, the way his hair fell slightly messier than usual. The urge to lift his camera again was almost overwhelming.

“Yeah.” Taiga’s voice came out rougher than intended. He cleared his throat, trying again. “Just... processing.”

Hokuto’s hand found his under the table, fingers intertwining with practiced ease. The touch was grounding, pulling Taiga back from the edge of whatever emotional precipice he’d been approaching.

“The arcade has better lighting anyway,” Hokuto said, thumb tracing circles on Taiga’s palm. “For photos, I mean.”

Something warm bloomed in Taiga’s chest – something that had nothing to do with the tea or the crowded food court.

Before he could respond, Jesse’s voice cut through his thoughts. “Okay, that’s it.” He pushed himself up, determination written across his features. “If no one else is gonna move, I’m going alone. But when I win all the best prizes—”

“You’ll probably break something,” Yugo finished, but he was already standing, resignation clear in his expression. “Fine. But only because someone needs to make sure you don’t hurt yourself. Again.”

A soft chime cut through the chatter. Hokuto shifted, pulling his phone from his pocket. His eyes lit up as he scanned the screen.

“The spring magazine’s coming out next week.” Hokuto squeezed Taiga’s hand under the table. “Your photos look amazing in the preview.”

Heat crept up Taiga’s neck. The memory of that photoshoot still felt surreal – the way his camera had become an extension of his arm again, how naturally the compositions had flowed. “I bet your writing’s the real star.”

“It’s true,” Jesse nodded enthusiastically, spilling some of his drink in the process. “Hokuto’s articles always make me want to pack my bags and go exploring. He could make a convenience store sound like a magical destination.”

“Jesse’s probably exaggerating, but Hokuto’s amazing,” Yugo pipes up.

“‘Amazing’ is putting it mildly.” Jesse dabbed at the spilled drink with a napkin. “Hokuto’s legendary. Did you know he won the Regional Tourism Excellence Award three years in a row? The youngest recipient ever!”

Taiga glanced at Hokuto, who was suddenly very interested in his empty cup. He’d never mentioned any awards.

“And that’s not even counting the industry recognition for his cultural preservation campaign last year.” Jesse was on a roll now, gesturing animatedly. “Or how he single-handedly saved that traditional pottery festival from dying out with his marketing strategy. Which is why I still can’t believe he turned down that marketing director job offer from the Tokyo office. I mean, who wouldn’t want to—”

Jesse’s eyes widened as he caught himself. The food court’s ambient noise seemed to grow louder in the sudden silence.

Taiga’s hand went rigid in Hokuto’s grip. Tokyo? The word echoed in his head, sharp and jarring. He turned to look at Hokuto, who was staring at Jesse with an unreadable expression.

“Job offer?” Taiga’s voice came out steadier than he felt.

“I...” Jesse looked like he wanted to melt into his chair. “I shouldn’t have—It wasn’t my place to—”

“It wasn’t a big deal,” Hokuto said quietly, but he wouldn’t meet Taiga’s eyes. “Just a potential opportunity that came up a while ago.”

“When?” The question slipped out before Taiga could stop it. His chest felt tight, like someone had wrapped invisible bands around his ribs.

“About three months ago.” Hokuto’s thumb had stopped its soothing circles on Taiga’s palm. “Right after you arrived, actually.”

The silence stretched like a rubber band about to snap. Taiga’s tea had gone cold, matching the chill that had settled in his stomach. His hand was still in Hokuto’s, but the touch no longer felt grounding – it felt like an anchor dragging him down into murky depths.

Shintaro cleared his throat. “Hey Jesse, didn’t you want to check out that racing game?”

“Oh, right!” Jesse jumped up with suspicious enthusiasm. “Yes, absolutely, right now.”

“I’ll come too.” Yugo gathered his empty cup, shooting a concerned glance at Taiga. “Make sure he doesn’t challenge any kids.”

“I will absolutely not!” Jesse protested weakly as Shintaro herded him away from the table.

Aoi touched Shintaro’s arm and followed, leaving Taiga alone with Hokuto and the weight of unspoken words between them. The food court’s cheerful buzz felt distant now, like static on an old radio.

“What position?” Taiga’s voice sounded strange to his own ears.

“Marketing director.” Hokuto still wouldn’t look at him directly. His fingers twitched against Taiga’s palm. “They wanted someone to oversee their international tourism campaigns.”

Tokyo. The word sat heavy in Taiga’s chest. He’d spent five years there chasing dreams that had slipped through his fingers like smoke. And now Hokuto – steady, reliable Hokuto – had been offered the very thing Taiga had failed to grasp.

“Why didn’t you take it?”

Hokuto’s thumb resumed its circles on Taiga’s skin, but the gesture felt different now – almost apologetic. “You came back.”

“What?” Taiga pulled his hand away, ice spreading through his veins. “You turned it down because of me?”

“Not exactly.” Hokuto finally met his eyes. “Or maybe... partly. When you returned, everything felt like it was falling into place. Like maybe there was a reason I’d been hesitating to accept the offer.”

“Hesitating?” The word tasted bitter on Taiga’s tongue.

“I had a month to decide.” Hokuto’s voice was soft, careful. “The offer came right after you moved back. And seeing you again, after all those years... It made me realize what I really wanted.”

“Which was what?”

“You.” The simple honesty in Hokuto’s voice made Taiga’s chest ache. “The chance to see where this could go. To finally tell you how I felt.”

“So you gave up Tokyo.” For me, Taiga didn’t say, but the words hung between them anyway.

“I didn’t give up anything.” Hokuto leaned forward, eyes intense. “I chose what mattered most. The job would have been amazing, yes. But Tokyo... Tokyo isn’t where I want to be.”

Taiga’s throat felt tight. “You could have told me.”

“I know, and I’m sorry, but I didn’t know when.” A hint of frustration crept into Hokuto’s tone. “I couldn’t tell you because you were still processing your return. Because we were just starting to reconnect. And maybe because you were finally finding your way back to photography.”

The truth in those words stung. Taiga remembered those first weeks back — the shame, the uncertainty, the feeling of being untethered. Would knowing about Hokuto’s opportunity have pushed him further into that spiral?

“I didn’t want to add to your burden,” Hokuto continued. “And honestly? By the time I had to give them an answer, it wasn’t even a difficult choice anymore.”

The words “difficult choice” echoed in Taiga’s head, each syllable a sharp reminder of his own failures. His chest tightened as the realization hit him – Hokuto had given up a career-defining opportunity because of him. Because he’d come crawling back to Kumamoto with his tail between his legs.

A person’s life derailed because of me.

The food court’s cheerful buzz turned suffocating. Taiga’s hands trembled as he gripped his camera, the familiar weight now feeling like lead in his lap. The same nausea that had plagued him in Tokyo crept up his throat.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” Taiga’s voice came out hoarse. “You shouldn’t have let me affect your decision.”

“Taiga–”

“No.” He shook his head, memories of his own failed dreams in Tokyo mixing with the image of Hokuto trapped in Kumamoto because of him. “You could have been marketing director. In Tokyo. Do you know how many people would kill for that chance?”

Hokuto reached for his hand again, but Taiga pulled away. The concern in Hokuto’s eyes only made it worse. Here he was, still trying to take care of Taiga, still sacrificing his own needs.

“I told you, it wasn’t a sacrifice—”

“But it was.” The words burned coming out. “You’re brilliant at what you do. Jesse said it himself – you’re legendary. You should be out there, making a name for yourself, not... not stuck here because I couldn’t hack it in the city.”

“That’s not—”

“What happens when you start resenting me?” The question slipped out before Taiga could stop it. His greatest fear, laid bare under the harsh fluorescent lights. “When you realize what you gave up?”

“I won’t—”

“You don’t know that.” Taiga’s chair scraped against the floor as he stood. His camera bag knocked against the table, the sound making him flinch. “Nobody knows that.”

The distance between the food court and the exit suddenly felt like miles. Taiga’s legs moved on autopilot, muscle memory carrying him through the crowd. Behind him, he heard Hokuto call his name, but he couldn’t stop. Couldn’t turn around.

You ruin everything you touch.

The thought hit him with the force of a physical blow. Fresh air hit his face as he pushed through the doors, but it didn’t help clear his head. Footsteps behind him told him Hokuto had followed.

“Taiga, wait—”

“I need to go home.” Taiga kept walking, his breath coming in short bursts. “I need... I need to be alone.”

“Let me at least go home with you—”

“No.” The word came out sharper than intended. Taiga forced himself to soften his tone. “Please. I just... I need space.”

The footsteps behind him slowed, then stopped. Taiga’s chest ached with the effort it took not to look back. He knew what he’d see – Hokuto standing there, worried and confused, still trying to understand. Still trying to help.

Still giving up pieces of himself for Taiga’s sake.

“I’ll text you when I get home,” Taiga managed, the lie bitter on his tongue.

Then he walked faster, leaving Hokuto and the weight of his sacrifice behind.

“Earth to Hokuto.” Jesse’s voice pierced through the fog in Hokuto’s mind. “That’s the third time you’ve checked your phone in five minutes.”

Hokuto set his phone face-down on his desk. The screen remained stubbornly dark, just as it had for the past five days. His head throbbed. The fluorescent lights of the office felt harsh against his tired eyes.

“Sorry. These tourism numbers won’t analyze themselves.” He pulled up the spreadsheet he’d been attempting to focus on all morning. The figures blurred together, swimming before his eyes.

“You look like shit,” Jesse said, rolling his chair closer. “And not your usual aesthetically pleasing kind of shit.”

“Thanks for the assessment.” Hokuto’s throat felt scratchy. He should have stayed home, but the thought of being alone with his thoughts seemed worse than dragging himself to work.

Jesse’s expression softened. “Listen, about what happened at the Aqua Dome… I can talk to Taiga. Explain that I’m an idiot who can’t keep his mouth shut.”

“No.” The word came out sharper than Hokuto intended. He massaged his temples, trying to ease the building pressure. “I should have told him about the job offer myself. This is on me.”

His phone buzzed. Hokuto’s heart leaped, but it was just another email from a client.

Five days. Five days of silence since Taiga had learned about the Tokyo position from Jesse’s loose lips. Five days of composing messages that remained unsent, of reaching for his phone only to set it back down.

“He’ll come around,” Jesse said, but uncertainty tinged his voice. “You two are disgustingly perfect together. Like, seriously, it’s annoying how cute you are.”

Hokuto’s chest tightened. He thought of Taiga’s expression at the Aqua Dome—the flash of hurt in his eyes, quickly masked by a brittle smile.

I need some time to think, Taiga had said.

Then silence.

“I get why he’s upset.” Hokuto’s voice came out hoarse. “I kept it from him for months. After everything with Tokyo...” He trailed off, remembering how Taiga had finally opened up about his struggles there, the weight of failure that had driven him back to Kumamoto.

“You were trying to protect him.”

“Was I?” Hokuto stared at his computer screen without seeing it. “Or was I just being a coward again?”

Jesse opened his mouth to respond, but Hokuto’s phone actually buzzed this time—a real message. His hand shot out before he could stop himself.

Not Taiga. Just his mother asking if he was coming for dinner this weekend.

“I should have learned by now,” Hokuto muttered, more to himself than Jesse. “Keeping things from him never works out.”

“So tell him that.” Jesse’s chair squeaked as he leaned forward. “Let me help. I’m the one who fucked up your secret-keeping anyway.”

Hokuto shook his head, immediately regretting the movement as it sent a fresh wave of dizziness through him. “I need to fix this myself. I just... I need him to be ready to listen first.”

A knock at the door made both Hokuto and Jesse look up. The delivery man stood in the doorway, clutching a stack of glossy magazines.

“Voyage Verve spring issue?” He held up a clipboard.

Jesse bounded over to sign for them while Hokuto remained at his desk, his headache momentarily forgotten. The magazines were distributed, and Hokuto’s breath caught as he saw the cover.

There it was—Gonzaemon no Yu captured in the soft glow of dawn, cherry blossoms framing the ancient building like a delicate veil. Taiga’s photograph from a few years ago, but still.

Hokuto’s fingers traced the edge of the cover, remembering how Taiga had gotten up at four in the morning to catch that perfect light, how his eyes had lit up when he reviewed the shots.

He flipped through the pages, barely registering the article he’d written about the ryokan’s history and attractions. Instead, his attention fixed on each photograph—the careful composition of the garden shots, the way Taiga had captured the steam rising from the hot springs, the intimate details of traditionally served meals that made them look like works of art.

You never lost your touch, Hokuto thought, chest aching. You just needed the right subject.

The pounding in his head intensified as he studied a particular shot of the private bath area. He remembered watching Taiga take it, how he’d waited patiently for the light to hit the water just right, his camera steady.

“Matsumura?” His manager’s voice startled him from his reverie. “You look unwell.”

Hokuto straightened, trying to appear more alert than he felt. “I’m fine, just focused on the new issue.”

“You’re pale as a ghost.” She frowned, placing a hand on his forehead. “You’re burning up. Go home.”

“I have the afternoon meeting—”

“Which Jesse can handle.” She fixed him with a stern look. “Go home. Rest. That’s an order.”

Hokuto’s protests died in his throat as another wave of dizziness hit him. Maybe she was right. He gathered his things slowly, tucking the magazine carefully into his bag.

The rain had settled into a steady drizzle by the time he made it outside. He should go straight home—he knew that.

But his feet carried him in the opposite direction, toward the familiar path to Gonzaemon no Yu.

-----

The bell above the entrance chimed as Hokuto stepped into the ryokan. His head swam, and he gripped the doorframe for support. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.

“Hokuto?” Aoi’s voice cut through his dizzy haze.

She stood at the reception desk, elegant in a dark blue kimono with a subtle wave pattern—the same style Hiromi wore when greeting important guests.

“You look terrible.” Aoi’s brow furrowed as she hurried over. “Should I call Shintaro?”

“No, I—” Hokuto swallowed hard, his throat raw. “Is Taiga here?”

Something flickered across Aoi’s face—concern, maybe sympathy. “He’s in the activities office with Yugo.”

Hokuto nodded, immediately regretting the motion as it sent another wave of vertigo through him. He steadied himself against the wall, trying to look more composed than he felt. “How... how is he?”

Aoi's hesitation spoke volumes. “He’s been quiet. Goes straight to his room after dinner.” She twisted her obi.

The weight of those words pressed against Hokuto’s chest. He’d done this. His silence, his inability to be honest about the Tokyo job offer, had caused this rift.

“Here.” Hokuto pulled the magazine from his bag, holding it out to Aoi. His hand trembled slightly. “The spring issue. Taiga’s photos... they’re beautiful.”

Aoi accepted the magazine, her eyes widening as she took in the cover shot. “Oh, these are beautiful!”

“The activities office?” Hokuto pushed himself off the wall, fighting another wave of dizziness.

“Are you sure you should—”

“I need to see him.” The words came out rougher than intended. Hokuto softened his tone. “Please.”

Aoi studied him for a moment, then nodded. “Okay. But Hokuto?”

Hokuto paused.

“You really don’t look well.”

“I know.” He managed a weak smile. “But this can’t wait another five days.”

-----

Hokuto’s vision blurred as he made his way down the familiar hallway. His hand trailed along the wall for support, the polished wood cool against his feverish skin. The sound of voices drifted from the activities office—Taiga’s low murmur mixing with Yugo’s animated tone and Shintaro’s steady cadence.

“We could set up lanterns along the garden path,” Yugo suggested.

“That might work.” Taiga’s voice. Even muffled through the door, it sent a jolt through Hokuto’s chest. “But we’d need to consider the wind.”

Hokuto’s knees wobbled. He pressed his forehead against the wall, letting the cool surface ground him. Just a few more steps. The magazine in his bag felt heavier than it should.

“What about incorporating some traditional performances?” Shintaro asked.

Hokuto’s hand hovered over the door. The rational part of his brain—the part not addled by fever—screamed at him to come back when he wasn’t half-delirious. But five days of silence stretched between them like an ocean. He couldn’t bear another moment.

His knuckles connected with the wood before he could second-guess himself.

“Come in!” Yugo called.

Hokuto slid the door open, gripping the frame to stay upright. The fluorescent lights stabbed at his eyes, making the room swim.

“Hokuto?” Taiga’s chair scraped against the floor as he stood. Surprise colored his voice, followed by something softer. Concern?

“Sorry to interrupt.” Hokuto’s own voice sounded distant, like it belonged to someone else. He fumbled with his bag, nearly dropping it as he retrieved the magazine. “I wanted... needed to bring this.”

Shintaro moved toward him, but Hokuto waved him off. He focused on Taiga, on the familiar lines of his face, now creased with worry.

“The spring issue.” Hokuto held out the magazine. “Your photos… they’re beautiful.”

Taiga’s fingers brushed his as he took the magazine. “Thanks,” he muttered, not meeting Hokuto’s gaze.

“Hokuto, you look terrible—” Shintaro started.

“I’m fine.” Hokuto cut him off, though the room spun faster with each passing second. His skin felt like it was on fire, but he had to get the words out. “Taiga, I’m sorry. I should have told you about the job offer.”

The magazine trembled in Taiga's hands. Hokuto forced himself to continue, even as his vision blurred at the edges.

“They wanted me to start in Tokyo this January. Leading their international tourism campaigns.” The words tumbled out, his usual careful articulation failing him. “But I couldn’t—I wouldn’t leave. Not now. Not when we finally...”

His knees buckled. Someone—Shintaro?—grabbed his arm, steadying him.

“I declined it because—” Hokuto’s throat felt like sandpaper. “I should have told you. But I was afraid... afraid you’d think I was giving up an opportunity because of you. Afraid you’d feel responsible.”

The fluorescent lights above seemed to pulse, making his head throb. Through his fevered haze, he caught glimpses of Taiga’s face—concern warring with something else. Hurt? Relief? Hokuto couldn’t tell anymore.

“You’re burning up,” Taiga’s voice cut through the fog. His cool hand pressed against Hokuto’s forehead, and Hokuto leaned into the touch despite himself. “You need to go home and rest.”

“I couldn’t let another five days pass.” Hokuto’s words slurred together. “Not without telling you why. Not without—”

The room tilted sharply. Voices blended together, urgent but distant. Hokuto felt his legs give way, felt hands catching him as darkness crept in from the edges of his vision.

The last thing he registered was Taiga’s voice, closer now, tinged with worry: “Hokku?”

Then everything went black.

-----

Everything ached. Hokuto’s head pounded with each heartbeat, and his throat felt like he’d swallowed glass. Consciousness returned in fragments—the scratch of unfamiliar sheets against his skin, the distant hum of his apartment’s heater, the lingering taste of medicine on his tongue.

Where…?

His last clear memory was of Taiga’s face, concern etched in those familiar features. The activities office. The magazine. His desperate need to explain about Tokyo before fever had claimed him.

Hokuto forced his eyes open. Darkness greeted him, but he recognized the shadows—his bedroom, the outlines of his furniture stark against the city lights filtering through his blinds.

Not Gonzaemon anymore. Someone must have brought him home.

His phone lay on the nightstand, its screen dark. Hokuto’s fingers trembled as he reached for it, wincing at the bright display.

7:23 PM. Hours had passed since he’d stumbled into that office.

Notifications crowded his screen. A message from Jesse:

“Dude, way to make a dramatic exit! Get some rest, you idiot.”

Another from his manager about taking tomorrow off.

And then—Hokuto’s heart stuttered—a text from Shintaro:

“Taiga-nii’s there to look after you. Don’t worry about talking to him for now. Just focus on getting better.”

Taiga’s here?

The thought sent a fresh wave of dizziness through him, though this time it had nothing to do with his fever. Hokuto pushed himself up, gripping the edge of his mattress as the room tilted. His head still felt stuffed with cotton, but the bone-deep exhaustion from earlier had receded somewhat.

Hokuto swung his legs over the side of the bed, testing his balance. Better. Not great, but he could stand without the room spinning. He was still in his work clothes, though someone had removed his tie and shoes. The fabric felt stiff with dried sweat.

Light spilled from beneath his bedroom door—warm and steady, carrying with it the faint sounds of movement from his living room. Hokuto’s pulse quickened. Five days of silence stretched behind them, and now Taiga was out there, in his apartment, taking care of him.

I must look terrible, Hokuto thought, running a hand through his fever-damp hair. But he needed to see Taiga, needed to know if his fevered confession about Tokyo had made things better or worse.

His legs shook as he stood, but they held. Hokuto pressed his palm against the wall, steadying himself as he made his way to the door. The handle felt cool beneath his fingers, grounding him in reality. This wasn’t a fever dream.

He drew in a breath, ignoring the way it scraped his raw throat, and opened the door.

The warm light spilling from his living room seemed impossibly bright after the darkness of his bedroom. Hokuto blinked, letting his eyes adjust as he shuffled forward. His socks whispered against the hardwood floor, each step careful and measured.

The soft hum of his microwave drew him toward the kitchen. There, illuminated by the appliance’s pale glow, stood Taiga. He was still in his work clothes, though his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, revealing the delicate bones of his wrists. The sight made Hokuto’s chest tighten with an emotion that had nothing to do with his fever.

Taiga’s head snapped up at Hokuto’s approach, eyes widening. “You should be in bed.”

“I’m okay.” The words came out rough, his throat protesting each syllable. Hokuto leaned against the doorframe, trying to look more steady than he felt. “Well, maybe not okay. But less like death warmed over.”

The microwave beeped, its sharp sound making Hokuto wince. Taiga turned away, movements precise as he retrieved a ceramic bowl. Steam curled up from whatever was inside, carrying a familiar scent that made Hokuto’s stomach clench with unexpected hunger.

“Shin and Aoi sent food from the ryokan.” Taiga set the bowl on the counter, his lips quirking into a small smile. “They said it would be safer than letting me cook for you.”

“They might have a point.” The attempt at humor felt clumsy on Hokuto’s tongue, but he needed something—anything—to bridge the awkward distance between them.

“I’m not that bad,” Taiga protested, but there was no real heat in it. He busied himself with stirring the contents of the bowl, not quite meeting Hokuto’s eyes. “Though I guess when you’re sick, it’s better not to risk it. You should sit down before you fall down.” He gestured toward the dining area, his tone leaving no room for argument. “I’ll bring this over.”

Hokuto’s legs trembled in relief as he sank into one of his kitchen chairs. The familiar wood pressed against his back, cool through the sweat-dampened fabric of his shirt. From here, he could watch Taiga move through his kitchen with careful efficiency, gathering a spoon and napkin before carrying the steaming bowl over.

The porridge settled in front of him, its surface rippling with lingering heat. The scent hit him properly now—ginger and green onion, comfort wrapped in steam. His stomach growled, embarrassingly loud in the quiet apartment.

“Eat,” Taiga said, dropping into the chair across from him. “Before it gets cold.”

Hokuto lifted the spoon, trying to ignore how his hand shook. The first bite spread warmth through his raw throat, familiar flavors dancing on his tongue. Hiromi-san’s recipe, he realized. The thought made his chest ache with something beyond his fever.

“Is it okay?” Taiga’s voice was soft, uncertain. When Hokuto glanced up, he found Taiga watching him with an intensity that made his pulse skip.

“It’s perfect.” The words came out rougher than he intended. Hokuto took another spoonful, letting the warmth settle in his stomach. “Thank you.”

Taiga didn’t respond, but he didn't look away either. His presence felt solid and real across the table, grounding Hokuto in the moment despite the fever-fog still clouding his thoughts. Each bite of porridge seemed to clear his head a little more, though that might have been wishful thinking.

The silence stretched between them, not quite comfortable but not entirely awkward either. Hokuto focused on eating, hyperaware of Taiga’s gaze tracking his movements. The spoon clinked quietly against the ceramic bowl, a steady rhythm that helped mask the thundering of his heart.

Taiga’s fingers drummed against the table’s surface, a nervous habit Hokuto remembered from their childhood. The familiar gesture made something twist in his chest. Here they were, years later, sitting at his kitchen table while he ate porridge made by Taiga’s mother. The domesticity of it all felt surreal, especially given the tension of the past few days.

“You don’t have to watch me eat,” Hokuto managed between bites. “I promise I won’t face-plant into the porridge.”

“You already face-planted once today.” Taiga’s tone was dry, but concern flickered in his eyes. “I think I’m entitled to some hovering.”

Heat that had nothing to do with his fever crept up Hokuto’s neck. The memory of collapsing in the activities office was hazy, but he remembered enough to feel mortified. “Sorry about that.”

“Don’t.” Taiga’s fingers stilled against the table. “Just... eat your porridge.”

Hokuto obeyed, though each bite felt heavier than the last. Taiga’s steady gaze made it hard to concentrate on the simple act of eating. Questions burned on his tongue, but he wasn’t sure he was ready for the answers.

Not yet. Not while his head still felt stuffed with cotton and his thoughts moved like molasses.

The porridge was nearly gone when Taiga spoke again. “How are you feeling now?”

“Better.” It wasn’t a lie. The food and rest had helped, even if he still felt wrung out. “The room’s mostly staying where it should be.”

“Mostly?” One of Taiga’s eyebrows arched up.

“Ninety percent of the time.” Hokuto attempted a smile, though he wasn’t sure how successful it was.

Taiga’s skepticism cut through the fever haze, sharp and familiar. The porridge sat warm in Hokuto’s stomach, but a different kind of heat crawled up his neck. Words pressed against his teeth, demanding release.

“About Tokyo—”

Taiga’s hand shot up, cutting him off. “We can talk about that when you’re better.”

“No.” The force of Hokuto’s own voice surprised him. “I need to explain now.” His fingers curled around the empty bowl, seeking something solid to anchor him. The ceramic felt cool against his fever-warm skin.

“At first, I thought it was my chance—finally getting to travel, seeing other places beyond those I’ve marketed. But then...” Hokuto swallowed hard, his throat still raw. “Then we started dating, and suddenly the decision wasn’t so clear anymore.”

Taiga’s expression shifted, something complicated passing behind his eyes. “Hokuto—”

“Let me finish.” The words came faster now, pushed out before fever or fear could stop them. “I chose not to take it. Not because I thought you’d leave again, or because I was afraid of distance. I chose it because this—” He gestured between them, “—matters more to me right now than a job in Tokyo.”

The kitchen light cast shadows across Taiga’s face, making his features harder to read. Or maybe that was just the fever blurring Hokuto’s vision.

“You can’t put your dreams on hold for—”

“Don’t.” Heat flared in Hokuto’s chest that had nothing to do with his illness. “Don’t tell me what I can or can’t prioritize. You don’t get to decide if you’re worth more than some job offer.”

His hands trembled against the bowl, but his voice remained steady. “I want to figure us out, Taiga. I want to see where this goes. The job will still be there, or something like it, but right now? Right now, you’re more important.”

The confession hung in the air between them. Hokuto’s heart hammered against his ribs, each beat echoing in his temples. But beneath the fever and exhaustion, a different kind of warmth spread through his chest—the relief of finally saying the words he’d been holding back.

Taiga opened his mouth to respond, but Hokuto pressed on.

“I’m not asking you to feel the same way. I just need you to understand that this was my choice. Not something you forced on me, not something I’ll regret. I want to be here, with you, figuring out what we could be together.”

The kitchen fell silent except for the soft hum of the refrigerator and Hokuto’s slightly labored breathing. His fever-bright eyes met Taiga’s, refusing to look away despite the vulnerability of the moment.

“You’re an idiot.” Taiga’s voice was rough. He reached across the table, his fingers brushing against Hokuto’s wrist. The touch sent electricity through Hokuto's fever-warm skin. “A complete idiot who shouldn’t be having this conversation while burning up with fever.”

“Maybe the fever’s making me brave.” Hokuto turned his hand, catching Taiga’s fingers with his own. They felt cool against his overheated palm. “Or maybe I’m just tired of not saying what I mean.”

Taiga’s thumb traced circles on the inside of Hokuto’s wrist, the gentle motion at odds with the intensity in his eyes. “You could have told me about the job offer.”

“I know.” Hokuto’s throat tightened. “I should have. But I was afraid—” He broke off, struggling to find the right words through the fog in his head. “I was afraid you’d push me away if you knew. That you’d decide it was better to end things before they really began.”

“Like I did with photography?” The words came out barely above a whisper, but they hit Hokuto like a physical blow.

“That’s different.” Hokuto tightened his grip on Taiga’s hand. “You didn’t give up on photography. You’re finding a new way to approach it, on your own terms.”

The kitchen light caught the angles of Taiga’s face, highlighting the subtle shifts in his expression. Hokuto watched as something vulnerable flickered in those familiar features, there and gone so quickly he might have imagined it.

“And this is you approaching your dreams on your own terms?” Taiga’s voice held a challenge, but underneath it, Hokuto heard the echo of old insecurities.

“Yes.” The certainty in his own voice surprised him. “Because my dreams aren’t just about traveling anymore. They’re about building something real, something that matters.” His face burned, and not just from the fever. “With you.”

Taiga’s fingers stilled against his wrist. For a moment, Hokuto feared he’d said too much, pushed too hard while his defenses were lowered by illness. But then Taiga’s grip tightened, anchoring him.

“You’re still feverish.” The words came out soft, almost fond. “And you need to rest.”

“I’m okay.” Even as he said it, exhaustion pulled at him, making his shoulders sag. The brief surge of energy that had carried him through his confession was fading fast.

“No, you’re not.” Taiga stood, his hand slipping free from Hokuto’s grasp. The loss of contact left him feeling adrift. “Come on. Back to bed.”

Hokuto wanted to protest, to finish this conversation while his heart was still brave enough to speak these truths. But his body betrayed him, a wave of dizziness washing over him as he tried to stand.

Taiga’s arm slipped around his waist, steady and sure. “I’ve got you.”

The words carried more weight than they should have, settling in Hokuto’s chest like a promise. He leaned into Taiga’s support, letting himself be guided back toward his bedroom. His feet felt impossibly heavy, each step requiring more concentration than it should have.

“Stay?” The word slipped out as they reached his bed, quiet and vulnerable in the darkness of his room. “Just... stay with me?”

Hokuto's heart stuttered as Taiga paused, the silence stretching between them. Even through the fever haze, doubt crept in. Maybe he’d asked for too much, pushed too far after their days of silence.

“Scoot over then.” Taiga’s voice came soft in the darkness.

Relief flooded through Hokuto as he shifted on the mattress, making space.

The bed dipped as Taiga settled beside him, close enough that Hokuto could feel the warmth radiating from his body. For a moment, neither of them moved, the quiet broken only by their breathing.

Then Taiga’s arm slipped around him, pulling him closer. Hokuto let himself sink into the embrace, his fevered skin grateful for the contact. Taiga’s chest rose and fell against his back, steady and sure.

“I’m sorry.” Taiga’s words ghosted against the nape of his neck. “For walking out. For not answering your calls.” His arm tightened around Hokuto’s waist. “I’m still working on the whole not-running-away thing.”

Hokuto pressed back into the embrace, seeking more contact despite his fever. “We’re both idiots.”

“Yeah.” Taiga’s laugh vibrated through Hokuto's chest. “Shin was ready to stage an intervention, you know. Said we were both being stupid.”

“He’s not wrong.” The words came out slurred, exhaustion pulling at him now that he felt safe in Taiga’s arms.

“Go to sleep, Hokku.” Soft lips pressed against his temple, cool against his fever-warm skin. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

Darkness crept in at the edges of Hokuto’s consciousness, Taiga’s steady presence anchoring him as he drifted off. The last thing he felt was another gentle kiss against his forehead, and then sleep claimed him entirely.

-----

Sunlight pierced through Hokuto’s eyelids, dragging him from the depths of sleep. His head felt clearer, the fever haze finally lifting. The mattress beside him was empty, the sheets cool to the touch.

No.

His heart lurched as he pushed himself up, scanning the room. No sign of Taiga. No note on the nightstand. Just the hollow silence that followed abandonment.

A clatter echoed from the kitchen, followed by muttered cursing. Then—the unmistakable smell of something burning.

Not just burning, but charring.

Hokuto stumbled out of bed, his legs still unsteady. The acrid scent grew stronger as he made his way down the hall, accompanied by more creative swearing from the kitchen.

“Shit, shit, shit—”

He rounded the corner to find Taiga frantically waving a dish towel at a smoking pan. What looked like the remains of miso soup had crystallized into black chunks, wisps of smoke curling up toward the ceiling.

“How did you burn miso soup?” Hokuto’s voice came out raspy, making Taiga jump and spin around.

“Hokku! You’re supposed to be in bed!” Taiga’s face was flushed, hair sticking up at odd angles. A streak of something dark marked his cheek. “I was trying to—” He glanced back at the ruined pan. “Well, I was trying to make breakfast.”

The smoke detector gave a warning chirp. Hokuto lurched forward, grabbing the pan and shoving it under running water. Steam hissed up, carrying the distinct smell of scorched seaweed and... was that egg?

Hokuto bit back a laugh, his earlier panic forgotten. Eggshells littered the counter, and what might have been tofu lay in sad, crumbling chunks beside the stove. A bottle of soy sauce had tipped over, creating a dark puddle that dripped slowly onto the floor.

“You’re terrible at this,” Hokuto said, but fondness crept into his voice. He reached past Taiga to turn off the stove, his chest brushing against Taiga’s back. “Why didn’t you just make rice?”

“Because you’re sick, and I’m usually good with simple breakfast, and I wanted—” Taiga broke off, frustration coloring his features. “I wanted to do something right for once.”

The words hit harder than they should have. Hokuto’s hand found Taiga’s wrist, fingers curling around it like they had last night. “Hey.”

Taiga wouldn’t meet his eyes, staring instead at the mess he’d created. “I can’t even make basic miso soup without burning it. What kind of Japanese person am I?”

“The kind who tried to make breakfast for his sick boyfriend?”

Taiga’s shoulders slumped. “And failed spectacularly.” He surveyed the chaos around them, lips pressed into a thin line. “Just go back to bed. I’ll clean this up and order something.”

But Hokuto didn’t move. His fingers traced the delicate bones of Taiga’s wrist, feeling the quick flutter of pulse beneath warm skin. Five days without touching him had been torture.

Now, standing this close, breathing in the familiar scent of Taiga mixed with burnt miso, Hokuto couldn’t bring himself to let go.

“Thank you,” he murmured against Taiga’s ear.

“For what? Trying to burn down your apartment?”

“For staying.”

For being here when I woke up. For caring enough to try.

Taiga turned in his arms, his expression softening as he studied Hokuto’s face. “Your fever’s gone down.” His palm pressed against Hokuto’s forehead, cool and gentle. “But you still look tired.”

“I’m fine.” Hokuto leaned into the touch, savoring the simple contact. His body still ached, but having Taiga here made everything more bearable.

“Liar.” Taiga’s thumb brushed across his cheekbone. “Go back to bed. I’ll order something from that place you like—”

Hokuto didn't let him finish. He closed the distance between them, pressing his lips to Taiga’s with five days’ worth of longing.

Taiga made a surprised sound but melted into the kiss, his fingers sliding into Hokuto's hair. He tasted like coffee and something sweet—had he been stress-eating those strawberry candies again?

The kiss deepened, slow and thorough, making up for lost time. Taiga pressed closer, careful but insistent, and Hokuto’s hands found their way under his shirt, tracing the familiar planes of his back. The kitchen counter dug into Hokuto’s hip, but he didn’t care. All that mattered was Taiga’s warmth, his quiet sighs, the way he fit perfectly against Hokuto’s body.

When they finally broke apart, Taiga’s eyes were dark, his breathing uneven. “You’re still sick,” he said, but his fingers remained tangled in Hokuto’s hair.

“Worth it.” Hokuto stole another quick kiss, just because he could.

Just because Taiga was here, solid and real in his arms, no longer a fever dream or distant memory.