Years slipped by the way fog lifts off water—slow, silent, inevitable.
Kenji built a new life in the quiet spaces where no one asked questions. After leaving Aizawa & Partners, he vanished from the industry entirely. The spotlight wasn't safe anymore.
He found work at a high-end restaurant in Shibuya—Ishikawa, sleek and subtle, where the patrons wore pressed suits and whispered over imported wines. The pay was steady, the hours hard but honest, and the expectations clear. He liked the structure. The invisibility.
No one cared who he had once been.
Until one evening in early spring.
The restaurant was humming, candles flickering on every table, glasses clinking like distant wind chimes. Kenji was polishing cutlery at the service station when the hostess approached, a discreet hand on his arm.
"Private booking," she said. "Corner table. VIP group. You've got the experience—take this one."
He nodded without thinking, smoothing down his apron and grabbing a menu set.
Then he turned around.
And nearly dropped everything.
There, at the corner booth, surrounded by laughter and casual elegance, sat a group of people he hadn't seen in nearly five years.
Aizawa & Partners.
The new creative lead. Two designers he used to mentor. Even Ms. Aizawa herself, perched like royalty at the end of the table.
And beside her, mid-laugh, a little older but unmistakably familiar—
Yuu Hayama.
Kenji's breath caught.
He stood frozen for a moment, menus trembling slightly in his hand. The years between them collapsed in an instant. He could still hear the slam of that final door, still feel the cold ache that followed.
But he inhaled.
Straightened.
And walked.
Their table quieted slightly as he approached—just enough for someone to say, "Wait… is that…?"
He stopped at the head of the table, dipping into a practiced bow.
"Good evening," he said, voice smooth, professional. "I'll be your server tonight. May I take your drink orders?"
There was a pause.
A long one.
Ms. Aizawa looked up at him, brows lifted, her expression unreadable.
Yuu's smile faded instantly, gaze locking on him like he'd seen a ghost.
"Kenji," Yuu said, breathless.
Kenji didn't flinch. "Mr. Hayama," he replied softly. "What can I get for you tonight?"
Silence again.
Then—awkward shuffling, glances passed between colleagues like shuffled cards. Someone finally muttered, "Uh… I'll have the Riesling."
Kenji nodded and wrote it down, face calm despite the twisting in his chest.
He moved around the table with practiced grace, taking drink orders, answering questions about the chef's recommendations. He didn't stumble once, even when one of the junior designers whispered too loudly, "I didn't know he worked here."
When he reached Yuu, their eyes met again.
Yuu hadn't spoken. Hadn't looked away.
Kenji offered a polite smile. "And for you?"
Yuu opened his mouth. Closed it. Then quietly said, "Water. Please."
Kenji nodded. "Still or sparkling?"
"Still."
A pause.
Then Kenji moved on.
He disappeared back toward the bar, shoulders rigid but posture perfect.
And at the table behind him, the laughter didn't return. Not yet.
Because something had cracked wide open.
And Yuu couldn't stop staring at the space where Kenji had just stood—like seeing him again had pulled the air out of the room.
Like part of him had never stopped waiting for this exact moment.
Years slipped by the way fog lifts off water—slow, silent, inevitable.
Kenji built a new life in the quiet spaces where no one asked questions. After leaving Aizawa & Partners, he vanished from the industry entirely. The spotlight wasn't safe anymore.
He found work at a high-end restaurant in Shibuya—Ishikawa, sleek and subtle, where the patrons wore pressed suits and whispered over imported wines. The pay was steady, the hours hard but honest, and the expectations clear. He liked the structure. The invisibility.
No one cared who he had once been.
Until one evening in early spring.
The restaurant was humming, candles flickering on every table, glasses clinking like distant wind chimes. Kenji was polishing cutlery at the service station when the hostess approached, a discreet hand on his arm.
"Private booking," she said. "Corner table. VIP group. You've got the experience—take this one."
He nodded without thinking, smoothing down his apron and grabbing a menu set.
Then he turned around.
And nearly dropped everything.
There, at the corner booth, surrounded by laughter and casual elegance, sat a group of people he hadn't seen in nearly five years.
Aizawa & Partners.
The new creative lead. Two designers he used to mentor. Even Ms. Aizawa herself, perched like royalty at the end of the table.
And beside her, mid-laugh, a little older but unmistakably familiar—
Yuu Hayama.
Kenji's breath caught.
He stood frozen for a moment, menus trembling slightly in his hand. The years between them collapsed in an instant. He could still hear the slam of that final door, still feel the cold ache that followed.
But he inhaled.
Straightened.
And walked.
Their table quieted slightly as he approached—just enough for someone to say, "Wait… is that…?"
He stopped at the head of the table, dipping into a practiced bow.
"Good evening," he said, voice smooth, professional. "I'll be your server tonight. May I take your drink orders?"
There was a pause.
A long one.
Ms. Aizawa looked up at him, brows lifted, her expression unreadable.
Yuu's smile faded instantly, gaze locking on him like he'd seen a ghost.
"Kenji," Yuu said, breathless.
Kenji didn't flinch. "Mr. Hayama," he replied softly. "What can I get for you tonight?"
Silence again.
Then—awkward shuffling, glances passed between colleagues like shuffled cards. Someone finally muttered, "Uh… I'll have the Riesling."
Kenji nodded and wrote it down, face calm despite the twisting in his chest.
He moved around the table with practiced grace, taking drink orders, answering questions about the chef's recommendations. He didn't stumble once, even when one of the junior designers whispered too loudly, "I didn't know he worked here."
When he reached Yuu, their eyes met again.
Yuu hadn't spoken. Hadn't looked away.
Kenji offered a polite smile. "And for you?"
Yuu opened his mouth. Closed it. Then quietly said, "Water. Please."
Kenji nodded. "Still or sparkling?"
"Still."
A pause.
Then Kenji moved on.
He disappeared back toward the bar, shoulders rigid but posture perfect.
And at the table behind him, the laughter didn't return. Not yet.
Because something had cracked wide open.
And Yuu couldn't stop staring at the space where Kenji had just stood—like seeing him again had pulled the air out of the room.
Like part of him had never stopped waiting for this exact moment.