(Minjae’s POV)

Minjae wasn’t used to waking up in silence.

Not anymore.

He used to like it. Quiet mornings, lazy afternoons, staying in his own head without anyone else asking him to be something. But after that night—after Kaito—his apartment felt... empty in a way it never had before.

He rolled over in bed and checked his phone. No message yet.

Which was fine.

It was totally fine.

They weren’t dating. They weren’t anything defined.

Except maybe they were something.

Minjae groaned and rolled onto his stomach, face buried in a pillow.

He hated this part. The part where things started to feel real. Where people stopped being stories he could photograph and started being stories he was afraid to ruin.

His phone buzzed.

Kaito:
“Client dinner tonight. Rain check?”

Short. Polite. No emojis.

Minjae stared at the message.

He typed back:

“Sure. Don’t get too drunk or I’ll have to rescue you in your tie again.”

He added a photo of the ramen he’d made for lunch—perfectly lit, captioned “Sad meal for one.”

He stared at the screen.

No typing bubble.

After a few minutes, he sighed, locked his phone, and pushed himself out of bed. He grabbed his camera bag and a jacket, slinging both over his shoulder.

Time to go outside and pretend he wasn’t turning into that guy—the one waiting for texts and checking if his hair looked okay in store windows.

He ended up at the bookstore café near Shinjuku, his usual haunt when he wanted to feel like he had his life together. He browsed for a while, took a few candid photos of quiet readers, and then ordered a latte.

It was when he was balancing the drink and a camera lens in one hand that a voice behind him said:

“You’re Minjae, right?”

He turned.

The guy was sharp in a navy trench coat, dark eyes framed by expensive glasses, hair pushed back like he’d walked out of a magazine shoot.

“Sorry?” Minjae said.

“I’m Ryuji,” the man said, smiling like he already knew too much. “Kaito’s friend.”

Friend. The word rang like an alarm.

“Oh,” Minjae said. “Right. He mentioned you.”

“Did he?” Ryuji sipped his espresso. “I was wondering when I’d meet the new center of gravity.”

Minjae blinked. “I don’t know about that.”

Ryuji’s smile didn’t budge. “You’re not what I expected.”

“What were you expecting?”

“Someone more... put together.”

Minjae raised a brow. “That’s rich coming from a man who matches his coat to his shoes.”

Ryuji laughed—low and easy. “Touché.”

There was a beat of silence.

“I’m not here to intimidate you,” Ryuji said. “Kaito’s allowed to move on. I just wanted to see the person who’s pulling him out of his head for once.”

Minjae frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” Ryuji said carefully, “that Kaito’s always been someone who loves with walls up. If you’ve seen them come down, even a little... don’t take that lightly.”

Minjae’s throat tightened.

“Because if he falls,” Ryuji added, “he falls hard. And he doesn’t fall often.”

Then he nodded, tipped his cup toward Minjae, and walked away.

Minjae sat there long after his drink had gone cold.

That night

Kaito didn’t message again.

Minjae paced his apartment, music on low, camera untouched on the table.

He hated how much he wanted to hear from him.

Worse, he hated the voice in his head that whispered:

You’re going to mess this up.

Ryuji’s words clung to him. Not because of what he said. But because of what he didn’t say.

Kaito wasn’t the only one who fell hard.

Minjae didn’t know how to stop it when he did.