Mornings changed after that.
Takara woke up smiling. It was new, soft, and a little stupid, how even the worst parts of the day—the crusty eyes, the cold tiles of the kitchen floor, the soggy cereal—felt lighter just knowing Kayo was across the hall. Not just Kayo the friend, or Kayo the classmate. But his Kayo.
Sort of.
They hadn't defined it. Not officially.
No labels. No declarations.
But there were looks now that lasted too long. Touches that lingered. A comfort that came from just breathing the same air.
And it scared Takara in the best and worst way.
Kayo hadn't changed much outwardly. He still wore his headphones too much. Still avoided campus crowds like they were disease-ridden. Still took notes in color-coded silence.
But when they were alone, the edges softened.
He teased Takara under his breath.
He let his fingers trail down Takara's wrist just a moment longer than necessary.
And once, when Takara dropped a spoon and mumbled, "I'm such a mess," Kayo looked at him like he was the most beautiful chaos in the world and said, "I don't mind."
Takara had to leave the room to stop himself from screaming into a couch cushion.
They didn't talk about the kiss.
They didn't need to. It hung in the air between them, warm and constant. But still—Takara wanted to talk about it. He wanted to know what they were, what Kayo felt, what came next.
But every time he tried, his throat closed.
It wasn't fear of rejection anymore.
It was fear of ruining what was already so good.
He'd lost Kayo once before. The ache had stretched across years.
He didn't want to do anything that might push him away again.
They shared dinner on Friday night. A casual thing. Or it was supposed to be.
Kayo brought curry he'd made himself. Takara brought ice cream.
"Very balanced," Kayo murmured, watching Takara scoop from the pint.
"Curry and chocolate go great together. It's called flavor chaos."
"You're the only person I know who treats a meal like a personality test."
"And you passed."
Kayo looked down, half-smiling. "Barely."
They ate on the couch. No TV this time. Just soft music and the buzz of streetlights outside.
Takara kept sneaking glances. He wondered if Kayo noticed. (He did.)
After a long stretch of silence, Kayo said, "I've been thinking."
Takara sat straighter, heart immediately on high alert. "Yeah?"
"That we're… good. Right now."
Takara nodded slowly. "We are."
"And I don't want to ruin it."
Takara's throat went dry. "You're not."
"I just don't know what this is supposed to be yet. I'm not great at… labeling things."
Takara looked at him for a long time. "Then don't label it."
Kayo blinked.
Takara smiled, gentle. "Just stay."
They didn't kiss again that night.
But Kayo didn't leave either.
They fell asleep leaning on each other, tangled in a blanket on the couch. When Takara stirred at 3 a.m., Kayo's hand was in his, warm and steady.
And for the first time in a long time, Takara felt like he was exactly where he belonged.
The Next Week
College life didn't stop just because Takara and Kayo were figuring each other out.
Deadlines loomed. Professors rambled. The bookstore overcharged for notebooks, and Takara still forgot to eat if left unsupervised.
But now Kayo made extra bento for lunch.
Now Takara dropped off sticky notes with dumb doodles on Kayo's desk.
Now the walk home felt shorter, warmer, better—because they took it together.
Their classmates started to notice.
"Are you guys, like, dating?" someone asked Takara after class.
He blinked. "I… what makes you say that?"
"You shared your umbrella and made him laugh. Kayo doesn't laugh."
Takara smiled awkwardly. "We're… close."
Which was true.
Even if he wanted to say more.
Later, as they walked back to the apartment building, Takara asked, "Does it bother you?"
"What?"
"That people think we're together."
Kayo was quiet for a moment. Then: "No."
Takara's breath caught. "Because we are?"
Kayo glanced at him. "Because they're not wrong."
Takara's heart practically sprinted.
Kayo added, more softly, "I don't want to hide you."
They reached the building steps, and Takara couldn't stop smiling as they climbed.
That night, there was a note taped to his door when he got out of the shower.
In Kayo's neat, slanted writing:
"Come over. I want to talk."
Takara nearly slipped on the hallway rug getting to Kayo's door.
Inside, Kayo was pacing.
"I've been avoiding this," he said.
Takara sat on the edge of the bed. "This…?"
Kayo stopped. Looked him in the eye.
"This is me not avoiding it anymore."
Then he crossed the room, stood in front of Takara, and took both his hands.
"I like you. I have for years. I don't know what I'm doing, and I'll probably overthink every moment of this, but I want to try. With you."
Takara's breath left his body.
"God, you're dramatic," he whispered. Then he stood, and kissed him again.
This time, it was calm.
This time, it was certain.
This time, it was everything.