It was just another ordinary winter day, but the sky outside Hokuto’s window looked gloomy—a murky gray he associated with early December. Maybe it was just his mind. Maybe it was only the weather. Either way, Hokuto decided it wasn’t worth pondering, so he stopped looking outside.
His gaze drifted back to his apartment, and a familiar chill crept over him. For a couple of years, Hokuto's apartment had felt more like a museum than a home, a place where he carefully preserved the remnants of a life that had once been shared. In the corner of the room, there were photographs of scenery that was very familiar to him and those that he had never seen with his own eyes. On the shelves, manga volumes Hokuto never read sat in neat rows, collecting dust. But most of all, the acoustic Gibson B-25 sitting on its stand in the corner, it was the strongest reminder of everything he had lost.
These objects filling the space in a way Hokuto both needed and resented. Anchoring him to a winter day that seemed to stretch endlessly, where the clock had stopped ticking. Those were all Taiga’s belongings. For Hokuto, Taiga’s belongings were more than keepsakes—they were fragments of a life he couldn’t bear to leave behind; they were his everything.
Hokuto looked at the calendar pinned on his wall, his eyes catching on the red circle marking today’s date: December 3rd.
“Let’s have some nice coffee today,” Hokuto muttered to nobody in particular as he put on his coat.
“Ittekimasu,” he whispered, the familiar farewell lingering in the empty apartment as he stepped out.
***
Hokuto’s search brought him into a café down the street, where he found solace in its warm lights and cream-colored walls. It seemed like a nice place to momentarily escape the deafening silence of his apartment.
He found a seat by the window, fully intending to distract himself with a book. That was when he noticed a man setting up his guitar on a small stage at the front of the room. Tall and casually dressed, the man seemed to draw people’s attention naturally.
The guitarist introduced himself with a friendly smile. “I’m Jesse,” he said, with a slight bow. “Hope you don’t mind a little music to go with your coffee on this cold afternoon.”
Hokuto must have missed the live music sign in front of the café or maybe it wasn’t there in the first place, but Hokuto hated music, he had forcefully shut it out of his daily routine, that’s how he had been living his days. But as luck would have it, before he could step out, Jesse started playing. The music Jesse played was soft and soulful, and his voice had a warmth to it that felt tangible. The lyrics spoke of vulnerability, the rawness of loss, and moments of unexpected joy. Hokuto froze on his seat; it’s like his heart stirred as he listened, caught off guard by the ache and honesty in the music. It reminded him of Taiga—of the way Taiga used to play, his music filling their small apartment, a way of communicating when words failed him.
When Jesse’s session ended, he looked around the room, thanking the listeners with a modest nod. His gaze met Hokuto’s, and they shared a brief glance. Hokuto quickly looked down, so he was startled when Jesse approached his table a moment later.
“Mind if I join you?” Jesse asked, his tone light and friendly.
Hokuto hesitated but nodded, gesturing to the chair across from him. Something about Jesse’s open smile made him feel safe, like he could allow this small disruption to his day.
They began with small talk, light conversation that didn’t demand much of Hokuto but felt surprisingly comforting. Jesse asked Hokuto about his drink, his favorite coffee spots in the city, and casually mentioned how he’d been playing at this café for a few weeks.
Jesse’s presence was easygoing, and he didn’t pry, didn’t press Hokuto for anything he wasn’t willing to share. There was something reassuring in Jesse’s company, a warmth that seemed to melt a layer of the wall Hokuto had built around himself. For the first time in a long while, he didn’t find music suffocating, and when they eventually parted ways, Jesse looked back with a small, hopeful smile.
“Maybe I’ll see you around?” Jesse said, his voice full of quiet optimism.
“Maybe.” Hokuto surprised himself with his own response.
***
The winter air had grown sharper since that first meeting at the café. What started as chance encounters between Jesse and Hokuto gradually evolved into something more deliberate. Their story unfolded in small moments, Jesse, with his calm, grounded energy, became a small but bright part of Hokuto’s routine. They’d talk over coffee in the café, about life, about other little things. But there were also some moments in the quiet spaces between words, in the gentle way Jesse learned to read Hokuto's silences.
Jesse began leaving his guitar at the café after his performances, creating excuses to walk home with Hokuto. Their routes would mysteriously align, even when Jesse lived in the opposite direction. He never mentioned this fact, and Hokuto pretended not to notice—but a small smile would creep on his face whenever Jesse appeared beside him.
"The stars are clearer in winter," Jesse would say, tilting his head skyward. These walks became their ritual, filled with conversations about everything and nothing. Jesse spoke of his childhood, of learning guitar from his grandfather, of the way music had always been his sanctuary. Hokuto listened, finding comfort in Jesse's stories that painted pictures of a life so different from his own.
Sometimes, Hokuto would share fragments of his own past—careful, measured pieces that didn't touch too deeply on the pain. He spoke of his college days, of his love for literature, he mentioned that he wrote some novels before but currently he only works on some short serialization columns, leaving out any details about Taiga and the novel he hadn’t been able to finish.
Jesse absorbed these details like precious gifts, never pushing for more than Hokuto was ready to give.
***
One evening, after another quiet conversation, Jesse invited Hokuto to one of his gigs at a nearby venue. Hokuto hesitated— wasn't sure he was ready to step into a world that was so closely echoed to his past with Taiga, wasn’t sure if he was ready to face the music. But the quiet warmth in Jesse’s eyes nudged him, and he found himself saying yes.
The performance was intimate, held in a dimly lit room with a small, attentive crowd. Jesse’s voice filled the space, his music brimming with a sincerity that felt almost personal. As Hokuto watched him, he felt his heart ache—a familiar but long-buried pain that reminded him of all he had lost. Yet, there was something comforting in the ache, something that made him feel less alone.
Afterward, as they walked back together, Jesse turned to Hokuto, his expression thoughtful.
“Do you ever feel like music can say things that words can’t?” he asked.
Hokuto looked down, his hands tightening in his coat pockets. “Yes,” he replied softly, his voice barely audible. “Sometimes, I think it’s the only thing that can.”
Jesse didn’t push further, simply nodded in understanding. His quiet acceptance felt like a kindness, an acknowledgment of the unspoken things that lingered between them.
***
December wasn't always a cruel month. Before that day, it had held some of Hokuto's fondest memories— the small cake they would share on Taiga’s birthday, the lazy Sunday mornings filled with guitar melodies, and the warmth of tangled limbs under thick blankets.
December 3rd that year should be a quite special day because Taiga planned to hold a small birthday performance and Hokuto had planned a small surprise for the man.
But after that day, December 3rd carved itself into his consciousness like a wound that refused to heal.
The signs had been there, scattered like bread crumbs he'd failed to follow. Taiga's music had grown darker, his lyrics weaving tales of shadows and silence. His usually meticulous guitar maintenance had lapsed, strings remaining unchanged until they snapped. He'd started giving away his prized possessions—a vintage record here, a cherished book there. Each gift accompanied by a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.
"Keep this safe for me," Taiga had said, pressing his favorite pick into Hokuto's palm just three days before. It was worn smooth from years of use, the design barely visible anymore. Hokuto had tucked it into his wallet without thinking, a casual gesture that would later haunt him with its finality.
The note was simple, devastatingly so.
"Hokuto, I love you. But I'm sorry, The music has stopped making sense."
It was placed precisely on top of his Gibson B-25, the guitar positioned perfectly in its stand as if prepared for a performance that would never come.
Hokuto’s biggest regret was that he didn’t see it coming despite all the signs, maybe if he had said something back then, even if there was just a bit of possibility; maybe he could stop it from happening.
Since that day Hokuto couldn’t bear to be in contact with music, something that took Taiga away from him. The language that was so dear to Taiga, but Hokuto failed to understand.
That’s why he found the encounter with Jesse was peculiar, the man brought back music into his life in a very gentle way, like a dawn that is finally coming after a very very long night. It was conflicting how a part of him was ready to live his life in a bleak darkness but he realized there was another part of him that was longing for the light.
Hokuto gazed into the gloomy winter sky as he was looking for an answer.
***
One night, Jesse stopped by Hokuto's apartment during a sudden downpour. Thunder crashed outside, and Jesse noticed how Hokuto's hands trembled slightly at each rumble. Without saying anything, his eyes caught sight of the guitar in the corner perfectly positioned as if waiting for its owner's return.
“That’s a beautiful guitar,” he said softly, his tone respectful. “Do you play?”
Hokuto’s heart tightened. He hadn’t touched the guitar since Taiga’s death, and couldn't bear to feel the weight of the memories it carried. But something about Jesse’s gentle curiosity made him feel safe enough to answer.
“It belonged to… someone I loved,” Hokuto said, his voice catching on the words. “Someone who isn’t here anymore.”
Jesse’s gaze softened with understanding. “I’m sorry, Hokuto. That must be hard.”
"Would you tell me about them?" Jesse continued softly after a long silence between them, his voice barely audible because of the rain. "The person who played that guitar?"
Hokuto's breath caught in his throat, he expected the familiar panic to rise, but instead, he found himself wanting to share.
"His name was Taiga," Hokuto began, his voice trembling but steady. "He used to say that music was like breathing, natural, necessary, vital. He'd wake me up at three in the morning just to share a melody he'd dreamed about."
Jesse listened, carefully listened, as Hokuto spoke about Taiga for the first time in a long time. He shared how Taiga would spend hours teaching neighborhood kids basic chords, how he named each of his guitars but always call the Gibson one his wife, how his laugh would start small and grow until it filled entire rooms.
"December 3rd," Hokuto whispered, "was supposed to be special. His birthday performance. I had written him a story—our story. I never got to give it to him." Hokuto continued as his voice slowly dimmed.
"Grief is like music," Jesse said, "It has its own time signature, its own rhythm. You can't rush it or slow it down. You just have to let it play out." he continued, looking at Hokuto like he was speaking directly to his soul.
"When he said music was like breathing, sometimes he also said the notes just stopped coming, and it was like running out of air. I didn't understand then. I wish I had."
Jesse didn’t interrupt or say anything to Hokuto’s words but his hand found Hokuto's in the darkness, a gentle anchor to the present.
***
When Jesse entered his life, Hokuto's first instinct was to run. The idea of letting anyone new into the space Taiga had left felt like betrayal. But Jesse's presence was different—he didn't try to fill the void or replace what was lost. Instead, he stood beside it, acknowledging its existence while gently suggesting that perhaps the heart could expand around it.
Over the next few weeks, Jesse became a steady presence in Hokuto's life. He didn't try to replace the silence Taiga left behind but instead helped Hokuto find a new rhythm to his days. Their coffee meetings evolved into quiet evenings in Hokuto's apartment, where Jesse would sometimes bring his own guitar.
One evening, as Jesse played softly in the corner, Hokuto pulled out his laptop and opened a document he hadn't touched in years. The story he'd written for Taiga.
"Maybe," he said, his voice stronger than he expected, "I'm ready to finish it."
“Let me read it when you finish then” Jesse replied in his softest voice, with a gentle smile adorned his beautiful face.
Jesse watched as Hokuto's fingers moved across the keyboard, words flowing after months of stillness. The sound of typing mixed with gentle guitar strums, creating a new kind of music in the apartment that had been silent for so long.
***
Spring arrived gradually with its subtle changes. Hokuto found himself humming along to Jesse's songs, his fear of music slowly melting away. The manga volumes on his shelves were dusted and reorganized, some finding new homes with local children who shared Taiga's love for stories.
The photographs stayed, but they were no longer just remnants of loss. Hokuto began sharing the stories behind them with Jesse, each memory becoming easier to hold, lighter to carry.
One evening Jesse played his guitar in his room, Hokuto closed his eyes and somehow he started to feel the convergence of past and present—the echo of Taiga's melodies weaving through Jesse's sound, creating something new and beautiful.
"I think," Hokuto said, his fingers tracing the worn wood of Taiga's guitar, "that he would have wanted his music to keep living, even if he couldn't."
Jesse nodded, understanding the weight of what Hokuto was trying to say. "Maybe that's what we're doing—keeping his music alive by letting it change and grow, just like you are."
“Then, would you stay with me and help me with that from here on?” Hokuto looked directly into Jesse’s eyes as he said it.
The grief didn't disappear. It changed form, becoming less like a storm and more like a river—sometimes calm, sometimes rushing, but always moving. Hokuto learned to live with it, to recognize it as part of his story—both the one that ended too soon and the one that was just beginning.
Jesse’s eyes widened for a moment at Hokuto’s words and then he let out a small chuckle, “With all my pleasure” he put his guitar and scooted closer to embrace Hokuto.
Hokuto wrapped his arms around Jesse as he returned the gesture, melting into his embrace. “Jesse, I think I love you,” he whispered, his voice soft, meant for Jesse alone.
Jesse chuckled, his eyes bright with affection. “Now that’s unfair! I wanted to say it first~” He gently cupped Hokuto’s face, their eyes meeting in a gaze filled with warmth and promise. Slowly, Jesse leaned in, and their lips met in a tender, lingering kiss—a gentle yet profound exchange that spoke of comfort, connection, and the beginning of something new. Hokuto closed his eyes, savoring the moment, feeling as if he were finally stepping out of winter and into spring.
***
Spring brought cherry blossoms and new beginnings. They were walking through a park, coffee cups in hand, when Jesse started humming a familiar tune—one of Taiga's compositions that Hokuto had once showed him.
"I hope you don't mind," Jesse said, catching Hokuto's surprised look. "The melody is beautiful."
Instead of pain, Hokuto felt an unexpected warmth spread through his chest. "It was the first song he ever wrote for me," he found himself saying. "He said it came to him while watching me read."
Jesse smiled, continuing to hum softly. "I can see why. You have this peaceful expression when you're lost in a book, like you're somewhere beautiful."
Hokuto was struck by how Jesse could acknowledge Taiga's memory while creating new ones of his own. It was then that he realized: loving Jesse wasn't about replacing Taiga, it was about allowing his heart to grow larger.
"Thank you," Hokuto uttered in his gentlest voice.
"Hmm… for what?" Jesse responded in puzzled look
"For letting me keep both. The memories and the moments." Hokuto replied as he took Jesse’s hand.
Together, they were learning that love could be like music—infinite in its variations, capable of holding both joy and sorrow, past and present, everything that was lost and everything that was found. Their story wasn't about replacing one love with another, but about how the heart, like a well-composed piece of music, had room for multiple melodies to play at once, each one making the others more beautiful. For everything that remains and all that is yet to come.