Tokyo was still half-asleep when Kaito stepped off the train at Komagome Station. The air was cool, with the faint smell of damp earth and morning dew. A few elderly joggers passed by, and the nearby convenience store buzzed to life as its shutters creaked open.

He checked his phone.

Minjae:
“Come out of the North Exit. I’m by the footbridge.”

Kaito adjusted the strap of his messenger bag, stuffed his hands in the pockets of his coat, and made his way out.

There he was—Minjae—sitting cross-legged on the steps of the footbridge, camera in lap, his hair barely tamed and hoodie sleeves pushed up to his elbows.

“You look like you didn’t sleep,” Kaito said by way of greeting.

Minjae grinned up at him. “Didn’t. You’re early.”

“You said six-thirty.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t think you’d actually come on time.”

Kaito sighed. “Do you always test people like that?”

“Only the ones I’m curious about.”

Kaito looked away, suddenly aware of how quiet the city was at this hour. His heart thudded a little louder than usual.

“Come on,” Minjae said, standing and slinging his camera over his shoulder. “Let me show you why I wanted to come here.”

They walked in silence through the backstreets, cobbled and narrow, until they reached a small park tucked between residential buildings. It wasn’t anything fancy—no cherry blossoms, no grand fountains—just an open space, a few benches, and a small hill that overlooked the neighborhood rooftops.

“This is it?” Kaito asked, eyebrow raised.

“Wait for it,” Minjae said, setting up his tripod.

They sat side by side on the grass, legs stretched out in front of them.

“You always carry that thing around?” Kaito asked, gesturing at the camera.

“Pretty much,” Minjae replied. “Sometimes I think I like it more than people.”

“That doesn’t surprise me.”

Minjae chuckled. “You saying I’m antisocial?”

“I’m saying you don’t exactly blend in.”

Minjae turned to him, amusement in his eyes. “And you? You blend in too much. Like… completely invisible.”

Kaito blinked. “Is that supposed to be a compliment?”

“It’s supposed to be sad,” Minjae said softly.

Silence stretched between them. Then, slowly, the sun began to rise.

Warm gold spilled across the rooftops, painting the city in honeyed light. Birds chirped. A breeze rustled the leaves overhead. Kaito looked around, surprised by how still everything was.

“Now?” he asked.

“Now,” Minjae said, raising the camera to his eye.

Click.

Click.

Click.

Kaito glanced at him. There was something beautiful about the way Minjae focused—eyebrows drawn together, lips slightly parted, fingers delicate on the lens. It was the first time he saw him serious.

“You look different when you’re working,” Kaito said before he could stop himself.

Minjae didn’t lower the camera. “So do you. But I bet it’s not a good look.”

“I don’t… work like this,” Kaito said, a little defensive.

“No. You drown in it.”

Kaito looked away.

“I’m not trying to offend you,” Minjae added. “Just… noticing.”

Kaito didn’t reply. He didn’t know how. For so long, his life had been spreadsheets, deadlines, client calls, and the faint buzzing sound of nothingness inside his head. And now here he was—sitting in the middle of a quiet park, next to a man who looked like he belonged to another world entirely.

“I don’t know how to slow down,” Kaito said, voice barely above a whisper.

Minjae finally lowered his camera. “Then let me show you.”

Their eyes met.

There was a pause—an almost-charged silence.

Kaito looked down at the grass. “This is stupid.”

“What is?”

“This. Us. I don’t even know what this is.”

Minjae leaned back on his hands, gazing up at the sky. “Does it have to be anything?”

“I don’t have time for games.”

“Then don’t play.”

Kaito clenched his fists. “You’re so—”

“What?”

“—reckless.” Kaito stood, brushing grass from his slacks. “You just float through life. No plan. No job. No direction.”

Minjae’s smile faded a little. “Yeah. And you’re the opposite. So what?”

“So why are we even talking?”

“Because you keep showing up.”

That made Kaito pause.

“I didn’t drag you here,” Minjae continued. “You came. You answered my texts. You met me. Even when you had work.”

Kaito’s mouth opened. Then closed.

Minjae stood now, too. He stepped in closer—slowly, cautiously—until Kaito could smell the faint scent of coffee on his breath and the cotton warmth of his hoodie.

“Don’t pretend this doesn’t mean something,” Minjae said, eyes searching his face.

Kaito’s pulse jumped.

Minjae’s fingers brushed his hand—light, barely-there.

Kaito didn’t pull away.

“I’m not saying I know what I’m doing,” Minjae whispered. “I don’t. I’m a mess, honestly. But when I talk to you? I don’t feel so lost.”

Kaito swallowed hard.

“Say something,” Minjae said.

Kaito looked up at him, really looked, and realized something terrifying: he wanted to kiss him.

And that scared him more than anything.

So instead, he stepped back.

“I have work,” he muttered, turning away.

Minjae didn’t follow.

“Right,” the Korean said softly. “Of course.”

Kaito didn’t look back.

But even as he boarded the train, even as the doors shut, even as the crowd swallowed him whole—his hand still tingled from where Minjae touched him.

—

Later that night

Kaito sat on the edge of his bed, tie loosened, hair a mess, and phone in hand.

One message blinked unread.

Minjae:
“Thanks for coming this morning. Even if it was stupid.”

Kaito stared at it for a long time.

Then, without thinking, he typed.

“It wasn’t stupid.”

He hit send.

Then, after a moment:

“I’m just scared.”

To be continued...