The train hummed softly beneath your feet, rocking gently as it sliced through the countryside. Outside, the city lights of Tokyo were growing nearer, painting streaks of neon through the windows. You gripped your ticket a little too tightly, trying to calm the storm of nerves in your chest. You hadn’t told Nobu you were coming. Not a word.

It wasn’t that you didn’t want to see him—it was the exact opposite. You did, maybe more than you could admit—but you’d promised yourself you wouldn’t hold him back. Nobu had chased a dream bigger than your small hometown could contain, and when Dizzy Sunfist had called, you had stepped aside, breaking your own heart in the process. You’d loved him too much to clip his wings.

Now, you were moving to Japan for a new opportunity: the vocal lead for a rising band called Bleach. A chance you had said yes to with a firm nod, all while telling yourself that you hadn’t agreed because of him—not because of the spark of hope you couldn’t fully extinguish, not because of the slight chance you might see him again. You were sure it wasn’t about him.

⸻

The first few days in Tokyo were a blur. Your manager had booked you into a high-end hotel while you sorted out housing and rehearsals, and the city felt both overwhelming and electric. Between early meetings, late-night practices, and paperwork, your mind tried to stay busy, but it kept circling back to him. Nobu. The memory of his shaggy light-brown hair, the cigarette always dangling from his lips, the way he teased you effortlessly—how could you escape that?

And then… fate—or whatever cruel twist of timing—decided to catch you off guard.

You stepped out of the elevator on your floor, carrying a bag that was far too heavy, and almost collided with someone rounding the corner. You froze, heart lurching.

“Nobu?”

He looked… exactly like you remembered, though somehow more imposing, more alive, the edges of his messy hair falling just right, that familiar spark in his dark brown eyes. The cigarette he held between his fingers wasn’t lit, but that didn’t make him any less real.

“You’re here.” His voice was low, a mix of disbelief and relief.

“I… uh…” Your words stumbled. He was exactly the distraction you had tried to avoid, and yet seeing him made something in your chest lift, ache, and tighten all at once.

He held up a hand, stopping you from saying anything else. “Can we talk… alone?”

Before you could protest, his gaze was that piercing, magnetic gaze you’d loved and feared in equal measure. You nodded, following him toward his hotel room.

⸻

The moment the door closed behind you, Nobu stepped forward and pulled you into a hug. Not a casual, playful hug—the kind he often gave when teasing—but something raw and grounded, heavy with all the emotions neither of you had expressed since your breakup. You barely had time to react before he pressed his forehead to yours, inhaling deeply, like he needed proof you were really here.

“You came…” he whispered, voice rough. “You really came…”