How can two people be so different, yet so alike? Reo was, and still is, exciting, talkative, and most importantly, lovable. Kaida is certain Reo doesn’t fully grasp just how deeply his presence is cherished. It’s been years since their break-up, and a while now since they painstakingly pieced their relationship back together. The cracks left by their past selves have been filled, sprouting into a field of wildflowers so vivid and alive that Kaida can’t help but marvel every time he looks at Reo.
The way his smile still feels familiar yet carries a newfound light; how he stubbornly stands his ground but always spares a moment to consider Kaida’s perspective. The way he responds to messages with a warmth that lingers or how he carries himself with a quiet confidence that Kaida admires more than he can admit.
All those old wounds, once jagged and deep, are now cradled in the embrace of soft petals. The cracks have disappeared beneath the bloom, transforming into something unrecognizably beautiful. And yet, Kaida feels unsure, hesitant. How does one tend to a garden of love when all he’s known of love before was its eventual ruin?
But this one—this love—he wants to nurture. He must. He refuses to let it wither.
He’s been good this year, hasn’t he? Surely Santa would grant him a gift worth cherishing. And truly, what greater gift could there be than this: securing a flight home for the winter holiday, arriving on Christmas Eve, just as snowflakes pirouette through the December air. Each step through the city leads him closer, the cold wind brushing against his cheeks with a teasing chill, reminding him he’s alive—and that he’s heading home.
Reo will likely be asleep at this hour, his deadlines surely keeping him busy. Writing is no easy feat, after all. It’s a different world entirely from the marketing job he once had. Kaida smiles at the thought, knowing how Reo has embraced this challenge with the same fierce determination that Kaida fell in love with so many years ago.
It hasn’t even been a full year since Kaida left for his studies, and though he’s made memories and enjoyed the adventure, there’s a hollow space within him. One that only Reo can fill.
Tonight, that emptiness will finally ease.
The keypad blinks faintly in the winter dusk, the cold biting at Kaida’s fingertips as he punches in the familiar code. The soft beep is a welcome sound, a quiet reminder that some things don’t change, even when everything else seems to. The door clicks open, and the warmth of the apartment spills out to greet him, carrying with it the faint scent of strawberries and something herbal—tea, perhaps.
Kaida steps inside, careful to close the door softly behind him. The apartment feels like a moment frozen in time, untouched and waiting. He stands in the entryway for a beat longer than he should, taking in the quiet hum of the heater, the faint glow spilling from the kotatsu lamp into the darkened room.
"I'm home," he whispers into the stillness, his voice barely louder than a sigh.
His eyes drift to the little cage by the window, where Yuki, his cockatiel, is nestled. The bird stirs, tilting its head sleepily at him before letting out a soft chirp. Kaida crosses the room, crouching beside the cage.
"Yuki," he murmurs, his lips curving into a small, lopsided smile. "Missed me?"
The cockatiel fluffs its feathers, its sleepy chirp almost accusatory, as if to say you were gone too long. Kaida chuckles, brushing a finger gently against the cage bars before standing.
The kotatsu draws his attention next, a pool of warmth and light in the otherwise quiet apartment. Draped against its edge, wrapped in a blanket that’s slipping dangerously low, is Reo. His hair is tousled, a streak of light catching the soft red hues that Kaida used to tease him for. His face is serene, his breathing even and unhurried, like the rhythm of an old love song.
Kaida sets his bag down quietly, padding across the room with deliberate care. The weight of months apart settles in his chest, but it’s a weight that feels almost sweet now, knowing it’s about to lift.
He kneels beside the kotatsu, taking in every detail of Reo’s sleeping face—the soft curve of his lips, the faint crease between his brows that never quite disappears. Slowly, Kaida leans forward, his hands coming to rest lightly on Reo’s shoulders as he lowers himself onto him with a deliberate tenderness.
"Reo," he whispers, the name like a secret he’s been holding too long. "I’m home."
Reo stirs, his brow furrowing slightly as he blinks awake. His gaze is bleary, unfocused for a moment before clarity dawns.
"Kaida?" His voice is thick with sleep, a thread of disbelief woven into it.
Kaida smiles, his forehead brushing lightly against Reo’s. "Merry Christmas," he whispers, the words as soft as the snow falling silently outside.
Reo blinks again, a slow smile spreading across his face, warm and unguarded. "You idiot," he murmurs, his arms looping around Kaida’s back, pulling him close. “Welcome home.”
The world seems to pause, the weight of their shared history falling away in the quiet of this moment. For the first time in months, the emptiness Kaida has carried feels distant, replaced by the warmth of the boy beneath him—the boy who has always, somehow, been his home.
@oreoichi, merikuriiiiiiii
