Chapter Text
RYO was sitting quietly on his best friend’s comfy couch, with a blanket full of kittens covering his legs and a cup of hot tea in his hands.
RIKU’s apartment always had that comforting scent —a mix of cinnamon, vanilla, and home. It was a scent you couldn’t find in stores or in expensive candles; it was something that existed only there, between laughs, warm ovens, and midnight conversations.
Outside, the rain gently patted against the windows, forming irregular trails that slid downward, as if the sky were tired too. The sound was constant, hypnotic — almost soft enough to make him forget… almost.
He waited patiently for RIKU to return with his famous cookies. The very ones that —according to him— cured any ill.
And as usual, RIKU emerged from the kitchen with exaggerated drama, a steaming tray in his hands, a beaming smile, and eyes sparkling with excitement, as if he were introducing the eighth wonder of the world.
“COOKIE NIGHTTTTT!!!” he shouted, raising the tray. “Special edition for this depressing weather!”
RYO rolled his eyes, a tired smile slipping out despite himself. He raised his mug slightly in a lazy toast.
“Yay…! I guess.”
“No! No, no, no!” RIKU abruptly sat down across from him, pointing at him with a freshly baked cookie. “More excitement, my love! This is a sacred tradition!”
“What do you want me to do? Clap with my feet?” RYO replied, grabbing a cookie without waiting for permission.
Just holding it up to his nose was enough to know it would be perfect. Chocolate, butter, a light touch of vanilla. As soon as he took the first bite… he closed his eyes in pleasure.
“… Damn it,” he muttered. “They’re still unfairly good.”
“I know,” RIKU replied proudly. “I was born with a gift. Use it wisely.”
He now flopped down next to him on the couch, settling in under the same blanket—too close, as always. RYO didn’t protest.
They ate in silence for a few seconds. A comfortable, warm silence… until RIKU started shifting around a bit too much.
RYO narrowed his eyes.
He knew that posture. That fake clearing of the throat, that “I know you’re going to kill me, but I’m asking anyway,” that “I’m about to stick my nose where it doesn’t belong.”
“No,” RYO said before RIKU could speak.
“I haven’t even said anything,” RIKU protested.
“Your face has.”
RIKU sighed, resting his elbows on his knees and playing with the cookie between his fingers.
“Just...” he began, lowering his voice, “how’s Haru…? Are things going better?”
The question hung between them with a heavy silence.
RYO didn’t answer right away. He looked down at his cup, watching the steam slowly vanish. He took a sip, though the tea felt much colder.
“No, RIKU,” he said finally. “Things aren’t getting better. They’re… the same. Or even worse.”
“Oh…”
RIKU didn’t say anything right away. He just reached out and rested his hand on RYO’s knee, patting it softly, as if afraid of breaking him.
RYO tried to smile. He barely managed it. A weak, exhausted smile that didn’t reach his eyes.
“Lately, we’re not even in the same house,” he continued. “I mean… physically, yes, of course. We sleep under the same roof. Sometimes. But he comes home late. Always.”
He paused briefly, swallowing hard.
“Business dinners, parties for approved projects, endless celebrations… and when he’s at home, he only talks about himself. About what he’s accomplished. About who he’s impressed. About how everyone depends on him…” He gripped the cup tighter than necessary. “But he doesn’t listen to me. He doesn’t ask how I’m doing. He doesn’t touch me. He doesn’t look at me.”
Silence settled in again, thicker this time.
“Have you told him?” RIKU asked gently.
RYO slowly nodded.
“Several times. Calmly. Angrily. Crying. Joking. Everything,” he let out a brief, humorless laugh. “But it seems like he doesn’t understand… or doesn’t want to understand.”
RIKU frowned.
“And what does he say?”
“That he’s doing all this ‘for us‘. For our future” RYO looked up at the ceiling. “That it’s just a phase. That it’ll pass.”
“And how do you feel?”
RYO took a moment to answer.
“I feel like something has already happened,” he said finally. “Something we didn’t realize had broken.”
RIKU pressed his lips together.
“RYO…”
“It’s not that I don’t love him anymore,” he quickly clarified. “Or… I don’t know. Maybe I do, but not like before. What hurts is feeling invisible. Like I’m no longer part of his life, and just… an expensive piece of furniture that’s already there.”
RIKU turned toward him and, without saying a word, wrapped him in an ridiculously tight and totally necessary embrace.
“You don’t deserve that,” he murmured. “No one does.”
RYO closed his eyes for a moment, relaxing into the embrace and letting the weight of the afternoon, the rain, and everything left unsaid settle in his chest.
🦭💚🥐
The sound of the door lock turning echoed through the apartment as RYO returned home, carrying a bag of leftover cookies that RIKU, as always, had insisted on packing for him.
“ただいま... (I'm home)” he said, almost on autopilot, as he closed the door behind him.
“おかえり !! (Welcome home!!)” his husband’s voice answered almost instantly from the kitchen, lively, enthusiastic, full of energy. “You WON'T believe this! You have to see the email I got today! An invitation to the investors’ gala in Osaka! It’s ridiculously exclusive!!”
RYO set his keys on the tray by the entrance and slowly took off his shoes. The apartment was spotless, silent, too tidy. There was no music, no mess... no traces of a shared life.
That happy voice… should have made him feel warm inside. But it didn’t. It was like a radio left on all day: present, loud… but distant.
He walked into the kitchen and saw him. Haru had his back to him, leaning against the island, his suit impeccable, his sleeves perfectly tucked in, the tablet in his hands. He looked like he’d just stepped out of a business magazine.
“And tell me if this isn’t crazy,” Haru continued without looking at him. “The CEO of Amaterasu Corporation commented directly on the thread where I proposed my scaling plan! Directly! He said it was ‘a young and revolutionary perspective.’”
RYO carefully set the bag of cookies on the table.
“I’m really happy for you, Haru,” he said. “That sounds like a great achievement.”
“It is!” he finally said, looking up and winking at him. “And that’s not all. The head of development wants me to lead a roundtable discussion next month. At this rate, I’m going to have to clone myself!”
He laughed. That clear, infectious laugh.
The same one that had made RYO fall in love with him so many years ago.
RYO took a step forward and wrapped his arms around Haru’s waist, resting his forehead against his back. Haru’s body was tense, firm, distant even in their contact.
“Haru…”
“Hmm?” he replied, his gaze still fixed on the screen.
“Can we talk?”
The whisper was so soft it was almost lost in the air.
“Now?” Haru turned his face just slightly. “About what?”
RYO slowly pulled away and turned him to face him, though Haru didn’t cooperate much in moving.
“About us. I feel like we’ve been really… distant lately.”
Haru blinked once. Then he rolled his eyes —barely perceptibly, but enough.
“Again with that?” he said, with a slight hint of annoyance. “RYO, I’m too busy for you to be getting all emotionally sensitive.”
“What…?”
Haru sighed deeply and, with mechanical gentleness, pushed RYO’s arms away from his waist.
“This is for our own good. For our future. And everything is going great!” he listed on his fingers. “We live in a beautiful apartment, we have stability, solid jobs… everything’s going well.”
“But we are not okay,” RYO insisted, keeping his voice calm. “Things aren’t okay between us. It feels like you don’t even know me anymore… You don’t ask me anything. You don’t want to know how my day went. You can’t even remember the last time we had dinner together —or without a phone call in between. It’s like you’re not really here.”
Haru sighed dramatically and threw himself into one of the kitchen chairs, running a hand through his hair.
“You’re overreacting again,” he muttered tiredly. “You always bring these issues up when I’m exhausted. The last thing I need after such rough days is an emotional argument.”
“I’m not arguing,” RYO replied quietly. “I’m just trying to get you to listen to me.”
“And I’m listening!” Haru retorted with a tense smile, raising a finger. “But sometimes you have to see the big picture, too. Not everything can be about feelings. We have to be practical. And right now, my focus is on work. Growth. I’m building something for the two of us.”
RYO looked at him in silence. “For the two of us.” But in that sentence, there was no room for him. Only for Haru. Only for his world.
“Do you even remember what I like for breakfast?” he asked suddenly.
Haru frowned slightly.
“Eh?”
“What I like to eat for breakfast,” he repeated, without changing his tone. “Do you remember?”
“RYO… don’t start asking me trick questions. You know we hardly ever overlap in the mornings.”
“Is that a good enough excuse for you not to know me?”
Haru opened his mouth… and closed it almost instantly. The silence stretched between them.
RYO turned around, picked up his still-half-full breakfast teacup, and carried it to the sink. The sound of the ceramic against the steel echoed louder than expected.
“It’s not a trick, ” he said as he turned on the water. “It’s just that I don’t know anymore if what we have is love… or routine.”
As the water ran, neither of them spoke.
Finally, Haru stood up, walked over to him, and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek from A learned, automatic gesture.
“You’ve been too sensitive lately,” he said with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “How about we go out to dinner tomorrow? I can ask them to prepare something private for us at the Miyagi Hotel restaurant. The one you like.”
RYO turned off the water. And, after a few seconds of silence, he turned slowly.
“Thanks…” he replied slowly. “Sounds good.”
Haru smiled at him before planting a small kiss on his forehead and returning to his tablet, already thinking about something else.
RYO stood still for a few more seconds, feeling as though that apartment —so big, so beautiful— was becoming more and more foreign to him.
« ~ ☆ ~ »
To absolutely no one’s surprise, the dinner Haru had promised never happened.
RYO waited for him. He really did.
He sat in front of the TV—without really paying attention to the movie that was playing—with his back straight, his hands resting on his thighs, and his phone by his side, as if by looking at it he could force a message to arrive. Some kind of sign.
Anything at all.
The clock kept ticking without mercy.
7:30.
7:45.
8:00.
The phone vibrated.
| Haru : The meeting with the creative team took longer than expected... (8:04 p.m.)
| Haru : I’ll take you out for something tomorrow, okay? (8:04 p.m.)
RYO stared at the screen for what felt like an eternity.
There was no “Are you okay?”
There was no “I’m sorry.”
There wasn’t even a damn fucking apology…
And what hurt the most… was that he hadn’t even bothered to let him know earlier.
He pressed his thumb against the screen and quickly locked it. He turned the phone face down, as if that would also silence what he was feeling.
The apartment fell silent.
Too big.
Too empty.
🦭💚🥐
The weeks that followed were nothing but a constant echo of the same pattern.
RYO would suggest dinners, weekend getaways, maybe a movie, or even breakfast together —a damn breakfast! It couldn’t possibly take more than 15 fucking minutes!—.
Haru would turn him down with gentle smiles, distracted kisses on the cheek, and flawless excuses.
—“Work.”
—“The investors.”
—“Our future.”
Always “that future”… which already seemed not to include him.
And when RYO, cautiously, tried to bring up what was hurting him again, Haru would respond with that phrase that began to dig in like a thorn:
—“You’re overreacting again, RYO.”
As if loving too much was a flaw. As if feeling the other’s absence was an exaggeration.
« ~ ☆ ~ »
Haru was in the shower when it happened.
The constant sound of falling water filled the silence of the master bedroom. RYO was leaning against the headboard, absentmindedly scrolling through his tablet, not really thinking about anything in particular.
Then, a phone vibrated beside him. It wasn’t his, but Haru’s.
RYO glanced at the device out of reflex. Not because he wanted to check his husband’s phone, but because he genuinely thought it was his own. Since Haru usually had his phone on silent at this hour.
The screen lit up automatically.
|Group X : Amazing news— the KAZE project has been approved!
Let’s celebrate tomorrow night at the
NEO bar!
Everyone’s invited! (10:17 p.m.)
RYO simply blinked once before turning his attention back to his device. Although… the bar’s name sounded familiar.
…
Of course it did.
Haru had mentioned it before: one of the most exclusive —and luxurious— bars in the city. Known for its neon lights, loud music, and expensive drinks. A place where people went to celebrate… and to lose themselves.
He thought about ignoring it, about pretending he hadn’t seen anything. It was an invitation to Haru, after all.
But he couldn’t… or didn’t want to. Something inside him —an old, weary, yet stubborn intuition— whispered something he couldn’t ignore.
That’s why he was now standing in front of the mirror in his room.
He didn’t know why he was dressing like this. He didn’t know for whom.
Perhaps out of one last hope. Perhaps out of desperation. Perhaps because his heart was already prepared for something his mind still refused to accept.
He calmly buttoned a light white shirt, leaving the collar open and his neckline exposed. He rolled up the sleeves and slipped a discreet chain onto his wrist. He wore well-fitted, elegant pants.
He looked at himself in the mirror.
For a full second, he didn’t recognize himself. Not because of his clothes, but because of his eyes. Although they were still the same boba eyes… he felt there was something different about them. They looked somewhat drained.
“Ridiculous,” he whispered, with an empty smile.
Finally, he grabbed his wallet and his phone and walked out without looking back.
🦭💚🥐
The NEO’s facade stood like a modern sanctuary among the brightly lit streets of Tokyo. Green neon traced its straight, cold, perfect lines. Exclusivity wrapped in mystery.
The night air brushed against his neck. It wasn’t cold, and yet he felt a shiver run down his spine.
He took a deep breath and walked through the entrance.
“Good evening,” he greeted the doorman, who barely looked at him before letting him in.
The interior surrounded him immediately.
Dancing lights. Deep music that vibrated in his chest. Mirrors on the ceiling multiplying bodies and shadows. Walls of dark marble and glass. Screens projecting abstract animations. Raised glasses. Loud laughter. Expensive perfume mixed with alcohol.
The place smelled of success. Of excitement. Of elegant chaos.
RYO moved forward slowly.
He recognized faces. Some were colleagues from the company. Others… weren’t. He walked past the bar. A toast erupted into laughter. The DJ set a deep, almost hypnotic beat.
And then… he saw him.
It shouldn’t have surprised him.
And yet… it did.
Haru’s suit was loose. His tie was gone, his white shirt unbuttoned wide open —clearly far more than it should have been— revealing practically his entire chest.
In one hand, he held a glass half-filled with what was surely alcohol.
With the other… he had his arm around the waist of a young man who was leaning in to whisper something in his ear. Haru laughed, delighted, as if that whisper had been the best joke of the night.
Then a tall girl, wearing a tight red dress, approached him unashamedly. She leaned in and kissed Haru’s neck with familiarity. He didn’t pull away. He simply welcomed her with another smile —slow, confident. As if that were exactly where he belonged.
Soon after, another man playfully pushed her away. Haru responded with a laugh and, without thinking, leaned in to kiss him, too. On the freaking lips.
Three people —and who knows how many more— one after another.
And Haru was there, in the center, as if every caress, every stolen kiss, meant absolutely nothing. Or perhaps… they meant more than everything RYO had tried to offer him for months. Or years.
RYO barely moved from his spot.
He didn’t scream. He didn’t step forward. He didn’t step back.
His chest didn’t explode.
His world didn’t suddenly fall apart.
It wasn’t a scene of tears or scandalous betrayal.
It was something much worse: a confirmation.
Because deep down, RYO already knew. He’d felt it for a long time. That wasn’t the beginning of something. It was the end that had been silently building for months.
It wasn’t a surprise, but that didn’t mean it hurt any less...