Under Nagano

Part 10

As Nikko sank into the chair beside Hoshi, the weight of the past months hit him like a crashing wave. His legs trembled with exhaustion, and his hands rested on his knees as he leaned forward, burying his face in his palms. He was finally here with Hoshi—the person he had longed to find. Yet, instead of the relief he had imagined, a wave of overwhelming fatigue washed over him, leaving him disoriented and unsure.

The room around them was quiet, intimate, and elegantly simple. A dim light cast soft shadows on the furniture, wrapping the space in a comforting stillness. It felt like they were in their own world, isolated from the chaos outside, where time had slowed to a gentle crawl.

Nikko's breath was uneven, his chest heavy with the weight of everything he had been through. The confusion and loss, the long search for answers, and the endless pain of being found only to be abandoned again—it all surged forward in this moment. But sitting here now, the emotions poured out in silence. His body, drained from the endless searching, slouched as he let it all sink in.

Hoshi, sitting across from Nikko, watched silently. His presence, calm and collected, contrasted with the storm brewing within Nikko. He didn't need to say anything to understand the depths of what Nikko was feeling. There was something unspoken between them, an invisible thread that connected their shared pain and unspoken thoughts. Slowly, Hoshi shifted in his seat, moving closer but still allowing Nikko the space to breathe, as if recognizing that the quiet was what Nikko needed right now.

With a tenderness that spoke volumes, Hoshi reached out and gently placed his hand on Nikko's shoulder. His touch was light, almost imperceptible, but grounding. It wasn't a gesture of reassurance as much as it was a wordless acknowledgment—an understanding of the weight Nikko was carrying. The warmth of his hand against Nikko's cool skin created a sense of stillness. He didn't push, didn't rush Nikko to speak. Instead, he allowed the silence to be their conversation.

Nikko lifted his head slightly, his hands slowly falling away from his face. Nikko didn't look at Hoshi just yet, but the weight on his chest seemed to ease. His hands slowly fell away from his face, and he took a deep breath, the simple action bringing him back into the present. The soft sounds of the room—the distant hum of the opera house, the faint footsteps from the hall—were the only things filling the space, yet they seemed far away, as if this moment between them were all that existed.

Gradually, Nikko straightened in his seat, his eyes finally lifting to meet Hoshi's. Their gaze locked, and in that instant, words were unnecessary. In Hoshi's eyes, Nikko found the reflection of his own pain, his confusion, and his longing—but also an understanding so deep that it startled him. He didn't have to explain, didn't have to put into words what weighed him down. Hoshi already knew.

Without a word, Hoshi reached out and gently placed his hand on Nikko's chest, over his heart. The gesture was a deliberate acknowledgment of the deep pain Nikko had carried for so long.

Nikko felt the warmth of Hoshi's palm spread across his chest, and in that moment, it was as if Hoshi was physically touching the grief and exhaustion that had weighed him down. Hoshi let the silence linger, allowing their emotions to fill the room.

The room seemed to stand still. Time lost its meaning as they sat in shared silence, their thoughts unspoken but perfectly understood. Hoshi leaned back in his chair, his eyes never leaving Nikko's. There was no rush, no urgency to break the stillness. In this space, Nikko didn't need to say that he was alright, nor did Hoshi need to ask. Their presence alone was enough. In Hoshi's steady gaze, Nikko found the answer he had been searching for all this time: a quiet, undeniable understanding.

But there was something unmistakable in that gaze—something that quietly demanded Nikko's attention.

Hoshi's voice, when it came, was soft and low, barely above a whisper. "You don't have to carry it alone anymore."

The words, simple yet profound, struck Nikko harder than he expected. His breath hitched, and for the first time in a long while, the tightness in his chest loosened. The truth behind those words settled deep into him, like a weight being lifted off his shoulders.

Nikko opened his mouth to respond but found he couldn't quite speak. Instead, he nodded, his throat thick with emotion. Hoshi didn't need to say anything more. In that small, seemingly insignificant moment, everything between them shifted.

The silence lingered, but it wasn't uncomfortable. It was thick with unspoken words, carrying the weight of their shared past. But Nikko's mind wouldn't let him rest. The question gnawed at him, twisting deep within his chest, and he knew he had to ask.

He took a deep breath, his voice shaky but firm. "Why?" The word hung in the air, heavier than he had intended. "Why did you say those words to me... and then leave? You promised me to stay, and yet you were gone. No explanation." His voice broke, emotion spilling over despite his efforts to stay composed. "Even though I knew you for a few hours, back then I was so lost. So desperate and searching for answers, trying to make sense of everything that has happened. I was extremely vulnerable, and when I woke up in the morning like nothing happened at all, I felt like I was taken advantage of... maybe even mocked... yet I still kept hope and latched on to the idea that you were genuine and still out there somewhere. So, with that said, I guess I should thank you instead of complain."

Hoshi's gaze remained steady, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes—regret, perhaps, or sorrow. He didn't interrupt, letting Nikko pour out his confusion, his hurt, his pain. Each word felt like a release, yet it also cut deeper, exposing wounds Nikko had tried to bury.

When Nikko finished, he felt a mixture of relief and vulnerability, as if he had just opened the deepest parts of himself to the person who had caused him so much confusion. He hadn't realized how badly he needed to say those words aloud.

For a long moment, Hoshi said nothing. Then, quietly, he stood and reached out, offering his hand to Nikko. "Come with me," he said softly, his voice barely more than a whisper. "I owe you an explanation, and I will give it to you the best I can. But I want to show you something first."

Nikko hesitated, staring at Hoshi's outstretched hand. The weight of their fleeting past hung heavy between them, but there was something in Hoshi's voice, in the way he looked at him, that made Nikko want to trust him again. Slowly, cautiously, he took Hoshi's hand, feeling the warmth of his touch.

Without another word, Hoshi led Nikko out of the room. They moved through the quiet, dimly lit hallways of the opera house, their footsteps the only sound. The tension in the air shifted, not as heavy as before, but there was still a sense of anticipation, as if they were on the edge of something important.

Finally, they reached the stage that Hoshi had just performed on. Up close, the stage seemed grand yet simple, save for a single grand piano in the center. Hoshi let go of Nikko's hand and walked over to the instrument, running his fingers lightly along the keys without pressing down. The soft echo of the touch filled the space.

"I wanted to show you this," Hoshi said quietly, looking at Nikko, his eyes deep with unspoken emotion. "This song... it's something I've been working on for a long time. I want you to hear it."

Hoshi sat at the piano, poised, as if the music itself was a part of him. He looked back at Nikko, something like an unspoken question in his gaze—seeking trust, seeking understanding. Then, he began to play.