Dressed in borrowed clothes—Taro’s old T-shirt and a pair of sweatpants slightly too snug—he made his way to the living room. Yumi Fujimura had insisted he make himself comfortable while they waited for Taro to come home. Now, he sat on the couch, fingers wrapped around a warm cup of tea, heart thrumming in anticipation.

Would Taro recognize him immediately? Would he be happy? Angry? Indifferent?

He let out a slow breath, glancing at the clock. It was late.

And then—

The front door creaked open.

Elian’s grip on the cup tightened. Footsteps shuffled inside, slow and heavy. A tired sigh filled the quiet house.

“I’m home,” a familiar voice called out lazily.

Elian swallowed. Taro.

Taro stepped inside, rubbing the back of his neck. His dark hair was slightly disheveled, his suit jacket draped over one arm, tie loosened. He looked exhausted. The kind of exhaustion that settled deep into the bones, the kind that came from long hours and endless responsibilities.

He kicked off his shoes and muttered, “What a long day…” as he ran a hand down his face.

Then—his gaze lifted.

And everything stopped.

Taro froze mid-step. His breath caught in his throat. His tired eyes locked onto a pair of striking emerald-green ones.

Elian.

Sitting in his living room.

His body stiffened. His mind raced to make sense of it. For a moment, he didn’t move, didn’t blink—as if any sudden motion might shatter the illusion before him.

“Elian…?” His voice barely came out, hoarse and disbelieving.

Elian smiled slightly and placed the cup down. He stood, slowly, as if approaching a startled animal.

“Taro,” he said softly.

Taro’s fingers twitched. His heart pounded so hard he could hear it in his ears.

“You…” His voice wavered. His lips parted as if he wanted to say more, but nothing came out. His throat felt tight.

For years, he had wondered where Elian was, what he was doing, if he even remembered him. And now—now he was standing right here, in his home, looking at him like no time had passed.

His heart clenched painfully.

Anger.

Happiness.

Relief.

Pain.

Why now? Why, after all these years, after Taro had convinced himself that Elian was just a memory, did he appear like this?

Taro took a slow step forward, then stopped. His hands clenched into fists.

“You’re… really here,” he whispered, his voice unsteady.

Elian’s expression softened. “I told you we’d meet again.”

Something inside Taro broke. He moved without thinking.

In a heartbeat, he closed the distance between them and pulled Elian into a tight embrace.

Elian stiffened in surprise before melting into it, his arms slowly wrapping around Taro. He could feel the way Taro was trembling, could hear the uneven breaths against his shoulder.

“Taro…”

Taro squeezed his eyes shut. He didn’t care if this was a dream. If it was, he didn’t want to wake up.

“You idiot,” he whispered. His voice was thick, choked. “Why did it take you so long?”

Elian let out a quiet laugh, though his voice wavered. “I’m here now.”

Taro held him tighter.

And for the first time in years…

He felt like he wasn’t alone.