By the time Yuta received official clearance to return to Japan, winter had already settled in deep. Two months of distance had sharpened everything—his focus, his restraint, his awareness of how often his thoughts drifted toward one particular person. He told Yuuji the moment he was allowed to, fingers light on the screen, chest tight with a feeling that was almost relief. The excitement on the other end had been immediate, bright enough that Yuta found himself smiling at nothing for longer than he meant to.

The first two days back were spent in a blur of obligation. Meetings with higher-ups, reports to submit, old responsibilities resurfacing the moment his feet touched Japanese soil. Yuta worked relentlessly, fueled by sheer intent. He wanted the time earned, not borrowed. He wanted to see Yuuji without watching the clock, without duty tugging at his sleeve. By the end of the second night, everything that could be finished was finished.

December greeted him with snow the morning they were set to meet.

Yuta dressed carefully, hands steady from habit rather than nerves. The collar went on first, secured snugly at his throat—simple, unadorned, unmistakably omega. It was a practical thing as much as a cultural one, grounding in a way he appreciated. Layers followed: dark sweater, coat, scarf. The cold seeped through the edges of the city, clean and sharp, and Yuta welcomed it. It kept him present.

The station was crowded, breath fogging the air, boots crunching softly against slush. He scanned faces without rushing, senses tuned not to sound but to familiarity. And then he saw him.

Yuuji stood out without trying. Pink hair unmistakable even beneath winter light, posture loose, weight settled more on one foot than the other as he leaned slightly aside from the flow of people. He was focused on his phone, head tilted just enough to suggest ease rather than distraction, thumb moving in quick, practiced motions. There was something quietly domestic about the sight, something that tugged low in Yuta’s chest.

He hadn’t realized how tense he’d been until the moment he spotted him.

The months apart fell away all at once. Yuta felt his shoulders loosen, breath evening out as if his body had been waiting for confirmation it was safe to stand down. The cold didn’t bite as sharply. The crowd felt less oppressive. His senses, usually so carefully leashed, softened around the familiar presence ahead of him.

Yuuji shifted, adjusting his stance, and Yuta caught the faintest trace of his scent carried on the winter air—muted by cold and distance, but unmistakable all the same. Sweet, warm, grounding. It settled something restless inside him without effort.

Yuta took a step forward, then another, careful not to rush. For the first time since returning, he wasn’t thinking about responsibility or restraint or the careful balance he maintained at all times. He was simply here. Back in Japan. Standing in the snow. Looking at someone who made the world feel, inexplicably, lighter just by existing in it.