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The café smelled like cinnamon and burnt espresso, the kind of combination that should’ve been illegal but somehow felt festive when December hit. Taki dropped into the booth with the grace of an exhausted toddler, arms overflowing with shopping bags that didn’t even belong to him.
Most of them were Harua’s. All of them were Fuma’s problem.
“Okay,” Taki announced dramatically, shoving a bag off the seat and nearly taking Harua with it, “I’m officially bankrupt. Emotionally, physically, spiritually. And I didn’t even buy anything.”
Harua snorted into his peppermint latte. “That’s because you refused to try on clothes like a normal person.”
“I did try something on,” Taki argued, already reaching for the cookies Harua ordered ‘for the table’ but placed directly in front of himself.
Fuma lifted an eyebrow. “A Santa hat does not count as an outfit, Taki.”
“It looked cute on me!”
“It looked like it was begging for death,” Harua said. “You wore it for ten seconds and managed to knock over a display of scented candles.”
“I maintain that it was Fuma’s fault,” Taki said, pointing at him with the cookie like an accusation.
Fuma closed his eyes. “I was six meters away.”
“Mhm,” Taki said, which clarified nothing.
The three of them settled into the kind of comfortable silence that came after years of friendship and the shared trauma of holiday shopping. Outside, the street glittered with lights, the kind that made everything feel just a little magical—even the slushy sidewalk and the man dressed as an elf angrily smoking behind a tree.
Harua stretched his legs under the table, bumping Taki’s knee. “We need to go home soon. Nico’s cooking tonight, and if we’re late, he’s going to give us that disappointed look.”
“Oh god,” Taki whispered. “Not the Disappointed Boyfriend Look. My crops will die. My skin will rot.”
“Your skin is already rotting from stress,” Fuma said without looking up from the menu.
“Rude. I take my skincare routine really seriously.”
The waiter dropped their drinks off—a coffee for Fuma, a latte drowning in whipped cream for Harua, and a hot chocolate for Taki because, according to Harua, he had “a child’s palate and a raccoon’s impulse control.”
Taki didn’t deny it. He just stirred the marshmallow foam happily.
They talked about dinner plans, about the chaos of the Christmas market, about how Fuma absolutely did get flirted with by the guy selling roasted chestnuts (“He was just being nice,” Fuma insisted, which only made Harua mock him in a childish voice).
But somewhere between Fuma looking as tired as a dad of six and Harua threatening arson on a mall Santa who bumped into him, Taki’s attention flickered.
Once.
He glanced out the café window, barely consciously—just following movement, or light, or nothing at all.
Then again.
A minute later.
Then again.
At first, neither Fuma nor Harua noticed. Taki was always bouncing between topics, thoughts, and distractions; a drifting gaze wasn’t exactly shocking.
But after ten minutes of talking to what was essentially the side of Taki’s face, Fuma finally set his coffee down with a soft sigh.
“Taki, you good?”
“Huh?” Taki blinked, delayed, turning back to them too fast. “Yeah! Totally. Obviously. Perfectly mentally stable, as always.”
“That’s exactly what someone not mentally stable would say,” Harua replied, narrowing his eyes suspiciously. “Are you cold? Hungry? Dying? Bored? Seeing ghosts?”
“No,” Taki said, though he did rub at his neck in that absent-minded way he did when something was chewing at his brain.
He tried to refocus. Truly.
He jumped back into the conversation, nodded along, laughed at the right beats—but every few minutes, his gaze drifted back toward the window.
He didn’t even realize he was doing it.
Something across the street kept tugging at him. Not dramatically. Not loudly. Just… insistently. Like a tiny thread pulling at the corner of his attention.
Harua leaned forward. “What’s out there? You keep doing the thing.”
“I’m not doing a thing,” Taki said too quickly.
But he was.
It had been fifteen minutes of half-listening and half-watching the scene through the restaurant’s glass windows. He couldn’t see much—just vague movement, soft lighting, and the shape of someone sitting alone at a table.
Still there.
Still waiting.
Something about it twisted in Taki’s chest.
Sympathy? Curiosity? Something unnamed that made him fidget with the sleeve of his sweater.
He stared for a moment too long.
Fuma followed his gaze, but from this angle all he could see was the reflection of the holiday lights. “I don’t see anything.”
“Yeah,” Taki murmured, eyes narrowing just a little. “Yeah. I know.”
He hesitated only a second longer.
Then suddenly—chair scraping, coat grabbed—Taki stood up so abruptly Harua nearly spilled his latte.
“Okay. Um. I’m gonna— I need to… do something.”
Fuma blinked. “Do what?”
Taki was already halfway out of the booth. “It’s fine! I’ll explain later! Just—go home without me, okay? And don’t wait up!”
Harua’s voice shot up an octave. “Taki, WHAT—?”
But Taki didn’t answer. He was already out the door, stepping into the cold evening air, drawn across the street by something he hadn’t even put into words yet.
Maki had checked his phone seven times in the last five minutes.
Objectively, he knew this made him look desperate.
Subjectively, he was desperate.
The screen lit up again.
Still nothing.
He nudged the bouquet closer to the center of the table, as if rearranging it might somehow summon his date into existence. It didn’t help. The roses drooped in solidarity.
The waiter approached, wearing a polite smile Mark was starting to recognize as the customer-service version of “oh no, poor thing.”
“Would you like anything to drink sir?” the waiter asked gently.
Maki swallowed. His throat was embarrassingly tight. “Uh—no. Not yet. I’m… waiting for someone.”
The waiter nodded sympathetically before gliding away, and Maki wanted to fold himself into the tablecloth and disappear.
He wasn’t used to this kind of attention.
Back home, he had friends. Familiar places. Familiar faces.
Here?
New country, new job, new coworkers — one of whom had asked him out tonight with a charming smile and a confident “I’d love to take you somewhere nice.”
Apparently not that nice, considering they were now twenty-two minutes late.
He drummed his fingers on the stem of the bouquet, adjusting the ribbon for the fourth time. His palms were warm, his ears even warmer, and he could feel the stares from nearby tables.
He tried to ignore them.
It’s fine. People run late. There’s traffic. Maybe he lost signal. Maybe he’s—
His phone buzzed.
Maki sat up straight so fast he nearly knocked over a water glass.
Unknown number:
“Something came up. Rain check?”
No explanation.
No apology.
Definitely not arriving in the next thirty seconds.
Maki exhaled through his nose.
Slowly. Carefully.
Like he could maybe breathe out all the sting.
He typed a short polite reply — because he was raised right, because he refused to be rude, because he didn’t want anyone at work to think the new guy was an asshole.
Then he put his phone face-down so he wouldn’t have to look at it anymore.
The waiter returned again, softer this time.
“Is everything alright?”
Maki managed a smile — the kind you use when you're trying to pretend you’re not humiliated in public. “Yeah. Sorry. Still waiting.”
Still waiting for someone who wasn’t coming.
Still holding flowers meant for someone who wasn’t coming.
Still pretending he didn’t see the couple at the next table whispering about him.
He took a sip of water. His hand shook a little.
God. First month in a new country and this is my grand romantic debut: abandoned at a restaurant like a sad Victorian ghost.
He leaned back in his chair, trying to look casual, trying to act like he wasn’t fully seconds away from walking outside and screaming into the nearest winter decoration.
The bell above the restaurant door chimed.
Maki didn’t look up.
He couldn’t handle another person entering and noticing him sitting alone with a bouquet like a rejected bachelor contestant.
Instead, he adjusted the flowers again, thumb tracing the edge of a petal.
Stupid roses. Stupid date. Stupid new country.
…Stupid Maki for thinking tonight would go well.
He exhaled, shoulders slumping.
He wasn’t sure how much longer he could sit here before the embarrassment physically killed him.
Then the restaurant doors burst open like someone had kicked them.
In reality, Taki had simply pushed too hard—but the effect was the same.
A winter gust followed him inside along with three shopping bags (none of which were his), half of his scarf trailing behind him like a defeated flag. He nearly tripped over the welcome mat, caught himself, pretended he’d meant to do that, then scanned the room with laser-focused urgency.
The maître d’ blinked. “Sir, do you—?”
But Taki had already spotted him.
Maki.
Alone.
Flowers drooping.
Looking like a handsome, abandoned Christmas tragedy.
Taki didn’t think. Obviously.
“BABE!” he called out—loudly, too loudly—startling an elderly couple and the waiter carrying a tray of wine glasses.
Half the restaurant turned.
Maki did too, slowly, like his brain needed time to process the sheer force heading toward him.
Taki practically skidded to a stop at the table, breathless, cheeks pink from the cold, eyes sparkling with chaotic determination.
“Oh my god, babe, I’m so sorry!” he gasped, waving the scarf dramatically as if reenacting a near-death escape scene. “Traffic was a NIGHTMARE. Absolute hell. I swear every car in the city chose violence tonight—”
Maki’s mouth opened. No sound came out.
Taki didn’t give him the chance.
He plopped into the seat across from him, nearly knocking over the water glass, then reached for the bouquet with a delighted gasp.
“You got me flowers?” he squealed. “You always get me the cutest bouquets. Oh my god, these are BEAUTIFUL.”
Maki blinked.
Twice.
His soul left his body and re-entered it upside down.
Around them, the tension that had been thick and sad moments ago dissolved instantly. The restaurant atmosphere shifted from oh no, that poor man to thank god someone loves him.
A woman at the next table audibly whispered, “Finally!”
Another murmured, “Look how pretty he is when he smiles!”
Maki still hadn’t spoken. He didn’t know if he remembered how to.
Taki winked at him, quick, conspiratorial, soft enough to ground him.
Go with it, the wink said. I’ve got you.
The waiter approached, visibly relieved, posture relaxing like he’d been waiting for this moment too. “Welcome, sir,” he said to Taki. “Would you like something to drink?”
Taki turned dramatically to Maki. “Babe, you didn’t order anything for yourself?”
Maki stared.
The word babe rewired his brain chemistry. “I—” He swallowed. “I wanted to wait for you.”
Taki’s smile softened in a way Maki didn’t expect.
Warm. Gentle. A quiet flicker beneath the chaos.
“Oh,” Taki said, voice lowering just enough to feel private. “Well… I’m here now.”
Maki’s heart did something illegal.
Taki turned back to the waiter, clearing his throat. “Um! Water, please. To start. And we’ll look at the menu in a minute.”
“Of course,” the waiter said, smiling like he was finally at peace. “Take your time.”
When the waiter finally walked away, Taki leaned in, lowering his voice like he was sharing the world’s most chaotic secret.
“Hi,” he whispered, grin mischievous. “I’m Taki. And I promise I’m not here to abduct you. I just… couldn’t let these flowers go to waste. That would be a crime, honestly.”
Maki blinked, startled into a tiny smile. “…Okay.”
Taki beamed at him—sunshine incarnate. Then something behind Maki caught his attention.
Through the restaurant’s window, across the street, pressed against the glass of the café like two Victorian ghosts, were Fuma and Harua. Both staring at Taki with expressions ranging from deep concern to utter disbelief.
Fuma mouthed: WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?
Harua gestured wildly: COME BACK RIGHT NOW AND EXPLAIN YOURSELF IMMEDIATELY.
Taki smiled sweetly, lifted his hand under the pretense of adjusting his scarf, and very discreetly (not discreetly at all) shooed them away like misbehaving pigeons.
Fuma put his face in his hands.
Harua pointed two fingers at his own eyes and then at Taki like he was promising revenge.
Taki ignored both. He turned back to Maki with the confidence of someone who absolutely did not just abandon his friends and pretend to be someone’s date in public.
“So,” Taki chirped, folding his hands on the table, “what’s your name and who was supposed to be here? Because, full disclosure, I already hate them.”
Maki let out his first real laugh of the night, shoulders loosening as though someone had finally cut the string holding them up.
“I’m Maki,” he said, “and… no one important. Just someone from work who asked me out and apparently decided not to show.”
Taki wrinkled his nose. “Yeah, well—they sound obnoxious.”
“They are,” Maki admitted, smiling shyly. “Where did you even come from? You just… appeared.”
“Oh! The café next door,” Taki said casually, as if this were a normal origin story. “I saw you from the window.”
Maki’s brows rose. “I must’ve looked pathetic.”
Taki made a thoughtful face. “Mmm… no. Not pathetic. Well—maybe just a little. But it was the cute kind of pathetic, so I had to intervene.”
Maki laughed again, louder this time. Heads turned. He didn’t even care. They opened their menus and Taki gasped as if struck by divine inspiration. “You know what we should do?” he said, tapping the table. “Order for each other.”
Maki looked up. “But I don’t know what you like.”
“That’s the fun part!” Taki said, eyes wide with mischief. “You know what I look like I might like. Judge me. Stereotype me. Do your worst.”
Maki laughed so hard he had to cover his mouth. The waiter at the corner smiled approvingly. “Okay,” Maki said between breaths. “Sure. That sounds fun. Any allergies I need to take into account?”
Taki froze. “Oh wow,” he whispered dramatically, “I hadn’t even thought of that. See? You always think of everything, babe.”
Without warning—instinctively—Taki reached across the table and placed his hand over Maki’s.
Warm. Soft. Steady.
Maki’s laughter softened into a flushed smile. “Well? Any allergies?”
“Nope! I’m indestructible,” Taki declared. “You?”
“No food allergies,” Maki said. “So you can’t kill me accidentally.”
“Oh good,” Taki said, relieved. “On purpose would be way too messy.”
Maki snorted into his menu.
And just like that, the two of them began flipping through the pages, heads bent together, already looking like they belonged in the soft glow of the restaurant’s lights.
The waiter returned with a polite smile and a notepad, clearly bracing for either a complicated order or a complete disaster—both of which seemed equally possible with Taki present. “Are you ready to order?”
Taki straightened like a soldier receiving a mission. “Yes,” he said solemnly. “But you cannot, under any circumstances, let him see what I’m pointing at.”
Maki snorted. “Same goes for him.”
The waiter blinked. “Ah. A mystery dinner?”
“Exactly!” Taki beamed. “It’s very romantic. Or stupid. Probably both.”
Maki pointed discreetly at an item on the menu, lowering the corner just enough for the waiter to see but not enough for Taki to peek.
“I’ll get… this. For him.” He tilted his head toward Taki.
The waiter nodded, amused. “Excellent choice.”
Taki followed suit, shielding the menu with both hands like he was guarding nuclear codes. “And he’ll have this.”
The waiter smiled warmly—too warmly. “This is adorable, by the way.”
Maki said without missing a beat, “We’re aiming to be named Cutest Couple at my work’s Christmas party.”
Taki nodded very seriously. “The bar is low, though. Their criteria is always suspicious.”
The waiter laughed—full-body, delighted laughter—and walked away shaking his head like he’d just witnessed the birth of a rom-com.
When he was gone, they both looked at each other and immediately broke into quiet giggles.
Not loud.
Not exaggerated.
Just soft and real—the kind that loosened something tight in Mark’s chest.
The conversation drifted naturally, surprisingly easy for two strangers.
“So,” Taki said, chin in his hand, “tell me about yourself. Every detail. Start at birth.”
Maki chuckled. “Maybe not that far back. But… okay. I moved here about a month ago.”
“For work?” Tahel guessed.
“Yeah. I work in Cybersecurity.”
Taki gasped dramatically, nearly knocking over his water glass. “Oh my—do you hack things?”
Maki laughed, shaking his head. “Not really. My job is basically making sure there’s a backup plan in case someone important gets scammed and clicks a link they shouldn’t.”
Taki blinked. “…That's so me.”
“Wait—you click those?” Maki asked, scandalized.
“I click ALL of them,” Taki admitted, pouting. “They’re so convincing, okay? Sometimes they say I won money. Sometimes they say my package is delayed. I love packages.”
Maki covered his mouth to hide a laugh. “That sounds like a you problem.”
“It IS,” Taki agreed solemnly. “I need adult supervision.”
“Clearly.” Maki took a sip of water, shoulders relaxing, the heaviness from earlier slowly dissolving. “So what about you? What do you do?”
“Oh! I’m a dentist,” Taki said proudly.
Maki blinked at him. Then, quietly, almost like it slipped out without permission “…Well that explains it.”
“Explains what?”
“You do have a beautiful smile.”
The words hit Taki like a physical force.
Color flooded his cheeks so fast it was almost impressive.
“H-hey,” he stammered, pointing accusingly. “You were shy literally a minute ago. Go back to that. I liked that version.”
Maki raised an eyebrow, all traces of earlier embarrassment gone. “I’m far from shy. I was just mortified about getting stood up. Whole different thing.”
“Well—go back to being mortified,” Taki demanded, flustered. “Stop doing whatever you are doing.”
Maki’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “Do you not get flirted with often? That was such a bare-minimum compliment.”
Taki’s mouth fell open. “You were flirting? Why would you flirt? Don’t flirt!”
Maki leaned back, grinning. “Well… you’re my date. Of course I’m going to flirt.”
Taki made a sound between a squeak and a gasp, burying his face in the menu.
The restaurant’s lighting softened as the evening settled in, casting warm gold over their table. Somewhere behind them, someone’s flute of champagne was popped open a little too enthusiastically, and Taki jumped like he’d been shot.
Before Maki could tease him, the waiter approached with a flourish.
“All right, gentlemen,” he said, balancing two plates with effortless grace, “here are your mystery meals.” He set the dishes down with the subtle excitement of someone who loved being included in whatever nonsense was unfolding.
Taki leaned over Maki’s plate, inspecting it like a scientist discovering a new species.
Maki mirrored him, brow furrowed at the dish Taki had chosen for him.
“What—” Maki blinked at Taki’s order for him, “—what is this?”
“A vibe,” Taki said proudly.
“This looks like it costs half my salary.”
“You deserve nice things,” Taki said, as if this were obvious.
Maki’s ears warmed.
“And what about mine?” Taki asked, poking gently at the plate Maki chose for him. “Why does mine look healthier than your hopes and dreams?”
Maki grinned. “Because when I saw it, I thought: ‘This man seems like he needs vitamins.’”
Taki gasped, offended. “How dare you. I had a whole hot chocolate today.”
“My point exactly,” Maki declared.
They clinked their forks with the solemnity of a royal. “Cheers,” Taki said, tapping his fork against Maki’s.
“To what?” Maki asked.
Taki shrugged lightly. “To… unexpectedly good company.”
Maki felt that somewhere deeper than he expected. He tried his meal and his brows instantly shot up. “Oh. Oh wait—this is amazing.”
Taki made a pleased noise. “Right?! I knew it was a vibe. I’m so good at this.”
“And mine?” Maki asked, watching him carefully.
Taki took a dramatic bite—because he didn’t know how to take a normal one—and froze mid-chew. Then, “Okay. This is… incredible. Like slap-your-grandma good. Are you a food clairvoyant?”
“I just guessed,” Maki said modestly, then added with a shrug, “You look like you’d eat something cozy.”
Taki blinked. “Do I look cozy?”
Maki arched an eyebrow. “You look pretty cute”
Taki kicked him under the table, gently. “Shut up.”
Maki grinned.
A moment passed—soft, easy.
Then Maki wiped his mouth and said decisively, “Okay, move your plate.”
“What? Why?”
“We’re sharing.”
Taki’s entire face lit up. “Sharing?? Like… like we’re those couples who annoyingly eat off each other’s plates??”
“Yes,” Maki said simply.
Taki practically vibrated with joy.
They pushed both dishes to the center of the table, creating an absurd spread for two people. The waiter passed by, saw the setup, clutched his heart, and whispered, “Adorable,” like a man watching penguins hold flippers. They both chose to ignore him completely.
They settled into a rhythm—forks crossing, accidental taps of fingers, playful nudges when one tried to hog the better bites.
Conversation flowed effortlessly.
Maki took another bite, then rested his elbow casually on the table, chin in hand.
A relaxed position.
A confident one.
One that made Taki blink a little too slowly.
“So,” Maki said, voice warm with growing comfort, “what do you do when you’re not rescuing strangers in restaurants?”
Taki grinned. “Mostly? I bother my roommates. My friend Harua says my existence counts as a full-time job.”
“That sounds about right,” Maki teased. “You have a very… chaotic aura.”
“HEY.”
Maki raised his brows. “You do.”
Taki tried to look offended, but he failed almost instantly. “Okay, fine, a little chaotic.” He held up two fingers. “Tiny bit.”
“Sure,” Maki said, smiling. “Just a tiny tornado.”
Taki pointed his fork at him. “You’re supposed to be nice to me.”
“I am being nice,” Maki said. “If I wasn’t, I’d call you a huricane.”
Taki gasped dramatically. Maki snorted. It was the most alive he had felt in weeks.
The conversation shifted naturally, like they’d done this a hundred times.
“What about you?” Taki asked. “What’s life like for Cybersecurity Cinderella outside of work?”
Maki hummed, thinking. “Well, considering I’ve only been here a month… I don’t have a ton going on yet.”
“No friends at all?” Taki asked, tone gentler.
Maki shook his head. “I mean, I talk to my coworkers, but that’s different.”
“Did you go exploring at least?” Taki asked eagerly. “Tell me you did touristy things.”
Maki laughed. “I tried. I got lost, like, five times.”
“How do you get lost FIVE TIMES?”
“Google Maps lies.”
“You’re lying.”
Maki grinned. “Okay, maybe I ignored Google Maps because I thought I knew better.”
“You definitely did not know better,” Taki said.
“I definitely did not,” Maki admitted.
Taki leaned forward a little, elbow on the table to mirror him. “What did you do when you got lost?”
“I wandered around until something looked familiar,” Maki said. “I found a cute bookstore once. And a bakery that sells the best chocolate croissants I’ve ever tasted.”
Taki clapped his hands once, delighted. “Oh! That’s adorable.”
Maki scoffed lightly. “Adorable?”
“Yes, adorable. What, you want it to be edgy? ‘I got lost and joined a biker gang?’”
Maki laughed—loud and unrestrained—the way someone laughs when they finally feel safe enough to.
“What about hobbies?” Taki asked. “What do you like? Who are you, Maki-who-gets-lost?”
“Well… I like theater,” Maki said, brushing his thumb over his water glass. “Musicals, especially.”
“Ohhh, you’re one of those,” Taki teased. “Suddenly everything makes sense.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Maki demanded, smiling.
“You have Troy Bolton energy,” Taki declared. “You look like a frat boy that secretly yearns for the stage.”
Maki raised a brow. “Are you saying I look dramatic?”
“Yes.”
Maki smirked. “Is that why you stared at me from across the street?”
Taki nearly swallowed his tongue. “I—what—NO—” His voice cracked.
Maki’s grin widened.He leaned slightly closer, playful and confident in a way that made Taki go still. Maki said softly. “Now tell me: was it me that attracted you, or did you just have a hero complex moment?”
Taki stared at him, open-mouthed. “I—I don’t—THAT’S—” He pointed weakly at him. “Stop being so bold? Who allowed this??”
Maki’s smile turned shy again, like the confidence was on a dimmer switch.
“It just… feels easy talking to you. I haven’t felt this at ease since I left home”
That shut Taki up.
For a moment, neither of them joked.
Neither deflected.
They just… sat in a soft pocket of quiet.
“You’re easy to talk to too,” Taki said, voice quieter than before. “It’s normally really difficult for me to get to know someone new.” He smiles softly, “Not you though.”
Mark looked at him in that moment—really looked, warm and steady—and Tahel felt something flutter against his ribs.
—
Dessert arrived with the same flourish the waiter had used for everything tonight — as though he were personally invested in their budding romance. Honestly? He probably was.
Two plates, beautifully arranged, one with tiny edible gold flakes that Taki immediately flicked at Maki just to prove a point.
The conversation had softened into something warm, rhythmic. The “favorites game,” as Taki called it, unfolded like a volley:
“Favorite color?”
“Blue.”
“Predictable,” Taki declared.
“Oh yeah? What’s yours?”
“Rainbow,” Taki said. “I refuse to choose, the other colors would feel rejected.”
“Favorite food?”
“Pasta,” Taki answered too quickly.
“That’s so basic,” Maki accused.
Favorite song, favorite scent, favorite weather — they bounced from category to category with growing enthusiasm, each answer revealing another small corner of who they were.
Then Taki, fork poised mid-air, went in for the kill, “Favorite Christmas movie?”
Maki didn’t even look up from his dessert. “Oh, I haven’t watched any, actually.”
Taki stopped breathing.
The world paused.
A child at the neighboring table dropped their spoon in shock — or maybe that was just Taki’s imagination, but still.
“You…” Taki blinked rapidly. “I’m sorry, what do you mean you haven’t watched any?”
Maki shrugged, casual. “We never did when I was growing up. My dad hates them, so every December he made a point of watching literally anything else. Documentaries. Cooking shows. Nature specials. Once he played a three-hour video on the history of asphalt.”
Taki stared at him like he’d confessed to murder. “Oh. My. God.” He swallowed dramatically. “Your father is Mr. Scrooge.”
Maki looked genuinely perplexed. “Who?”
Taki let out a noise that could only be described as offensive to angels. “ABSOLUTELY NOT. We are correcting this immediately.”
Maki laughed, shoulders shaking. “Immediately?”
“Yes,” Taki said, already half-standing, waving down the waiter. “We’re ordering dessert to go. We are having a Christmas movie marathon.”
“We are?” Maki asked, amused, watching Taki unleash his inner elf.
“YES.” Taki pointed at him as the waiter approached. “He has never seen a Christmas movie. It is an emergency.”
The waiter gasped softly. “Oh dear.”
“SEE? EVEN HE GETS IT.”
Maki pressed his hand to his forehead, laughing. “Okay, okay. But… where is this marathon happening?”
“My place,” Taki said, like this was the most obvious thing in the world. “My roommates will love the plan.”
Maki raised a brow. “You’re inviting a complete stranger into your home?”
Taki scoffed, offended in principle. “You’re not a complete stranger. You’re my impromptu fake date, hacker Troy Bolton.” He grabbed his coat. “Let’s go.”
Maki couldn’t stop smiling — truly smiling, warm enough to melt every ounce of earlier embarrassment.
They took two steps toward the exit before the waiter appeared like a summoned spirit, bill folder in hand.
“Oh! Right,” Taki said, patting down his pockets like maybe the money would magically materialize. “We should, uhh—”
“I’ve got it,” Maki said immediately, reaching for the bill.
“You absolutely do not,” Taki countered, reaching at the same time.
Their fingers brushed. Both froze for half a second longer than necessary.
Then the tug-of-war began.
“Let me pay,” Taki insisted. “It was my idea to crash your dinner and kidnap you.”
“KIDNAP?” Maki laughed. “You literally rescued me.”
“Rescues cost money!”
“What? No they don’t!”
“Yes they do! Emotionally!”
Maki snatched the bill. “You’re not paying shit Taki.”
“Yes I am!”
“No.” Maki opened the folder decisively. “You saved me from the biggest embarrassment of my life. This is the least I can do.”
Taki’s mouth fell open.
Maki handed his card to the waiter before Taki could recover.
The waiter accepted it with serene satisfaction.
“I cannot believe you just did that,” Taki whispered, scandalized.
Maki leaned in slightly. “What was I supposed to do? Let you pay for my failed date and my dinner?”
“YES,” Taki said, throwing his hands up. “That’s exactly what you should’ve done!”
Maki bit back a grin. “Well, too late.”
Taki frowned at him — a tiny, pouty, betrayed frown that lasted exactly two seconds before dissolving into a giggle.
When the waiter returned the card, Maki took it back with a quiet, satisfied smile.
“Thank you,” Taki said softly, sincerity peeking through the dramatics. “Really.”
Maki shrugged, cheeks warm.
“You kind of earned it.”
—
The cold outside hit them with a crisp bite, but Taki didn’t even flinch.
He bounced once on the sidewalk—just once, like the city had plugged him into a charger—and then reached out.
Not hesitantly.
Not dramatically.
Just… naturally.
His fingers slipped between Maki’s, warm and sure, tugging him forward with the confidence of someone dragging a friend toward a rollercoaster.
“Come on,” Taki said, tugging lightly. “I live nearby.”
Maki blinked down at their joined hands.
Taki didn’t. It clearly hadn’t even registered with him that he was holding someone’s hand.
Maki laughed under his breath and let himself be pulled along.
The streets were glowing with Christmas lights, warm yellows and soft blues reflecting off the wet pavement like watercolor streaks. The air smelled faintly of roasted chestnuts and cold night.
They walked in a rhythm that made no sense for two people who had met an hour ago—steps aligned, shoulders brushing now and then, something warm settling into the quiet space between them.
But after a few blocks, Maki gently tugged back, slowing them both.
“Hey,” he said softly.
Takil stopped mid-step and turned, scarf swishing dramatically. “What?”
Maki looked at him with a sincerity that hit harder than the cold. “You really don’t have to do this. You’ve already done more than enough for me tonight.”
Taki blinked, confusion pulling his brows together. “Maki… I’m not doing this for you.”
Maki’s heart stuttered.
Taki’s voice softened, becoming something almost earnest beneath the chaos. “I’m doing this for me,” he said. “How am I supposed to sleep tonight knowing you’ve never watched a Christmas movie? That’s psychological warfare.”
Maki laughed, and Taki grinned like he’d been waiting for it.
“And also,” Taki added, shrugging slightly, “why are you saying it like I’m… doing chores? You’re funny and kind. Why wouldn’t I want you around?”
Maki paused—not physically, but emotionally.
It had been a long time since someone said something that simple and meant it.
He squeezed Taki’s hand once.
Just once.
Then, slowly, he lifted their joined hands to his lips.
Taki froze like someone had unplugged him from reality. Maki pressed a soft, warm kiss to the back of his hand.
“Thank you,” he murmured. “For everything you’ve done tonight.”
Taki’s face went so red, the Christmas lights didn’t stand a chance.
“I—uh—no worries,” he managed, voice cracking like poorly tuned radio static. “Totally fine. Happens all the time.”
(It did not.)
Maki smiled—soft, pleased, the kind of smile that made Taki look away because direct eye contact suddenly felt illegal.
“Let’s go,” Taki blurted, tugging him forward again. “You have to meet my roommates.”
Maki let himself be dragged with amusement sparkling in his eyes. “Should I be nervous?”
“Yes,” Taki said immediately. “But in a fun way.”
They walked on, fingers still laced, breaths clouding the air in little puffs.
Maki felt strangely… light. And Taki—whether he admitted it or not—kept glancing at their joined hands like he still couldn’t believe they were real.
The city wrapped around them, warm and glittering.
It felt like the kind of night that didn’t happen by accident.
—
Taki barely got the key in the door before it flew open on its own.
Fuma and Harua stood there like two parents who had stayed up past curfew waiting for their problem child. Arms crossed. Eyes narrowed. Energy murderous.
“Where have you—” Harua started.
“What happened—” Fuma tried at the same time.
But neither got further, because Taki shoved the bouquet directly into Fuma’s arms like he was disarming a bomb.
“Hi guys!” Taki chirped, entirely too cheerful. “Maki here has never watched a Christmas movie, so we are ALL having a Christmas movie marathon. Urgent intervention. You’re welcome.”
He stepped inside, still holding Maki’s hand, kicked his shoes off with chaotic accuracy, and was already halfway through introductions before Fuma and Harua could blink.
“Maki,” Takil said, gesturing wildly, “these are Fuma and Harua. I share my three functioning brain cells with Harua, and Fuma is the reason I’ve never accidentally burned the apartment down.”
Fuma blinked at him.
Harua blinked at Maki.
Maki blinked at all of them, delighted.
Then Taki tugged Maki further inside as if he lived there — which, apparently, he now temporarily did.
The living room lights were warm; the couch was a disaster of blankets; and Nicholas sat in the middle of it all with the stillness of a man who had seen things and chosen peace.
He was eating chips straight from the bag, legs up on the coffee table like he paid rent here (he didn’t).
Taki pointed at him.
“That’s Nico. Harua’s boyfriend. Nico, you staying the night?”
“Yep,” He said without looking away from his chips.
“Cool,” Taki replied.
Nicholas finally glanced up, eyes landing on Maki.
“Who’s that?” he asked casually, like Maki was a new lamp someone had bought.
“This is Maki,” Taki announced proudly. “My impromptu fake date. Hacker Troy Bolton.”
Nico nodded once. “Cool.”
That was it. That was the entire reaction.
Fuma and Harua, however, were vibrating with confusion.
“START TALKING,” Harua demanded, stepping between them and blocking the doorway like a nosy security guard.
“Yes,” Fuma added, voice dangerously calm. “Explain. In words. That make sense.”
Maki laughed — really laughed — shoulders relaxing as all the absurdity settled in.
He took pity on them.
“Well,” Maki said, rubbing the back of his neck, “I got stood up by my date tonight.”
Fuma winced sympathetically.
Harua groaned. “Rude.”
“But,” Maki continued, glancing at Taki with a smile that was definitely going to cause complications later, “cutie here saved me from the biggest embarrassment of my life and pretended to be my date.”
Harua considered this.
Slowly.
Then nodded. “Yeah, that tracks.”
Fuma stared at Taki.
Then at Maki.
Then at the bouquet still in his hands.
Finally, with the exhausted resignation of a man who had long accepted his chaotic fate, he said:
“…Of course he did.”
Harua slapped his hands together. “Movie marathon time, baby!”
Nicholas raised his chip bag in salute.
Maki looked around — at the cozy living room, the warm lights, the eager faces, the ridiculous roommates — and felt something blossom in his chest.
Something like belonging.
Something like oh. I might actually have stumbled into something good.
Taki squeezed his hand once more, unconsciously, like he might let go otherwise.
“Okay!” Taki announced. “Everybody pick a Christmas movie. We’re fixing Maki’s childhood trauma in one night!”
Maki laughed as they were pulled toward the couch.
He had never felt more grateful for being stood up.
They chose three movies in the end — mostly because no one could agree on just one, and partly because Taki declared that Maki required “accelerated cultural rehabilitation.”
The first movie started with the living room lights still on, the couch still shaped neatly, everyone still sitting in their own corners like civilized humans.
That didn’t last.
Maki settled at one end of the couch at first, uncertain of the layout, the blanket distribution, the rules of this strange, lively house he’d stumbled into. But it didn’t take long for the group’s energy to wrap around him like a warm, familiar scarf. Nicholas offered chips without looking away from the screen. Harua threw a blanket at him with no explanation whatsoever. Fuma sighed fondly whenever Taki made a dramatic complaint about the plot.
Little by little, Maki eased into the space.
He found himself studying the people around him — Harua’s expressive reactions, Fuma’s subtle eye rolls, Nicholas’ legendary stillness — and the way they moved around Taki like planets in his tiny chaotic solar system.
But mostly, he found himself noticing Taki.
Taki, who started the movie at the opposite end of the couch with the innocent confidence of someone who had no idea they were magnetic.
Taki, who gestured wildly at the screen whenever a scene offended him.
Taki, who kept half-turning toward Maki to share tiny incredulous expressions.
Somewhere during the first movie, their feet brushed. Accidental. Fleeting.
Neither pulled away.
During the second movie, the blankets shifted — Harua stole one, Nicholas cocooned himself in another, and Taki, with theatrical despair, declared himself freezing. He dove into the free corner of the couch, landing closer to Maki than he intended.
Neither commented on it.
The room dimmed as only the TV lit their faces in soft, flickering tones. Outside the window, the glow of Christmas lights reflected faintly on the glass, painting everything in gold and blue. Inside, the air warmed with the scent of popcorn, hot chocolate, and the familiar quiet of people settling into comfort.
Maki, somewhere between scenes, found himself offering Taki part of the blanket he’d been hoarding.
Taki accepted without question — not shy, not hesitant, as if sharing warmth with Maki were simply logic.
Slowly, gradually, gravity took over.
Maki’s knee brushed against Taki’s thigh.
Taki’s head found an easy place against Maki’s shoulder.
Their feet tangled — and stayed tangled.
It wasn’t bold.
It wasn’t loud.
It wasn’t even acknowledged.
It was simply… natural.
By the third movie, Taki had fully given up pretending to sit upright. His legs sprawled comfortably along the couch, brushing Maki’s every few minutes. His body leaned heavier against Maki, soft and warm and trusting, as if Maki were simply a part of the furniture he’d always known.
Every so often, Taki made a commentary on the movie — a dramatic gasp, a soft scoff, a whispered oh my god — and Maki found himself biting back smiles he couldn’t quite hide. Watching the movie quickly became secondary to watching Taki react to it.
Maki couldn’t remember the last time he’d sat in a room full of people and felt this welcome this quickly.
He couldn’t remember the last time someone had fallen asleep — or nearly asleep — against him without hesitation.
And near the end of the night, when Taki’s head finally settled into the crook of Maki’s shoulder with a long, slow exhale, Maki felt something warm bloom in his chest.
Something soft.
Something dangerous in its gentleness.
Something he hadn’t expected when he walked into that restaurant hours ago.
He let his cheek rest lightly against the top of Taki’s hair, just for a moment.
Just to feel it.
Just to memorize it.
The movies played on, their glow dancing across the room.
Maki didn’t know if he was watching them, or if he was simply watching the night wrap itself around him.
By the time the credits of the final movie rolled, the apartment felt like a place he had known longer than a few hours.
Harua was curled against Nicholas, both asleep in a tangle of limbs and blankets.
Fuma had claimed an armchair and surrendered to exhaustion halfway through the second movie, head tipped back, mouth slightly open in betrayal of his responsible-dad persona.
Only two people remained awake.
Maki and Taki.
They sat close—closer than either fully realized until the silence settled around them. Maki’s arm was still curled comfortably around Taki’s shoulders, and at some point Taki had let his head rest against him like it was the most natural place in the world.
Maki shifted slightly, his breath brushing against Taki’s hair.
“Hey,” he whispered, voice low enough not to disturb anyone.
Taki stirred, slowly lifting his head.
He blinked up at Maki sleepily, eyes soft and unfocused for a moment before sharpening into something warm. Something that saw Maki fully, quietly, gently.
They smiled at each other.
“Did you enjoy the Christmas spirit?” Taki whispered, teasing but tender.
Maki’s smile deepened. “Yeah,” he murmured. “I think I love Christmas movies now.”
Taki’s expression softened, practically glowing in the dim light.
The room felt small in the nicest way—intimate, safe, like they’d been wrapped in a warm pocket of quiet the universe made just for them.
Maki drew a slow breath.
“Thank you,” he whispered. “This is the best fake date I’ve ever had.”
Taki’s cheeks warmed even in the dimness.
He ducked his head a little, shy in a way Maki hadn’t seen before.
“Thank you for going along with my dumb idea,” Taki murmured back. “I… really enjoyed your company.”
They kept looking at each other.
Not rushed.
Not nervous.
Just… there.
Present. Open. Waiting.
The kind of moment that could stretch forever if the world allowed.
Maki’s voice broke the silence, soft and uncertain only in the way beginnings always are. “Would you like to go on a real date with me sometime?”
Taki’s breath caught.
He blinked, stunned, as if Maki had just handed him a wrapped gift he hadn’t dared hope for.
“Are you serious?” he whispered.
Maki’s smile turned gentle—steadier, somehow.
“You’re funny,” he said. “And kind. And cute.” His thumb brushed Taki’s arm, barely there. “Of course I want to take you out on a proper date.”
Taki’s lips curved into a tiny, breathless smile. “Yeah,” he whispered.
“Yeah?” Maki echoed, closer now.
“Yeah.”
The space between them dissolved slowly—like melting snow, like something inevitable but careful. Their foreheads brushed first, soft and searching. Then their noses. Then, they kissed.
Slow.
Sweet.
Tender.
The kind of kiss that doesn’t rush, doesn’t demand—just feels.
Warm and steady and full of something new blooming quietly between them.
When they pulled back, they were both smiling in that stunned, heart-softened way of people realizing something beautiful had just started.
Taki swallowed, breath shaky with joy he couldn’t hide. “Merry Christmas to me,” he whispered.
Maki giggled—really giggled—before leaning in again and kissing him once more, deeper and just as gentle.
Outside, snow had begun to fall.
Inside, two hearts found each other in the softest hour of the night.
It was the beginning of something neither had come looking for—
but both suddenly couldn’t imagine not having.