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“It'll be ready soon,” Taki says when he hears 2030Nicholas’ footsteps.
Nicholas has a way of walking, a way to drag his feet and hum under his breath that heralds his presence. And Taki’s attention, upon sensing it, is already claimed by the flitting silhouette in his peripheral vision.
Taki has seen the future; he doubts it’ll ever change. Whenever Nicholas walks in, Taki’s heart shall be forfeit.
It’s only been a short while, yet in the past few days, Taki hasn’t grown accustomed to this version of Nicholas, seven years his senior, and can’t help but stare and stare and stare.
Taki has half a mind to keep steering the bone broth, and finally relents, looking at 2030Nicholas when his mind latches on to the older man helplessly. 2030Nicholas is broader; he wears his hair pushed off his forehead at home, held back by a claw headband. He barely conceals the blemishes under his eyes with anything but a tinted sunscreen he applies sporadically. He hasn’t shaved since &Team is currently on a break, and the company can’t require any image maintenance. Taki has been left with visions of his armpits, his happy trail every time his pajama shirt rides up, the hair dotting his chin, which shouldn’t haunt his sleep, when he tends to forget he isn’t at home in this reality.
Yes, home. When Taki woke up in their rental apartment along the Meguro River –his head still filled with tour dates, choreographies, and Kei’s impending scolding if he didn’t start cleaning his room soon– the last thing Taki had expected was an older Nicholas sharing his bed or traces of a shared life left behind.
“Smells good,” 2030Nicholas says, leaning against their built-in fridge. The fading daylight makes a habit of highlighting the structure of his face.
Taki doesn’t believe there ever was a Nicholas who didn’t use touch freely. This one, while similar to the familiar one Taki left behind, barely hesitates. He stands as close to Taki as possible, despite lacking interest in whatever Taki is chopping with quiet efficiency; he grabs the hem of Taki’s apron and plays with the waist straps.
It’s easy to blame that quick momentary distraction on 2030Nicholas being unfairly attractive or that unruly leek, but the truth is, Taki has been expecting a cut ever since he laid eyes on 2030Taki’s santoku knife collection. Taki yelps, more surprised than hurt, and 2030Nicholas’ face transforms, his smile vanishing, replaced by an arousing kind of worry.
Something is very wrong with Taki. But as soon as Nicholas, any Nicholas in any timeline, furrows their brows, a part of Taki prays to be spared.
“Please, be careful,” 2030Nicholas says as he inspects Taki’s index and kisses it better, too.
Taki had foolishly thought he knew what yearning felt like; all these years tugging on Nicholas’ sleeve, begging for a look in edgewise. But he realises now that nothing compares to the knowledge of a version of himself that earned and kept Nico’s attention for so long.
Two days ago, Taki used to hope this was all a dream. But now, in the quiet kitchen, as 2030Nicholas sucks on Taki’s finger to stop the bleeding, the mirages of the past fade in the distance.
There’s an I love you somewhere, trapped inside Taki’s throat, itching to get past his lips.
There’s a vacant spot inside Taki’s heart that this older, calmer, more assured version of Nicholas fits into.
“It isn’t worth a finger,” 2030Nicholas comments, and he punctuates his sentence with a peck on Taki’s cheek.
That’s something he does whenever he wants to kiss Taki but doesn’t want to ruin the surprise of their first kiss. Taki sulked at first, furious and ashamed that his desire was so blatant and that he was told to wait to see his feelings returned in another timeline. 2030Nicholas had laughed, but not mockingly, simply enamored by how petulant Taki could get.
“It’s worth the wait,” 2030Nicholas had assured him, and Taki told him off for being a gloating bastard. They reconciled quickly around a shared plate of burnt dumplings and reruns of a sitcom 2030Nicholas had never taken the time to finish. They reconciled quickly because 2030Nicholas was infinitely more mature than any version of Nicholas Taki had encountered so far.
Taki feels blood rushing to his cheeks every time 2030Nicholas stares at him like he’s worth taking care of. He resumes turning the stove back on. He rambles because that’s the only thing he can do to ease his nerves when his skin still tingles under Nicholas’ touch.
“It’ll be ready soon,” Taki repeats with a sidelong glance.
“Sorry,” 2030Nicholas smiles sheepishly, taking a step back as if it’ll suffice. “I'll stop distracting you.”
Not even a minute passes by before he’s talking again, and Taki barely fights a smile.
“Can I serve you a drink?” 2030Nicholas asks.
Taki can’t quite believe how domestic this entire scene is. Of course, since he arrived, 2030Nicholas had never hidden the fact that the Taki he was replacing for a week was his partner. But standing in that kitchen where these two must have shared a bottle and morning kisses, Taki can’t help but feel like an imposter.
There’s a pressure he refuses to address. The lingering impression that 2030Nicholas is turning twenty-eight and instead of fucking his boyfriend, he’s stuck babysitting a younger version of Taki who can’t cut vegetables properly.
“What does he drink?” Taki asks, resolutely looking at the braised beef chunks simmering in the reduced Shaoxing wine-coloured broth. He's been cooking for hours.
He, Taki always says, for he doubts the 2030Taki he’s heard of is anything similar to him. 2030Nicholas speaks of him as if he’s a divine entity, an otherworldly performer, someone who knows not to wilt in the shadows.
“He likes sweet wines. I think we have a Tokaji Aszu bottle somewhere our manager gifted us…” 2030Nicholas replies softly.
He just knows what to say, even to distract Taki from his own unshareable thoughts. Taki feels excited again, like that same morning when he stumbled upon a wedding invitation in the drawer of 2030Taki’s bedside table. He had squealed when he recognised their manager’s profile printed on the cardstock.
“I saw the wedding invitation…” Taki exclaims with a smile, “It's crazy!”
“Right?” 2030Nicholas laughs in response, “Might give some people ideas…”
Taki is familiar with Nicholas' tendency to joke about things with flirty, meaningless comments. He chuckles.
“So you're going to, like, marry him?”
That future version of Taki appears between them like a spectre, untouchable. Irritably perfect.
“Yeah, that's the plan,” 2030Nicholas responds. He doesn’t sound like he’s joking.
Taki drops the wooden spoon on the floor.
It startles him, of course, just how this bout of honesty can make him rethink his entire life’s trajectory. Four years from his present, Nicholas will think of marrying a version of Taki he’s far from becoming. Four years from his present, Nicholas will no longer think Taki is too young to know his own heart.
Taki doesn’t even have time to collect the utensil on the kitchen’s floor tiles before 2030Nicholas drops to his knees. The wooden spoon is discarded in the cluttered sink, but 2030Nicholas’ eyes don’t stray away from Taki’s face.
“I'm sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” he says with a rueful smile, “You're so—”
“So what?” Taki asks, barely above his hammering heart.
So cute, Taki has heard a lot before. From the entire group and all ages within their fanbase. From staff who demanded that he alter tense moods, lift spirits, and ease any situation that left him cradling his hands in a nervous wreck. Cute surely isn’t an insult, but it’s the last thing Taki needs to hear.
“You're so you,” 2030Nicholas tells him, “You keep referring to yourself as him, and I'm going along, but Taki—there's no competition, baby. It's you.”
If Taki were anything else, he’d be sure he’d explode.
It’s you, he keeps hearing, and he stares and stares and—
“I think our dinner's burning,” 2030Nicholas ends up saying.
⚄
2030Nicholas’ birthday dinner doesn’t burn. Or at least, not in an unsalvageable way.
When Taki is done setting up their plates on the candlelit table on the balcony, he’s extremely cautious not to ruin the evening further. 2030Nicholas looks pleased. He’s even changed in what can only be called an outrageous display of how good he looks in a suit. He’s styled his hair, put some dangly earrings on, and put on his rings.
It’s funny how Taki’s attention is immediately drawn to the one on his index, the one adorned with a die. Taki has no way of proving it’s linked to him, and yet he guesses it all the same. Only for how he knows Nicholas doesn’t care about the number five half as much as Taki does.
“I hope it's good,” Taki says.
“I'm sure it's good,” 2030Nicholas replies. “Thank you.”
Taki has always liked watching Nicholas eat. Even when he was too young to fully acknowledge the tightness in his chest, he would stare at Nicholas slurping noodles and feel encouraged to do the same.
“It's really good, Taki.”
Taki smiles, but his mind is busy elsewhere.
“You call me baby sometimes. You did, earlier, in the kitchen…”
And that same morning, when Taki had hugged him and wished him a happy birthday in the ensuite bathroom, 2030Nicholas had replied thank you, baby, smelling of that overpriced Byredo body wash, like it was the most natural thing to do. And two nights ago, when Taki handed him the TV remote.
2030Nicholas smiles knowingly, “Do you like it?”
Taki doesn’t have to be handed a mirror to know he’s the colour of a ripe tomato. “You know I do.”
“Okay,” 2030Nicholas’ smile grows, his chopsticks hovering mid-air, “It’s really good, baby.”
⚄
For Taki, the concept of success had always seemed less tangible than to the other members.
Of course, he liked trophies. But he knew he didn’t love them the way Kei or Euijoo did. Platinum records mattered far more to Yuma and Maki, too. Their 2026 sold-out tour had brought Harua nearly to tears and Nicholas paid attention to their numbers the way someone at Hybe Labels was paid to do.
This apartment, Taki decides, is just as much a success as the person he gets to share it with. It’s spacious, homey, and clean. It’s filled with light and plants just like the home he grew up in. It bears witness to the greatest miracle of his life: that he’s found a family in this lonely music industry. It holds all the parts of Taki that fame can’t taint.
Taki was disappointed at first to know the members were on vacation during this week, scattered around the Earth. And then, he realised what a privilege to go on vacation for this many days, to know that his body could soften, and sleep as much as he wanted. To be allowed to stare at 2030Nicholas for hours on end, and listen to him scratching guitar chords, writing lyrics in a living room they called their own.
“I just–I can't believe this is my life,” Taki admits aloud at some point.
He’s never felt this satiated before.
2030Nicholas looks at him, truly looks at him like there’s no other being in the world.
Taki feels stupid, once again, to have even considered that he was a chore, a babysitting duty 2030Nicholas was assigned while the rest of the group went on with their lives.
Back in his reality, Taki had often thought that he caught glimpses of something in his Nico’s eyes. But even the most gentle of ambush didn’t work, and Taki had enough self respect not to torture a confession out of his older groupmate.
“Taki,” 2030Nicholas says, extending his hand on the table, palm up. “You have so much more to look forward to. I promise. Our music, our Lunés, the synergy between the nine of us… I don’t think it can get any better than that.”
Taki puts his hand on 2030Nicholas’. Their fingers intertwine as they always do; their hands are meant to hold each other.
“I love you,” Taki whispers helplessly. There’s a tear he knows he can’t reach, tumbling down his left cheek.
2030Nicholas smiles. It’s one of those smiles where, no matter how many years may pass, Taki is sure he’ll never recover from it. “I love you, too.”
He adds something in Mandarin that Taki knows translates to my love, coming back in the many C-dramas he chooses to watch.
He feels like he should be melting in that seat or dropping to his knees immediately.
Neither option is suitable for a birthday dinner.
“Would you like dessert?”
2030Nicholas’ eyes grow impossibly large. “You’ve made dessert?”
Taki is delighted. It’s fun to still be able to surprise someone who’s known him for a decade.
He gets up from his seat, eager to show off.
He can still hear 2030Nicholas asking, “Wait, when did you make dessert?” as he’s putting their plates in the dishwasher.
He laughs again. The sun has finally set on that foolish hope that he may, one day, love someone else half as much as he loves Nicholas.
⚄
By the time Taki has switched off the outdoor hanging lanterns, put on Stevie Wonder’s Happy Birthday song on the stereo, and managed to cut some carrot cake slices, the brown butter frosting is a mess.
Taki still walks out with his head held high because he’d never allow disappointment to stain Nicholas’ night.
“Wait!! I forgot something,” he exclaims when he finally tears his eyes off that giggling twenty-eight-year-old. Taki rushes back into the kitchen in a panic, 2030Nicholas’ belly laugh follows him.
Taki almost trips on their kitchen mat in his rush. 2030Nicholas only laughs louder. It’s a mess.
“Let me help,” 2030Nicholas asks, as if he isn’t doubling over with laughter, utterly useless.
“No, stay over there,” Taki begs, and he tears open the birthday candles’ plastic packaging with his teeth, as the song is almost coming to an end. “Could you just–close your eyes or something?”
2030Nicholas obeys with his usual grin. If Taki observes him any longer, there’ll be nothing but melted frosting and wax on the plates. And yet, he finds that of little importance.
Taki once strived for perfection. He used to take every criticism to heart, even the mildest ones, even the ones administered by Fuma or Kei, with a head pat to soften the blow. He hid it all behind a smile and broke down out of sight. Understanding that mistakes happened and they were meant to be corrected was hard, but the looming threat of a survival show’s elimination was nothing but a distant cloud that his members’ presence could chase.
“Shit,” Taki whispers when, instead of looping back, his phone decides to play his oldies playlist, and Dropkick suddenly fills the silence.
“You okay?” 2030Nicholas asks.
“Don't open them yet!” Taki shrieks.
The ‘8’ candle is dangerously veering to the side of the cake slice. Taki prays it doesn’t go out for the last two metres.
“Sorry,” 2030Nicholas snorts.
It’s only when the cake slice is placed in front of him and Taki puts a hand on his shoulder that he opens his eyes again.
“Happy birthday, Nico,” Taki tells him before kissing the side of his head, between the temple and the cheekbone. He smells of colour-safe shampoo, and that strangely named perfume he appears to share with 2030Taki.
He smiles up at Taki and kisses his palm like it isn’t sweaty and gross. “Thank you, baby.”
“Make a wish,” Taki urges him, overwhelmed.
There’s a stark contrast between the reverential silence between the two of them and the song’s change of key.
“Done,” Nicholas says finally, and he blows out all the candles.
He digs into the cake enthusiastically and compliments Taki every few bites. He’s nearly mine, Taki keeps thinking, and only mine.
When he looks at the crumbs on his plate, it’s impossible not to think of 2026Nicholas turning twenty-four at that exact same time in a reality that seems both familiar and far away.
“I think I'm four years too late on my promise,” Taki says.
2030Nicholas looks like he understands that Taki isn’t simply speaking of cake anymore.
“You'll have many birthdays to make it up to me.”
The future is strange, Taki decides. It’s strange and wondrous and scarily easy to look forward to.
“I have a gift for you, too,” 2030Nicholas declares suddenly, standing up abruptly, and disappearing inside the apartment.
Taki waits for him, anxious without knowing why, hoping it’s not anything worth more than a birthday dinner, hoping it’s not anything that might be left behind in this reality he doesn’t belong in.
“He’d kill me if I forgot to give you this,” 2030Nicholas declares as he comes back to the balcony.
He hands Taki a card. Similar to the birthday card he wrote some nights ago, barefoot in the barely-lit kitchen of their dorm, for Nicholas’ twenty-fourth birthday. He’d been caught by a half-asleep Jo, who stayed awake beside him as he racked his brain for something to write instead of another unwanted confession.
Taki doesn’t recognise the meaning of the words spelled on this card.
“What does this mean?” Taki asks, tracing the glittering letters.
“Joy has a habit of returning,” 2030Nicholas reads aloud in English before repeating in Japanese.
The little card now feels heavy. Taki turns it around, and his eyes catch onto the familiar handwriting. It’s him. 2030Taki.
Take it easy :) I love you
“Oh.” Taki isn’t sure the exclamation has come from him. He isn’t sure he hears any music notes left. He looks up to meet 2030Nicholas’ eyes, and his vision blurs.
He feels like he’s fifteen again, sobbing like he’s lost his chance at ever proving his worth.
“When–?” He asks.
“He wrote it right before leaving,” 2030Nicholas replies. “He couldn’t wait to see him again. I mean, to see me again.”
Taki laughs wetly; this entire sentence should give him a headache. Instead, he feels like he’s just been tenderly held by the person he distrusts most.
“I’m so glad you came to see me,” 2030Nicholas adds, “So he could remind you of this…”
He, Taki always says, for he doubts the 2030Taki he’s heard of is anything similar to him. 2030Nicholas speaks of him as if he’s a divine entity, an otherworldly performer, someone who knows not to wilt in the shadows. Taki ends up believing it too.
“You better ask him to marry you,” Taki says, still sniffling. 2030Nicholas’ hand doesn’t let go of him. “Ask me,” Taki adds.
“I have your blessing, then?” 2030Nicholas smiles teasingly.
“Yeah,” Taki nods.
There are few stars in the sky, but Taki knows that somewhere in this universe, a version of him finds his way to Nicholas’ heart. And he’ll say yes to any of them.
“Good,” Nicholas says, “that’s what I wished for.”