Chapter Text
Three months later, Japan felt both unchanged and entirely new.
The days were full again—sometimes too full. Riku spent most mornings and afternoons at the training center, immersed in drills, strategy meetings, and weight sessions. The league was underway, and every match carried with it the pressure of expectation. Yet, no matter how exhausted he came home, his eyes still sought out Daeyoung the moment he stepped through the door, as if he couldn’t breathe fully until he saw him.
Daeyoung’s schedule was different. His days were scattered between auditions, script readings, and small rehearsals for side roles he had chosen carefully. Gone were the leading man schedules that swallowed every hour of his life. Now, he wanted balance, room to breathe, not just for himself, but for Riku too. They’d promised each other they wouldn’t slip back into the same mistakes, and Daeyoung intended to keep that promise.
And in the middle of it all, their home had grown.
Bean.
A tiny black kitten with round golden eyes, boundless energy, and a penchant for climbing anything within reach. From the moment Riku had picked her up at the shelter and she’d nestled into the curve of his neck, it was as though she’d decided she belonged with them. Jelly, of course, had been less convinced at first, but in time, she grew tolerant, letting Bean curl up against her during afternoon naps, even sharing her favorite blanket on cold nights.
Riku had been insufferably proud of himself for naming her.
“Jelly and Bean,” he had declared with a grin, scratching Jelly’s ears with one hand while Bean gnawed playfully on his finger. “Together, they’re Jelly Bean. Clever, right?”
Daeyoung had groaned then, covering his face with his palm. But in truth, the name had fit, and now he couldn’t imagine calling her anything else. Sometimes, when both pets padded into the kitchen side by side—Jelly steady and slow, Bean bouncing in her kitten clumsiness—it felt like the house itself was smiling.
Life wasn’t without its bumps. Riku came home some nights with sore muscles and bruises, flopping face-first onto the couch while Daeyoung gently worked ointment into his shoulders. Daeyoung himself had days when rejections weighed heavily, when he doubted whether his choice to scale back his career had been the right one. But those worries never lingered long. Not when Riku leaned against him and whispered, “I’m proud of you.” Not when Daeyoung brewed tea at midnight so they could talk quietly about nothing at all.
They were learning that love wasn’t about perfection. It was about choosing each other, every day, in all the little ways.
And though Yumi wasn’t there with them, she lingered in their lives like a soft echo.
Her drawings still hung on the fridge—one of a crooked cat, another of the three of them together, stick figures holding hands. Sometimes, Daeyoung caught Riku looking at them for longer than necessary, his lips curving into a bittersweet smile. They hadn’t seen her since the adoption, but the center occasionally sent updates: photos of Yumi holding her new parents’ hands, her cheeks round with laughter, her black cat plush still tucked under her arm.
Each update was a mixture of ache and relief.
They missed her, of course. But every photo made it clear that she was thriving. She was happy. And that was all they had ever wanted for her.
One evening, Daeyoung sat curled on the couch with Bean asleep on his chest and Jelly stretched along his legs, her tail flicking lazily. He was half-drifting when the door opened, and Riku stepped in, hair damp from practice, bag slung over his shoulder. He froze in the doorway, smiling at the sight in front of him, his husband surrounded by the small, simple chaos of home.
“Welcome back,” Daeyoung murmured, his voice low with sleep.
Riku dropped his bag, crossed the room in three strides, and bent to kiss him. It was gentle at first, then lingering, until Bean meowed indignantly at being squished between them and Jelly let out a sigh like the oldest, wisest being in the room.
Daeyoung laughed into the kiss, his heart full.
This was their life now. It was not perfect, not always easy, but it was theirs. A life stitched together by volleyball matches and auditions, late-night tea and early-morning walks, paw prints on the floor and two pets with names that made strangers laugh.
A life where love wasn’t a grand gesture but the quiet certainty that no matter what came next, they would face it side by side.
As Riku pulled back and pressed his forehead against Daeyoung’s, whispering something soft only he could hear, Daeyoung thought of Yumi,her bright eyes, her laughter, her black cat plush—and felt no bitterness, only gratitude.
Because she had been part of their story. She had taught them something about love, about courage, about family.
And now, as Jelly snored softly at their feet and Bean purred against his chest, Daeyoung realized, they were still writing that story. Together.
Always together.
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The evening settled over them like a soft blanket, the city outside reduced to a low hum of distant traffic, the occasional bark of a dog, the faint buzz of a neon sign from the corner store down the street. Inside their apartment, it was warm, golden light spilling from the lamp in the corner, shadows stretching long across the floor.
Riku was stretched across the couch, his head pillowed in Daeyoung’s lap, damp strands of hair clinging to his forehead from his post-practice shower. His legs dangled off one side, socked feet tapping idly at the cushions, while his hand rested loosely against Daeyoung’s thigh, the contact casual but grounding. Jelly had taken her usual place at the end of the couch, curled into a perfect circle, while Bean perched on the armrest, tail flicking like she was guarding them both.
Daeyoung’s fingers threaded slowly through Riku’s hair, massaging his scalp in absent circles. He wasn’t even thinking about it anymore—it had become muscle memory, something his hands reached for instinctively whenever Riku was near. But tonight, with the soft glow of the lamp gilding Riku’s face, it felt heavier somehow, more intentional.
“You’re staring,” Riku murmured without opening his eyes, his lips curving faintly. His voice carried the rasp of exhaustion, the lingering weight of practice, but there was amusement in it too.
Daeyoung chuckled under his breath, the sound low and fond. “I’m allowed to stare. You’re my husband.”
That word always landed like a small spark between them, even after everything. Husband. Once, it had been nothing more than duty—two signatures on a page, two families appeased. Now it felt like the truest thing Daeyoung had ever said out loud.
Riku cracked one eye open, his expression softening, his hand lifting just enough to rest more firmly against Daeyoung’s leg. “I still can’t believe it sometimes,” he admitted quietly. “That we ended up here.”
Daeyoung’s fingers paused in his hair, his chest tightening at the honesty in the words. He thought of the long, tangled road that had brought them here—their arranged beginning, the silences that had once suffocated, the arguments sharp enough to wound, the time apart that had nearly broken them and then he thought of the slow rebuild. Their return, their reunion, the way every step forward now felt deliberate, chosen.
He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to Riku’s forehead, lingering there for a moment before whispering, “I’d go through all of it again. Every fight. Every mistake. Every mile that kept us apart. If it meant ending up here, like this. With you.”
Riku’s eyes fluttered open fully at that, shining in the golden light, his expression caught between vulnerability and certainty. Slowly, he lifted his hand to cup Daeyoung’s face, his thumb brushing lightly over his cheekbone in a touch so tender it made Daeyoung’s breath hitch. “Me too,” Riku said, his voice low. “No matter how hard it gets, no matter how much changes—I want it all, if it’s with you.”
Daeyoung turned his head slightly, pressing a kiss to Riku’s palm before leaning into the touch, eyes closing as if to let the words sink all the way in. For a moment, neither of them moved. The room held its breath with them, the world outside receding until all that remained was the warmth of Riku’s hand, the steady rise and fall of his chest, the comfort of knowing they had come through the storm still holding each other.
Finally, Riku shifted, pushing himself up just enough so their faces were level. Their lips met in a kiss that was deliberate, unhurried, a far cry from the desperate, aching reunions of before. This kiss was the kind that carried not just passion but promise. An oath sealed in the quiet of their living room, with Jelly’s soft snores and Bean’s gentle purring as witnesses.
When they parted, their foreheads rested together, breaths mingling. Daeyoung smiled then, the kind of smile that came not from joy alone but from peace, from belonging. His voice was barely above a whisper. “We’re home.”
Riku smiled back, his eyes wet but bright, his lips brushing softly against Daeyoung’s as he breathed, “We’re home.”
And as Jelly stretched with a sigh and Bean curled closer against Daeyoung’s arm, the home filled with a quiet warmth that felt like forever.
Daeyoung let his eyes close, remembering the man he had once written to in the quiet corners of his heart. That man had never known what storms they would weather, what distance would stretch between them, or what small, unexpected joys would knit their lives together.
However, sitting here now, with Riku’s hand in his, Daeyoung thought he finally knew the answer to what he had been searching for all along.
He pressed one last kiss against Riku’s temple, smiling into his skin.
“You were worth the wait,” he whispered, his voice low, almost a secret meant for no one else.
Riku shifted, his lips curving in that soft, sleepy smile Daeyoung had fallen for long ago. His fingers tightened around Daeyoung’s, anchoring them both. “And you,” he murmured back, eyes closed but voice steady, “were worth everything.”
The room was quiet but warm and for the first time in a long time, Daeyoung didn’t wonder about the future, didn’t worry about what came next.
Because he already had his answer, pressed close against him, always within reach.
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Dear Future Husband,
All I know is your name, Maeda Riku. I don’t know the sound of your laugh, or how you look when you wake up in the morning, or what kind of dreams you hold close to your chest. I don’t know the little things like what snacks you reach for when you’re tired, if you hum without realizing, if you prefer quiet or noise when you’re alone.
But what I do know is this: if fate has decided to place us together, then I want to learn you in every way I can. Not just in grand gestures, not just in the vows that will bind us, but in all the in-between spaces. Because love, in every little moment, is built not in declarations but in the laughter tucked into long walks, the comfort of silence, the brush of fingers when words feel too heavy.
I hope, someday, we find our rhythm. Not perfectly at first, nothing good ever begins that way, but slowly, carefully, until the uneven beats of two strangers sync into something steady like the rhythm of us.
And when the time comes, I want to share everything. Not just the easy things, but the difficult ones too. Your joy, your sorrow, your triumphs, your scars. I want to learn what it means to say, without hesitation, what’s yours is mine.
I am not naïve. I know this won’t always be easy. We will argue. We will misunderstand. There will be days when the distance between us feels like more than we can bear. But I also know that love is not proven in comfort, but in persistence. And if I am to walk beside you, then it will be for all of it, for the laughter and the tears, for the days of light and the nights of doubt. I will be there, for better or worse.
Maybe when I meet you, I will still be afraid. Maybe I won’t know how to let you in. But I hope you will be patient with me, and I promise I will try.
And when we finally arrive at the place where strangers become lovers, where vows become more than words, I hope I will be able to look at you, steady and certain, and sign my name to everything we’ve built together.
Sincerely yours,
Daeyoung