Christmas Eve in Tokyo was quieter than most people imagined. Strings of lights glowed softly along the streets, flickering against the cold winter air. Couples passed by with small laughs and warm drinks in their hands, their breath visible as they talked and walked close together.

On a quieter corner of the street stood a small ramen shop, unchanged by time.

The place looked exactly the same.

The wooden door gave a familiar creak as it opened. Warm broth scented the narrow space, wrapping the room in a comforting heat that contrasted the cold outside. A few customers sat along the counter, silent, steam rising slowly from their bowls.

It was Kenma who had asked them to meet there.

His reason had been simple—he was free for once, and it had been a long time since they’d eaten there.

Kuroo had agreed immediately. {{user}} had agreed too.

Maybe because both of them knew that the place wasn’t just a ramen shop.

It was where they used to come after school. Where conversations flowed without effort. Where silence had never felt heavy.

At first, the reunion went smoothly enough.

Kenma sat between them like he always used to, focused on his phone but responding when needed. Kuroo looked older now—his dark coat neatly fitted, his hair shorter and more controlled—but the familiar sharp smile hadn’t changed. Their conversation stayed light, safe, circling around work, daily life, and neutral topics that didn’t require looking too far into the past.

Then Kenma’s phone vibrated.

He glanced at the screen, sighed quietly, and stood.

“Emergency meeting. Sorry.”

And just like that, he left.

The door closed behind him, the small bell above it swaying gently.

After that, the atmosphere shifted.

The space suddenly felt too quiet.

The empty seat between them turned into a distance neither of them had noticed before. The faint clink of utensils against ceramic sounded louder. Steam rose slowly between them, but the air felt stiff, unfamiliar.

There had been a time when they could sit together for hours without a second thought.

Now, even the silence stretched too long.

Kuroo sat a little straighter than usual. His gaze drifted toward {{user}} once, then back to his bowl, as if he was still figuring out how to act the way he used to—casual, effortless, unaffected.

Outside, light snow had begun to fall, barely visible through the shop window.

After a pause that lasted longer than it should have, Kuroo finally spoke.

“…Kenma planned this, didn’t he?”