Archive of Our Own

Taki and Maki had always been together.

From the day Maki’s family moved into the neighborhood, it was as if their lives quietly aligned. Two bright, loud children with endless energy, drawn to each other without question. What started as shy glances quickly became laughter and before anyone noticed, they were inseparable.

They played side by side in kindergarten, small hands sticky with candy and paint, sharing toys without keeping score. After school, they walked home together, each holding onto their mother’s hand, their shoulders bumping as they talked about nothing important and everything at once. Before parting ways, they hugged—quick, clumsy hugs meant to last until tomorrow.

If someone teased Taki, Maki was always the first to stand in front of him, chin lifted in defiance despite his small frame. And when Maki grew angry, Taki was the one who tugged at his sleeve, pulling him away before things could get worse.

If Maki scraped his knee, Taki would press a cute little bandage onto it, serious as if it were the most important task in the world.When Taki spilled his tiffin, Maki would wordlessly push his own toward him, sharing without hesitation.

On weekends, both families went on picnics together. Blankets spread over grass, food passed around, parents chatting while the two boys ran freely—laughing, chasing each other, collapsing into the grass side by side.

Their families loved the bond between them, often joking that they were practically raised together.

And maybe they were.

Growing up, it never occurred to Taki or Maki that there could be a day when they wouldn’t choose each other first.

They grew with the certainty that the other would always be there—walking beside them, laughing with them, reaching out without needing to ask.

Neither of them knew then that this closeness, this simple and unbreakable togetherness, would one day become the thing that hurt the most.

They even shared the same first name,Riki as if fate itself had decided to tie them together from the very beginning. When they were younger, people often confused them, calling one when they meant the other.

Laughing at the confusion, their parents eventually gave them new names by combining parts of their first and last names.

Even then, the names fit too well.

Taki and Maki–different, yet perfectly rhymed.

When they were admitted to school, they created quite a scene on the very first day. Taki burst into tears the moment he realized Maki wasn’t in the same class. He clung tightly to Maki’s bag strap, refusing to let go, his cries echoing through the hallway.

The teachers were left stunned, unsure how to separate two children who acted like they’d been torn apart.

In the end, their parents were called.

Embarrassed but understanding, they explained everything to the principal—how the boys had grown up together, how they’d never been apart. After some consideration, the principal agreed. And just like that, Taki and Maki were placed in the same class.

Nothing felt more right.

When Taki turned ten, he was gifted a bicycle. He loved it, even though he wasn’t very good at riding it yet. One afternoon, Maki took a turn, pedaling easily, balancing perfectly as if he’d been doing it his whole life.

Taki watched in awe until Maki lost control and fell hard onto the ground.

By the time their parents came running, panicked by the noise, the bicycle had been forgotten. Taki was crying, apologizing over and over again, his small hands shaking as he clutched Maki’s sleeve.

Maki, on the other hand, tried to look cool and unfazed, even though his knees were scraped and bleeding.

Their parents sighed, relief mixing with frustration, and scolded them both.

But Maki stepped forward, standing protectively in front of Taki.

“It was my fault,” he said without hesitation.

Later, still sniffling, Taki pressed a piece of candy into Maki’s hand, whispering another apology. Maki accepted it with a grin, as if scraped knees were nothing compared to keeping Taki from crying.

Back then, loving each other came easily.

Protecting each other was instinct.

And neither of them realized that this was how it always started—one stepping forward, the other holding on, a pattern that would follow them quietly into the years where things were no longer so simple.

Puberty crept into their lives quietly, then all at once.

They were in middle school now, taller, louder, more aware and yet still glued together the way they had always been.

But something inside Taki had started to feel… wrong. His emotions no longer made sense to him. One moment he was snapping at people for no reason, his chest tight and burning. The next, he sat alone, staring at nothing, wondering why his heart felt so heavy.

He didn’t know how to name it.

He only knew it hurt.

The boys at school noticed the change before he did. Some of them—older, louder, convinced they were already grown started picking on him. They’d always teased him but it never went far before.

Because Maki was always there.

Except that day, Maki was busy with club activities.

Taki told himself it would be fine. He was used to ignoring them. But when they cornered him behind the building, their laughter felt sharper, crueler.

“Let me go, please,” Taki said, his voice smaller than he wanted it to be.

One of them shoved him, a rough hand pressing against his chest. Taki stumbled back, barely keeping his balance.

The boy who seemed to be their leader smirked.

“Where’s your protector today, huh?”

Another laughed. “Took a day off, maybe.”

Taki tried to run but his legs trembled violently, refusing to cooperate. Panic crawled up his spine. They pushed him again, and this time he fell hard onto the ground, the impact knocking the air from his lungs.

And then,

“Maki!”

The name barely left his lips before everything exploded into motion. Maki appeared out of nowhere, eyes dark, jaw clenched. Without hesitation, he punched the boy who had pushed Taki.

The laughter vanished instantly.

Maki didn’t look back. He just grabbed Taki’s hand and pulled him up, walking them both away like nothing else mattered.

Taki stared at him, breath uneven. Maki’s face was serious–angry, protective, unfamiliar. Something twisted painfully in Taki’s chest, sharp and overwhelming. Before he could think, he yanked his hand away.

It hurt Maki.

Taki could see it clearly.

Maki stopped immediately, his expression softening. “Are you okay, Taki?” he asked, worry replacing anger.

“Are you hurt?”

Taki nodded stiffly. “Yes. Thank you.”

Maki smiled then,the same radiant, bright smile Taki had loved for as long as he could remember. The smile that made everything feel safe.

“I will always be here,” Maki said.

And Taki believed him.

That was the problem.

Because as he stood there, heart racing, hands shaking, Taki realized something terrifying—every time Maki touched him, protected him, smiled at him like that, the confusion inside him only grew deeper. And one day, he wouldn’t be able to hide it anymore.

Maki was out of town, away on a family trip.

It was only for a week. That’s what Taki kept telling himself. Just seven days. Nothing more.

Yet the house felt unbearably quiet without him. Taki didn’t know why it hurt so much–why waking up without Maki knocking on his door, barging in just to drag him to school, felt wrong.

No shared breakfast at his mother’s table, no teasing over her curry, no easy laughter on the way to class.

Without Maki, everything became mechanical.
Taki woke up. Ate. Went to school. Finished his classes. Came straight home.

No detours. No wandering. No joy.

One evening, restlessness pushed him outside. He walked aimlessly through the streets until he found himself standing in front of a DVD shop. Inside, his eyes landed on one of Maki’s favorite movies. Without realizing it, he smiled.

We’ll watch this together when he comes back, Taki thought.

When he stepped outside again, the sky had darkened to a deep orange.

Evening already,Panic fluttered briefly in his chest. He should hurry. Taking a shortcut, he turned into a narrow alley he’d passed countless times before.

That was his mistake.

The alley was dim and suffocating—an abandoned factory on one side, a crumbling old building on the other. His footsteps echoed too loudly. Taki quickened his pace, unease creeping up his spine.

Then someone stepped in front of him.
“Where’s your protector today?”

Taki froze.

He tried to step back but there were others behind him, blocking the way. His heart pounded violently as he turned his head, searching for an escape that wasn’t there.

A hand struck his cheek.

The sound echoed sharply through the alley.

Pain exploded across his face as the boy grabbed his cheek roughly, fingers digging into his skin. “What does you think of yourself,” he sneered, “that someone can punch me for you?”

Taki fell hard onto the cold ground.

Before he could react, fists rained down on him. Someone kicked his ribs, knocking the breath from his lungs. He curled inward, arms weakly shielding his head, vision blurring as pain swallowed everything.

“I think that’s enough,” one of them said casually.

Footsteps faded. Laughter disappeared.

Taki didn’t move.

By eight o’clock, Taki still hadn’t come home.

His parents exchanged worried glances. If Maki had been with him, they wouldn’t have panicked,Maki always made sure Taki was safe. But tonight, there was no Maki.

His father grabbed his jacket and went out, asking neighbors, scanning familiar streets. The town was small. Eventually, he reached the DVD shop.

“Yes,” the owner said slowly. “Taki was here. Almost two hours ago.”

His father’s chest tightened. There was an alley nearby,one that led straight to their street.

He ran.

And then he saw him.

Taki lay sprawled on the cold pavement, motionless, face bruised and bloodied. For a terrifying moment, his father couldn’t move. The world seemed to stop.

Then he rushed forward, hands trembling as he checked for a pulse.

Still there.

An ambulance was called. Sirens pierced the quiet night as Taki was lifted away, fragile and broken.

And miles away, unaware of everything, Maki laughed with his family—never knowing that the boy he promised to always protect was lying in a hospital bed, calling his name in silence.

The doctor assured them there was no internal bleeding and no broken bones. Just bruises, strained muscles, and exhaustion. Painful but survivable. He only needed rest for a few days.

Taki lay still on the hospital bed, the sheets pulled up to his chest. His body throbbed in places he didn’t know could ache. His mother sat beside him, fingers tightly wrapped around his hand. When his eyes finally fluttered open, her breath hitched.

“Thank God… thank God you’re okay,” she whispered, tears spilling freely as she kissed his forehead.

Taki nodded weakly. Everything hurt. Even breathing felt heavy. But through the pain, one thought pressed insistently at his mind.

Maki.

If Maki were here, he’d crack some stupid joke, make fun of the hospital food, complain loudly until Taki laughed despite himself. He’d make everything feel normal again,safe.

But he wasn’t there.

Taki went home two days later.

And almost immediately, Maki’s family returned too.

The moment Maki heard, he ran dropping his backpack somewhere along the way, shoes barely tied. He burst through the door, eyes frantic, scanning Taki like he might disappear if Maki blinked.

“Are you okay?” Maki demanded, voice shaking. “Did those bastards do this to you?” He stepped closer, hands hovering, unsure where he could touch without hurting him. “Taki, talk to me, please.”

Taki looked away.

Quietly, he said, “I’m not dead, Maki.”

The words landed harder than any punch.

“And it doesn’t matter who did this,” Taki added, voice flat. “I’m fine.”

Maki froze.

Before Taki could stop him, Maki pulled him into a hug,careful but desperate.

The familiar warmth wrapped around him and immediately that strange, confusing feeling returned, twisting painfully in his chest. Too much and confusing.

“My ribs still hurt,” Taki muttered, pushing him away.

Maki laughed softly, relief spilling out in the sound. “Sorry, sorry.”

But behind his smile, something dark burned. His jaw tightened, fists clenching at his sides. Taki could see it–the anger Maki always tried to hide, the fury he carried when someone hurt what he loved.

And in that moment, Maki made a decision.

Taki might say it didn’t matter.

But Maki knew better.

And the boys who had touched Taki would learn,one way or another that some lines should never be crossed.

Taki heard the news from his father.

“Maki’s been suspended for a week,” he said carefully. “He got into a fight at school.”

Taki’s breath caught. “A fight…?”

“They said he broke one boy’s hand.”

Taki gasped, hands trembling. But what came next made his blood run cold.
“One of the boy’s father is the police chief.”

The house felt suddenly too small.

Maki’s father had tried to explain,boys will be boys, it was just a fight but the man had yelled back, fury sharp in his voice.

“Who is a kid here? Your kid broke my son’s jaw!”

Maki hadn’t stayed silent.

“They hurt my friend!” he shouted. “Do you even know that?”

The sound of the slap echoed louder than the argument.

After that, Maki locked himself in his room. He refused to come out, refused to eat, refused to talk. His mother, exhausted and worried, spoke quietly with Taki’s mother later that evening.
“Maybe… maybe Taki can talk to him.”

When Taki arrived at their house, Maki’s mother looked at him with gentle concern. “Dear,” she said softly, “are you two being bullied? You should have told us. We could have sorted it out.”

Taki smiled,small and empty because he knew they couldn’t.

He stood in front of Maki’s bedroom door, heart pounding painfully against his ribs. His mind was crowded with thoughts he couldn’t untangle, questions he was too afraid to answer.

He knocked softly.

“Maki… please open the door. I need to talk to you.”

Silence stretched painfully long.

Then the door creaked open.

Maki stood there, eyes dull, his face bruised—purple blooming along his cheekbone, his lip split. Taki’s chest tightened.

They didn’t say anything at first.

Taki sat on the edge of Maki’s bed, fingers gripping the fabric. “Why did you do that?” he asked quietly.

Maki didn’t hesitate. “For you.”

Taki looked up, startled. “Me?” His voice shook. “You did all of that… for me?”

“Yes,” Maki said simply. “What else could be the reason?” His hands clenched into fists. “I can’t bear it. I can’t stand knowing someone hurt you.”

The words hit harder than Taki expected.

He remembered the boys’ laughter in the alley.

Where’s your protector today?

He remembered the whispers at school.
Taki can’t do anything without Maki.

Something inside him snapped.

“I don’t need your help,” Taki blurted out. “What do you think of me, huh?”

His voice cracked. “That I’m weak? That I can’t survive without you?”

“Taki,what are you saying?” Maki stepped forward, panic creeping into his eyes.

Taki wiped angrily at his tears. “Stop doing that,” he said, voice breaking.

“Stop protecting me like that. It suffocates me.”

The words hung in the air–sharp, unforgiving.

There was so much more he wanted to say.

It hurts to see you get hurt.
It hurts that I don’t understand what you are to me.
It hurts that my heart reacts to you like this.

But none of it came out.

Instead, Taki stood up and walked out.

The door closed quietly behind him.

Maki slid down onto the floor, his back against the bed. Everything that had happened that day—the suspension, the threats, his father’s slap none of it had broken him.

But Taki’s words did.

He buried his face in his hands, shoulders shaking.

Taki is my best friend, he thought desperately.

Is it wrong to stand beside your best friend?

And for the first time in his life, Maki wondered if loving Taki–whatever shape that love took was the very thing that could tear them apart.

Maki’s mother saw Taki rushing out and called after him, reaching for his arm. But Taki didn’t stop. The door closed behind him, the sound echoing louder than it should have.

Maki slowly stood up. The tears on his face made the bruises sting as he walked to the mirror. He opened the antiseptic, hands shaking slightly, and dabbed it carefully onto his skin. The sharp burn made him flinch and with it came memories he hadn’t asked for.

Taki kneeling in front of him, tongue sticking out in concentration as he pressed a bandage onto scraped knees.

Taki pushing a piece of candy into his hand, smiling through tears. This will make it better.

Maki sighed, shoulders slumping. He didn’t understand. He really didn’t. All he had done was protect him. Hadn’t he always done that?

Across the street, Taki locked his door and wrapped himself tightly in his blanket as if he could disappear inside it. His chest hurt worse than his ribs ever had. When he closed his eyes, all he could see was Maki’s bruised face.

He had wanted to scold him.
He had wanted to treat his wounds.
He had wanted to stay.

But he couldn’t.

If he stayed, he would break. If he stayed, he might say something he could never take back. So he told himself this was for the best,for both of them and pushed Maki away with shaking hands.

Days passed, and their families noticed.

There were no visits. No shared meals. No familiar laughter drifting between houses. Taki’s mother finally asked gently, “Did you two have a fight?”

Taki shook his head. “No,” he said quietly. “Maki just needs rest.”

It was a lie that tasted bitter.

Maki spent his days sprawled across his bed, playing games half-heartedly, watching the cartoons Taki liked. He kept glancing at the door, expecting it to open any moment, expecting Taki to walk in like he always had.

But he never did.

When it finally sank in that Taki was avoiding him on purpose,Maki’s hurt slowly hardened into something stubborn. If Taki didn’t want to come, then fine.

He wouldn’t chase either.

And just like that, the silence between them grew–not loud or dramatic, but heavy enough to change everything.

A few days later, Maki returned to school.

The moment he stepped in, he noticed the stares—whispers trailing behind him, fear and awe mixed in every glance. He didn’t care. He never had.

Taki entered the classroom shortly after. His eyes met Maki’s briefly, and then he deliberately chose another seat. Maki’s stomach twisted at the sight. That small act—sitting away, pretending nothing was louder than any words.

After school, they walked home along the same streets they had always shared but not together. Side by side, but distant.

Then, one afternoon, Maki saw Taki shyly talking to a girl. Something twisted painfully inside him. Without thinking, he stepped forward and grabbed Taki’s hand.

They reached the schoolyard and Taki yanked his hand away, startled. “What are you doing?” he asked.

“Why are you ignoring me?” Maki demanded, voice low but urgent.

Taki looked down, quiet. “It hurts… Maki. Seeing you get bruised, getting scolded… all because of me. I felt guilty.”

For a moment, silence stretched between them. Then Maki stepped forward and hugged him tightly. “I missed you, Taki. I was angry, so I ignored you too.”

The words were simple, but they carried years of unspoken emotions.

They went back to being normal after that, laughter and teasing returning to their steps.

But something had shifted.

Taki noticed it first,the way his heart fluttered when Maki’s hand brushed against his. He caught himself staring at Maki while they slept side by side, fingers tracing the other’s carefully, breaths hitching with an unfamiliar warmth.

He told himself it was just puberty–messy hormones, nothing more.

But deep down, Taki knew it was more.

He suppressed it, pushing it down, hiding it in the quiet corners of his chest.

Because admitting it… would change everything.

High school came and with it, distance that neither of them knew how to name.

They were seventeen now–no longer kids, not quite adults and everything felt heavier. Louder. More confusing.

Taki found himself keeping a careful distance from Maki. No hand-holding like when they were kids. No casual touches that once felt natural. Maki had grown–taller, broader, impossibly handsome and every time Taki looked at him, his chest tightened in ways he didn’t understand.

During a recent soccer match, Taki watched Maki sweat, muscles flexing as he tugged off his jersey. His throat went dry. Heat pooled low in his stomach. He had to look away, had to remind himself he wasn’t supposed to feel this way. Even the lake they used to visit, the one they once swam in together freely, now made Taki self-conscious. He dove in fully clothed, heart hammering, as though the water could wash away the strange, growing ache inside him.

Maki noticed. “What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice gentle but probing.

Taki only shrugged, his words trapped in a sudden, wild panic.

Then came the day in the school shower room, packed with students and steam. Maki leaned closer, voice low and teasing, “Come shower with me?”

Taki’s chest froze. His breath hitched, a mixture of fear and something else he couldn’t name twisting in his stomach.

Before he could answer, Maki’s hand found his, warm and commanding, and pulled him into a cramped stall.

The stall was tight. Their bodies brushed with every shift. Taki’s pulse hammered against his ribs, each accidental touch setting his skin alight.

He tried to move quickly, desperate to escape the suffocating closeness, but his footing betrayed him.

Maki’s hands were immediate, solid on his waist. “Careful,” he murmured, voice low and almost intimate. “You’ll hit your head.”

Taki’s entire body burned. Heat crept up his spine, pooling in his chest, leaving him dizzy with desire and panic. Every instinct screamed to push Maki away, yet another part of him ached to press closer, to feel the warmth of his skin, to close the impossible distance.

His lips tingled with longing. His courage dissolved. Trembling, chest heaving, he tore himself away, stepping out into the noisy shower room, leaving his desire unspoken but thrumming, a live wire between them.

Taki had learned how to control himself.

At least, he thought he had.

He stopped staring too long. Stopped sitting too close. Stopped letting his hand linger when Maki passed him things. Every boundary he built felt necessary… and cruel.

Maki noticed. Of course he did.

“You’re avoiding me again,” Maki said one evening, voice low as they walked home. Not accusing. Just tired.

“I’m not,” Taki lied easily. Too easily.

Maki stopped walking. Taki took two more steps before realizing he was alone.

“Then why does it feel like I’m always reaching for you,” Maki asked, “and you’re always stepping back?”

Taki turned, heart pounding. He wanted to scream the truth.

That being near Maki felt like standing too close to a fire.

That one wrong move, one second of weakness, and everything he’d been suppressing would spill out.

“I’m just… changing,” Taki said finally.

Maki laughed softly, but there was no humor in it. “Funny. Me too.”

They stood there, the space between them stretched thin and fragile. For a moment,just a moment–Taki thought Maki might step forward. Might close the distance the way he always used to.

But Maki didn’t.

That hurt more than if he had.

Later that night, Taki lay awake, replaying the way Maki’s voice had cracked. The way his eyes lingered like he wanted to say something else. The way Taki’s own hands had curled into fists just to stop himself from reaching out.

He told himself it was nothing.

That everyone felt like this at seventeen.

That it would pass.

But deep down, he knew the truth was much worse.

This was wanting someone he was terrified of losing.

One night, they were playing games like they always did.

The room was dark, lit only by the flickering glow of the screen. Taki noticed it then,Maki wasn’t looking at the game. He was looking at him. The light caught the curve of his face, his eyes fixed in a way that made Taki’s stomach twist.

They lost the round.

“Maki, focus!” Taki yelled, trying to sound normal.

Maki laughed easily and set the controller aside. Then he turned fully toward Taki. Taki swallowed hard.

Why is he staring at my lips?

“Did you ever kiss anyone?” Maki asked suddenly.

Taki nearly screamed. “What? No,why would you ask that?”

Maki shrugged, avoiding his eyes. “Just… curious.”

They started another level but neither of them was paying attention anymore.

The buttons clicked uselessly as silence stretched between them. Maki shifted, fidgeting, like he was trying to gather courage he wasn’t sure he had.

“Me neither,” he said quietly. “I thought… maybe it’d be better if it was someone I know. Someone I trust.”

He hesitated, then added softly, “Like you, Taki.”

Taki froze. His mind went blank, heart slamming so hard it hurt.

Before he could even think, Maki moved closer. “Can I kiss you, Taki?”

He should’ve pushed him away. Should’ve laughed it off, turned it into a joke. But his body betrayed him. He leaned in without realizing he’d decided to.

The kiss was clumsy—no rhythm, teeth bumping, breaths uneven.

And Taki loved it.

He loved it because it was Maki.

He grabbed onto Maki’s biceps, grounding himself, afraid he might float apart otherwise but Maki pulled back first, eyes wide, voice rushed.

“I’m such a idiot.”

Taki laughed too loudly, forcing the sound out. “You always were idiot.”

But something inside him cracked.

Because now he understood,it didn’t mean anything to Maki.He just wanted experience,Maki trusted him.

And Taki had helped,like a good friend.

Nothing more.

When Maki looked away, already pretending it was nothing, Taki rubbed his lips hard, like he could wipe the feeling away with pressure alone.

But it stayed.

Burning.
Quiet.
Unwanted.

Maki had always found Taki cute.

Not in a way he could explain without sounding stupid. It was everything at once—his clumsiness, the way he said the wrong things with complete sincerity, the way his smile came a second late like his face needed time to catch up with his feelings. His squishy cheeks, the way he walked with uneven steps, the way he laughed with his whole body.

Maki didn’t know what to call what he felt.

It was strange. Unclear. Something that made his chest feel warm and restless at the same time.

When he kissed Taki, it wasn’t planned.

It just… happened. And it felt good.

Better than he expected. Real in a way that startled him.

For a split second, the world had gone quiet.

And then embarrassment crashed down on him like cold water.

He pulled away too fast, heart racing, mind scrambling for something,anything to protect himself. So he laughed it off. Called himself stupid. Pretended it meant nothing.

But it meant everything.

He wanted to kiss Taki again. Wanted to reach back and say wait, wanted to explain–except he didn’t know what he wanted to explain. He didn’t know what he wanted to say, only that letting it end like that felt wrong.

That night followed him like a ghost.

Lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, he couldn’t escape it—the way Taki had smiled, soft and uncertain. The way he’d leaned in without realizing it. The way the kiss felt exactly like Maki had imagined it would.

Sweet.

Sweet like the candy Taki always carried in his pockets.
Sweet like his personality.
Sweet in a way that lingered long after it was gone.

No matter how tightly Maki shut his eyes, the memory wouldn’t leave.

And for the first time, he wondered if pretending it meant nothing had been the stupidest thing he’d ever done.

They didn’t talk about it after.

That was the worst part.

Maki pretended nothing happenen–laughed louder, joked more, went back to teasing Taki like always. If there was any awkwardness, he buried it under noise. Taki followed his lead, because pretending was easier than asking questions he was terrified to hear the answers to.

Still, everything changed.

Maki stopped sitting so close.

Stopped falling asleep with his shoulder against Taki’s.

Stopped looking at him the way he had that night.

And Taki told himself that was proof.
See?

It really meant nothing.

But at night, when the house was quiet, Taki’s fingers would hover near his lips before he forced them away. The memory replayed without permission—the warmth, the hesitation, the way Maki had pulled back first.

I’m such a idiot.

That sentence echoed louder than the kiss itself.

Weeks passed.

One afternoon, Taki overheard it by accident.

“You ever kissed anyone,Maki?” someone asked, half-laughing.

“Yeah,” Maki replied casually. “Just tried it out. No big deal.”

No big deal.

Taki felt his chest tighten, breath slipping wrong as if the air had suddenly become too thin. He turned the corner before anyone could see him, before the way his hands shook gave him away.

That night, he avoided Maki’s eyes.

Maki noticed.

“You okay?” he asked, genuine concern flickering across his face.

“I’m fine,” Taki said too quickly.

Maki hesitated, like he wanted to say more but he didn’t. He never did anymore.

And that was when Taki understood the cruel truth:

Maki had kissed him because he felt safe.Because he trusted him.Taki had kissed him because he loved him.

The imbalance sat between them like a secret neither knew how to name.

Taki started pulling away again–subtly, carefully. If he left first, it wouldn’t hurt as much. If he buried it deep enough, maybe it would disappear.

But love doesn’t disappear.
It waits.

And one day,whether Taki was ready or not–it would demand to be seen.

Taki stared at the letter resting on his palm.

He had received it a few days ago,from a girl named Aiko. He’d done what he always did with confessions: folded it carefully, slid it into his drawer and shut it like he was locking away a thought he didn’t want to face.

Aiko was quiet. Shy. Her hands had trembled when she gave him the letter, words stuttering out in a rush. Taki had found it… cute. Comforting.

So he decided to meet her.

An excuse, he told himself.

An excuse to push Maki away.

Aiko stood where they’d agreed to meet, nervously fumbling with the ribbon of her braid. When she saw him, her shoulders stiffened. Taki smiled gently and took her hand.

“You don’t have to be nervous,” he said.

“We can talk about things we like. Or nothing at all.”

Aiko smiled then, relief softening her face. She hooked her pinky around his, small and careful. Taki took a slow breath, grounding himself.

Maki noticed.

Of course he did.

Break times that used to belong to them were suddenly filled with Aiko’s quiet laughter. Taki walked beside her around the field, sat with her under trees, took her on small dates around the city—nothing grand, nothing loud.

But steady.

Aiko’s presence was gentle. Safe. It didn’t demand answers or force feelings into words. It soothed the ache Taki refused to name.

One day, Aiko suddenly pulled him into a janitor’s closet.

Taki stumbled slightly. “Hey!,what’s wrong?”

The space was cramped, dim, filled with the smell of cleaning supplies. He didn’t notice his heart pounding until it echoed too loudly in his ears.

Aiko looked up at him, cheeks flushed. “Can I… hug you, Taki?” she asked softly. “You look like you give the warmest hugs.”

Taki froze.

Maki said that once.

The thought hit him so hard he almost stepped back. Instead, he shook his head, forcing a smile. “Why do you have to be so shy?” he said lightly. “Come here.”

When they stepped out later, Aiko was giggling, face hidden behind her hands.

Maki saw them.

He didn’t need to hear anything. He didn’t need explanations.He already knew.

Something twisted violently in his chest—anger, sadness, regret colliding all at once. His fist clenched at his side, nails biting into his palm.

Too late.

That was the word echoing in his head.

And across the yard, Taki laughed but it didn’t reach his eyes.

That afternoon, they walked home side by side, close but not touching.

Maki broke the silence casually, like it didn’t matter. “So… where’s your girl today?”

Taki glanced at him. “Who, Aiko?”

Maki let out a weak laugh. “Who else would I be talking about? Or do you have another one now?”

Taki laughed too. “She went home. It’s not like she has to come with me. Her house is on the opposite side.”

“Oh,” Maki said quietly. Then, after a pause, “So… are you two dating?”

Taki slowed his steps. He hesitated before answering. “I’m not sure. She didn’t make it clear, but… maybe.”

Maki hummed. “Maybe?”

Another pause. “So… do you like her?”

Taki smiled—soft and unconscious, like his face betrayed him before his words could. “Yeah,” he said. “Aiko is pretty. And cute.”

Maki hated it.

He hated the way Taki’s eyes lit up when he said her name. Hated how easily he spoke about her, like she was something precious.

Suddenly, Taki stepped in front of him. “Careful!”

Maki blinked,he’d been about to walk straight into a lamppost. Taki laughed. “It used to be me who was clumsy. You were the one who took care of me.”

Silence fell between them.

For a moment, they were both pulled back into memories—bandaged knees, shared candies, hands held without thinking. A time when everything had been simple.

They walked the rest of the way home without another word.

Maki couldn’t erase the image in his head—Taki and Aiko stepping out of the janitor’s closet, laughing like they shared something he no longer had.

Taki reached out, resting a hand lightly on his shoulder. “Maki? What’s wrong with you today? You’re spacing out.”

Maki forced a smile. “It’s nothing.”

They stopped at the familiar corner and said their goodbyes like always.

But this time, the distance lingered even after they walked away.

Maki flirted with girls at school casually.

He accepted their letters, smiled back when they teased him, played along like it was expected of him. But there was no spark–no pull, no warmth.

Nothing stayed with him.

After that night,after he kissed Taki something shifted.

He realized he wasn’t interested in girls.Or maybe… it wasn’t boys he liked either.Maybe it was just Taki.

He didn’t know. And not knowing hurt more than certainty ever could.

He felt betrayed sometimes, a sharp ache that rose without warning. But he knew it wasn’t Taki’s fault. They were still good friends. Taki was happy. He was dating someone.

Maki told himself he should be happy too.But the ache didn’t listen.

When the new school year began, a new boy joined their class.

He was pretty in a soft way—friendly, smiling at everyone like it came naturally. His name was Shigeta Harua.

Maki noticed him immediately.

He approached him without thinking.Sat beside him,right where Taki used to sit. Their shoulders brushed, unfamiliar and strange.

Taki seemed to like Harua too but when he saw Maki’s interest, he slowly stepped back.Quietly,like he always did when he was hurting.

Taki had Aiko now.
And Maki had Harua.

Maki took Harua to all his favorite places around town.

The DVD shop.
The old bookstore where he and Taki used to rent manga.
The small bakery where they’d split pastries, crumbs on their fingers.

The lake where they used to sit for hours, saying nothing at all.

Each place greeted him with memories.

Taki was here first.
Taki laughed here.
Taki held my hand here.

But Harua’s fingers laced with his, warm and real, pulling him back to the present. Maki’s heart fluttered when the shorter boy looked up at him, smiling like Maki was someone special.

Maybe I like him, Maki told himself.

“Why are you staring?” Harua asked, amused.

Maki didn’t think before answering. “You look pretty.”

Harua laughed, then rose on his toes and pressed a quick kiss to Maki’s cheek. “You’re cute.”

Maki smiled back.

And for just a moment,only a moment he managed to push Taki out of his heart.

“So you like the new boy? Harua?” Taki asked casually, lips slightly pouted in concentration as he kept playing.

Maki didn’t look at him. “No. I’m just trying to be friends.”

Taki snorted. “Friends?” He elbowed Maki lightly. “Then why do you turn into a tomato every time he smiles at you?”

Maki flushed instantly at the mention of Harua’s name.

Taki noticed.

And the familiar sting pierced his chest again–sharp, unwanted,watching Maki smile because of someone else.

Maki hesitated, then admitted softly, “I don’t know. But… Harua is really cute, right?”

“Yeah,” Taki replied. “I talked to him. He’s always excited. Keeps yapping about random things.”

Silence settled between them.

After a while, Taki asked, too carefully, “Will you confess?”

Maki shrugged. “Maybe. I’m thinking about it.”

Then, quieter, “What about you?”

The answer slipped out before Taki could stop himself.

“We kissed,” he said. “So… is there any need to confess?”

The words hung in the air.
Too heavy.
Too careless.

Taki froze, finally realizing what he had just said.

A few days earlier....

Taki had grabbed Aiko’s hand suddenly. “Let’s skip this class.”

Aiko blinked. “What? Why?”

“It’s history,” he groaned. “Why do I have to know about things that happened before I was even born?”

Aiko laughed, squeezing his hand.

But the truth was simpler and crueler.

Taki couldn’t stand watching Maki laugh with Harua.

They sat together in the empty auditorium. Aiko talked about her family, her old school, her life. Taki listened like he always did but his mind drifted elsewhere.

“Taki?” Aiko leaned closer. “Are you listening?”

He looked at her then. She was close,close enough that he was sure she could hear his heartbeat racing. Aiko hesitated, then leaned in even more.

Taki took a breath.

And closed the distance.

Back in the present, Maki felt something inside him break—quietly, completely.

He laughed under his breath. “Oh,” he said lightly. “So… she’s good?”

Taki laughed too, weak and hollow. “Yeah. Kissing girls is new for me. But… it was good.”

He didn’t say:

You were my first kiss.
I never kissed anyone before you.
You were a boy but I loved it.

They picked up the game again.
Buttons clicked. Screens flashed.

But neither of them was playing anymore.

And between them sat everything they were too afraid to say,growing heavier by the second.

Maki plopped onto the bed and laughed bitterly at himself.

So he liked girls. He was straight.

Then why did that kiss still burn on his lips?

I’m so stupid.

The realization settled like cold water in his chest. The kiss they shared,his first kiss hadn’t meant anything special. Not to Taki. It was just a mistake. A moment that only Maki had carried too seriously.And if Taki had already moved on… then he had to do the same.

The thought made his chest feel tight.
He grabbed his phone and decided to tell Harua,at least someone had to know.

Are you free tomorrow? he texted.

A reply came quickly.

Yeah,I don’t have any plans.

Maki hesitated, thumbs hovering over the screen before typing,

Then can we meet in front of the pastry shop?

Why? Harua replied.

You’ll see, Maki sent back not trusting himself to explain more.

He dropped the phone beside him and stared at the ceiling again. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t push the thought away—

Taki kissing someone else.
Taki liking it.
Taki liking Aiko.

Maki swallowed and let out a slow sigh before pulling the blanket over his head, forcing his eyes shut. Sleep didn’t come easily. The sweetness of that kiss still lingered, haunting him in the dark.

Taki slapped his own cheeks a few times after Maki left for home.

Why did I tell him?
What was the need?

He hadn’t seen Maki’s eyes, hadn’t noticed how his expression changed but still, telling something like that to your best friend felt wrong. Too much. Too dangerous.

He liked Maki.
But Maki didn’t know that.
And he didn’t need to.

Maki was happy with Harua. Maybe he would confess too. The thought should have made things easier but instead, it sat heavy in Taki’s chest.

He had kissed Aiko because he genuinely liked her. So then why did his mind flash back to that other night the moment her lips touched his?

He remembered Aiko’s shy smile when he cupped her cheeks, the way she blushed and buried her face against his chest. Everything about it was new–sweet, warm, comforting. Of course he liked it. Of course he enjoyed it.

Then why wouldn’t Maki leave his head?

The kiss with Maki—his first kiss had been clumsy, awkward, nothing like the perfect one he shared with Aiko.

And yet, it carved something deep into him. A permanent mark on his mind… on his heart.

A notification broke his thoughts.

He unlocked his phone to see a message from Aiko. She had sent a photo of their puppy, followed by a text:
It looks like you.

Taki laughed softly and called her. For a moment,just a moment he let himself forget the confusion tangled in his heart

Maki lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling, the light from his phone long gone.

He liked it.

That was the part that hurt the most.

Taki hadn’t hesitated when he said it. His laugh had been weak but his words were clear—kissing girls was new, but it was good. Natural. Easy. Like something that fit him better than Maki ever could.

Maki turned to his side and curled in on himself.He reached for his phone again, rereading Harua’s reply.

Yeah,I don’t have any plans.
Cute. Warm. Safe.

Someone he could like without hurting.

And yet, when he closed his eyes, it wasn’t Harua’s smile he saw—it was Taki’s, wide and careless, like he belonged everywhere he stood.

Maki pulled the blanket over his head, trying to drown out the ache in his chest.

Taki turned onto his side, staring at the wall, heart heavy with words he couldn’t say.

Two boys, lying awake under different ceilings.

Both pretending to move on.

Both holding onto the same memory.

Both believing,wrongly that they were alone in their pain.

Maki spotted Harua standing in front of the pastry shop, hands tucked into his pockets, sunlight catching in his hair. Harua waved the moment he saw him and Maki crossed the road without thinking. They smiled at each other—easy, familiar.

Harua reached out first, lacing their fingers together.

“You know,” he said casually, “you think you’re cool but you’re really not.”

Maki blinked. “What does that even mean?”

“It means you asked me out on a date,” Harua replied, grinning, “but you’re too scared to actually say it.”

Maki huffed, then nodded. “Yeah. Fine. It is a date. And I want to take you on a date, okay?”

Harua laughed, bright and unrestrained. “That’s my boy. So where are we going? This town is tiny. I’ve already seen everything.”

“I never said I’d give you a tour,” Maki said. “I’m not your guide.”

Harua tilted his head, amused. “Then what are you?”

Maki didn’t answer. Instead, he squeezed Harua’s hand and said, “We’ll take a train. We can go wherever we want.”

Harua’s eyes lit up. “Really?”

Maki reached out and squished his cheeks. “Really.”

They started walking toward the station.

That’s when Maki saw him.

Taki was on the sidewalk across the street, holding a leash in one hand. A small puppy tugged excitedly at it, while his other hand was intertwined with Aiko’s. Taki was laughing–open, bright, unguarded.

Harua waved first. “Hi, Taki!”

Taki stopped and looked over. “Oh,hi.”

His smile faltered just a little when his eyes met Maki’s. “Going somewhere?”

Maki noticed Aiko brushing something from Taki’s hair, standing close enough that their shoulders touched.

“Yeah,” Maki replied.

“Oh,” Taki said softly. “Take care, Enjoy.”

They walked past each other like strangers who knew too much.

As they reached the station entrance, Harua chuckled. “Taki is so in love. He even took his girlfriend’s dog out for a walk.”

Maki didn’t slow down as he stepped inside.

“It’s an excuse,” he said quietly.

The station doors closed behind them, and Maki didn’t look back.

Harua and Maki spent the day wandering through a nearby city,getting lost on purpose. They ducked into noisy arcades, laughed over stupid games, drifted through random shops with no intention of buying anything. Surrounded by the hum of city life and Harua’s constant chatter, Maki let himself sink into it.

They ate from street vendors, standing shoulder to shoulder. Harua fed him a bite, fingers brushing his lips. Maki wiped a smear of sauce from Harua’s mouth with his thumb without thinking. Harua laughed, eyes crinkling.

By evening, they were sitting on a bench, sharing ice cream as the sky dimmed into warm shades of orange and blue. Harua talked endlessly about how fun the day had been, about how grateful he was, about everything and nothing at once.

Maki watched him with a soft smile. “Anything for my boy.”

Harua froze for a second. “Your… boy?”

Maki shrugged lightly. “You already called me yours. I thought it was fair.”

Harua giggled, cheeks turning pink. “Is that a confession?”

Before Maki could answer, Harua leaned in to kiss his cheek. Maki turned at the wrong moment and their lips brushed—unplanned, fleeting.

They both stilled.

Then Harua shifted closer, hesitant but hopeful and Maki kissed him properly this time. Harua’s lips were cold from the ice cream, sweet and trembling.

Maki kissed him back slowly, carefully, like he was afraid of breaking something.

When they pulled apart, Harua was blushing hard. “You’re really good at this,” he said shyly. “I like you.”

Maki reached up, brushing a stray strand of hair from Harua’s forehead. “Me too,” he said.

The words felt right in his mouth.

The feeling in his chest didn’t.

On the way back, Harua suddenly stopped and slipped something onto Maki’s wrist–a simple wristlet, dark and neat.

“I bought it for you,” Harua said softly.

Maki looked down at it, then smiled. “Thanks.”

He leaned in and kissed Harua’s forehead, gentle and warm.

“I like it,” he said.

He didn’t say what.

The gift or the boy or the way this happiness felt borrowed.

On his way back home, Maki spotted Taki ahead, standing at the intersection where their paths split. The streetlight flickered above them, casting long shadows on the empty road.

They stopped without meaning to.

Taki smiled first, easy and familiar.

Maki smiled back, just as naturally like it was muscle memory, like nothing had ever changed. Taki lifted his hands in a small gesture, wordless.

How was it?

Maki shrugged, then gestured back.

Okay.

It should have been enough. It used to be enough.

They stood there for a moment longer, neither moving, the space between them unbearably wide despite how close they were. So many things pressed against Maki’s chest—things he didn’t know how to name, things he didn’t want to say.

Taki shifted his weight, hands slipping into his pockets. Maki looked away first.

Without another word, they turned and walked toward their separate homes, footsteps echoing in opposite directions–close enough to hear, too far to follow.

Years passed and graduation came quietly, like something they’d always known would happen but were never ready for. College acceptance letters followed,new beginnings wrapped in unfamiliar names and places.

Aiko didn’t get into the same college as them. She moved to another city, chasing a future she talked about with bright eyes and trembling excitement.

Taki stood beside her at the station, hands shoved into his pockets, heart heavier than he expected. He wasn’t sure what he felt for her–not love the way songs described it, not certainty but Aiko made him happy. She made him feel chosen, gentle, wanted.

Before boarding, she kissed his cheek and smiled.

“I’ll miss you.”

Taki smiled back, steady even when his chest tightened.

“We can still talk,” he said. And he meant it.

Maki watched from a distance that day, hands clenched around the strap of his bag. Harua had chosen a different college too, one focused on arts. They didn’t see each other every day anymore but weekends still belonged to them—small dates, shared meals, wandering streets without direction.

Harua laughed easily, kissed his cheek without hesitation and held his hand like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Life moved forward.

And yet,some things stayed.

Taki and Maki didn’t let go of each other. They refused to. Whatever name their bond carried, it was too precious to abandon. They walked to class together when schedules aligned, played games late into the night, visited the same old places that carried echoes of childhood laughter.

Side by side, always side by side.

But something had changed, subtle and impossible to ignore.

Sometimes Taki caught himself watching Maki talk about Harua, noticing the warmth in his voice, the way his smile softened. Sometimes Maki noticed how Taki still checked his phone late at night, replying to Aiko’s messages with quiet care.

They laughed the same, teased the same but in the silences, something unspoken rested between them. A feeling carefully folded away, never addressed, never resolved.

They chose not to touch it.

Because losing love hurt but losing this felt unbearable.

Taki became reckless in college, like he was trying to outrun something that kept clinging to his ribs. A new group, loud laughs, smoke-filled nights.

Cigarettes burned between his fingers, lectures forgotten, days blurred together. He told himself it was freedom. It felt more like noise.

Maki found him one afternoon in the back alley behind the campus. The smell hit first.

Taki noticed him and flicked the cigarette away, grinding it under his shoe as if it didn’t matter. He lifted a hand and waved, easy, careless.

“You smoke?” Maki asked quietly.

Taki smiled, thin and practiced. “What’s wrong with that?”

Maki shook his head. “Nothing.”

But his chest ached anyway. Seeing Taki like this–different, distant—hurt more than he expected.

Taki told himself he was doing fine.

That if he kept moving, kept breaking habits, he wouldn’t feel the loneliness crawling under his skin. Maybe if he drowned himself in smoke and laughter, the memory of that night–the first kiss, the warmth, the confusion—would finally loosen its grip.

It didn’t.

He grew older but the desperation stayed. It only got louder.

Even with Harua by Maki’s side.

Even knowing Maki had chosen someone else.

And then there was Aiko.

She had promised they would stay in touch. At first, she called every day. Then once a week. Then only short messages—polite, distant, careful. Taki pretended not to notice the gaps growing wider.

Until one day, she came back to town to visit her family.

Taki went to see her immediately.

They sat together, the air heavy with things unsaid. When Taki leaned in to hug her, she stepped back.

“Aiko?” His voice was careful, almost afraid.

She broke down, tears spilling freely.
“I’m sorry, Taki.”

Only three words but they shattered something fragile inside him. It wasn’t love that broke him. It was the loss.

Another person slipping through his fingers. Another place where he had once felt safe, gone.

Taki nodded slowly. “Okay.”

That was all he said.

He left without looking back, walking until his chest burned, until the streets blurred. He didn’t cry. He didn’t scream. He just felt empty–like every connection he tried to hold was destined to loosen, to fade.

And somehow, in that emptiness, one name still refused to leave him.

Maki.

No matter how hard he tried, that ache remained.

Maki took a slow walk through the quiet streets, night air brushing against his face as he tried to clear his head. He had gone to see Harua earlier,to surprise him but the image wouldn’t leave his mind.

Harua, laughing.
Harua’s hand intertwined with another boy’s.

He had asked casually, pretending his chest wasn’t tightening.

Who was that?

Harua had snapped back immediately.
“Why? You don’t want me talking to anyone else?”

“I was just asking,” Maki had said, confused, hurt.

The mood shattered after that. Harua left early and Maki was left standing there with words he didn’t know how to say.

Lost in thought, he didn’t notice the figure approaching until they nearly collided.

“Taki?”

Taki was dressed in black, hood pulled low, like he was trying not to be seen.

Maki reached out instinctively, steadying him by the arms.

For a split second, Taki froze.

His heart fluttered—too fast, too familiar at how naturally he fit there, like his body remembered before his mind could stop it.

“Where are you going?” Maki asked softly.

Taki looked away. “Out. For a drink.”

Maki frowned. “Then I’m coming with you.”

Taki tried to protest. “Maki, you don’t...”

But Maki had already taken his hand, fingers warm and firm, grounding him.

“I’m not leaving you alone,” he said quietly. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone.”

Taki stared at their joined hands.

The streetlight flickered above them, casting long shadows—two paths that had never truly separated, no matter how hard they tried.

Maki froze when Taki started down the narrow stairs.

An underground bar.

The realization hit him harder than the bass vibrating through the walls.

Taki goes to places like this now?

And then, sharper—he doesn’t tell me things anymore.

Taki glanced back, eyes glinting in the dim light. “You coming?”

Maki laughed lightly, like this was normal, like his chest wasn’t tightening. “Guess I’ll have to drag you out if you get drunk.”

Taki laughed too and disappeared inside.

The moment Maki stepped in, the humid air wrapped around him—thick with alcohol, smoke, and sweat. Music thudded so loud it felt like it was beating against his ribs. He stood near the wall, watching.

Taki moved easily through the crowd. Laughing. Talking. Familiar with the place.

He comes here often, Maki realized, something sour twisting in his stomach.

When Taki returned, he pressed a glass into Maki’s hand.

“Just a sip. You won’t die.”

Maki did and immediately regretted it.

The burn scraped down his throat, sharp and unforgiving. He set the glass aside, eyes drifting back to Taki instead.

Taki was flushed now. Steps uneven. Smile a little too loose.

Then it happened.

A hand slid around Taki’s waist.

Maki didn’t think. He reacted.

He slapped the hand away, pulling Taki back instinctively. “Don’t touch him.”

Taki blinked, confused, trying to protest but the words tangled and fell apart.

“We’re leaving,” Maki said firmly.

Outside, the night air was cold, sobering. Maki half-carried him through the quiet streets until they stopped in front of Taki’s house. Taking him home like this felt dangerous but leaving him alone felt worse.

He guided him through the back door, careful, quiet.

The door had barely closed when everything shifted.

Taki suddenly turned, hands pressing Maki back against the wood. Maki gasped, instinctively trying to push him away.
“Taki...”

But then their lips met.

It wasn’t planned. It wasn’t careful.

It was desperate.

Years of swallowed words, of longing disguised as friendship, of jealousy and restraint and what ifs—all of it collapsed into that single moment. The kiss was unsteady, urgent, almost angry, like they were afraid to stop.

Maki’s breath shook. Taki’s hands trembled.

When they finally pulled apart, foreheads resting together, the silence was deafening.

Everything they had avoided was standing between them now.

And neither of them could pretend anymore.

The moment the kiss ended, reality slammed back into place.

Maki was the first to pull away.

It was abrupt–too fast, like he’d touched fire and finally felt the burn.

His hands dropped from Taki’s shoulders as if they no longer belonged there. His breath came uneven, chest rising sharply as he stepped back.

“What… what did we just do,” he whispered. It wasn’t a question. It was fear.

Taki blinked, still swaying slightly, the haze of alcohol thinning just enough for awareness to seep in. He reached out instinctively, fingers curling around empty air when Maki moved farther away.

“Maki—”

“No.” Maki shook his head hard, like he could shake the moment out of existence. “No, we shouldn’t have. This was a mistake.”

The word hit Taki harder than any slap ever could.

“A mistake?” Taki repeated softly, voice cracking on the edges. “You kissed me back.”

“I know,” Maki said sharply, too sharply. “That’s the problem.”

His eyes were wide now, panicked. “You’re drunk. You’re not thinking straight. And I... I shouldn’t have let it happen.”

Taki laughed once, broken and hollow. “So now it’s because I was drunk?”

“That’s not what I meant,” Maki snapped, then stopped himself, running a hand through his hair. His voice dropped. “Taki… I can’t do this. I can’t be the person you fall into when everything else falls apart.”

The words were careful. Cruel in their gentleness.

Taki felt something inside him finally give.

“So what am I to you then?” he asked quietly. “Just your best friend? Just someone you protect? Someone you stop from ruining himself?”

Maki didn’t answer.

That silence was enough.

Taki’s lips trembled. “I lose everyone,” he whispered, more to himself than to Maki. “Aiko left. You moved on. I tried to pretend I was okay and tonight—”

His voice broke. “Tonight I thought… maybe I wasn’t alone.”

Maki clenched his fists.

“I have Harua,” he said, like a confession and a punishment all at once. “And you, you deserve someone who chooses you without hesitation.”

Taki let out a shaky breath that almost sounded like a sob. “You’re the only one I ever wanted to choose me.”

That did it.

Maki turned away abruptly, shoulders tight. “I can’t stay,” he said. “If I stay, I’ll ruin everything.”

He opened the door.

“Maki,” Taki called, desperation bleeding through the single word.

Maki paused but didn’t turn back.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. Then, like he was afraid he’d change his mind, he stepped out and closed the door behind him.

The click of the lock echoed like a gunshot.

Taki stood there, unmoving.

Then his legs gave out.

He slid down against the door, hands flying to his face as the sobs tore out of him—raw, ugly, unstoppable. His chest hurt like it was being crushed from the inside, every breath a struggle.

“Why is it always you,” he cried softly. “Why is it always you I lose?”

He pressed his forehead to the door, as if Maki might still be on the other side, as if the warmth of him hadn’t already vanished.

Outside, Maki walked fast. Too fast.

His vision blurred, jaw clenched tight as tears slipped free anyway. He didn’t wipe them away. He didn’t slow down.

Because if he stopped–
if he turned back,he knew he would run straight into Taki’s arms and never leave.

And that scared him more than losing him.

Maki didn’t remember how far he walked.

The streets blurred together, streetlights stretching into trembling lines as tears kept falling no matter how hard he clenched his jaw. His chest felt too tight, like his ribs were closing in on his heart.

He reached his room, shut the door, and only then did he fall apart.

He slid down against the wall, hands fisting into his hair as a sound tore out of him—raw, strangled, nothing like the composed person everyone thought he was.

“Idiot,” he whispered to himself.

“You’re such a fucking idiot.”

He replayed it again and again:

Taki pinned against the door,his lips—desperate, familiar.The way Taki had looked at him like this was it, like he had finally found somewhere to belong.

And Maki had run.

He slammed his fist against the floor once, twice, until his knuckles throbbed.

“I wanted it,” he admitted aloud, voice breaking. “I wanted you.”

He thought of Harua—his smile, his warmth, the way he tried so hard. And guilt twisted inside him, sharp and ugly.

I’m hurting everyone.

He curled into himself, forehead pressed to his knees.

“I was supposed to protect you,” he whispered, thinking of the little boy with scraped knees and candy-sticky fingers. “Not be the one who breaks you.”

Sleep didn’t come.

Only regret did.

Taki didn’t cry for long.

At some point, the tears dried up and left behind something worse–emptiness.

He stood up slowly, wiping his face with the sleeve of his hoodie, staring at his reflection in the dark glass of the door. Red eyes. Shaking hands. A boy who kept reaching for people who never stayed.

“So this is it,” he murmured. “This is what I get for hoping.”

He grabbed his jacket and left the house again.

The night swallowed him whole.

He drank more than he should’ve—cheap alcohol, bitter and burning, like punishment. He laughed too loud with people whose names he didn’t care to remember. He let hands touch him that meant nothing because nothing felt safer than wanting too much.

Someone asked him, “You okay, man?”

He smiled easily. Too easily. “Yeah. I’m great.”

But when he stumbled outside, cold air hitting his face, his smile collapsed.

He leaned against a wall, breath hitching as memories flooded in uninvited:

Maki holding his hand when he was scared.
Maki shielding him, always.
Maki kissing him,wanting him even if he later called it a mistake.

“Liar,” Taki whispered into the night. “If it didn’t mean anything, why did you kiss me like that?”

His phone buzzed in his pocket.

For one reckless, desperate second, he thought it might be Maki.
It wasn’t.
He laughed—broken, hysterical.and shoved the phone away.

“I’m done,” he told himself, though his voice shook. “I’m done waiting. I’m done needing you.”

But even as he said it, his heart betrayed him.

Because no matter how fast he ran,
no matter how far he spiraled,
every empty space inside him was still shaped exactly like Maki.

The silence didn’t arrive all at once.

It crept in quietly—missed messages left unread, invitations that never came, familiar footsteps that stopped appearing at the door. Days passed, then weeks. Their names stopped being said in the same sentence.

They didn’t hang out anymore.
Didn’t walk home together.
Didn’t sit too close, didn’t steal glances, didn’t argue about stupid things just to hear the other’s voice.

To everyone else, it looked normal.

People grow apart all the time.

But Maki felt it like a missing limb.

Every place still carried Taki’s absence—the corner store where he used to wait, the park bench where they used to sit in silence, the lake they hadn’t visited since everything broke. Maki learned how to look straight ahead, how to pretend the ache in his chest was manageable.

Then one evening, he overheard his parents talking in hushed voices.

“Taki’s mom found cigarettes in his backpack,” his mother whispered.

“They think Tokyo will be better for him,” his father replied. “His cousin can watch over him.”

Maki froze.

Tokyo.

The word echoed too loudly, too final.

He knew instantly,this wasn’t about Taki going astray. This was about running. About escape. About a boy who didn’t know how to stay without breaking.

He’s leaving, Maki thought, heart sinking.

That night, he couldn’t sleep.

Taki stood in front of Maki’s house just past midnight, a small bag slung over his shoulder. The street was quiet, the air heavy with things left unsaid. His hands trembled not from fear but from the weight of the choice he’d already made.

If I don’t do this now, he told himself, I never will.

He rang the bell once.

It took a moment. Then footsteps. The door opened.

Maki stood there, hair messy, eyes widening just slightly before he schooled his face into something careful.

“Taki…”

They stared at each other for a second too long.

Neither smiled.

Without a word, Taki stepped forward and Maki let him.

They hugged.

It wasn’t the tight, desperate kind from before. It was quieter. Softer. Like they were afraid that holding on too hard might make the goodbye real.

Maki’s arms wrapped around Taki like muscle memory, like his body remembered what his heart had been trying to forget. Taki buried his face into Maki’s shoulder, breathing him in—home, comfort, pain, all tangled together.

“I’m leaving,” Taki finally said, voice low. “Tokyo.”

Maki nodded against his hair. He already knew.

They pulled back just enough to look at each other. Taki’s eyes were glassy. Maki’s jaw was tight, fighting everything threatening to spill out.

There were a thousand things they could’ve said.

I’m sorry.
I miss you.
Please stay.
Please don’t forget me.
I loved you first.

But none of them felt safe.

So Taki swallowed and said the only thing he could manage.
“Take care.”

Maki’s chest tightened. He forced a nod.
“You too.”

That was it.

No promises.
No confessions.
No closure.

Taki stepped back then turned away before his courage could fail him. Maki stood in the doorway long after Taki disappeared down the street, the echo of his footsteps haunting the quiet night.

Only when the door closed did Maki let himself break—sliding down against it, fingers digging into the fabric of his hoodie like it might keep him from falling apart.

Somewhere far away, a train would soon carry Taki out of the city.

And neither of them knew that this silence,this unfinished goodbye would follow them for years.

Maki couldn’t sleep that night.

He lay staring at the ceiling, the room too quiet, his chest too loud. All he wanted was to hold Taki—to pull him close, to bury his face in his shoulder and finally say everything he had swallowed for years. To cry, to confess, to beg him not to leave. The thought of Taki alone on a city far-away made his throat ache.

But he didn’t move.

Because there was Harua.

Harua, who loved him honestly. Harua, who waited for him, who smiled like the world was gentle. Maki knew leaving him like that would be cruel.

Love wasn’t supposed to be repaid with abandonment. So he stayed still, hands clenched in the sheets, choosing responsibility over longing.

After many years of staying side by side—of sharing afternoons, secrets, arguments and silences—they were finally torn apart.

Taki stood at the station with his hands clenched around the strap of his bag.

This wasn’t just leaving a town. It was leaving his family, the streets that knew his footsteps, the air heavy with memories. More than anything, it was leaving Maki—his best friend, his first love, the one person who had chosen him over and over again, who had protected him even when Taki himself didn’t know how to stay.

The platform announcement echoed, distant and hollow. Taki took a slow, unsteady breath. He didn’t look back. He knew if he did, he wouldn’t survive it.

As he stepped onto the train, his chest ached with a pain so familiar it felt like home. If I don’t leave this town, he told himself, I’ll never move on. He pressed his forehead lightly against the window as the doors closed.

I’ll never forget Maki.

The train lurched forward, carrying him away—not just from the place he grew up in but from the boy who had been his entire world. And as the town blurred into distance, Taki realized that leaving wasn’t the same as escaping.

Taki stepped off the train and immediately felt the warmth of Kei’s embrace. The boy was grinning like he had known him forever, arms tight around him and Taki stiffened for a moment, unsure how to respond but then he relaxed. Kei laughed lightly, brushing back Taki’s hair.

“How was the journey?” Kei asked, voice easy, friendly.

Taki hesitated, expecting the need for formalities, distance, politeness but Kei’s presence was comforting, grounding. Slowly, he let himself smile.

The city around him felt overwhelming but Kei’s calm steadiness made it feel manageable.

Days turned into weeks. Taki settled into his new life—college lectures, crowded streets, late-night ramen runs, and quiet evenings in his cousin’s apartment. He made friends, built routines, even started to feel like he belonged. Kei was always there, gentle and attentive, guiding him, joking with him, watching over him without pressing, without asking anything in return. Taki thought he had moved on.

But then a phone call came. Maki’s voice, hesitant, soft, familiar. The sound hit him differently than anyone else ever could. Suddenly the months of stability felt fragile. His chest tightened, heart racing like the night he had kissed Maki—desperate, raw, yearning.

The memory surged: Maki’s lips, the way he had pulled away, the panic, the ache that had followed.Taki closed his eyes, gripping the phone a little too tightly. I thought I had moved on.

But some memories don’t let you leave—they follow, sharp and unwelcome, resurfacing in a heartbeat, in a laugh, in a name. And no matter how much Kei cared, no matter how much Taki tried, the echo of that night with Maki had not left him.

It was a quiet ache, patient and insistent, reminding him that some first loves don’t end—they just wait.

Maki moved to the city after graduation too and he came to visit taki.Taki smiled and hugged him,said I missed you when he had a thousands other things to say.

Maki smiled too,then they sat,talked and laugh like the old days.It didn't felt like it has been one year,Kei adored the two boys friendship.

Taki shared about his new life and maki talked about their town,about harua that he moved into the cify too and they might live together.

Taki stayed silent then said it's good for you.

Maki said yes when he wanted to ask if Taki had someone in his life now.

They spent that night sleeping side by side but not close.The distance between them was heavy and unavoidable.

Taki stood in the doorway of his new apartment, the faint hum of the city outside his only company. The apartment was small, bare, and unfamiliar but that was the point—it was his. Closer to the university, closer to independence and farther from everything else he couldn’t handle right now.

Kei had insisted on checking every detail before leaving him alone. “Call me if you need anything,” he said gently, placing a hand on Taki’s shoulder. “You can always come over. Don’t think you have to do this all by yourself.”

Taki had nodded, forcing a smile but inside a storm raged. Kei had become so close, so protective, like a big brother who adored him and while part of Taki’s heart appreciated it, another part felt trapped. The affection, the watchfulness, the warmth—it all pressed too hard on the wounds he carried, especially the ones left by Maki.

I can’t breathe here, Taki thought. It’s too much.

So he made the decision before the feelings could drown him. He quietly packed his things, careful not to leave a trace and found another apartment farther from Kei, farther from safety. It wasn’t a permanent goodbye,he still loved Kei but he needed space, solitude, and the quiet that only being alone could give him.

As he stood in the new apartment that evening, looking out at the city lights, a pang of guilt settled in his chest. Kei’s concern, his care—it had been genuine. And yet, Taki couldn’t let it hold him.

He needed to figure himself out first, before letting anyone in again.

The city outside buzzed, indifferent to the boy inside, who was running from love that was too suffocating, from memories that refused to fade and from the one person who had haunted him for twelve years.

I need to move on, Taki whispered to the empty room. I have to.

But even as he said it, a quiet corner of his heart ached and for a fleeting second, he imagined Maki’s arms around him, like the home he could never return to.

One night his bell rang. Taki opened the door and it was Maki. He looked like a storm had just passed over him.

Taki didn’t question him; he let him enter. Maki quietly sat beside him and Taki brought him a glass of water.

Maki broke the silence. “I had a fight with Harua.”

Taki said, “Well… okay. Then why are you here?”

Maki shook his head. “I don’t know what Harua thinks. He talks rudely to me and today he called me pathetic because I asked him why he always roams around with that one boy named Jo. I couldn’t stay there, so I left.”

Taki felt a surge of anger at how Harua treated his friend. But he placed a hand on Maki’s shoulder. “It’s okay.”

Maki quietly said, “Can I stay with you tonight?”

Taki stared at him and said yes, because he couldn’t say no to him and that was his mistake.

When Taki settled under the blanket and felt Maki moving closer. He tried to stop him, to say something but Maki cupped his cheeks and kissed him.

Taki immediately melted, even though he knew it was wrong,that Maki was trying to forget Harua but logic didn’t matter right now.

All that mattered was Maki kissing him. And Taki kissed him back, holding him firmly, letting the years of longing and unspoken words pour into that one desperate, lingering embrace.

Taki woke up to an empty side of the bed, the soft morning light spilling across the room. His chest ached not just from Maki being gone but from the heavy weight of knowing it was his own fault.

He had let himself fall into the warmth of Maki’s presence, had let himself hope. And now, the space where Maki had been felt impossibly large.

He stayed under the blanket for a while, staring at the ceiling, replaying last night—the closeness, the kiss, the way Maki had pressed against him.

I shouldn’t have let this happen, he whispered to himself. I shouldn’t have let him in.

Weeks passed, the ache never quite leaving him, until one day the door burst open and Maki appeared like a storm breaking through calm skies.

He pinned Taki to the wall without warning, pressing his lips to his with a desperate intensity that stole Taki’s breath.

It was messy, frantic, addictive. Maki’s hands clutched at him like he couldn’t bear to let go and Taki didn’t pull back.

Even if this was a moment born of Maki trying to forget someone else, even if it lasted only a few seconds, it was enough.

Because for the first time in years, Taki had Maki close to him. And that, even briefly, was everything.

The bottles were half-empty by the time the rain started tapping against Taki’s windows. The lights in the apartment were dim, warm, too intimate for how close they were sitting.

Taki had lost count of how many times he’d told himself this was a bad idea and ignored it anyway.

Maki laughed at something stupid, cheeks flushed, eyes unfocused in that way that made Taki’s chest ache. He’d always looked like this when he drank—unguarded, softer, dangerous.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Taki muttered, reaching for his glass.

Maki leaned closer instead.

The kiss came easily. Too easily. Like muscle memory neither of them could forget. Maki’s lips were warm, lingering, familiar in a way that made Taki’s hands shake. He kissed back before he could stop himself, fingers curling into Maki’s shirt like an anchor.

Maki smiled into the kiss, breath uneven. “Taki…”

Then Maki kissed him again, slower this time, mouth trailing down his cheek, to his jawline. Taki sucked in a breath, heart pounding so loud it hurt.

“Rua-chan,” Maki murmured, half-dazed, lips brushing skin. “You feel so good.”

The words hit wrong. Wrong name. Wrong softness.

Taki shoved him away.

Maki stumbled back, confusion flashing across his face. “Taki—?”

“Don’t,” Taki said sharply, standing up.

His hands were shaking now, fists clenched at his sides. “Don’t say that name to me.”

Silence fell heavy between them, thick with everything unsaid.

Taki laughed bitterly, rubbing a hand over his face. “You come to me whenever you want to forget your stupid boyfriend,” he said, voice cracking despite himself. “You drink here. You sleep here. You kiss me like this place is some escape you can walk out of in the morning.”

Maki opened his mouth but Taki didn’t stop.

“I let you in because I care for you,” he continued, words spilling faster now, messy, honest. “But I want you to stay. And it hurts, Maki. It hurts when I wake up and see you’re gone,like I imagined everything. Like I don’t matter once the sun comes up.”

Maki stared at him quietly. The drunken haze in his eyes cleared, replaced by something heavier. Guilt. Understanding.

“I know,” Maki said softly. “I know what I’m doing is wrong.”

He swallowed. “I’m still dating Harua.”

The name felt like a blade.

“But I couldn’t resist you,” Maki admitted. “And I hate myself for that.”

Taki laughed again, this time hollow. “Then why?” he asked, voice low. “Why do you keep coming back to me?”

Maki hesitated. “Why do you care for me so much, Taki?”

Taki exhaled slowly, like saying it out loud might finally kill him.

“Because you’re my best friend,” he said.

Then quieter,barely breathing the words—

“My first love.”

A pause.

“My everything.”

Maki froze.

For a moment, the world seemed to tilt.

Everything Maki had told himself,everything he’d built to survive collapsed at once. He’d always believed Taki didn’t love him. That the kisses meant nothing deeper. That it was safe because it didn’t matter.

But it mattered.

Taki mattered.

“And you kissed me back,” Maki whispered, almost to himself. “All this time… I thought you didn’t love me.”

Taki looked away, eyes burning. “I tried not to.”

The silence shattered when Maki’s phone rang.

The sound was sharp, ugly. Reality.

Maki glanced at the screen, jaw tightening. He didn’t answer, just let it buzz in his hand. “I… have to go,” he said finally, voice empty.

Something in Taki snapped.

He stepped forward and shoved Maki hard in the chest. Not enough to hurt,just enough to push him away.

“Go,” Taki said, tears finally spilling over. “Go away and never come back, okay?”

Maki stared at him, stunned.

“I don’t want to see you again,” Taki finished, voice breaking completely.

Maki stood there for a moment longer.

Like he wanted to say something,anything but the damage was already done. Then he turned, walked to the door and left.

The click of the lock echoed through the apartment.

Taki sank to the floor, hugging his knees, the smell of alcohol and Maki’s cologne still clinging to the air.

For the first time, he didn’t wonder if Maki would come back in the morning.

He already knew the answer and that hurt the most.

Maki doesn’t go home.

He walks past the bus stop, past the convenience store, past every familiar corner until his legs start to ache and the night air feels too thin in his lungs.

He ends up sitting on the cold steps outside Taki’s building, head bowed, phone clenched in his hand like it might burn him.

Go away and never come back.

Taki’s words won’t stop echoing. He knows he deserved them. That makes it worse.

Upstairs, Taki is still standing where he pushed Maki, fingers curled into fists, chest rising too fast. The apartment feels wrong—too quiet, too empty, like it’s holding its breath. He tells himself Maki won’t come back.

But he still doesn’t lock the door.

He sits on the edge of the couch instead, staring at the entrance, listening for footsteps that never come. Every sound outside makes his heart jolt. Every minute that passes makes the hope hurt sharper.

If he comes back, Taki thinks, I’ll take it all back. I’ll pretend I never said anything. I’ll let him use me again,just don’t leave.

Outside, Maki presses his forehead against the railing and finally lets himself shake. He thinks about how easily he said “okay.”

How he chose silence when Taki offered him his whole heart. He realizes,too late that Taki didn’t push him away because he didn’t love him.

He pushed him away because loving him hurt too much.

The sky starts to lighten, that cruel blue of early morning. Maki looks up at the building one last time. His chest feels like it’s splitting open.

Inside, Taki hears morning birds and knows, somehow without checking, that Maki isn’t coming back tonight.

That’s when it really breaks him.

He curls in on himself under the blanket that still smells like Maki and whispers into the empty room, voice wrecked and small,

“Please… come back.”

But downstairs, Maki finally stands up and walks away because this time, staying would hurt Taki even more.

Harua’s arms are warm when he hugs Maki, familiar and safe in a way that almost makes Maki feel sick.

“Where were you the whole night?” Harua asks softly. “I was so worried.”

Maki smiles out of habit, even though his eyes sting and his body feels heavy with no sleep.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I was with a friend.”

Friend.

The word lands wrong in his chest, like it doesn’t belong to anyone he knows anymore.

Harua exhales, relief melting into guilt.

“I’m sorry too, Maki. I shouldn’t have snapped. But sometimes… you act possessive and it feels suffocating.”

Maki doesn’t argue. He doesn’t explain. He just cups Harua’s cheeks, thumbs brushing lightly like muscle memory.

“I’ll be careful from now on,” he says, because it’s easier than saying I was falling apart without you.

Harua tiptoes and presses a kiss to his lips. “I love you.”

Maki says it back automatically.

But his heart is somewhere else,curled up on an unmade bed, waiting for footsteps that never came.

Taki doesn’t go to class that day.

He lies on his side, staring at the wall where the morning light keeps shifting, replaying everything on a loop—Maki’s voice, the way his hands shook, the way he said okay and left like it meant nothing.

His phone stays face down on the table.

Every vibration from the building makes his breath hitch. Every second without a message makes his chest ache deeper. He tells himself Maki chose this. He chose Harua.

So why does it still feel like Taki was the one abandoned?

By afternoon, the realization settles in slow and cruel:

Maki went back to him.

And Taki is the only one who lost something last night.

He presses his face into the pillow, muffling the sound of his breathing turning uneven and whispers the truth he never wanted to admit,
“I still love you… even if you don’t come back.”

Taki starts waking up before sunrise, not because he’s rested but because sleep won’t keep him anymore.

He hurts himself in quiet ways—pushing his body until it aches, ignoring hunger, drowning his thoughts in exhaustion. Anything is better than lying still with Maki’s name echoing in his head.

University in the morning.
Part-time job in the afternoon.
Clubs at night until the music is so loud it rattles his ribs and the lights blur into nothing.

He drinks until the room tilts. Drinks until he forgets why he came. Drinks until someone’s hand is on his wrist, a mouth too close, a voice he doesn’t recognize. He lets it happen because it doesn’t matter.

He doesn’t remember their names anyway.

He doesn’t want to.

Every morning feels the same—empty bed, pounding head, a chest that hurts in a way alcohol can’t reach.

Kei comes over unannounced one afternoon.

The apartment smells stale. Clothes are everywhere. Unwashed dishes stacked like they’ve been abandoned for days.

Kei doesn’t raise his voice,he never does but the worry sits heavy in his eyes as he opens the windows and starts cleaning without being asked.

“Taki,” he says softly, holding up an empty trash bag.

When he ties it off, the weight gives it away. Kei looks inside.

Beer cans. Too many.

He sighs, rubbing the back of his neck.

“You’re drinking too much.”

Taki doesn’t look at him. He leans against the counter, arms crossed, walls already up.

“You don’t have to give me advice,” he says coldly.

The words hang between them.

Kei doesn’t snap back. That somehow makes it worse.

“I’m not giving advice,” Kei replies quietly. “I’m worried.”

Taki’s jaw tightens. Guilt flickers—sharp and unwanted because he knows Kei cares. Because Kei stayed. Because Kei is here cleaning up the mess Maki left behind.

But the pain is louder than gratitude.

“Just… don’t,” Taki mutters.

Kei nods, slowly, like he understands more than Taki wants him to. He finishes cleaning anyway.Kei doesn’t confront him loudly.

He never does.

That evening, after the dishes are done and the apartment is quiet again, Kei sits across from Taki and says gently, “You know you can talk to me, right? About anything.”

Taki stares at the floor. His throat tightens, words pressing up against his chest with nowhere to go. If he opens his mouth, he knows everything will spill out—Maki, the nights, the hurt, the shame.

So he doesn’t.

Instead, he asks in a voice barely above a whisper, “Can I… hug you?”

Kei doesn’t hesitate. He opens his arms like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Taki steps forward and buries his face into Kei’s chest. The warmth hits him all at once—steady, grounding, safe. His shoulders sag, the tension finally slipping. He doesn’t cry. He just… lets go.

A few minutes later, his breathing evens out.

He falls asleep right there in Kei’s arms.
Kei smiles sadly and ruffles his hair, fingers gentle. Something is wrong, he knows. Something deep. But if Taki isn’t ready to say it, Kei won’t force him.

He’ll just stay.

Morning comes quietly.

The smell of food wakes Taki before the light does. He blinks, disoriented, then realizes he’s on the couch with a blanket tucked around him.

From the kitchen, Kei’s humming softly as he cooks.

They eat together at the small table. Nothing fancy. Just warm food, shared silence.

And suddenly, it hits Taki.

His mom moving around the kitchen back home.

Maki sitting across from him, stealing food from his plate, laughing like the world was simple.

His vision blurs.

Kei notices immediately. He reaches out, rubbing slow circles on Taki’s back, grounding him without a single question.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs.

Taki swallows hard and nods, gripping his chopsticks like an anchor.

He doesn’t say thank you out loud but he feels it deeply.

Grateful that Kei is here,that someone still cares.

Grateful that, for this moment at least, he isn’t completely alone.

Meanwhile, Maki was stuck in between.

He loved Harua,he truly did. Harua was warm, expressive, always there at the end of the day. When they fought, they talked it out. When Maki came home late or tired, Harua’s arms were waiting. That was what love was supposed to feel like, right? Safe. Chosen. Present.

And yet,
That night wouldn’t leave him.

The way Taki’s voice broke when he said go away and never come back.
The way his eyes looked like he’d already lost something precious.

It followed Maki into quiet moments, into the dark when Harua slept beside him, breathing slow and even. Maki would lie there staring at the ceiling, phone warm in his hand, thumb hovering over the screen.

Kei’s contact sat there like a door he wasn’t allowed to open.

If I call him…
If I ask about Taki…

It would mean admitting too much.

That Taki wasn’t just a mistake. That he wasn’t just someone Maki ran to when things got hard. It would mean acknowledging that he’d hurt someone who loved him in a way no one else ever had.

So he didn’t call.

Instead, he turned his phone face-down and curled closer to Harua, letting himself be held, pretending that was enough to quiet the ache in his chest.

But some nights, when Harua whispered “I love you” half-asleep, Maki’s heart twisted instead of settling.

Because love wasn’t the problem.

The problem was that he had loved two people at once and one of them had finally been pushed too far.

And Maki didn’t know which loss would destroy him first:
losing Taki forever,
or living the rest of his life knowing he was the reason Taki broke.

Kei started visiting Taki more often after that.

He said it was because Taki’s parents trusted him because they had asked him—please keep an eye on him. Kei took that responsibility seriously. He made sure Taki ate properly, dragged him out of bed when classes piled up, gently pulled him away from the bars when he stayed out too late. He never scolded too hard, never grabbed too tight. He stayed close enough that Taki wouldn’t drift too far but far enough that it didn’t feel like a cage.

And somewhere along the way, Kei noticed something else.

Maki never came anymore.

Not once.
Not “just dropping by.”
Not even a late-night visit like before.

One evening, they were sitting on the floor, controllers in hand, the game paused mid-level. The room was quiet except for the hum of the console. Kei spoke like it was nothing, like he was asking about the weather.

“Maki hasn’t visited in a while.”

Taki froze.

Just for a second but Kei saw it. The way his fingers tightened around the controller. The way his shoulders stiffened before he forced himself to relax. Then Taki looked at him and smiled, too quick, too practiced.

“He’s busy,” Taki said lightly. “College, boyfriend, city life. You know how it is.”

Kei nodded as if he accepted that.
But he didn’t unpause the game.

Instead, he studied Taki’s face—the smile that didn’t reach his eyes, the way his gaze kept slipping away, like he was afraid of saying the wrong thing if he looked too long.

“Yeah,” Kei said quietly. “I guess people get busy.”

Taki laughed, a soft sound that felt hollow even to himself. He pressed the button to resume the game, focusing too hard, like if he stopped moving even for a second, something inside him would spill out.

Kei didn’t push.

But that unease stayed with him, heavy and unmistakable.

Because people didn’t disappear like that without a reason.

And Taki didn’t look like someone who had simply been left behind.

He looked like someone who had been abandoned and was trying very hard to pretend it didn’t hurt.

Maki’s perfect world with Harua started to feel shaky one morning. He was lying in bed, half-awake, while Harua was in the shower. Harua’s phone sat on the bed and then it rang.
The name flashing on the screen made Maki freeze: Jojo.

He didn’t want to pry but then the call cut, and a string of messages appeared:

"Rua, are you coming today? I will wait for you"

Maki’s chest tightened. Who… who is this Jojo?

Just then, Harua stepped out of the shower, hair damp, acting completely normal. For a brief second, Maki thought he saw a flicker of tension cross Harua’s face when he noticed the phone but it vanished immediately. He sat down beside Maki and poked his chest. “Why are you still lying down?”

“I feel lazy,” Maki muttered, trying to act casual.

Harua chuckled and wrapped his arms around him. “Oh my big lazy puppy,” he said warmly, nuzzling close.

Maki’s stomach twisted. He wanted to ask about Jojo, to understand but he couldn’t because he had his own secret, his own betrayal that Harua didn’t know about. So he stayed quiet, letting Harua hold him, even as unease coiled tight in his chest.

Maki’s heart sank. He had tried to push down the unease, to ignore the nagging feeling that something was off but now it hit him full force.

Harua had said he had plans today.

“Plans?” Maki asked, trying to sound normal.

“I’m going to my aunt’s house,” Harua replied with a shrug, smiling lightly.

Maki hesitated, telling himself he shouldn’t but he followed anyway.

And there they were. Harua, standing outside, laughing and moving with a boy Maki instantly recognized: Jo. The same Jo who had caused that fight between them long ago, the one Maki had caught Harua cuddling on the couch.

Harua’s smile was bright, innocent, filled with joy as Jo leaned in and kissed his cheek.

Friends, huh? Maki thought bitterly, the word tasting like ash in his mouth. He felt his chest tighten, the memory of every laugh, every touch between him and Harua, now colliding with the sight in front of him. The world he had tried to hold together with Harua suddenly felt fragile, cracking at the edges.

Maki turned away, his hands clenching, heart thundering. Was this what he wanted? Was this why he’d stayed, hoping, pretending?

Everything he had built with Harua—the comfort, the warmth, the sense of being loved felt suddenly precarious.

And in that moment, Maki realized just how much he had already lost.He sank onto the curb, his hands gripping his knees. The world felt impossibly heavy.

He had nowhere to go. Taki… Taki had told him to leave, never come back. The warmth he had clung to, the one person who had always let him in without question, had shut the door on him.

And now… Harua, who had filled his days with laughter and comfort, who had made him feel wanted, was gone too.

He rested his head on his arms, biting back a sob. His chest ached, a hollow emptiness spreading with every heartbeat. He had loved, he had trusted, and now it felt like the ground had been pulled from under him.

The city lights blurred around him, a cold haze of neon against the dark night. He had no one. No home in anyone’s arms, no shoulder to rest on, no familiar laughter to hear.

And yet, in the deepest part of him, a small, stubborn ember of hope refused to die—hope that maybe… just maybe… Taki would come back.

But for now, Maki was alone. Completely, achingly alone.

Maki trudged home, shivering from the cold, his stomach knotting with hunger. Each step felt heavier than the last but he had no choice—nowhere else to go.

The apartment felt empty, silent, except for the faint hum of the city outside his window. He curled up under a blanket, too drained to even think clearly, too tired to cry.

When Harua finally returned late that night, the usual brightness in his eyes was still there, like nothing had changed. He wrapped Maki in his arms, kissed him softly, murmuring things like “I missed you” and “don’t worry.”

Maki let it happen. His body relaxed under Harua’s touch but his mind was elsewhere—tangled with Taki, with Jo, with everything he had tried and failed to untangle. He didn’t have the energy to ask, to confront, to demand explanations anymore.

So he let it go,for now. Let Harua hold him. Let the world blur around him. He closed his eyes, numb, lonely, and quietly aching inside, holding onto what little comfort he could.

Taki wandered through the gallery, half-listening to his friend explaining the paintings, the colors and shapes blurring together. He didn’t really understand it,he never did but he liked the quiet, the space to think.

Then he saw him. Harua. Standing there, smiling, holding someone else’s hand. A pang shot through Taki’s chest, sharp and sudden. His first instinct was to look away, to pretend he didn’t see but he couldn’t. Their eyes met for a brief, electric moment.

Harua’s expression flickered—pleading, almost desperate. “Don’t tell Maki,” his eyes seemed to say.

Taki stayed quiet. Why would I? he thought, though the question itself echoed in his mind. He understood, in a sudden, crushing way, why Maki came to him that night—why he cried, why he clung to him, why he kissed him like it was the only lifeline left.

He wanted to ask Harua everything,Why are you hurting him? Why won’t you let him go? but the words stuck in his throat. He didn’t know that Maki had been the one holding the strings of this delicate, painful balance all along, trying to make sense of love, loyalty, and longing.

So Taki stayed silent, a quiet observer to the chaos of someone else’s heart, feeling both the weight of what had been and the ache of what might never be.

Maki hesitated for a moment, staring at his phone before finally dialing Kei.

When Kei picked up, he greeted him like he always did, warm and easy.

“Hey Maki, how’s it going?” Kei’s voice carried the usual care but Maki could feel the distance his own words had created over the past weeks.

“Yeah… uh, I’m fine,” Maki replied, forcing the casual tone. He laughed lightly, trying to cover the tightness in his chest. “Hmm… how’s Taki doing?”

There was a pause on the other end.

Kei’s fingers tightened around his coffee mug. “He… he’s not great, Maki. He’s trying, but I think he’s hurting more than he shows.”

Maki swallowed hard, a lump forming in his throat. “Yeah…” His voice cracked just slightly and Kei noticed it immediately. There was more behind that “yeah” than Maki was letting on—more pain, more confusion, more broken pieces of a heart he didn’t know how to put back together.

Kei’s brow furrowed. “Maki… listen. I think… it’s worse than you think. Taki… he’s not just having a rough time. He’s…” He let the words hang, careful not to push too hard but Maki heard everything anyway.

Maki stayed silent for a long moment, staring at the ceiling, the weight of the conversation settling over him. He realized, painfully, that the distance, the lies, the fights, the love tangled with regret—it wasn’t just a misunderstanding anymore. It was a fracture running deeper than he had imagined.

He lay there, staring at Harua’s serene face. The soft rise and fall of his chest felt like a cruel reminder—how could he sleep so peacefully, so untroubled, when everything between them was broken? Didn’t he feel any guilt at all?

Maki’s hand moved carefully, removing Harua’s from draping over him, as if even that touch carried too much weight.

I have to talk to him, Maki thought, a knot of anxiety tightening in his chest.

But exhaustion pulled at him and when he finally closed his eyes, the world shifted.

In his dream, it wasn’t Harua’s warmth he felt—it was Taki. Taki’s familiar presence, the quiet way he had once held him, the intensity in his eyes, the safety that came without words. Maki’s heart thudded painfully, missing the comfort he had lost, the honesty he had pushed away.

Why does it always come back to him?

Maki murmured in the dream, reaching for Taki, only to have the space between them stretch impossibly wide. He woke with a start, tangled in the sheets, Harua still sleeping beside him, the weight of his guilt and longing pressing on his chest.

Maki knew he couldn’t avoid it any longer. He needed to face the truth he had buried—the truth about Taki, about Harua and about the impossible tangle of his own heart.

Taki was running late for his class, nearly missing the train, when a hand grabbed his and pulled him inside just in time. The doors slid shut behind them and the warmth of a familiar presence pressed against him.

Maki held him steady, his eyes flicking down at Taki. How perfectly he fits… Maki thought, his chest tightening.

Quietly, he said, “Don’t jump on trains like that.”

Taki stepped back slightly, brows furrowed. “You pulled me on the train.”

Maki looked away, jaw tight. “You… would’ve missed it if I didn’t.”

Taki blinked, a small, incredulous smile tugging at his lips. “So what if I missed? Why do you care?”

Maki’s throat tightened, words stuck. He couldn’t answer. All he did was hold Taki’s hand a little firmer, letting the silence between them carry everything he couldn’t say.

The train was packed, bodies pressed close, every jolt and sway forcing Taki and Maki into unavoidable proximity.

The air was thick and warm, mingled with the scent of commuters and a faint hint of Maki’s shampoo.

Taki tried to focus on the handrails above but Maki’s shoulder brushed his, his fingers nearly grazing Taki’s side when the train lurched. Heat pooled in Taki’s chest, a strange mix of irritation, longing and something he refused to name.

Maki’s eyes flicked up, meeting Taki’s for a fraction of a second before darting away. His chest rose and fell unevenly, and Taki noticed the way he leaned ever so slightly closer, as if drawn despite himself.

“I said… I can handle myself,” Taki muttered under his breath, voice tight, moving slightly to create space.

Maki’s lips parted, probably to argue, but the words didn’t come. Instead, his hand hovered, indecisive, so close to brushing Taki’s again before he slowly let it fall.

Taki’s heart thudded and for a moment he wondered why it hurt so much to move Maki’s hand away. It wasn’t just the contact… it was everything it represented. Every memory, every stolen laugh, every late-night fight and embrace.

The train jolted again, forcing them to stumble slightly. Taki caught Maki’s arm instinctively and their eyes locked. Neither spoke, but the tension was electric. The space between them was small, suffocating, and loaded with unspoken words.

Maki’s chest pressed subtly against Taki’s side, and he swallowed hard. He wanted to say something, but fear and guilt clamped his tongue. Taki’s own heart ached in response, the longing for Maki and the fear of hurting him twisting together in a storm he couldn’t contain.

And as the train rattled toward the next station, both boys stood frozen, trapped in the crush of bodies, the heat, and the weight of everything they hadn’t said.

The train screeched into the next station, forcing everyone to push toward the doors. Maki kept a protective hold on Taki until the moment they stepped out.

Just as they reached the platform, a boy waved at Taki. Without a second thought, Taki broke away from Maki and ran toward him, grabbing his hands eagerly.

Maki’s chest tightened. Taki didn’t look back. He didn’t even glance at Maki as he laughed with the boy, completely absorbed.

Maki stood frozen for a moment, staring at him, a quiet ache building in his chest.

After leaving the station, the boy tilted his head, a teasing smile on his face.

“Why are you acting so weird, holding my hand like that?”

Taki blinked, then said quietly, “Sorry… it was necessary.”

Maki’s hands itched to reach for him, but he didn’t. All he could do was watch Taki walk away, his heart twisting with a mix of longing and frustration.

He stood on the platform long after Taki had disappeared into the crowd. His chest felt heavy, like it was being squeezed from all sides. Why did he have to run to him like that? Why did he hold that other boy’s hand… and not even look at me?

A bitter laugh escaped him, though it sounded hollow even to his own ears. He had told himself he had moved on, that Harua was enough, that Taki was just… Taki. But seeing him like that—so free, so unguarded, so close to someone else—tore through every carefully built wall he’d constructed.

He couldn’t shake the image from his mind: Taki’s hands in another’s, his laughter echoing, his smile not meant for him. A heat of jealousy burned low in his chest, confusing him, twisting with the dull ache of missing him.

Maki pressed his palms to his face, trying to swallow the lump in his throat. He hated that Taki had this power over him, hated that he still cared so much. But most of all… he hated that he couldn’t make himself let go.

Maki let him go and walked to meet Harua, still feeling the sting of jealousy and confusion clawing at his chest. He hadn’t gathered the courage to confront him properly but he couldn’t stay silent either.

The moment Harua saw him, he intertwined their hands, his body pressing close. “Why are you late today, boyfie?” he asked, voice light, teasing.

Maki took a deep breath, his fingers tightening slightly around Harua’s. “Do you… have something to tell me?” he asked quietly, though the tension in his chest made the words sharp.

Harua froze for a moment, then asked cautiously, “What do you mean?”

Maki let out a weak laugh but there was no humor in it. “You’re really good at acting, Harua. How did you think I wouldn’t notice anything?”

Harua’s eyes narrowed. “Maki, what are you talking about?”

Maki’s voice grew firmer. “Seriously. Tell me what’s going on before I… before I lose myself.”

Harua stepped back, his voice rising. “Are you giving me threats now?”

Maki shook his head, taking another deep breath. “No. I’m asking you nicely. I just… I can’t pretend I don’t know.”

There was a long pause. The weight of unspoken truths hung between them, thick and suffocating, as Maki’s chest heaved with a mix of fear, hurt, and longing.His jaw tightened. He grabbed Harua’s hand and said quietly, but firmly, “Let’s go back home. We need to talk.”

Harua blinked, caught off guard. “Wait...what do you mean? We’re already—”

Maki didn’t wait for him to finish. He dragged him across the streets, their hands intertwined, the city lights blurring around them. Harua stumbled once but Maki held him steady, his grip firm, unyielding.

The moment they shut the door behind them, Maki turned sharply, his expression unreadable. “Now,” he said, voice low and dangerous.

Harua ran a hand through his hair, clearly flustered. “Look, Maki… I can explain. It’s not what you think. Jo,he’s just a friend. I didn’t—this isn’t...”

Maki cut him off, stepping closer, eyes narrowing. “Just a friend? Is that what you call hiding things from me? Lying about where you were? Letting him kiss you on the cheek?”

Harua opened his mouth again, stammering, “I… I didn’t mean for it to happen. I didn’t want to hurt you. I just… we were messing around, it wasn’t—”

Maki shook his head, voice sharp, trembling with suppressed anger. “Messing around? Is that how you justify sneaking behind my back? Is that how you excuse keeping secrets?”

Harua’s face fell. “I didn’t know how to tell you. You’d get mad,I thought it was better if I just—”

Maki let out a bitter laugh, cutting through the tension like a knife.

“Better? Better for who, Harua? You? Him? What about me? Do I count for anything in your version of ‘better’?”

Harua swallowed hard. “I… I thought I was protecting you. I just… I didn’t want you to feel suffocated—”

Maki’s eyes burned. “Suffocated? That’s rich. You don’t get to call me suffocating when you’ve been breathing someone else into your life behind my back!”

There was a heavy silence. The city noises outside seemed distant, swallowed by the weight of their words.

“I loved you,” Maki finally whispered, voice cracking. “And I stayed. I adjusted. I forgave. And you… you made me feel like I was the problem.”

Harua’s lips quivered, but he didn’t answer.

Maki shook his head slowly, stepping back. “You’re not going to talk, are you? Fine. We’ll see how far your justifications get.”

His eyes narrowed, voice low and steady. “If you’re really innocent… if I’m overreacting… then call Jo and tell him to come here. I’ll ask him myself. Let’s see what’s really going on.”

Harua’s face went pale. His hands trembled as he ran them through his hair. “No… you can’t,” he said, almost whispering. “He doesn’t know anything… he doesn’t know about you.”

Maki took a step closer, his tone sharper, cutting through Harua’s hesitation. “So that’s it, huh? You’re protecting him instead of me? Even after everything, you hide the truth?”

Harua flinched, guilt written all over his face. “I… I love you, Maki. I do! But I messed up. I didn’t know how to tell you.”

Maki let out a bitter laugh, his hands shaking. “Love me? You hide things, lie to me, let him kiss you, and you call it love?”

Harua’s lips quivered. “I… I thought I could fix it before it broke everything. I didn’t want to lose you…”

Maki’s chest heaved as the weight of his own hurt pressed down on him.

“You’ve already broken me, Harua. Every secret, every lie—it’s all piled up. I don’t even know who I’m supposed to trust anymore.”

Harua took a step forward, desperate.

“Maki… please… just listen. I never wanted to hurt you. I swear. I just… I was scared.”

Maki shook his head slowly, voice trembling. “Scared… scared of what? Losing me? Losing him? Or just losing yourself?”

The room fell silent except for their ragged breaths, the tension so thick it felt like it could crush them both.

Maki snatched Harua’s phone from his hands and unlocked it. His lips curled into a bitter laugh as he saw the passcode: the date they confessed to each other.

Without hesitation, he tapped Jo’s number. The call rang, and Jo answered, startled. “Maki? Is everything okay?”

Maki’s voice was sharp, controlled, but laced with hurt. “Come over,Now. If you don’t want to get hurt later.”

Harua’s face went pale, panic flashing in his eyes. “Please… Maki, don’t do this…”

But Maki didn’t listen. He ended the call and waited, the apartment heavy with silence. Moments later, Jo arrived, confused but wary.

Maki wasted no time. “I want the truth. All of it.”

Jo blinked, taken aback. “Truth? What do you mean?”

Maki slammed the phone onto the table, voice shaking with anger. “Stop protecting him! Stop hiding things! I know what’s been happening!”

Jo hesitated, then sighed. “Harua… he told me you were just his friend. That’s all I knew.”

Harua’s hands flew to his face, shame and fear twisting his expression. “Maki… I didn’t want you to know… I didn’t want to hurt you…”

Maki’s laugh was cold, hollow. “Friend? You called me friend? Then what about the confessions,the promises?”

Jo glanced between them, uncertain. “Harua… why didn’t you just tell him?”

Harua sank to the floor, voice breaking. “I was scared… scared of losing him… scared I’d lose both of you…”

Maki’s chest ached as everything crashed down—the betrayal, the heartbreak, the impossibility of trusting again. Yet through it all, his mind kept returning to Taki, to the safety and warmth he’d felt with him.

He told Harua to stop. To stop talking, to stop explaining, to stop twisting things into something they weren’t.

“Why did you do all of this?” Maki asked, his voice quiet but sharp. “If you liked someone else, you could’ve just told me. I would’ve understood.”

Harua shook his head desperately. “It’s not like that,Maki, you’re misunderstanding, I just—”

“You are lying,” Maki cut in. “Again and again.”

Harua kept trying to justify himself, words tumbling over each other, excuses piling up until none of them made sense anymore.

Jo stood there awkwardly, trapped between them, the same thought looping in his head over and over—he told me Maki was just his best friend.

The air felt suffocating.

Suddenly, Maki lifted his hand, anger and heartbreak crashing together in his chest.

Jo reacted instantly, grabbing his wrist.

His grip was firm. “Don’t.”

Maki froze. He looked at Jo’s hand around his wrist, then at Harua—kneeling, crying, still trying to speak and something inside him finally went quiet.

He pulled his hand back slowly.

“I’m sorry, Harua,” Maki said, his voice breaking for the first time. “I really tried. I tried so hard to love you.”

Harua looked up at him, eyes wide.

“But it wasn’t enough,” Maki finished.

He didn’t wait for a reply. He turned, walked to the door and left the house without looking back.

The door shut softly behind him but the sound echoed like something ending for good.Maki wandered through the city without a destination. Neon lights bled into the wet pavement, crowds brushed past him but none of it registered. His body moved on instinct, his mind trapped somewhere far behind.

Every street reminded him of Harua.

The café where they used to sit for hours, sharing one drink because Harua said it tasted better that way.

The small bookstore where Harua tugged his sleeve, excited over covers he never ended up buying.

The bus stop where Harua used to wait, arms crossed, pretending not to look relieved when Maki arrived.

He remembered Harua’s laugh, the way he clung to him in crowds, the way he said boyfie like it was the safest word in the world.

I really tried, Maki thought.

Then Taki’s face slipped into his thoughts—uninvited, relentless.

He remembered turning away from him on purpose. Shorter replies. Missed calls. Choosing Harua’s hand every time, even when Taki stood right there.

He told himself it was the right thing to do.He didn’t want to hurt Harua. He didn’t want to be that kind of person.So he buried everything else.

He buried the way Taki fit against him like muscle memory. The way his name felt heavier in his chest than it should.

The night he ran from Taki and never looked back because staying would have destroyed everything he had built with Harua.

Or so he thought.

Maki stopped at a crosswalk, the red light glowing above him. For a moment, he couldn’t breathe.

I left Taki behind, he realized. And I still lost Harua anyway.

The light turned green. People moved. Maki didn’t.

For the first time, there was no one to choose. No one to protect. No excuse to hide behind.

Just the city, stretching endlessly around him and the weight of every choice he had made pressing down on his chest.

Taki lay awake, staring at the ceiling, the city humming faintly beyond the window. Sleep wouldn’t come. It never did when Maki crept back into his thoughts like this—quiet, unwanted, inevitable.

He hadn’t wanted to see him again. He had told himself that. He had meant it.

And yet—there he was, on that crowded train, as if the universe had dragged Maki back into his life with cruel precision.

Taste of destiny, Taki thought bitterly.

He remembered how it happened so fast. One second he was running, breath uneven, the next—someone’s hand wrapped around his wrist, firm and warm, pulling him inside just before the doors shut. He remembered the jolt in his chest before his mind even caught up.

Maki.

The way Maki stood behind him because there was no space. The way his arm came around him, not possessive, not deliberate—just instinctive. Protective. As if his body still remembered what to do with Taki even when his heart pretended it didn’t.

There were so many people. Pressing, shifting, loud.

And still,Taki had wanted to close the distance.

He hated himself for that part the most.

He remembered how his back had settled against Maki’s chest, how the warmth seeped through layers of fabric, how his breathing had slowed without permission. For a moment, it felt safe. Familiar. Like nothing had ever broken between them.

As if I hadn’t told him to go away, Taki thought. As if he hadn’t listened.

His thoughts drifted further back, to that night.

Maki at his door, eyes stormy, voice trembling despite how hard he tried to keep it steady. Saying he had fought with Harua. Saying it like it hurt more than he wanted to admit. Saying it like he didn’t know where else to go.

And then,Harua.

Taki’s jaw tightened as the memory surfaced uninvited. Harua standing in that gallery, hand held by someone else. The split second of fear that crossed his face when their eyes met.

The quiet plea that followed.
Don’t tell Maki.

At the time, Taki hadn’t understood everything.

Now he did.

Was Harua cheating on Maki?

Or worse,was Maki the only one still pretending they were okay?

Taki squeezed his eyes shut but Maki’s face still appeared. Not the boy he grew up with. Not the one who used to laugh without restraint, who used to look at the world like it was something waiting to be discovered.

This Maki had hollow eyes.

Eyes that looked tired even when he smiled. Eyes that searched rooms unconsciously, like he was always waiting for something to collapse. Eyes that had once shone brightest when they met Taki’s.

You’re hurting, Taki thought, his chest tightening. And you won’t even say it out loud.

The train memory replayed again—the crowd, the closeness, the ache.

Maybe it was destiny.

Or maybe destiny was just cruel, dragging people back together not to heal them but to remind them of everything they had lost.

Taki turned onto his side, pressing a hand against his chest.

“I didn’t want to see you anymore,” he whispered to the empty room.

But his heart, traitorous and honest, answered back,
And yet you still wanted him close.

Maki didn’t even realize where his feet had carried him.

The city blurred past him—neon lights, empty streets, the distant hum of traffic but none of it registered. It was late, the kind of late where the world felt hollow and unforgiving.

Cold seeped through his clothes, biting into his skin and his legs ached with every step. Still, that pain was nothing compared to the heaviness crushing his chest, each breath sharp and uneven.

Only when he stopped did he finally look up.

Taki’s apartment.

The sight of it made his heart stutter.

He stood there, frozen, breath fogging in the night air, as if moving even an inch closer would shatter what little control he had left. He hadn’t planned this. Hadn’t decided anything. His body had just… remembered. Chosen the one place that once felt like home.

His hands trembled as he shoved them into his pockets. Shoulders slumped, eyes tired, he wondered what he was even doing here. He had no right. Not after everything. Not when he’d walked away, convinced that leaving was the kinder thing.

Yet his feet refused to turn back.

Because when everything else fell apart—when love failed, when trust cracked—this was where his heart had come looking for warmth.

And standing there, cold and broken, Maki realized the truth he’d been running from all night.

No matter how far he wandered, he always ended up here.

Taki rolled across the bed, restless, sleep nowhere near him. The room felt too quiet, too empty, his thoughts looping back to places he didn’t want to visit. With a quiet sigh, he sat up, grabbed a jacket and slipped out for a walk, hoping the cold air would clear his head.

That’s when he saw it.

A familiar silhouette under the dim streetlight—broad shoulders, a tired slump, steps dragging forward as if each one cost too much. Taki stopped mid-step, his breath catching.

Maki.

For a second, Taki could only stare, stunned, unsure if his mind was playing tricks on him. But the figure kept walking away, and panic surged through him.

“Maki!” he called out.

Maki turned.

Their eyes met, and whatever strength Maki had left seemed to vanish in that instant. His knees buckled, his body finally giving up after holding on for far too long.

Taki didn’t think. He ran.

He reached him just in time, arms wrapping around Maki’s waist, pulling him close before he could hit the ground. Maki sagged against him, heavy and cold, breath uneven.

“I’ve got you,” Taki whispered, holding on as if letting go would make him disappear.He guided him up the stairs slowly, one step at a time, keeping his pace gentle so Maki wouldn’t stumble.

The stairwell was quiet, lights dim, their footsteps echoing softly. Maki leaned into him without realizing it, trusting Taki’s steady presence to keep him upright.

Inside the apartment, Taki helped him sit on the couch. He disappeared for a moment and came back with a thick blanket, draping it around Maki’s shoulders and tucking it in carefully, like he was afraid Maki might slip away if he let go too soon.

“Wait here,” Taki said softly.

The kettle clicked in the small kitchen. Taki brewed tea, the faint herbal scent filling the room. When he returned, he held the cup with both hands, making sure it wasn’t too hot before placing it into Maki’s trembling fingers.

Maki wrapped his hands around it and took slow, careful sips. The warmth spread through him—down his chest, into his limbs but he wasn’t sure if it was the tea doing that or the way Taki kept watching him, quietly, like he mattered.

“I missed you, Taki,” Maki said, barely above a whisper.

Taki froze for half a second. His eyes burned, but he forced a small smile and looked away. “Come on,” he said gently, voice rough. “You need to sleep.”

Maki nodded, but instead of lying down, he shifted closer. Taki sighed softly and pulled the blanket over both of them. They sat shoulder to shoulder, the space between them disappearing.

Taki hesitated—just a breath, just a heartbeat—then wrapped his arms around Maki and pulled him in. Maki melted against his chest immediately, like he’d been waiting for permission.

“I’m sorry,” Taki murmured into his hair. “I didn’t understand you back then.”

Maki closed his eyes, clutching Taki’s sleeve, finally letting himself rest.And for the first time in a long while, neither of them felt alone.

Maki woke with a sharp ache in his temples, his skin burning as if he’d been left under the sun for too long. His throat was dry, limbs heavy, every breath exhausting. He shifted slightly and winced.

The door opened softly.

Taki walked in with a bowl of water and a neatly folded wet cloth. “You caught a fever,” he said, voice calm as he sat beside the bed.

He dipped the cloth, wrung it out, and gently pressed it to Maki’s forehead.

The coolness made Maki sigh despite himself. He stared up at Taki, really looked at him. Same familiar face, same careful hands. It felt strange—like nothing had happened, like they hadn’t avoided each other for days, like they hadn’t broken each other in quiet ways.

Maki opened his mouth, words trembling at the edge.

“You don’t need to thank me,” Taki said suddenly, not meeting his eyes. “I’m doing this because...”

He paused, breath caught, clearly unsure how to finish.

“Because I’m your best friend?” Maki asked softly.

Taki laughed, short and almost bitter, and shook his head. “Because of basic human decency.”

He stood up before Maki could say anything else.

The day passed slowly. Taki moved around the apartment with quiet purpose—bringing soup, helping Maki sit up, holding the bowl steady while he ate. He gave him medicine on time, cooled his skin with a wet sponge when the fever spiked, adjusted the blankets when Maki shivered.

Maki didn’t speak much. He just watched.

Watched the way Taki’s brows furrowed when he checked the thermometer.

Watched how his fingers lingered a second too long when handing him water.

Watched how he never once complained, never once mentioned the past.

And Taki,he didn’t say a word either.

But the silence between them wasn’t empty. It was heavy with everything unsaid: regret, longing, things broken and things still breathing underneath.

By evening, as the fever slowly eased, Maki closed his eyes again—comforted not by words but by the steady presence that refused to leave his side.He realized—quietly, painfully that this was what he had wanted all along. Not promises. Not explanations. Just someone who stayed. Someone who took care of him without asking for anything in return.

Taki sat beside him, back against the bedframe, eyes lowered. The room was dim, wrapped in the soft hum of the night.

“Do you want to know?” Maki asked, voice barely above a whisper.

Taki let out a slow sigh. “Yes,” he said honestly. “If and only if you want to tell.”

Maki took a deep breath. His chest felt tight but lighter too, as if saying it might finally loosen something that had been knotted for years.

He told him everything.

About their school days. That careless, confusing kiss. How Maki had realized he liked Taki far more than he should’ve and how he convinced himself it was one-sided. How he buried those feelings so deep he almost forgot they existed.

He told him about Harua. How he thought Harua was everything he ever needed. How he tried to love him properly, desperately because he didn’t want to hurt anyone again. And how it all fell apart—lies, hiding, betrayal.

He told him about wandering the streets, numb and freezing, and how his feet had brought him here without him even realizing it.

Taki listened without interrupting. No judgment. No excuses. Just quiet understanding settling in his eyes. He realized then that he wasn’t alone in his confusion, in his pain—that Maki had been just as lost as he was.

“I’m sorry,” Taki said softly, mostly to himself. “You didn’t deserve that.”

Maki’s fingers brushed against his hand, hesitant, almost unsure. Taki looked down and this time, he didn’t pull away. He turned his hand, lacing their fingers together.

“I didn’t have anywhere else to go,” Maki admitted.

He leaned into Taki’s shoulder, exhaustion finally winning. After a brief pause, Taki leaned into him too, their hair brushing, breaths slowly syncing.

“Then stay with me,” Taki said quietly.

And for the first time in a long while, Maki felt like he could.They stayed like that for a long time, the silence wrapping around them gently. No words were needed.

Taki’s gaze dropped to their intertwined hands, the way their fingers fit together so naturally it almost hurt to look at.

“I thought I was stupid,” Taki said softly, voice trembling just a little. “For still loving you. For waiting… thinking maybe someday you’d come back to me.” He swallowed. “Now that you’re here, I’m glad you still chose me, Maki.”

Maki looked at him, eyes shining. He lifted his hand and wiped Taki’s tears with his thumb, careful and tender. “I chose you from the first day we met,” he said. “Remember? You were sitting alone in the corner of our kindergarten class. I went up to you and told you to sit with me.”

Taki smiled, a real one this time.

“Yeah,” he whispered. “I remember.”

“I’m sorry I was late,” Maki continued. “Sorry I hurt you.”

Taki leaned closer until their foreheads touched, their breaths mingling. “We got hurt because of ourselves,” he said gently. “No one else is to blame. And no matter how long it took, I would’ve waited.”

Maki let out a small laugh. “What if I came back when you were seventy?”

Taki laughed too, eyes crinkling. “Then even if I died, I’d tell someone to pass you a letter saying I waited.”

Maki cupped his face, thumb brushing over his cheek with aching softness. “I love you, Taki. More than you think.”

Taki brushed their noses together, smiling through the tears. “I love you too.”

He looked at Maki one more time, like he was memorizing him then leaned in and kissed him. Maki responded instantly.

The kiss was soft. Slow. Full of warmth and certainty—nothing like the messy, desperate kisses of the past. Their mouths moved together in quiet rhythm, unhurried, as if they finally had all the time in the world. They pulled back just enough to smile at each other, then kissed again.

Maki gently guided Taki back onto the bed, never breaking contact. Taki’s arms wrapped around him, holding him close. Each kiss felt like a promise,unspoken but unbreakable–that this time, they would stay.

That they would choose each other.

Again and again.