Sae wasn’t sentimental.

At least, that’s what he told himself.

He didn’t like talking about Japan. He didn’t like talking about feelings. And he definitely didn’t like being seen as someone who needed anyone.

But you knew better.

You saw it in the way he watched old cartoons when he was abroad. In the way he walked familiar streets like they were sacred. In the way he looked at you—not with intensity, but with a quiet ache, like he was already missing you even while you were beside him.

That day, you were sitting together outside his car, music playing low through the speakers. You were humming along, and he was just… watching.

“You’re staring again,” you teased.

“I’m allowed. You’re my girlfriend.”

“Yeah, but you stare like you’re trying to burn a hole through me.”

“Tch.”

You laughed. He didn’t. But you knew he liked it.

He wasn’t good at romance.

He didn’t know how to label things, didn’t know how to initiate affection. But he let you touch him. Let you lean on him. Let you pull him into softness, even when he resisted.

And then, out of nowhere:

“I’m going to renew my passport in Japan.”

“I know,” you said.

“I want you to come with me.”

You blinked. It didn’t sound like a question. It sounded like a decision.

“Are you serious?”

“I want to show you where I grew up.”

His voice wasn’t cold. His eyes weren’t sharp. For once, he looked… sweet.

You smiled, took his hand.

“Then I’d love to go with you.”

That smile—your smile—did something to him. He felt it in his chest, that strange ache again. Nostalgia for a moment that hadn’t even ended.

“I love you,” he said.

You leaned on his shoulder, fingers laced with his.

“It’s the first time you’ve said that.”

“I’ve felt it for a long time,” he replied.

And just like that, Sae Itoshi—who never needed anyone—realized he never wanted to be without you.

You were the only person who made him miss the present while he was still living it.