It was just after midnight when Takara's phone buzzed.
The light from the screen illuminated the room in a soft, bluish glow. Half-asleep, Takara fumbled for it beneath the blanket, blinking groggily at the caller ID.
Kayo Tsukishiro.
He answered immediately. "You okay?"
A pause. Then Kayo's voice, quiet but warm: "Did I wake you?"
Takara rolled onto his back. "Nah. I was already awake thinking about how you still owe me two cat-shaped pastries."
Kayo huffed out a soft laugh. "You never let anything go."
"I let you go, didn't I?" Takara said, more truthfully than he meant to.
There was a long pause. Then:
"You didn't let me go," Kayo murmured. "You let me grow."
Takara closed his eyes, heart fluttering. "Same difference."
"No," Kayo said, voice firm now. "It's not."
They stayed on the phone like that—each tucked in separate beds, an ocean between them, their voices low and unguarded.
"You sound tired," Takara said eventually.
"I am."
"Want me to talk until you fall asleep?"
Kayo hesitated. "Yeah."
So Takara did. He talked about everything and nothing—the neighbor's new puppy, a weird dream he had where Kayo was a vampire librarian, the fact that he still hadn't figured out how to use the washer-dryer combo without it locking mid-cycle.
"Why do you even have a combo unit?" Kayo murmured.
"Because my landlord is a monster."
Kayo chuckled softly.
And then, when Takara thought he'd drifted off, Kayo whispered, "Do you remember the first time you hugged me?"
Takara stilled. "Yeah. Right after that whole thing with my dad… when he called and said he couldn't come back for the holidays. I think I was trying not to cry."
"You were crying," Kayo corrected gently. "You thought I didn't notice, but I did. I just… didn't know what to do."
"You let me lean on you."
"You held on like I was the only thing keeping you upright," Kayo said. "And I realized I didn't want you to let go."
Takara bit his lip. "Why are you bringing this up now?"
Kayo exhaled. "Because I need you to know I've never forgotten. Even when I act like I don't say enough, or don't feel enough—I do. I remember every time you touched me like I was something safe."
Takara's throat tightened.
"I think you were the first person who ever made me feel like… like I wasn't too much," Kayo added. "Like I didn't have to apologize for who I am."
"You never have to apologize," Takara whispered. "Not to me."
There was silence on the line for a while. Not awkward—just full of unsaid things.
Takara rolled onto his side, phone still pressed to his ear. "Kayo?"
"Mm?"
"If you asked me to come to France tomorrow, I'd do it."
Kayo's breath hitched.
"I'd figure it out. Sleep on trains. Eat rice crackers every meal. Just to be close again."
"I wouldn't ask you to do that," Kayo said quietly. "But knowing you would… means everything."
Takara smiled into the dark. "One of these days, we're going to be able to say all this to each other without getting emotional."
Kayo chuckled. "I wouldn't count on it."
The next morning, Takara woke to a new message from Kayo.
It wasn't a long one—just a poem.
You crossed an ocean in my chest
and built a lighthouse from my bones.
Now, even when I drift,
I find my way back to you.
Takara read it five times before he finally replied:
"I'm buying you a poetry journal. You're not escaping this talent anymore."
Kayo wrote back:
"Only if you keep reading them first."
That weekend, Takara had lunch with their mutual friend Rei—a former classmate from their high school dorm days who now attended the same university.
Rei raised an eyebrow the second they sat down. "You've got that look."
"What look?"
"The 'I'm in love and miserable about it' look."
Takara rolled his eyes. "I'm not miserable."
Rei leaned forward. "Then why did you stir your miso soup for five straight minutes without tasting it?"
Takara sighed. "It's just… I miss him. And I keep trying not to miss him because I chose this too, but some days it's harder than others."
Rei softened. "Yeah. Missing someone doesn't mean you regret the choice."
"I know," Takara murmured. "But sometimes I wish we could skip ahead. You know? Past the distance. Past the waiting. To the part where we can just… be."
"You'll get there," Rei said. "You already fought through worse. Remember when you used to call him 'the emotionally unavailable demon'? And now you two write poetry for each other?"
Takara laughed. "We've come a long way."
Rei smiled. "And you'll go even further. Just… don't forget to live your life while you wait."
That night, Takara lay in bed staring at the ceiling.
Rei's words echoed in his head.
He pulled out his journal again and began to write—not to Kayo this time, but to himself.
Dear Me,
Missing someone doesn't mean you're stuck. It means you've opened your heart.
You're not waiting for Kayo. You're growing with him—from afar. You're building something real.
But you're also allowed to laugh, to dance, to live fully while he's gone.
Love doesn't mean pausing your life.
It means trusting that you're still writing a story together, even when you're on different pages.
He closed the book with a quiet sense of peace.
And for the first time in weeks, he didn't fall asleep missing Kayo—
He fell asleep feeling closer to him than ever.