"Until the Stars Fade"

Kei stood at the train station, watching the snowfall settle on the empty tracks. The last train had already left, but he didn’t mind. He liked the quiet, the solitude. Or at least, he used to.

Now, his heart ached for something—or someone.

It had been years since he’d seen Ren. They had grown up together, inseparable as the moon and the tide. Ren, the dreamer, always talking about traveling the world. Kei, the realist, the one who stayed behind to take care of the family business.

They had promised to stay in touch. But promises, like autumn leaves, had a way of slipping through fingers.

Then, out of nowhere, a voice broke through the silence.

“Kei.”

His breath caught. He turned, and there he was. Ren. His hair was shorter than before, his face a little older, but his eyes—those deep, storm-gray eyes—were the same.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then, Ren smiled. “I’m home.”

Kei’s heart stuttered. “You—” His voice cracked, so he cleared his throat. “You never wrote back.”

Ren exhaled, his breath visible in the cold air. “I thought if I stayed away long enough, I’d forget how much I missed you.”

A lump formed in Kei’s throat. “And?”

Ren stepped closer. “I was wrong.”

The wind howled around them, but neither moved. Kei felt like he was seventeen again, standing under the old cherry tree where they had first confessed their feelings. Back then, they had been too young, too afraid of what the world would say.

But now, Kei had spent too many years wondering what could have been. He wasn’t going to waste another second.

With a deep breath, he reached out, grasping Ren’s cold fingers.

“You’re late,” Kei murmured. “But I’m glad you’re here.”

Ren’s grip tightened. “I’m never leaving again.”

And under the falling snow, their lips met—soft, hesitant at first, then deeper, more certain.

Because some love stories don’t fade with time. They only grow stronger.

And this time, Kei knew, they were going to make it last.

Kei stood at the train station, watching the snowfall settle on the empty tracks. The last train had already left, but he didn’t mind. He liked the quiet, the solitude. Or at least, he used to.

Now, his heart ached for something—or someone.

It had been years since he’d seen Ren. They had grown up together, inseparable as the moon and the tide. Ren, the dreamer, always talking about traveling the world. Kei, the realist, the one who stayed behind to take care of the family business.

They had promised to stay in touch. But promises, like autumn leaves, had a way of slipping through fingers.

Then, out of nowhere, a voice broke through the silence.

“Kei.”

His breath caught. He turned, and there he was. Ren. His hair was shorter than before, his face a little older, but his eyes—those deep, storm-gray eyes—were the same.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then, Ren smiled. “I’m home.”

Kei’s heart stuttered. “You—” His voice cracked, so he cleared his throat. “You never wrote back.”

Ren exhaled, his breath visible in the cold air. “I thought if I stayed away long enough, I’d forget how much I missed you.”

A lump formed in Kei’s throat. “And?”

Ren stepped closer. “I was wrong.”

The wind howled around them, but neither moved. Kei felt like he was seventeen again, standing under the old cherry tree where they had first confessed their feelings. Back then, they had been too young, too afraid of what the world would say.

But now, Kei had spent too many years wondering what could have been. He wasn’t going to waste another second.

With a deep breath, he reached out, grasping Ren’s cold fingers.

“You’re late,” Kei murmured. “But I’m glad you’re here.”

Ren’s grip tightened. “I’m never leaving again.”

And under the falling snow, their lips met—soft, hesitant at first, then deeper, more certain.

Because some love stories don’t fade with time. They only grow stronger.

And this time, Kei knew, they were going to make it last.

Late spring. The scent of blooming cherry blossoms filled the air. Kei and Ren sat by the river, their feet dangling over the edge of the wooden bridge where they had spent countless afternoons as kids.

"I bought my ticket," Ren said, staring at the sky. "Tokyo first. Then, maybe Kyoto. Maybe even Paris someday." His voice was light, but his fingers trembled slightly.

Kei looked down at the water, pretending his heart didn’t ache. "That’s great."

"You could come with me."

The words hung between them, raw and real. Kei turned, meeting Ren’s eyes.

He wanted to say yes. He wanted to grab Ren’s hand, board that train, and never look back. But his family needed him. The bookstore needed him.

Kei swallowed. "I can’t."

Ren let out a quiet laugh, but there was no humor in it. He looked away. “I figured you’d say that.”

Kei clenched his fists. “But I—”

“Then wait for me.” Ren’s voice softened. “Please.”

Kei had no answer.

Ren nodded as if he understood, then turned toward the setting sun.

The next morning, he was gone.

Kei clenched his fists, his voice hoarse. “You never wrote back.”

Ren exhaled, his breath visible in the freezing air. "I wanted to. A hundred times. But I thought if I stayed away long enough, I'd forget how much I missed you."

Kei’s chest tightened. “And?”

Ren stepped closer, his voice softer now. “I was wrong.”

Kei’s world tilted. He had spent years telling himself to move on. But standing here, looking into Ren’s eyes, he knew—he had never stopped waiting.

Without thinking, he reached out, fingers curling around Ren’s.

“You’re late,” Kei murmured.

Ren’s grip tightened. “But I’m here.”

The wind howled around them, but neither moved.

Then, Kei did something he never would have dared to do years ago. He pulled Ren in, closing the distance between them, and kissed him—softly at first, then deeper, filled with all the words left unspoken.

Ren melted into him, his hands coming up to hold Kei’s face, as if grounding himself. As if making sure this was real.

And it was.

The past had kept them apart.

But the future was theirs to write.

And this time, Kei knew, they were going to make it last.

They lay beneath the cherry blossom tree, the petals falling like pink snowflakes around them. The sky was painted in warm hues of orange and violet.

Ren sighed. “I don’t want to leave.”

Kei turned his head, surprised. “I thought this was your dream.”

Ren was quiet for a moment before he said, “It is. But dreams feel different when they mean leaving someone behind.”

Kei’s heart pounded. He wanted to ask what Ren meant. He wanted to believe it was him Ren didn’t want to leave.

Instead, he whispered, “Then don’t go.”

Ren turned to him, eyes searching. For a moment, it felt like the world had stopped. Then, Ren leaned in, his breath warm against Kei’s lips—

But before they could close the distance, a voice called in the distance. Ren’s mother.

Ren pulled away, the moment shattering like glass.

And just like that, the almost-kiss faded into memory.

Kei reached out, curling his fingers around Ren’s. His heartbeat thundered in his chest.

“You’re late,” he murmured.

Ren’s grip tightened. “But I’m here.”

The wind howled, the snow swirling around them, but neither moved.

Then, Kei did what he couldn’t do years ago. He closed the distance between them, pressing his lips to Ren’s. Soft at first, then deeper, filled with all the years of waiting, of missing, of longing.

Ren melted into him, hands coming up to cradle Kei’s face, holding him as if he was afraid to let go.

But this time, Kei wasn’t letting him go.

Because some love stories don’t fade with time.

They only grow stronger.

And this time, they were going to make it last.