Archive of Our Own ^beta

It was New Year’s Eve, and winter lingered in the air like a quiet promise. Snowflakes tumbled lazily from the sky, blanketing the small town in a soft white coat. The wind blew, carrying with it the faint scent of pine and the crispness of the season. It was cold, biting against his exposed cheeks, but there was a warmth here that Tokyo could never replicate.

Riku stood outside the tiny train station, bundled in layers of a thick scarf and a dark coat. His gloved hands were tucked into his pockets, his breath fogging in the air with each exhale. The station hadn't changed much over the years—still the same small, sleepy place with wooden benches and a rickety clock above the ticket counter. The occasional sound of announcements crackled through the speaker system, barely audible over the muffled crunch of snow as townsfolk shuffled by, greeting one another warmly.

It had been Yushi’s idea to return to their hometown for New Year’s, and Riku hadn’t hesitated to agree. Despite both of them now living in Tokyo, the pull of this small, unassuming town felt like the call of an old friend. For Riku, it was a place steeped in memories, where the days had passed slowly and where every street corner seemed to hold echoes of their youth. For Yushi, it was an escape—a refuge from the relentless pace of a life spent in the spotlight.

Riku glanced at the soft golden glow of the streetlamp overhead, watching how the snow danced beneath it. The small-town streets were quiet, only interrupted by the occasional car passing slowly through the slush-covered roads. There was no rush here, no urgency. Everything moved at its own pace, and Riku welcomed the calm. It was such a stark contrast to the bustling chaos of Tokyo, where every second felt accounted for, measured, and spent.

The last time they’d been here together felt like a lifetime ago. Yushi’s career had since taken off, and visits to their hometown had grown infrequent. Riku’s own life as a kindergarten teacher in Tokyo was quieter, filled with laughter and crayons, but he’d missed the slower rhythm of this place. Most of all, he’d missed moments like these—waiting for Yushi, anticipating the easy warmth of his presence.

He reached into his pocket for his phone, pulling it out with slightly stiff fingers. The faint buzz of a notification greeted him just as he unlocked the screen.

"I'm coming out now."

The corners of his lips lifted almost instinctively as he read the message. For a moment, the cold didn’t feel so sharp anymore. His fingers danced across the screen as he typed a reply.

"I'm waiting right outside."

After hitting send, he slipped the phone back into his coat and looked up at the station doors. The faint hum of the heater inside was audible each time the door opened, letting out warm air and passengers in equal measure.

And then he saw him.

Yushi stepped out, bundled in a navy coat with a scarf wrapped loosely around his neck, the edges fluttering lightly in the winter breeze. Even beneath the layers, he carried himself with an effortless grace that seemed to draw every eye. His hair, slightly longer now, caught the faint glow of the station lights, while the soft snowfall around him gave the moment an almost ethereal quality, as though he’d stepped out of a dream.

But this wasn’t the Yushi the world knew—the idol adored by millions, the star gracing magazine covers and lighting up concert stages. This was his Yushi, the one who used to steal bites of Riku’s ice cream without asking, who hummed off-key as they strolled home from school, and who laughed too hard at his own bad jokes.

The same Yushi who had left their small town, moved to Tokyo, and took the world by storm. Yet, no matter how bright the spotlight on him became, he still texted Riku about the mundane and the silly, still shared secrets no one else would ever know.

It had been months since Riku last saw him—not since Yushi’s whirlwind concert tour began in the fall. The world had claimed him then, filling his days with flashing cameras, deafening crowds, and endless travel. Tokyo had always been fast-paced, but for Yushi, it had become a blur of stages and cities.

Now, though, on the cusp of the new year, Yushi was finally here. Back in their hometown. Back where it all began. And in this moment, he wasn’t a star shining for the world. He was just Yushi.

Riku’s breath hung in the air as he watched Yushi’s gaze sweep over the small gathering of people at the station. The moment their eyes met, Yushi’s face lit up, a smile breaking across his features. It started small, hesitant even, as though testing the waters after so much time apart. But with each step Yushi took toward him, it grew wider and warmer, until it was no longer the polished smile he reserved for cameras.

This was a smile that was real, one that reached his eyes and softened his entire face. It was a smile that said everything neither of them needed to say aloud. And in that moment, Riku could swear that the snow fell a little slower, the world softened just a little more.

“Welcome back,” Riku said, glancing over Yushi’s shoulder at the empty streets. “How was the ride?”

“Long.” Yushi laughed softly, brushing a stray lock of hair from his face. “But worth it. I missed this place.” His voice softened at the end, a quiet admission that seemed to hang in the air between them.

Riku nodded, his expression softening. “And it missed you.“

Yushi’s expression softened. “It’s strange. I used to think I’d outgrown this place. Now, I’m not so sure.” He hesitated, his breath fogging in the air. “I think I needed to see it again… to see you again.”

The confession wasn’t a surprise, not really. They’d always understood each other without needing to spell everything out. But hearing it aloud after months apart—months of hurried texts, late-night calls, and fleeting moments stolen between Yushi’s concert tour stops—made Riku’s heart ache in a way that was both comforting and bittersweet.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The snow fell softly around them, muffling the rest of the world.

“You look tired,” Riku said quietly, taking in the faint shadows beneath Yushi’s eyes. “You’ve been working too hard.”

Yushi exhaled, a puff of white mist in the air. “The tour was… a lot,” he admitted. “But it’s over now. I’m here.” He looked at Riku, his gaze steady. “And that’s all that matters.”

A small smile tugged at Riku’s lips. “Come on. Let’s get moving before you freeze to death.”

Yushi laughed softly as Riku reached for his small suitcase, taking it from him without protest. As they began walking side by side down the snowy street, Riku couldn’t help but glance at Yushi from the corner of his eye. The faint light of the streetlamps caught the edges of his features, and for a moment, it was as though nothing had changed. Yet, everything had. Yushi wasn’t just someone from his past—he was someone who had always been there, someone Riku couldn’t imagine his life without.

They fell into a comfortable silence, their breaths fogging in the cold air as they walked. Neither of them said much, but then again, they didn’t need to. The years had given them an understanding that didn’t rely on words.

The snow continued to fall, blanketing the town in quiet serenity, and as they walked toward the ramen shop at the edge of town, Riku realized something. Tokyo might have its lights and crowds, but this—walking side by side with Yushi, sharing quiet moments under the snowfall—this was home.

———

The ramen shop sat at the corner of a quiet street, its warm light spilling onto the snowy sidewalk. The sign above the door was weathered, the edges of the wooden lettering chipped with age, but the familiarity of it tugged at Riku’s chest. It had been years since they last came here, but nothing had changed—not the faint smell of broth wafting out as the door opened, nor the soft sound of jazz playing from an old speaker in the corner.

Yushi pushed the door open, and the little bell above jingled softly. The warmth inside immediately washed over them, a welcome contrast to the chill outside. Riku followed him in, brushing the snow from his coat and shaking it off his scarf.

“Riku? Yushi? Is that you two?”

The owner, a petite woman with a face lined by years but softened by her ever-present smile, peeked out from behind the counter. Her gray hair was tied in a neat bun, and her apron was dusted with flour and broth stains. Her eyes widened in recognition, and her smile grew even warmer.

“It is you two! Oh, look at you—grown up and handsome as ever! I didn’t think I’d see the two of you together in this old shop again.” She hurried over, her hands wiping on her apron as if preparing to greet them properly. “How long has it been? Must be… five years, no, maybe more?”

“Too long, Grandma Hana,” Riku replied, bowing slightly. “It’s good to see you again.”

Yushi offered a small bow as well, his lips curling into that charming, familiar smile that made him seem like no time had passed at all. “We missed your ramen,” he said, his voice light. “Nothing in Tokyo comes close.”

Grandma Hana laughed, waving her hand dismissively. “Tokyo ramen might be fancier, but it doesn’t have heart.” She tilted her head, her eyes narrowing as she looked them over. “You boys look good. But Yushi, you’re thinner than I remember. Is that city life wearing you down?”

Yushi let out a sheepish chuckle, scratching the back of his neck. “I’ve been busy, that’s all. But I’m here to eat as much as I can tonight.”

“Well, you came to the right place.” She gestured to a corner booth near the window, the same one they used to occupy all those years ago. “Go on, sit down. I’ll bring you something special.”

They murmured their thanks and made their way to the booth, slipping into the seats like they’d done countless times before. The corner was cozy, the window beside them slightly fogged up from the heat inside. Outside, the snow continued to fall, a quiet backdrop to the lively warmth of the shop.

Yushi leaned back and exhaled, his shoulders relaxing for the first time in what felt like forever. Riku studied him quietly, taking in the faint shadows under his eyes and the way his smile lingered even when he wasn’t speaking. This was Yushi, stripped of the world’s expectations—the Yushi that only Riku knew.

“Feels like nothing’s changed here.”

“Not much does,” Riku replied, his gaze drifting around the room. The same mismatched chairs, the faded menu board with its handwritten specials, even the soft hum of the heater in the background—it all felt frozen in time. “It’s nice, though. Familiar.”

Grandma Hana returned a few minutes later with two steaming bowls of ramen, setting them down with a flourish. “Extra pork and egg for you both—just like you used to order. And don’t even think about paying, it’s on the house.”

“Grandma Hana, you don’t have to—” Yushi began, but she cut him off with a sharp look.

“Nonsense. Seeing you two here again is payment enough. Now eat before it gets cold.”

She bustled away before they could protest further, leaving them to their meal. The smell was heavenly, the rich broth steaming in the cold air. Riku picked up his chopsticks, and Yushi followed suit, their movements almost synchronized.

“Do you remember,” Riku began, his voice light, “how you used to insist on adding way too much chili oil to your ramen? And then you’d sit there, sweating and complaining the whole time?”

Yushi let out a laugh, the sound warm and unrestrained. “Hey, I like my food spicy. But yeah, I remember. You always ended up eating half of it for me because I couldn’t handle it.”

“You haven’t changed,” Riku teased, his tone soft. “Still biting off more than you can chew.”

Yushi smirked, but his eyes held a quiet fondness. “And you’re still the one taking care of me.”

Riku reached across the table, grabbing a napkin. “Speaking of which…” He leaned in, gently wiping at the corner of Yushi’s mouth where a bit of sauce lingered. “You’re as messy as ever.”

Yushi froze for a moment, his eyes flickering to Riku’s face. The action was so natural, so familiar, that it didn’t require words. It was just Riku being Riku—steady, dependable, always there.

“Thanks,” Yushi murmured, his voice barely audible.

Riku set the napkin down and poured water into Yushi’s glass without a second thought. It was these small gestures, these quiet acts of care, that defined their relationship. To anyone watching, they might have seemed like lovers—a couple so in tune with each other that they barely needed to speak. But what they had went deeper than that.

They were each other’s safe space, their constant in a world that was always changing. Labels felt too limiting for something so expansive, so deeply rooted in years of shared history and understanding. They weren’t just friends, nor were they simply lovers. They were home to each other.

The meal passed in a comfortable haze of nostalgia and quiet conversation. They reminisced about their childhood, laughing over shared memories that seemed both distant and vivid. For a few hours, they weren’t idols and fans, or even stars and ordinary person. They were just two boys who’d grown up together, finding their way back to the home they once shared.

By the time they finished their meal, the shop had quieted, the other customers trickling out into the snowy night. Grandma Hana came by to chat briefly, her smile fond as she listened to their stories.

As they stepped out into the cold again, the snow falling gently around them, Yushi glanced at Riku, his expression unreadable for a moment. Then he smiled, a quiet, content smile that didn’t need any explanation.

“Thanks for this,” Yushi said softly. “For coming back with me.”

Riku met his gaze, his own smile small but steady. “You don’t have to thank me. This is where we’re meant to be.”

And as they walked back through the quiet streets, their steps in sync, the warmth between them was enough to chase away the cold of the winter night.

———

As they returned to Riku's home after dinner, the night felt calm and unrushed—a stark contrast to the vibrant energy of New Year’s celebrations echoing from the city streets. Instead of joining the masses under the bright bursts of fireworks, they chose to stay indoors, savoring the quiet comfort of each other’s presence. For both of them, that was more than enough.

Yushi had showered first, and when Riku entered the bedroom, towel slung over his shoulder and a hair dryer in hand, he found Yushi sitting cross-legged on the bed. His damp hair curled slightly at the ends, droplets of water soaking the loose sweatshirt he had borrowed from Riku. But what drew Riku’s attention wasn’t Yushi’s relaxed posture—it was the small, black velvet box in his hands.

Riku’s heart softened at the sight. Yushi sat there completely absorbed, carefully running his fingers over the edges of the box, his gaze distant, as if lost in a memory. He didn’t even notice when Riku entered the room.

Leaning casually against the doorframe, Riku allowed himself a moment to simply watch. Yushi looked so at home here, as though he had always belonged. And in a way, he had. Over time, Yushi had effortlessly woven himself into Riku’s life, making a place for himself in every corner, every routine.

Breaking the silence, Riku called out softly, “Found something interesting?”

Startled, Yushi looked up, his expression breaking into a warm smile that lit up the room. Without a word, he placed the box on the bedside table and shifted to the edge of the bed, facing Riku. His smile deepened, almost mischievously, as his gaze flickered to the hair dryer in Riku’s hand.

Riku chuckled knowingly, shaking his head. “You never dry your hair, do you?”

“That’s your job,” Yushi replied with a grin, wrapping his arms around Riku’s waist and pressing his forehead against Riku’s stomach. The action was so natural, so familiar, that Riku didn’t even question it anymore.

With a laugh, Riku turned on the hair dryer and began running his fingers through Yushi’s damp locks, careful and deliberate. The hum of the machine filled the room, but it didn’t drown out the warmth that lingered in the air between them.

“What were you looking at earlier?” Riku asked, his voice casual.

Yushi’s arms tightened around Riku’s waist, his voice muffled against Riku’s stomach. “My second button. The one I gave you.”

Riku’s fingers paused for a moment before resuming. He didn’t need to look at the box to know what was inside—Yushi’s second button, taken from his high school gakuran and given to Riku on their graduation day. It was a tradition, a silent confession of feelings, and to this day, that little token held immeasurable meaning for both of them.

Once Riku had finished drying Yushi’s hair, they settled into bed together, Yushi curling instinctively into Riku’s side. It felt as though they’d done this a thousand times before—like second nature. Yushi sighed contentedly, nestling closer. The warmth of Riku’s embrace was something he had missed terribly during his grueling months on tour. No amount of video calls or online texts could ever replace this—the steady rise and fall of Riku’s chest beneath his cheek, the sound of his heartbeat in the quiet.

“Do you still have mine?” Riku asked softly, breaking the silence.

Yushi tilted his head up to look at him, his lips curving into a smile. “Of course. It’s in a safe place.”

Riku nodded, picturing the small glass case in Yushi’s Tokyo apartment where his own second button was carefully displayed. The memory brought a wave of nostalgia, and soon they were reminiscing about their high school days—about the nervousness they’d felt exchanging buttons and the quiet thrill of knowing what it meant. It had been the start of everything.

As they talked, distant fireworks lit up the room in bursts of color, drawing their attention to the window. Midnight had come—it was officially the New Year.

Yushi sighed, reaching for his phone on the bedside table. As an idol, he knew he needed to post a greeting for his fans. But before he could unlock the screen, Riku leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to the crown of his head.

“Happy New Year, Yushi,” Riku murmured.

Yushi froze for a moment, his cheeks flushing faintly. Then, he smiled and set his phone back down. “Happy New Year, Riku.”

For Yushi, this was how he wanted to start the year—not in the spotlight, not under the pressure of thousands of eyes watching his every move, but here, in the quiet warmth of Riku’s arms.

The thought lingered, and as the room fell silent again, Yushi hesitated before speaking. “You know…” he began, his voice softer now, almost uncertain. “Sometimes I wonder if I made the right choice.”

Riku frowned, his hand stilling on Yushi’s back. “What do you mean?”

Yushi shifted, resting his chin on Riku’s chest so he could meet his gaze. “This life—being an idol. It’s everything I dreamed of, but… it’s exhausting. The pressure, the constant need to be perfect, to give everyone a piece of yourself while keeping nothing for yourself. And the worst part is…” He trailed off, his voice trembling slightly.

“The worst part is being away from you.”

Riku’s heart ached at the vulnerability in Yushi’s voice. He had always suspected the toll Yushi’s career was taking on him—the way he hesitated whenever they talked about his upcoming schedules, the way he seemed reluctant to return to Tokyo after every visit to their hometown. But hearing it said out loud made it all the more real.

Riku stayed silent, allowing Yushi to continue at his own pace.

“There are days when I wake up, and I don’t even want to go to the studio,” Yushi confessed, his voice cracking slightly. “I miss the days when it was just about the music—when I didn’t have to think about image or expectations.”

Riku reached out, lacing their fingers together. “You don’t have to carry all of this alone, Yushi. You know that, right?”

Yushi turned his head, meeting Riku’s steady gaze. “I know. I just… I don’t want to burden you with all of it.”

“You’re never a burden to me,” Riku said firmly. “If anything, I hate seeing you like this and not knowing how to help.”

Yushi gave a small, appreciative smile. “You already help more than you realize. Just being here… it makes everything feel a little less heavy.”

Riku pressed a kiss to Yushi’s knuckles. “Then let’s stay here a little longer.”

Yushi’s breath hitched, and he looked away, a flicker of hesitation crossing his face. “Sometimes I think about it,” he admitted. “Leaving it all behind and just… being with you. Living a quieter life.”

Riku didn’t know what to say. He wanted to tell Yushi that it was okay to feel this way, that his happiness mattered more than anything else. But for now, all he could do was hold him a little tighter, letting his presence speak for him.

The distant fireworks continued to light up the night sky, but neither of them paid them any attention. For Yushi, this was where he belonged—in the quiet of Riku’s arms, where he could finally let go of everything else and just be himself.

Two weeks had passed since the new year, and life in Tokyo had returned to its usual rhythm. It was the weekend, and while Yushi was busy at his company, Riku spent his morning lounging in the living room. The television hummed softly in the background, but he wasn’t paying it much attention.

His focus was on his phone, scrolling through news and videos of Yushi. Each update about Yushi’s career filled him with pride. Riku had been there since the beginning, long before Yushi’s name was known to the public. He had witnessed every step of Yushi’s journey—from countless auditions and grueling practices to his eventual debut.

As Riku scrolled through an article about Yushi’s upcoming comeback, his phone buzzed with a notification. It was a message from Yushi, complaining about yet another long meeting.

“I don’t even know why I need to be here,” Yushi had typed. “They’ve already decided everything. This meeting is just a waste of time.”

Riku smiled, his fingers moving across the screen to reply. “It’s because you’re important, Yushi. They need you there to finalize things.”

“Important? More like a glorified prop,” Yushi shot back almost instantly.

“You’re the centerpiece,” Riku teased. “They’d fall apart without you.”

Yushi responded with a string of dramatic emojis, making Riku chuckle softly. But beneath the amusement, a part of him ached. He wished he could do more—take some of Yushi’s burden, ease the stress. Since he couldn’t, he did the next best thing: he reminded Yushi to take breaks and promised he’d always be there, waiting.

The familiar beeping of his front door’s keypad snapped Riku out of his thoughts. He glanced up, confused. Before he could react, the door swung open, and Yushi strode inside, his movements hurried and purposeful.

“Yushi?” Riku called, surprised.

Yushi didn’t respond. He kicked off his shoes and abandoned his bag by the door, making a beeline for the couch. Without hesitation, he dropped down beside Riku and wrapped his arms around him in an uncharacteristically clingy hug.

“Whoa—” Riku barely managed to steady himself, his hands instinctively cradling Yushi’s back. “Rough day?”

Yushi groaned against his neck. “You have no idea. I walked out in the middle of the last meeting. They were so annoying, Riku. I couldn’t take it anymore.”

Riku’s lips twitched in amusement. “You walked out? Yushi, you can’t just—”

“They’ll survive,” Yushi interrupted, his voice muffled. “I’m more important than their stupid PowerPoints.”

A laugh bubbled out of Riku, his chest shaking softly as he stroked Yushi’s hair. “You’re unbelievable, you know that?”

“I know,” Yushi mumbled, already sounding half-asleep.

Riku didn’t press further. Instead, he let the moment settle, his fingers threading through Yushi’s hair in soothing strokes. He didn’t need to ask why Yushi had come so abruptly—he already knew. The weight of Yushi’s responsibilities, the endless pressure, the constant demands of the industry—it was too much sometimes. And when it became unbearable, Yushi always sought out Riku, his refuge.

“You’ve been working too hard,” Riku murmured after a while, his voice low and gentle.

Yushi didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he nuzzled closer, his nose brushing against Riku’s collarbone. “You say that every time I come here.”

“And every time, it’s true.” Riku pulled back slightly, just enough to see Yushi’s face. “You’re going to burn yourself out if you keep pushing like this.”

Yushi sighed but didn’t argue. “It’s just for the comeback. Once it’s over, I’ll take a break. Maybe we can go somewhere.”

“Maybe?” Riku raised an eyebrow. “If you promise me a trip, you’d better keep it.”

Yushi’s lips curved into a faint smile, his eyes closing. “Fine. Definitely. Anywhere you want to go.”

They stayed like that for a while, wrapped in the quiet intimacy of the moment. As Yushi relaxed, his weight shifted, his muscles loosening as he leaned more heavily against Riku.

“Hey,” Riku whispered, brushing a stray lock of hair behind Yushi’s ear. “Don’t fall asleep on me.”

Yushi groaned softly, his voice muffled. “You’re too comforting. I like it.”

Riku’s heart fluttered at the words. “You’re lucky I don’t mind spoiling you.”

“You love spoiling me,” Yushi teased, though his tone was laced with exhaustion.

“Someone has to take care of you,” Riku replied, his voice soft but sincere. “You work too hard, Yushi.”

After a moment, Riku suggested lunch. “There’s barely anything left in the fridge, and I know you didn’t eat properly today.”

Yushi groaned in mock protest. “I was comfortable here.”

“I’ll make it up to you,” Riku promised, his eyes twinkling. “We can get ice cream after.”

At that, Yushi perked up, a glimmer of excitement breaking through his tired expression. “Deal. But only if we get the matcha one.”

Riku rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide his smile. “Fine. Matcha it is.”

As they left the apartment together, Riku couldn’t help but glance at Yushi, his heart swelling with affection. He didn’t know what they were to each other—not exactly. But if Yushi needed him, Riku would always be there, no matter what. That much, he was certain of.

———

The streets of Tokyo were bustling, as they always were, with the lively hum of chatter and the clatter of footsteps filling the air. Riku and Yushi strolled side by side, searching for a restaurant to dine in. The crisp air carried the faint aroma of street food, but Riku's attention was more on Yushi than anything else.  

Before they had left Riku's apartment, he had reminded Yushi—half-worried, half-pleading—to disguise himself. "Cover up as much as possible," Riku had urged.  

But Yushi had waved him off, laughing softly. “If I overdo it, I’ll stand out even more. A face mask is enough.”  

Riku had reluctantly agreed, though unease lingered in his chest. As they walked now, he couldn’t help glancing around, scanning for any signs of trouble. And sure enough, it started.  

Passersby began to take notice. First, it was the subtle double-takes, then the hushed whispers.  

“Isn’t that Yushi?”  

“Oh my god, it’s Yushi!”  

“Who’s the guy next to him?”  

Riku heard it all, and though Yushi kept his head down, pretending not to notice, Riku saw the tension in the way his hands fidgeted at his sides.  

The whispers turned into discreet filming. Some people stopped walking altogether, their gazes locked onto the pair. A small crowd began to gather, murmurs growing louder by the second.  

Riku clenched his jaw. He had expected this—it was inevitable, really. Yushi wasn’t just famous; he was really famous. But even knowing that, seeing it unfold in real-time was different.  

“Yushi,” Riku said quietly, his voice steady but firm.  

Before he could say more, Yushi reached for his hand. It was a small gesture, but it spoke volumes. Riku didn’t hesitate. He grabbed Yushi’s hand, lacing their fingers together, and quickened their pace.  

“Come on,” he said, leading Yushi into a random shop. They walked past the startled employees straight to the back. Riku asked to borrow the restroom, and without waiting for a proper answer, he ushered Yushi inside, closing the door firmly behind them.  

The moment they were alone, Riku turned to Yushi. “See,” he said, half-joking but mostly serious, “I told you to cover up more.”  

Yushi, still catching his breath, pouted under his mask. “I did cover up! You’re acting like I came out wearing nothing but a neon sign.”  

Riku crossed his arms, raising an eyebrow. “A face mask isn’t enough when you’re you . I don’t know why I let you convince me otherwise.”  

Yushi tilted his head in mock defiance. “Well, I know myself better. I thought it’d be fine.”  

Riku sighed, though there was no real frustration in it—only fondness. He reached into his bag and pulled out a cap he had packed earlier, just in case. “Lucky for you, I came prepared,” he said, stepping closer to Yushi.  

Yushi stood still as Riku placed the cap on his head. Riku adjusted it carefully, tucking stray locks of hair beneath the brim and tilting it just enough to obscure Yushi’s face further. He took a step back to examine his work, his eyes scanning Yushi from head to toe.  

“There,” Riku said, his voice softer now. “That’s better.”  

Yushi smiled under his mask, the corners of his eyes crinkling in a way that made Riku’s heart flutter. “Thank you.”  

Before Riku could reply, Yushi leaned in, placing a soft peck on Riku’s masked cheek. The gesture was quick, fleeting, but enough to make Riku’s ears burn.  

“Let’s go,” Yushi said, his voice light but filled with affection. “I’m hungry.”  

Riku stared at him for a moment, his thoughts scrambled. Then he shook his head, a faint smile tugging at his lips beneath his own mask. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”  

Yushi laughed, tugging Riku’s hand. “I know.”  

With Yushi now properly disguised, they stepped out of the restroom and into the shop. The crowd outside had thinned a little, but Riku kept his guard up as they slipped back onto the street. Yushi clung to him more tightly than before, and Riku found himself holding his hand just a bit more protectively.  

He didn’t mind, though. Yushi might be a star, shining brightly for the world to see, but in moments like this, Riku knew he was the one Yushi relied on most. And for that, he’d gladly bear the weight of Yushi’s world, no matter how chaotic it got.  

The past three months had turned Yushi's life into a relentless whirlwind of schedules. His once-familiar routine had been consumed by the feverish anticipation of his upcoming comeback. 

Every day brought a new torrent of responsibilities: photoshoots where he posed under blinding lights, choreography rehearsals that left his muscles burning, vocal training sessions that pushed his voice to its limit, and endless meetings where decisions were made faster than he could process. 

From the moment he opened his eyes in the morning until long after the sun had set, his life felt like an unending sprint.

Everywhere he turned, someone was reminding him of the stakes. His management team spoke of the fans who were eagerly waiting, the media who were watching his every move, and the industry pressure that loomed over him like a shadow he couldn’t escape. On the surface, it was the kind of life he’d dreamed of when he first started, but now, the weight of it all was suffocating.

Yet, amid the chaos and noise, there was one constant that kept him grounded—Riku.

Yushi’s breaks, fleeting as they were, became sacred moments when he could retreat from the world and reconnect with the person who understood him better than anyone. Those stolen minutes spent on the phone with Riku were his lifeline. No matter how exhausted he felt, hearing Riku’s voice was like slipping into a warm, familiar embrace that reminded him of simpler times.

Most of the time, Yushi barely had the energy to dial the number. His fingers would hover over his phone for a moment, debating whether he should even bother. But then, as if sensing his hesitation, Riku would pick up on the first ring.

“Hey,” Riku’s voice came through, soft and steady, like a balm to Yushi’s frayed nerves. “How’s the superstar today?”

Yushi couldn’t help but smile, even as he leaned back in his chair, his body aching from hours of practice. “Tired,” he admitted, his voice carrying the weight of his exhaustion. He glanced at the mirrored wall of the rehearsal room, his reflection staring back at him with dark circles under his eyes. “I don’t even know what day it is anymore.”

“You need to take care of yourself,” Riku said, his tone laced with concern. “When was the last time you ate something that wasn’t from a vending machine?”

Yushi laughed, though it came out more as a dry, hollow sound. “Probably last week.”

“Yushi,” Riku said, his voice growing firmer. “You can’t keep this up. You’ll burn out.”

“I know,” Yushi murmured, his eyes fluttering shut. The weight of his exhaustion felt heavier now, like it was pressing down on his chest. “But it’s not like I have a choice. If I slow down, everything falls apart.”

The line went quiet for a moment, and Yushi wondered if Riku was still there. But then, Riku’s voice came back, softer this time, like he was afraid of breaking something fragile. “You don’t have to do it alone, you know. I’m here.”

Yushi’s throat tightened, and for a moment, he couldn’t speak. He tilted his head back, staring at the fluorescent lights above him, willing the tears not to fall. “I miss you,” he finally whispered, his voice trembling.

“I miss you too,” Riku replied, without hesitation. There was no judgment, no impatience—just quiet, steady reassurance. “Why don’t you come visit? Even just for a day.”

Yushi opened his eyes, his gaze shifting to the practice schedule pinned on the wall. The paper was a sea of red ink, each block of time meticulously accounted for. The thought of stepping away, even for a moment, felt impossible. “I can’t,” he said, his voice heavy with resignation. “My schedule’s insane. I barely have time to sleep.”

Riku didn’t respond right away, but when he spoke again, his voice was gentle, like he was trying to ease a burden Yushi hadn’t even realized he was carrying. “Then let me come to you.”

“No,” Yushi said quickly, sitting up straighter in his chair. The thought of Riku taking time out of his own life to visit him filled him with guilt. “You’re busy too. I don’t want to add to your plate.”

“Yushi,” Riku said softly, his voice steady but insistent. “You’re never a burden. Remember that, okay?”

Yushi swallowed hard, the lump in his throat making it difficult to speak. “Okay,” he whispered, though his heart ached with how much he wished things were different.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The silence stretched between them, not uncomfortable but heavy with unspoken words. Yushi wanted to tell Riku how much he needed him, how much he hated the distance between them, but the words caught in his throat.

“Get some rest,” Riku finally said, breaking the silence. “Promise me.”

“I promise,” Yushi said, even though they both knew it wasn’t a promise he could keep. But for now, it was enough.

As they ended the call, Yushi sat there for a moment, staring at his phone. The rehearsal room around him felt colder, emptier without Riku’s voice in his ear. He sighed, pushing himself to his feet and preparing to go back to work. But as he walked toward the center of the room, Riku’s words echoed in his mind.

“You’re never a burden.”

And for the first time that day, Yushi allowed himself to believe it, if only just a little.

———

Riku had always been Yushi’s biggest fan. From the moment he first saw him on stage to watching him rise to stardom, Riku’s heart swelled with pride every time Yushi’s name or face appeared in public. 

But lately, that pride was tangled with a gnawing sense of worry. Yushi was everywhere—his face graced towering billboards in the city, his name constantly trended on social media, and his performances were the highlight of prime-time television. It was the kind of success most people could only dream of, but Riku knew better than anyone that it came at a price.

Riku made it a ritual to keep up with everything Yushi did. He scoured social media for fan updates, tuned in to every live broadcast, and watched every interview, no matter how late at night it aired. He was Yushi’s silent cheerleader, always rooting for him from the sidelines. But the more Riku watched, the more he began to notice the cracks in Yushi’s polished facade.

The smiles Yushi flashed for the cameras seemed a little too practiced, his eyes a little too dull. There was an exhaustion behind them that even the brightest lights couldn’t hide. Riku recognized the telltale signs of someone running on empty. He’d seen it before in people who pushed themselves too hard, and it pained him to see it now in Yushi.

One evening, after a particularly long day, Riku found himself sitting in his dimly lit apartment, his phone propped up on the coffee table as he tuned into a live-streamed rehearsal. The screen flickered with movement, Yushi’s figure front and center as he danced with his usual precision and fluidity. His movements were flawless, his energy seemingly boundless. But Riku knew better.

He watched closely, his heart sinking with every subtle clue that Yushi wasn’t okay. And then it happened—a moment so fleeting that most viewers wouldn’t even notice. Yushi faltered.

It wasn’t much—a slight misstep, a brief hesitation in his movements—but Riku saw it. To anyone else, it might have seemed inconsequential, but to Riku, it was glaring. He knew Yushi’s dancing like the back of his hand, and this was not the Yushi he knew.

The rehearsal ended with applause from the small audience of staff and crew, and the livestream cut off. But Riku couldn’t shake the image of that moment from his mind. The sight of Yushi faltering, even for a split second, had sent a wave of unease crashing over him. Without hesitating, he reached for his phone and dialed Yushi’s number.

The phone rang only twice before Yushi picked up. His voice, soft and tinged with exhaustion, came through the line. “Riku?”

“Hey,” Riku said, his voice steady, though his heart ached. He leaned back against the couch, trying to sound casual despite the worry gnawing at him. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine,” Yushi replied automatically, the words slipping out so quickly that Riku knew they weren’t genuine.

“Don’t lie to me,” Riku said gently, his tone firm but full of care. “You don’t have to pretend with me, Yushi. Not now.”

There was a long pause on the other end, and for a moment, Riku wondered if Yushi would say anything at all. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter, almost fragile. “I’m just… tired. Really tired.”

Riku closed his eyes, his grip tightening on the phone as a wave of helplessness washed over him. “Yushi,” he said softly, his voice steady but filled with concern. “You can’t keep pushing yourself like this. You’re going to make yourself sick.”

“I don’t have a choice,” Yushi said, his words heavy with resignation. “This comeback—everything’s riding on it. The team’s counting on me. The fans… They’ve been waiting for this for so long.”

“And what about you?” Riku pressed, his voice sharpening with emotion. “What’s the point of all this if you’re too exhausted to enjoy it? What’s the point if it breaks you?”

Yushi didn’t respond right away. The silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating. Riku could hear the faint sound of Yushi’s breathing on the other end, uneven and shaky. When Yushi finally spoke, his voice cracked, betraying the vulnerability he usually kept hidden. “Sometimes I wonder if it’s even worth it.”

“It is,” Riku said immediately, his voice firm and unwavering. “But not at the expense of your health. Not at the expense of you. Please, Yushi. Take a break. Even if it’s just for a day. You need to take care of yourself.”

“I’ll try,” Yushi said, but his voice lacked conviction. They both knew it was an empty promise, one born out of a desire to end the conversation rather than a genuine intention to change.

Riku sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Yushi,” he said softly, his voice gentler now. “I know this isn’t easy for you. I know how much you care about everyone around you, how much you want to give them everything. But you can’t pour from an empty cup. You can’t keep giving if there’s nothing left of you to give.”

Yushi didn’t respond, but Riku could hear the faint hitch in his breathing, the sound of someone holding back tears.

“I’m here,” Riku said quietly, his voice filled with quiet determination. “Whenever you need me, I’m here. Don’t forget that, okay?”

“Okay,” Yushi whispered, his voice barely audible.

They stayed on the line for a few more moments, neither of them speaking. The silence wasn’t awkward or uncomfortable; it was a shared moment of understanding, a fragile connection that neither of them wanted to break.

“Get some rest,” Riku finally said, his voice gentle but firm. “Promise me.”

“I promise,” Yushi said, though they both knew it wasn’t a promise he could truly keep. But for now, it was enough.

———

The collapse happened two nights later. Yushi had been pushing himself harder than ever, running on little more than adrenaline and sheer willpower. Rehearsal after rehearsal blurred together, each one more grueling than the last. He ignored the warning signs—the persistent dizziness, the pounding headache that refused to subside, the way his muscles screamed with every movement.

He told himself he just needed to make it through one more run of the choreography. Just one more. The music swelled around him, the bass reverberating in his chest as he pushed his body to its limit. But as he spun into the final sequence, his vision blurred. The studio lights above him became streaks of white, and the ground seemed to sway beneath his feet.

Then, his legs gave out.

There was a collective gasp from the crew as Yushi crumpled to the floor. Voices called his name, footsteps rushed toward him, but it all felt distant, like a muffled echo in the back of his mind. His body felt heavy, unresponsive, and then there was nothing but darkness.

When Yushi opened his eyes, he was greeted by the sterile brightness of a hospital room. The fluorescent lights above him were too harsh, making him squint as his head throbbed in protest. The antiseptic smell of disinfectant filled his nose, making his stomach churn. He tried to move, but his limbs felt like lead, weak and uncooperative.

“Yushi.”

The sound of his name made him turn his head slowly. Sitting by his bedside was Riku. His heart twisted painfully at the sight. Riku’s eyes were red-rimmed, his expression a mixture of relief, worry, and something else Yushi couldn’t quite place.

“You’re here,” Yushi murmured, his voice hoarse and barely audible.

“Of course, I’m here,” Riku replied, his voice steady, though his hands trembled as he reached for Yushi’s. “What were you thinking, pushing yourself like that?”

Yushi’s lips parted to respond, but no words came. He didn’t have a good answer. Finally, he managed a weak admission. “I wasn’t. I just… I didn’t want to let anyone down.”

Riku’s jaw tightened, his grip on Yushi’s hand firm and grounding. “The only person you’re letting down is yourself,” he said, his voice breaking slightly. “Do you even realize how scared I was? How scared everyone was? You can’t keep doing this, Yushi. It’s not worth it.”

Tears pricked at Yushi’s eyes, the weight of Riku’s words sinking in. He had been so consumed by the demands of his career that he hadn’t considered how his actions were affecting the people who cared about him.

They sat in silence for a moment, the only sound the faint hum of the hospital machines around them. Finally, Yushi spoke again, his voice trembling with emotion. “I think I’m done, Riku. I can’t keep living like this.”

Riku’s eyes softened, but his grip on Yushi’s hand tightened, anchoring him. “Then don’t,” he said firmly. “You don’t have to prove anything to anyone. You’ve already done enough. More than enough.”

Later that evening, Yushi’s manager arrived. The conversation that followed was one of the hardest Yushi had ever faced. He laid everything out—the exhaustion, the doubts, the overwhelming pressure, and, finally, his decision. As the words spilled out, a weight lifted from his chest. He wasn’t sure how his manager would take it, but he couldn’t hold it in any longer.

When the conversation was over and his manager left, Yushi felt a strange sense of relief. It wasn’t joy or elation, but a quiet, steady calm. For the first time in a long while, he felt like he was regaining control of his own life.

Riku stayed by his side through it all, a comforting presence in the sterile hospital room. As the evening wore on, he brushed a stray strand of hair from Yushi’s forehead and smiled softly. “I’m proud of you,” he said, his voice low but filled with conviction.

Yushi turned to him, the faintest smile tugging at his lips. “For what?”

“For choosing yourself,” Riku replied. His eyes held nothing but warmth and understanding.

Yushi blinked, his heart clenching at the words. He had spent so long living for others—his team, his fans, the industry—that he had forgotten how to live for himself. Riku’s words felt like a balm, soothing the raw edges of his weary soul.

As they sat together in the quiet of the hospital room, Yushi let out a long, slow breath. For the first time in months, it felt like he could finally breathe again.

The announcement of Yushi’s retirement swept through the media like wildfire. Headlines plastered across news outlets speculated endlessly about the reasons behind his decision. Some pointed to burnout, citing his grueling schedule and flawless yet exhausting performances. Others theorized about secret projects or personal conflicts. 

Social media platforms buzzed with hashtags dedicated to him, trending globally within hours. Fans posted heartfelt messages, while others lamented the loss of his presence in the industry.

Late that night, Yushi sat on the edge of his bed, his phone in hand. His thumb moved almost mechanically, scrolling through comment after comment. Messages of love and understanding mixed with those filled with heartbreak and confusion.

"Take care of yourself, Yushi."

"We’ll miss you so much."

"How could you leave us like this? Is this really the end?"

Each message felt like a weight added to his chest. He had prepared for this moment for weeks, but the reality of seeing his fans’ reactions hit harder than he expected. He’d given everything he had to his career, and now, with the end in sight, it felt like he was tearing a part of himself away.

The farewell album—his final gift to the fans who had supported him through every high and low—was already being called a masterpiece by insiders. It was an unspoken truth that there would be no promotions or tours. Just the album, a bittersweet swan song, and then silence.

“Yushi,” Riku calls softly, his voice a balm to the storm raging in Yushi’s mind. “Come here.”

Riku was sitting on the couch in the small living room, a blanket draped over his lap. His arms were open, inviting Yushi into the warmth of his embrace. Yushi hesitated for only a second before setting his phone down and crossing the room. He collapsed against Riku, letting himself sink into the solidness of his presence.

“They’re going to be fine,” Riku murmured, his fingers threading gently through Yushi’s hair. “Your fans love you. They’ll understand.”

“I don’t know if they will,” Yushi whispered, his voice trembling with the weight of doubt. “I just don’t want to disappoint them.”

“You could never disappoint them,” Riku said firmly, tilting Yushi’s chin so their eyes met. “You’ve given them so much, Yushi. Now it’s time to give yourself something, too.”

Yushi let those words settle, their truth wrapping around him like a shield. He closed his eyes, focusing on the steady rhythm of Riku’s heartbeat, and allowed himself to believe, if only for a moment, that things would be okay.

———

The press conference the following day was nothing short of overwhelming. The hotel ballroom was packed with reporters, their cameras flashing incessantly. Microphones lined the long table where Yushi would sit, and the air buzzed with a mixture of anticipation and curiosity.

Yushi, dressed in a sleek, understated suit, stood backstage. His team hovered around him, offering last-minute adjustments to his appearance and rehearsing key talking points. But their voices blurred into background noise as his anxiety tightened its grip on his chest.

“You’re going to do great,” a familiar voice said beside him.

Yushi turned to find Riku, who had somehow managed to slip past the chaos of the media frenzy. His reassuring smile was like an anchor, grounding Yushi in the present.

“Thanks,” Yushi whispered, his voice hoarse.

When it was time, Yushi stepped onto the stage, the bright lights momentarily blinding him. The noise in the room died down as he took his seat, and for a moment, all he could hear was the sound of his own breathing.

With trembling hands, he picked up the microphone and began his statement. He thanked his fans for their unwavering support, his team for their dedication, and his peers for their inspiration. His voice faltered only slightly as he spoke about his reasons for retiring, carefully emphasizing his need to prioritize his health and well-being.

The room was silent, save for the occasional camera shutter, as he concluded his statement with a deep, respectful bow.

As he straightened, the weight on his chest felt a little lighter. The questions that followed were relentless, but Yushi answered them with the same grace and honesty that had defined his career. By the time he stepped off the stage, his legs felt like jelly, but his heart carried a sense of closure.

———

That night, Yushi stayed at Riku’s place. The small apartment was quiet, a stark contrast to the chaos that had surrounded Yushi’s life for the past few weeks. The atmosphere was calm, almost serene, as they shared a simple dinner at the small dining table. Riku had cooked—nothing fancy, just rice, grilled fish, and miso soup—but the warmth of the meal, coupled with Riku’s presence, made it feel like a feast.

“Your cooking has improved,” Yushi said softly, setting his chopsticks down after finishing his meal.

Riku chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “I had a good reason to practice. Figured you’d need something decent to eat when you were finally done with all… this.” He gestured vaguely, meaning the career, the fame, the exhaustion that came with it.

Yushi smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. He knew Riku was trying to lighten the mood, but the weight of the day still pressed heavily on his shoulders.

After dinner, they moved to the balcony, carrying mugs of tea. The crisp night air greeted them as they stepped outside. The city stretched out before them, its lights twinkling like stars on the ground. Yushi leaned against the railing, the warmth of the tea seeping into his hands as he stared out at the skyline.

For a while, neither of them spoke. The silence was comfortable, filled only with the distant hum of traffic and the occasional chirp of a bird.

“I’ve been thinking,” Yushi finally said, his voice soft and tentative.

Riku turned his head, his expression open and attentive. “About what?”

Yushi hesitated for a moment, gathering his thoughts. “About moving back to our hometown,” he said, his words slow and deliberate.

Riku’s eyes widened slightly in surprise, but his gaze remained steady as he watched Yushi. “For good?”

“For good,” Yushi confirmed, setting his mug down on the small table beside him. He clasped his hands together in his lap, his fingers fidgeting. “I miss the quiet. The familiarity. And I think it’s time I find something… simpler. Something real.”

Riku didn’t respond immediately. He set his own mug down and reached for Yushi’s hand, lacing their fingers together. His touch was warm and reassuring. “Then let’s do it,” he said simply.

Yushi blinked at him, caught off guard by the lack of hesitation in Riku’s response. “Really? Just like that?”

Riku shrugged, his lips curving into a soft smile. “Yushi, my home isn’t a place. It’s you. Wherever you go, I’ll follow.”

Yushi’s chest tightened, a mix of emotions swirling within him—relief, gratitude, love. The weight of the past few months, the years of pressure and exhaustion, felt a little lighter in that moment.

“You make it sound so easy,” Yushi murmured, leaning his head against Riku’s shoulder.

“That’s because it is,” Riku replied, resting his cheek against Yushi’s hair. “As long as we’re together, nothing else really matters.”

They stayed like that for a while, the city lights stretching out before them, a silent witness to their quiet moment of intimacy.

“Thank you,” Yushi said after a long pause, his voice barely above a whisper.

Riku tilted his head slightly, glancing down at him. “For what?”

“For being my constant,” Yushi replied, his words trembling with sincerity. “For being here when everything else feels like it’s falling apart.”

Riku’s hold on Yushi’s hand tightened slightly, a silent promise. “Always,” he said, his voice steady and unwavering.

He pressed a soft kiss to the top of Yushi’s head, lingering for a moment before pulling back. Yushi closed his eyes, letting the warmth of Riku’s presence envelop him.

As they sat together, the city began to fade into the background. For the first time in what felt like forever, Yushi could see a future—one that wasn’t dictated by schedules and expectations, but by the simple joy of being with the person who made him feel whole.

They talked late into the night, their conversation shifting from serious plans to lighthearted reminiscing. By the time they finally decided to call it a night, they had mapped out the first steps of their new life together—a life that finally felt like their own.

A few months had passed since Yushi’s retirement, and life had settled into a rhythm neither of them had expected. The transition had been both difficult and liberating. The constant scrutiny of the media, the intense schedules, the pressure to always perform—it had all faded into the background, replaced by a quieter, more peaceful life.

Yushi had moved back to their hometown with Riku, settling into a modest house near the outskirts of the city. The quiet there was a welcome change from the constant noise of the entertainment industry, though it took time for both of them to adjust to the slower pace of life.

Riku had found a part-time job teaching at a local music school, something he had always dreamed of doing but never had the time for when he was constantly on the go. Yushi, on the other hand, spent his days rediscovering hobbies he had long abandoned—reading, sketching, and spending long afternoons in the garden they had planted together.

Despite the peace, the adjustment was not without its challenges. Yushi found himself occasionally plagued by doubt, wondering if he had made the right choice, if he was truly content with leaving everything behind. The quiet nights, though comforting, sometimes made him feel a pang of loneliness, as if he were drifting away from everything he had once known.

One evening, as the sun began to set, casting a soft orange glow across their backyard, Yushi sat outside on the porch, his legs stretched out in front of him. His fingers absently traced the edges of the mug in his hands, his thoughts lost in the distant horizon.

Riku stepped outside, a warm smile on his face as he saw Yushi deep in thought. He walked over, sitting down beside him, their shoulders brushing.

“You okay?” Riku asked gently, his voice soft but filled with concern.

Yushi took a deep breath, then shrugged slightly, looking down at his mug. “I don’t know,” he admitted, his voice quiet. “Some days are harder than others.”

Riku nodded, understanding more than he let on. He had seen Yushi struggle with moments of uncertainty, seen the doubt in his eyes, even though Yushi rarely voiced it. “It’s okay to feel that way,” he said, his voice steady. “You don’t have to have it all figured out right away.”

Yushi glanced over at him, his lips curving into a small smile. “I know. It’s just… everything was always so fast-paced before. I think I’m still trying to catch up to myself.”

Riku chuckled softly, nudging him with his shoulder. “Take your time,” he said. “You don’t have to rush into anything. I’m not going anywhere.”

Yushi’s smile grew a little brighter at that. “Yeah. I know.”

The air between them was comfortable, warm, filled with an unspoken understanding. For a long moment, neither of them spoke. They simply sat together, watching the sky change colors as the sun set. It wasn’t the glamorous life Yushi had once lived, but it was real. It was theirs.

The silence was broken when Riku’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He glanced at the screen before answering it. “Hello?”

Yushi didn’t hear most of the conversation, as Riku spoke in low tones, but he noticed the change in Riku’s expression. The warm, carefree smile he had worn a second ago shifted into something more serious, the lines of his face becoming slightly more tense as he listened to whatever was being said on the other end.

“I understand,” Riku said finally, before hanging up and letting out a quiet sigh. He turned to Yushi, his face filled with an emotion that Yushi couldn’t quite place. “That was the school. They want me to take on a bigger role… they’re offering me a full-time position.”

Yushi raised an eyebrow, a mixture of surprise and curiosity on his face. “That’s great, right? Why do you look like you just got bad news?”

Riku smiled, though it was slightly strained. “It is. It’s just… It’s a big change. I’m not sure I’m ready to fully dive into something so serious.”

“You don’t have to take it if you’re not sure,” Yushi said gently, reaching over to place a hand on Riku’s. “We’ve got time.”

Riku nodded slowly, his gaze lingering on Yushi. “Yeah. We do.”

The conversation shifted after that, and for the rest of the evening, they talked more about the future—what they wanted, what they didn’t want, and how they could continue building a life that felt right for both of them.

As the night wore on and the stars began to twinkle above them, Yushi realized that while the road ahead was uncertain, he no longer felt alone in his journey. He had Riku by his side, and that was enough.

In the quiet of their new life, in the simplicity of their home, Yushi finally began to believe that he didn’t have to keep chasing something that no longer brought him happiness. What mattered now was finding peace within himself—and in the person who had been his steady constant through it all.

Autumn had draped their hometown in a vibrant quilt of gold, amber, and rust. The crisp air carried the faint scent of fallen leaves, and the streets were quieter than the bustling city Yushi had left behind. He loved this season—it brought with it a sense of nostalgia, of memories tucked away in the corners of his mind, and of promises made and unspoken.

That morning, Yushi had been up before the sun, gazing out the window as the light began to spill across the horizon. He felt a nervous flutter in his chest, though he wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was the thought of what he was planning to say, or maybe it was the overwhelming sense of peace that had settled over him since he returned to this quiet life.

Riku was in the living room, packing a small bag for their day out. He worked efficiently, his focus on making sure everything was just right. Snacks, water bottles, and Yushi’s beanie just in case—he never forgot the small details.

“Are you ready yet?” Riku called out, zipping the bag shut and glancing toward the hallway.

“Coming!” Yushi replied, bounding into the room with a bright smile. His scarf was already wrapped snugly around his neck, and his cheeks were flushed, partly from the cool morning air and partly from the anticipation bubbling within him.

Riku paused, his eyes lingering on Yushi for a moment longer than necessary. Yushi had always been beautiful, but there was something different about him now—a softness, a glow, as if the weight of his past life had finally begun to lift.

“You’re excited,” Riku said with a small smile, slinging the bag over his shoulder.

“It’s autumn,” Yushi said, his voice light and full of wonder. “It’s my favorite season, remember?”

“I remember,” Riku replied, his tone warm. He reached out, gently adjusting Yushi’s scarf. “Let’s go, then.”

They walked hand in hand through their neighborhood, the crunch of leaves underfoot and the distant hum of the world around them filling the silence. The park was their destination—a familiar place that had been a part of their lives since childhood. As they approached, the sight of the trees, their branches heavy with fiery leaves, took Yushi’s breath away.

“It’s beautiful,” Yushi murmured, his eyes wide with awe.

Riku glanced at him, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah, it is.” But his gaze wasn’t on the trees or the landscape—it was on Yushi.

They wandered through the park, their fingers intertwined, sharing quiet moments and the occasional laugh. The world around them seemed to fade into the background, leaving only the two of them.

Eventually, they found an empty bench beneath a towering maple tree. The bench creaked slightly as they sat down, shoulders brushing. Yushi tilted his head back, letting the cool breeze caress his face.

For a while, they said nothing, simply soaking in the moment. But Yushi’s heart was racing, his thoughts a whirlwind. Finally, he broke the silence.

“Riku,” he began, his voice soft but steady.

Riku turned to him, his expression curious but patient.

“I’ve been thinking,” Yushi said, his fingers fidgeting with the edge of his scarf. “Should we… put a label on this? On us?”

Riku blinked, momentarily caught off guard. He had always known how Yushi felt—he could see it in the small, stolen glances, the way Yushi’s hand lingered in his, the way his presence lit up Yushi’s world. But this was different. This was Yushi finally taking a step forward, finally allowing himself to reach for something he had been holding back.

“Are you sure?” Riku asked gently, his voice laced with tenderness.

Yushi nodded, his eyes glistening with emotion. “I am. I know I held back before, and I had my reasons. I didn’t want you to get caught up in the spotlight, to be dragged into the mess of the entertainment industry because of me. I thought… I thought keeping things unspoken was the only way to protect you.”

Riku’s chest tightened at Yushi’s words. He had always known why Yushi hesitated, and he had never resented him for it. He had waited patiently, knowing that Yushi would come to him when he was ready.

“And now?” Riku asked softly, his hand reaching out to cover Yushi’s.

Yushi’s lips trembled, but a small, radiant smile broke through. “And now, there’s nothing holding me back. There’s no spotlight, no cameras, no expectations. Just us. And I don’t want to hide this anymore. I don’t want to hide you.”

Riku let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, his own smile breaking free. He laced his fingers with Yushi’s, pulling their hands close. “Then let’s put a label on it. Officially.”

The words felt like a dam breaking, releasing all the unspoken emotions they had both been carrying for so long. Yushi’s smile widened, his heart swelling with a happiness he hadn’t felt in years.

“I’m your boyfriend,” Yushi said, testing the words out loud.

Riku chuckled, his eyes crinkling with affection. “And I’m yours.”

They stayed like that for a long while, their hands clasped tightly, their hearts finally at ease. The rest of the day continued much the same—comfortable and filled with laughter. Nothing about their dynamic had changed, and yet everything felt different. Now, they could proudly say what they had always felt.

That night, back at their house, Yushi was scrolling through his phone when an idea struck him. He glanced at Riku, who was curled up on the couch, reading.

“Hey,” Yushi said, his voice light.

Riku looked up, raising an eyebrow. “Hmm?”

“Would you mind if I… posted something?” Yushi asked, holding up his phone.

Riku tilted his head, a smile playing on his lips. “On social media?”

Yushi nodded. “It’s been a while. I was thinking of doing a soft launch. Something small, nothing too obvious.”

Riku set his book aside, his gaze steady. “If it makes you happy, go ahead.”

Yushi grinned, shifting closer to Riku as he scrolled through his gallery. He selected a photo they had taken earlier that day—a simple shot of their hands intertwined on the bench, framed by a cascade of golden leaves.

The caption was short but meaningful: “ Somewhere quiet, with someone who feels like home.”

Within minutes, the post began to gain traction. Fans who had missed Yushi’s presence online were quick to flood the comments with speculation and excitement. But Yushi didn’t pay attention to the noise. He set his phone aside and leaned against Riku, who wrapped an arm around him.

“Let them talk,” Yushi said softly, his voice full of contentment. “I don’t care what they think. I have you. That’s all that matters.”

Riku smiled, pressing a kiss to Yushi’s temple. “And you have me. Always.”

As the autumn wind whispered through the trees outside, they stayed there together, their world quiet and complete, basking in the joy of finally having each other—officially.