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The night settles in like a quiet confession, soft and weightless. Yuma runs a towel through his still-damp denim-colored hair, the strands catching the dim light of his bedroom. His birthday live had gone well—better than well—but now, as the adrenaline fades, exhaustion seeps into his bones. He exhales, slow and steady, stretching his arms before sinking onto his bed.
Before turning off his phone for the night, he idly scrolls through the flood of public birthday greetings. Fans, friends, the &TEAM members—so many people had wished him well. He appreciates all of them, really. But when his thumb pauses over one particular post on the shared group Twitter account, he feels something shift inside him.
Jo's message.
"Happy birthday〜🍰 ついにまた一歳差になるんですね🫨またすぐ追いつきます😏 今年も04’z let’s go〜🔥"
"Happy birthday! We’re finally one year apart again. But don’t worry, I’ll catch up soon. This year too, 04’z let’s go!”
A smirk tugs at the corner of Yuma’s lips despite himself. Typical Jo.
And then, the pictures.
The second image makes Yuma laugh. He remembers that night—pink hair, black jacket, white headphones around his neck—gripping a roadside fence in an exaggerated stunt. It was a camera trick, but Jo had found it hilarious and insisted on capturing the moment. The third photo is warmer, sleepier—him and Fuma, both passed out against the wall of a waiting room, matching hoodies and all. It's embarrassing, but there’s something endearing about it too.
But it’s the first photo that stops him cold.
Yuma stares at it. His beige long coat draped over his shoulders, his oreo hair now mostly blonde. The angle is tilted—just slightly off-center, capturing the moment as if stealing something precious from time itself.
They’re on a rooftop terrace at night. A cityscape blurred in the background. Yuma should remember this. He should remember this. But all the promotions and events during Yukiakari had melded together in his memory, a fast-forward blur of performances, rehearsals, and camera flashes.
And yet—this moment.
This still, quiet moment where he’s not even looking at the camera.
He’s looking at Jo.
Yuma hadn't realized he smiled like that. Tight-lipped, curling just slightly at the edges, not wide or exaggerated—just soft. Natural. A smile reserved for… someone, he doesn’t have to think about.
His throat tightens.
How a person who knows you best can capture your truest self in a photo like this.
The realization sinks in, slow and warm, curling into his chest like a secret.
His phone buzzes.
A private message.
From Jo.
"Happy birthday, my heart is dancing with you."
Yuma blinks. Once. Twice. The words sit on the screen, simple and weightless, yet somehow they press down on his chest with something undeniable.
His heart is dancing.
Something in his breath stutters, because isn’t that exactly what this feels like? This moment—this quiet, weightless moment of realizing that there is a person in his life who has always been there. Watching. Understanding. Catching things he himself doesn’t even notice.
Yuma exhales a laugh, but it’s not amusement—it’s disbelief.
Jo.
Jo, who takes pictures at tilted angles.
Jo, who teases but never in a way that stings.
Jo, whose message isn’t loud but still says everything.
Yuma taps the keyboard. Types something. Deletes it. Types again.
Then, finally—
"Thank you. For everything. It feels like my heart is about to burst "
He hesitates, just for a second. And then, before he can overthink it, he adds—
"If your heart is dancing, then mine is too."