A Little to None

For a little while, things were good.

Not dramatic, not storybook—just good in that rare, everyday way that feels realer than anything else.

Kenji started talking more at work. Not just to Yuu, but to others too. He offered insights without being curt. Laughed, occasionally, at the jokes people made—especially Yuu's, which were objectively terrible and unrepentantly full of puns.

"Why don't skeletons ever go to client meetings?" Yuu had asked one Tuesday.

Kenji raised an eyebrow mid-email.

"They don't have the guts," Yuu finished proudly.

Kenji exhaled a quiet, amused breath. "You're fired," he said—but he was smiling when he said it.

In meetings, they found a rhythm. Kenji offered space. Yuu filled it. Then Kenji sharpened the ideas, and Yuu made them sing. Neither said anything overt, but something had changed. A current hummed between them, soft and steady.

People noticed, a little. Not in an office-gossip way. Just in the way people notice when the air in a room starts to feel warmer.

And then—

Everything went cold.

It was Friday morning. Early.

Yuu was pouring himself a cup of coffee when the elevator dinged. He looked up automatically, ready to make some quip about corporate caffeine dependency.

Then he saw him.

The man who stepped out of the elevator was tall, dressed in that moneyed, careless kind of way that said he wanted you to know he was used to being the smartest person in the room. Expensive coat. Sharp shoes. And a smile like a blade.

"Kenji," he said, voice smooth as scotch. "You look well."

Yuu blinked.

Kenji, who'd been reviewing layouts across the room, froze mid-motion. His entire posture changed—shoulders tightening, chin lowering, eyes going flat.

"…Souta," he said, barely audible.

Yuu didn't move, but his fingers clenched around the handle of his mug.

Souta strolled in like he belonged. Like the office was his old playground and he was back to reclaim it. A few heads turned. Most kept working. But the tension in the air was unmistakable.

"I was nearby," Souta said. "Thought I'd stop in. Catch up."

"You shouldn't be here," Kenji said, voice tight, precise. Not angry—controlled.

"Why not?" Souta spread his hands. "You always did like to keep things… tidy. Always pushing things down so no one could see the cracks."

Yuu stepped forward, instinctive. "Is there a problem?"

Souta turned to him, eyebrows lifting with mock curiosity. "And you are?"

"Yuu Hayama," he said. "Strategist."

Souta looked him over slowly, and Yuu could feel the silent insult behind the smirk. "Cute. They're letting anyone into leadership these days."

Kenji stepped forward then, just enough to stand between them.

"Souta. Leave."

"Oh, come on." Souta's tone sharpened. "You don't return texts. Don't answer calls. I figured you just needed a little… reminder."

Kenji's hands curled at his sides.

Yuu's voice came out low, even. "You need to leave."

Souta looked between them and something dark flickered behind his eyes. "Well," he said, adjusting his coat. "Now I see why you're hiding."

He turned, sauntering out without another word.

Silence hung like dust after he was gone.

Yuu turned to Kenji. "Are you okay?"

Kenji didn't answer right away.

He looked down at the floor, then back up. There was no blush now. No guarded smile. Just… exhaustion.

"Let's talk later," he said quietly.

And went back to his desk.

But the light he'd let in this past week?

It dimmed.

Just a little.

Like a door, cracked open, had remembered it used to be shut.