For the first time in years, Takara felt like his life had a rhythm.
Not the kind built by routine or strict schedules—he still ran late to class more often than not, and his sleep cycle was a tragedy—but the rhythm that came from knowing someone was beside you. Really beside you. In heart, in mind, in all the small, unnoticed ways that made existing feel a little less lonely.
He was in a relationship.
A real one.
It didn't have a Facebook status or matching profile pictures, but it was theirs. Quiet and sincere. Built on things they'd earned—trust, patience, and a thousand second chances.
Takara had always imagined love to be loud. Fireworks, speeches, big romantic gestures. But with Kayo, it was different. It was quieter than anything he'd known. But stronger, too.
Some days it was just two mugs on a windowsill.
Some days it was the silence between them as they worked in the same room, uninterrupted.
Some days it was a shared blanket on the couch, half a movie watched before they both fell asleep.
And every day, it felt more like home.
They didn't officially "move in" together, but the shift was happening all the same.
Takara's toothbrush lived in Kayo's bathroom now.
Kayo's extra hoodie had somehow migrated to Takara's laundry basket and never left.
Takara kept boxes of his favorite cereal in Kayo's cabinet, and Kayo stopped questioning it after the third time he caught Takara eating dry Lucky Charms straight from the box.
It was subtle.
But unmistakable.
They were building something.
Together.
Classes rolled on like usual, though everything felt a bit surreal. Sitting in lectures and working on essays felt oddly removed from the reality of their slowly growing relationship.
One Wednesday afternoon, while they were walking home from campus, Takara glanced sideways at Kayo and said, "It's weird."
"What is?"
"This. Us. Being in college, doing homework, and also… dating."
Kayo gave a rare smirk. "Multitasking."
"I used to think love made everything else stop. Like in movies, where the world melts away."
Kayo nudged his shoulder gently. "We're not in a movie."
"Yeah, but if we were," Takara said, grinning, "I'd want us to be the slow-burn couple everyone rooted for."
Kayo laughed—quiet and sincere. "You mean the ones who take five seasons to hold hands?"
Takara shrugged. "Worth the wait."
They reached the stairs of their apartment building. Kayo looked at him, softer now.
"Yeah," he said. "It is."
That weekend, Kayo surprised Takara with tickets to a small gallery exhibit downtown.
Takara's jaw dropped when he saw them. "You planned an actual date?!"
Kayo looked at him with mock offense. "I can be romantic."
"I mean, sure, but I didn't think you'd voluntarily take me somewhere with people."
"There's a bookstore next door. I had to make a sacrifice."
Takara beamed. "You're unreal."
"Wait until you see the art. It's all about contrasts—light and dark, silence and noise."
Takara's grin widened. "Are you trying to subtly tell me we're the theme of the exhibit?"
Kayo pretended to consider it. "Maybe."
The exhibit was small but beautiful.
Modern installations filled with sweeping brush strokes and light projections. A few sculptures, some digital pieces. But what caught Takara most was a wall of mixed-media portraits—half-painted, half-photographed. Some of them had quotes beneath, snippets of the models' stories.
One caught his eye.
Beneath a piece of a boy standing in two different outfits, one side polished and confident, the other messy and unsure, was a single line:
"It took me a long time to be both."
Takara stared at it for a long time.
Kayo stepped beside him, watching him quietly.
"You okay?" he asked.
Takara nodded. "Yeah. Just thinking."
"About?"
"I've spent so much of my life pretending to be okay with being alone. Being the 'loud one' so people wouldn't ask what was underneath."
Kayo didn't say anything, but he slid his hand into Takara's.
And for the first time in a long while, Takara didn't feel like he had to talk over the silence.
They stopped by the bookstore afterward, as promised.
Kayo disappeared into the fiction section.
Takara wandered around, flipping through graphic novels and journals. He found a blank notebook with a cover that read: Things Worth Saying.
Without thinking, he bought it.
Later that night, as they lay in bed, limbs tangled like always, Takara turned to Kayo.
"I want to write again."
Kayo blinked, half-asleep. "Stories?"
"No. Journals. Like… stuff I don't know how to say out loud."
Kayo's voice was barely a whisper. "You could tell me."
"I know," Takara said, reaching over to brush a strand of hair from Kayo's forehead. "But some things I need to tell myself first."
Kayo nodded, understanding in his eyes. "Then write."
Takara smiled.
"I will."
The following week, Takara got a call from his dad.
It was rare. Almost mythical.
He stepped out onto the balcony to answer, heart already racing.
"Hey," he said, trying to sound casual.
"Takara," his dad said. "You sound… older."
"Well, I am."
A pause.
"I'm calling because I might be back in the city next month. Just for a week."
"Oh."
"I'd like to see you. If that's okay."
Takara chewed the inside of his cheek. "Yeah. That'd be good."
Another pause.
"Are you doing okay? School, life?"
"I'm… I'm figuring it out."
His dad cleared his throat. "I'm proud of you."
It hit harder than it should have.
"Thanks," Takara said. "I've got someone here who makes things easier."
"Girlfriend?"
Takara laughed under his breath. "Not exactly."
"Boyfriend?"
A longer pause.
"Yeah."
His dad was quiet.
Then: "Good. I'm glad you're not alone."
Takara blinked hard.
They didn't say much else after that.
But it was enough.
When Takara went back inside, Kayo looked up from the kitchen table where he was grading peer workshop drafts.
"Everything okay?" he asked.
Takara nodded, then paused.
Then nodded again. "Yeah. I think so."
Kayo raised an eyebrow. "Just 'think so'?"
Takara walked over, wrapped his arms around Kayo from behind, and rested his chin on his shoulder.
"I think I'm finally learning how to let people stay."
Kayo set his pen down.
"I'm not going anywhere," he said.
And Takara believed him.
For once, he really did.