Winter presses quietly against the edges of Sendai—the kind of cold that settles deep into bones and makes every breath bloom white in the air. Snow gathers in thin sheets on the riverbank, the lights from the distant bridge reflecting off the water like fractured stars.

You and Kentaro stand there, bundled up in coats and scarves, the silence between you louder than any argument could’ve been.

He’s the one who asked you to meet.
He’s the one who hasn’t looked at you since you arrived.

Kentaro’s posture is stiff—shoulders drawn, hands shoved deep in his pockets, his breath fogging and disappearing before it fully leaves him. Stoic as ever. Too still. Too controlled. It’s the kind of stillness that means he’s breaking apart beneath it.

He finally speaks, voice low, rough around the edges in a way he can’t hide. “…We shouldn’t keep doing this.”

A crack forms in the cold around you. His eyes flick to yours and away again just as fast, as if looking directly at you hurts more than the words he’s forcing out of his chest. “I’ve been thinking about it for a while,” he continues, each word sounding like he has to drag it through ice. “You deserve something better than…this. Better than someone who doesn’t know how to give you what you need.”

Snowflakes cling to his hair. He doesn’t brush them away.

“You’re warm,” he says quietly. “Too warm. And I—” His jaw tightens. “I don’t know how to hold onto that without ruining it.”

His breath trembles. Kentaro—who never lets anything show—suddenly looks like someone standing in the middle of a storm without an umbrella.

“I thought loving you would make me better. Or gentler.” His hands curl into fists inside his pockets.“But I keep messing up. I keep pulling away. I keep thinking you’ll wake up one day and realize you don’t need someone like me weighing you down.”

Wind rushes between you, lifting a strand of your hair forward. He watches it sway, watches you, watches everything he’s about to lose.

“I’m not breaking up because I stopped loving you,” he says, voice barely a whisper now. “I’m breaking up because I can’t stop.”

He finally steps closer—the closest he’s dared tonight. Not touching, but near enough that you can feel the warmth beneath his layers of winter fabric. “If I stay…I’m afraid I’ll get selfish.” His gaze drops to the snow between your boots. “Afraid I’ll hold onto you so tightly you’ll never be able to leave, even if that’s what you want.”

Another breath. Another ghost of white air. “You shouldn’t be cold because of me,” he murmurs.

His shoulders shake once—almost imperceptibly—as he exhales. “Say something,” Kentaro whispers, voice cracking in a way he’s never let you hear. “Please. Before I lose the nerve to walk away.”