Chapter 34: The Reluctant Messenger
The dorm kitchen at noon was a tomb of half-finished lives. A single bulb hummed over the sink, its weak light failing to reach the corners. Yamato stood before the counter, both hands wrapped around a chipped blue mug. The coffee inside was no longer steaming, just a lukewarm barrier against the chill in his hands. He hadn’t slept. The faint scent of Taichi’s citrus cologne still clung to the air from a midnight snack raid, now buried under the stale smell of Yamato’s own unwashed hoodie slung over a chair. He stared at the closed door of Taichi’s room down the hall, visible through the kitchen’s archway. It had been shut since last night.
He set the mug down with a sharp click and moved.
He got three steps into the hallway before a figure materialized from the living room shadows, blocking his path. Sora leaned against the wall, arms crossed, auburn hair catching a sliver of gray window light. She looked as tired as he felt.
“You’re not going in there,” she said. Her voice was low, a statement, not a question.
Yamato’s jaw hardened, a muscle twitching. “He needs me.”
“Does he?” Sora pushed off the wall, standing firm in the narrow space. “Or do you need to fix it? To make sure he’s still yours after that train wreck yesterday?”
The words were a physical blow. Yamato’s hands curled into fists at his sides. “It wasn’t a—“
“It was. The headlines aren’t calling it a ‘charming blunder,’ Yamato. They’re calling it a confession. And he’s been locked in that room for fourteen hours. What he needs is to process without you breathing down his neck, looking at him with those… eyes.” She gestured vaguely at his face.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means you look at him like he hung the damn moon, and right now, that’s probably the most terrifying thing in the world for him. You’ll just make him feel guilty for being confused. For needing a minute that isn’t about you.”
Yamato flinched. He turned back toward the kitchen, grabbing the counter’s edge until his knuckles turned white. The truth of it was a sour taste in his mouth, worse than the stale coffee. He was afraid. Afraid Taichi was in there realizing it was all a mistake, that the warmth of the shared bed was just residual showmanship, that the blush was merely panic. The thought was a cold void in his chest.
“I’m not trying to guilt him,” he said, the words gritted out.
“I know.” Sora’s voice softened, just a fraction. She came to lean on the counter beside him, following his gaze down the empty hall. “But you have to let him come up for air. He’s not like you. He doesn’t sit in the dark and compose ballads about his feelings. He needs to move through them. Literally. Let him pace, let him watch stupid videos, let him scream into a pillow. Without an audience.”
Yamato watched the silent door. He remembered the bars of light on Taichi’s floor last night, the look of someone trapped. The old claustrophobia, the one from the fan mob incident when they were teenagers, wasn’t just about physical spaces. It was about feeling cornered, pinned by expectations. And now Yamato’s own longing was another set of walls closing in.
“Give him today,” Sora urged. “Just today. If he’s not out by dinner, hasn’t eaten, hasn’t said a word, then you can go in. You can do the whole knight-in-shining-armour routine. But not before.”
The compromise was a small, bitter pill. A day felt like a lifetime. Every second Taichi spent alone was a second he could be constructing a rational explanation that carved Yamato out of the equation.
“He might be hungry,” Yamato said, a last, weak protest.
“I’ll text him an offer of food in an hour. From me. Not from you.” Sora gave him a sidelong look. “You’re the source of the atmospheric pressure right now. You need to dissipate.”
A harsh, quiet laugh escaped him. “Atmospheric pressure. Nice.”
“I read a book once. It was terrible.” She nudged his arm with her elbow. “Go for a run. Write a new song called ‘My Best Friend Is Ignoring Me And It’s Killing Me.’ Just be somewhere else.”
Yamato finally nodded, a short, jerky motion. He couldn’t look at her, focusing instead on the faint stain of coffee at the bottom of his mug. The worry was etched so deeply into his face he knew it would be visible, a crack in the usual alabaster calm. He turned away to hide it, moving back toward his own room.
“Sora,” he said, pausing at his doorway.
“Yeah?”
“If he… if he says anything. About being freaked out. About me.” He couldn’t finish.
“I’ll tell you,” she said, and her tone held no promise of sugarcoating. “Now go. Shoo.”
His door closed, softer than Taichi’s had, but with the same finality. Sora let out a long, weary breath and pulled out her phone. In the group chat with the members, a stream of concerned messages had been piling up since the morning news shows replayed the blush on a loop.
Jun: Has anyone seen Tai?
Kenta: He’s not answering.
Ryo: Yamato’s being weird too. What’s happening?
Sora typed quickly, her thumbs flying. Everyone chill. Tai’s got a migraine from the lights yesterday. Yama’s just being a mother hen. Giving them both space. Practice later as scheduled.
The replies were a chorus of understanding emojis. Crisis managed, for now. She looked back down the hall at Taichi’s door, a neutral, pale gray slab.
Inside that room, Yamato knew, was the only source of light in his world. And he had just agreed to sit in the dark and wait, terrified that when the door finally opened, the light might have decided to shine somewhere else entirely. He slumped onto his bed, the first few chords of a new, aching melody already threading through the silence.