Taichi always knew where to find Toma.

Even now, four years out of high school, that hadn’t changed.

The same riverbank. The same bench beneath the same cherry blossom tree that had watched them grow up.

What had changed was the silence between them. It wasn’t awkward anymore—not like in high school, when every pause felt like it held a thousand unsaid things. Now, it was warm. Lived in. The kind of silence you could trust.

Toma leaned back on his elbows, eyes half-lidded under the afternoon sun. His hair had grown out a bit, still messy in that familiar way. He still wore that lazy, almost shy smile when Taichi looked at him too long.

“You’re staring again,” Toma murmured without opening his eyes.

Taichi scoffed. “You’re the one laying there like it’s a damn photo shoot.”

Toma cracked one eye open and smirked. “If you’re gonna ogle me, at least admit it.”

“I’m not ogling,” Taichi muttered, cheeks heating.

They both knew he kind of was.

After high school, they never had the conversation. There was no big confession, no dramatic moment. They just… kept choosing each other. Every day. Through group chats, midnight calls, convenience store hangouts, bad job interviews, and shared bentos.

Now, they lived in the same neighborhood. Ate together most days. Spent weekends watching old anime or doing absolutely nothing on Toma’s floor. It wasn’t labeled. But it was something.

Something real.

That day, as the breeze swept fallen petals around their feet, Toma sat up and stretched.

“I’ve been thinking about something,” he said.

Taichi glanced at him. “Yeah?”

Toma rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly nervous. “Back then… I told you I liked you. I thought it’d scare you off.”

Taichi blinked. “It didn’t.” “I know.” Toma’s voice was softer now. “But I never really asked if... you ever felt the same.”

Taichi looked away, lips tugging into a crooked smile. “I think I’ve been showing you ever since I broke up with Futuba.” Toma froze.

Then let out a shaky breath that sounded almost like a laugh. “So… this whole time, we’ve been—”

“Yeah,” Taichi cut in, rubbing his temple. “You idiot.” Toma stared at him. Really stared. Then leaned in—slowly, carefully, like he was asking permission without words.

Taichi didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. their Toma's head touched his shoulder, it was quiet. Peaceful.

Something long overdue. “I’m gonna kiss you now,” Taichi whispered. “Finally,” Toma breathed.

And he did. It wasn’t urgent. It wasn’t perfect. But it was warm, and it was theirs, and the cherry blossoms kept falling like they’d been waiting for this moment just as long as the two of them had.