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The train lurched forward with a mechanical sigh, jostling its passengers as it pulled out of the station. Yuma shifted his weight, leaning casually against the metal pole at the center of the train car. He had one earbud in, half-listening to a playlist of anime hits, but his eyes were elsewhere—drawn, almost involuntarily, to the guy standing a few feet away, framed by the pale gray of the train’s sliding doors.
Asakura Jo.
Yuma recognized him vaguely, a face plucked from the archives of his freshman year, though back then, Jo had mostly kept to himself. Jo always sat at the edges of lecture halls, immersed in a book while others rummaged through notes or scrolled through their phones. He didn’t talk much, if at all, and even now, as he stood in the swaying train car, his lips remained pressed in a neutral line. His focus was entirely on the paperback in his hands.
Yuma couldn’t help but notice the proportions first. Jo towered over most of the other passengers, giving him a quiet prominence. It wasn’t just his height, though—it was the way he carried it. Long limbs, a small head, and broad shoulders made him look like he’d stepped out of a movie, one of those understatedly cool protagonists. His hair, slightly messy but neat enough to look intentional, fell into his eyes, casting faint shadows over his high cheekbones. There was a stillness to him, an unhurried composure that reminded Yuma of a cedar tree—tall, grounded, and quietly commanding.
But it wasn’t just Jo himself that had Yuma lingering, glancing at him through the gaps between passengers. It was the book.
Jo’s paperback had a cloth dust jacket, its forestry-themed design an intricate weave of greens and browns, with tiny embroidered trees lining the edges. It looked handmade—carefully crafted and snugly fit around the book’s cover. Yuma squinted, trying to catch the title, but the jacket obscured it completely. The mystery gnawed at him.
What kind of book needed a cover like that?
The thought made Yuma smirk to himself, though he quickly masked it with a sip from his water bottle. The last thing he needed was to get caught staring.
The train jolted slightly, prompting Jo to shift his stance. He readjusted his grip on the overhead strap with one hand, his other remaining steady on the book. Yuma noted how his fingers, long and deft, rested lightly on the edges of the page. It wasn’t the casual, distracted reading of someone killing time on a commute. Jo was invested, the kind of focus that pulled a person into another world entirely. It wasn’t the first time Yuma had seen him reading on this train line—he’d noticed Jo a few times before, always absorbed in a book, always with a different dust jacket.
Freshman year came back in fragmented images: Jo at the edge of Yuma’s periphery in lecture halls, head bent low over a book while the professor droned on. They’d never spoken to each other. Yuma had always been too preoccupied—with his own friends, his own distractions, his own world—to give more than a passing thought to the silent boy with the perpetually open book.
Yet here he was, watching Jo like he were trying to solve a riddle.
The train slowed for the next station, and the crowd shifted. A group of schoolgirls pressed closer to the doors, giggling and whispering loudly. Jo didn’t react to the noise, his focus unbroken as he turned a page with the ease of someone who had done this a thousand times before. Yuma felt his curiosity sharpen.
What was he reading? What story had him so engrossed? And why the forestry-themed cover? Did it reflect the contents, or was it just an aesthetic choice? Yuma’s mind ran through the possibilities. Literary fiction, maybe? Poetry? A niche novel about sustainable living?
He caught himself before his thoughts could spiral further. It was ridiculous, getting this worked up over a book cover. And yet, he couldn’t deny the intrigue. Jo carried an air of deliberate mystery, even if unintentionally. The dust jacket only added to the effect, like a lock placed on something precious. The contents weren’t for public consumption.
The train hissed as it pulled into the next station, doors sliding open with a mechanical chime. More passengers crowded on, and Yuma found himself nudged closer to Jo. For a moment, he debated saying something—something casual, harmless. A comment about the book, or maybe the cover. But Jo didn’t even glance up. The opportunity passed like scenery outside the train windows.
Yuma settled back against the pole, tucking his free hand into his pocket. It wasn’t like him to get fixated, especially with someone who was practically a stranger. But Jo was an exception, a mystery wrapped in a dust jacket. The comparison made Yuma chuckle under his breath. He doubted Jo would appreciate the metaphor.
The train surged forward again, the rhythm of the tracks filling the silence between bursts of conversation around them. Yuma cast one last glance at Jo, whose expression hadn’t changed. He was rooted, like the cedar tree Yuma had pegged him as, unwavering even as the train’s momentum pulled and tugged at its passengers.
---
The central quadrangle of the university bustled with life, a patchwork of voices and movement against the midday sun. Students milled about in clusters, laughing, debating, and swapping notes. Yuma sat on the low stone wall near the edge of the grass, a half-empty can of soda dangling loosely from his fingers. Beside him, Taki tore into some onigiri with all the grace of someone who hadn’t eaten since breakfast.
“Are you even tasting that?” Yuma asked, amused, watching as Taki crammed the last of the rice ball into his mouth.
Taki grinned, cheeks puffed like a chipmunk’s. “So hungry,” he mumbled through the mouthful, earning a snort of laughter from Yuma.
Yuma tilted his head back, letting the warmth of the sun soak into his skin. The quadrangle wasn’t his usual spot—he preferred quieter corners, away from the hum of campus life—but Taki had dragged him here after their morning class, claiming they needed fresh air. Now, surrounded by the crowds of passing students and the occasional flurry of bikes, Yuma felt restless. His gaze swept the area, idly cataloging familiar faces.
Then he saw Jo.
He was seated alone on a bench under one of the tall maples, legs crossed and posture relaxed. The book in his hands was small, a paperback as always, but the cloth dust jacket was new. This one was a playful jumble of apples, school buses, rulers, and crayons—bright primary colors that clashed amusingly with Jo’s sharp, chiseled features. It looked like something a kindergartner would have picked out, yet Jo handled it with the same calm focus as always.
Yuma blinked, momentarily thrown. For someone who could pass for a runway model, Jo somehow made the childlike design work. The juxtaposition was almost comical, and yet, Yuma couldn’t look away.
“Hey,” he nudged Taki with his elbow. “See that guy over there? Sitting under the tree?”
Taki followed Yuma’s line of sight and raised an eyebrow. “Asakura Jo?”
Yuma straightened, surprised. “You know him?”
“Not really. Everyone knows of him, though,” Taki said, brushing crumbs off his hands. “He’s kind of… mysterious.”
Yuma frowned, intrigued. “Mysterious how?”
Taki leaned back, crossing his arms as he considered. “Well, for starters, he’s always like that. Quiet, keeps to himself, reading during breaks instead of hanging out. Never goes to mixers, not even the ones with the female students. And trust me, a lot of people have invited him.”
Yuma quirked an eyebrow. “So he’s popular?”
“In a way. People notice him because, you know”—Taki gestured vaguely—“tall and good-looking. Kind of hard to miss. But it’s weird. It’s like he’s popular and invisible at the same time. He doesn’t seem to care.”
Yuma tilted his head, watching Jo turn a page, his movements unhurried. “What about his friends? Doesn’t he have a group or something?”
Taki shrugged. “Not really. He mostly hangs out with Shigeta Harua.”
That name caught Yuma’s attention, and he couldn’t resist smirking. “Oh, the guy you have the hots for?”
Taki’s face went crimson, and he sputtered. “What? No—I mean, okay, he’s cute, but that’s not the point. It’s just what I’ve noticed.”
Yuma laughed, leaning back on his hands. “Sure, sure. Not like you’ve been keeping tabs on Harua or anything.”
“Shut up,” Taki muttered, but his embarrassed grin gave him away.
Still chuckling, Yuma glanced back at Jo. The sun filtered through the maple leaves, casting dappled shadows over the bench. Jo seemed completely at ease, his focus unwavering despite the chatter and commotion around him. The bright, school-themed dust jacket added a strange charm to his otherwise elegant appearance. It was impossible to reconcile the two—the man and the cover—and yet Yuma found himself fascinated by the juxtaposition.
“Why do you think he’s like that?” Yuma mused aloud. “Keeping to himself all the time?”
Taki shrugged again, more subdued this time. “Who knows? Maybe he just doesn’t like dealing with people. Or maybe he’s just really likes reading. Everyone’s got their reasons.”
Yuma hummed, unconvinced. “He doesn’t strike me as shy.”
Taki snorted. “Says the guy who’s been staring at him for ten minutes but hasn’t gone over to say hi.”
“I’m not staring,” Yuma said, though he knew it was a lie.
“If you’re so curious, go talk to him.”
Yuma hesitated. The idea was tempting, but something about Jo’s focused demeanor felt untouchable, like approaching him would be an intrusion. He didn’t want to shatter whatever bubble Jo had wrapped himself in.
Instead, he stood, brushing off his jeans. “I’ll pass. He doesn’t seem like the type who wants to be bothered.”
Taki rolled his eyes. “So you’re just going to sit here and make theories about him instead?”
“Pretty much,” Yuma said with a grin. “It’s more fun this way.”
Taki groaned but didn’t argue. They both watched as Jo adjusted his book, his fingers briefly brushing the edge of the dust jacket. The motion was so small, so deliberate, that Yuma felt an odd pang of curiosity all over again. What kind of person chose a design like that? Was it just random, or did it mean something? And why did Jo seem so… unreadable, despite spending all his time reading?
Yuma let out a quiet sigh, shaking his head. “He’s like a puzzle.”
Taki laughed. “You mean like a riddle?”
“No,” Yuma said slowly. “A puzzle. The kind where you’ve got all these random pieces, and you’re trying to figure out how they fit together.”
Taki gave him a look but didn’t press further. He stretched, yawning, before hopping off the wall. “Well, have fun solving your puzzle. I’ve got class in ten. Later.”
Yuma waved him off, his attention drifting back to Jo. The breeze stirred the edges of Jo’s dust jacket, making the bright, childlike patterns ripple slightly. For a moment, Jo looked up, his eyes scanning the quadrangle as if looking for someone. Yuma froze, unsure if Jo had noticed him. But then Jo returned to his book, completely unbothered.
Yuma smiled to himself, shaking his head. “Definitely a puzzle,” he muttered, finishing his soda and tossing the can into a nearby bin.
---
The train ride home in the late afternoon was calmer than the morning, the usual crush of bodies were replaced instead by clusters of commuters spaced out through the car. As is his habit, Yuma leaned against the pole near the center, his bag slung over one shoulder and a single earbud in. He told himself it wasn’t weird—just coincidence—that he kept seeing Jo on this train. It wasn’t like he was following him.
Still, the frequency of their encounters was… notable. Enough that Yuma had stopped pretending not to notice.
Today, Jo wasn’t alone. Beside him sat Shigeta Harua, whose cheerful, animated presence was in stark contrast to Jo’s quiet, composed demeanor. They were deep in conversation, Harua leaning in slightly as he gestured with his hands. Jo, as always, was holding a book. The dust jacket today was a new one: a design of overlapping skylines, all sharp angles and sleek lines. It fit perfectly with the idea Yuma had started piecing together about Jo—a meticulous guy, maybe even a little old-fashioned, grounded in order and structure.
Yuma found himself watching them from across the car, his earbud still playing some lo-fi beats. Harua’s voice, pitched just loud enough, floated over the din of the train. On a whim, Yuma reached up and turned off his music, letting the earbud dangle as he adjusted his posture to face them more directly.
“...I’m telling you, the lines need to flow more naturally,” Harua was saying, his voice tinged with exasperation. “It’s way too stiff right now. You want it to feel like it’s alive, like it could move if it wanted to.”
Jo tilted his head, his expression thoughtful. “I get what you’re saying, but it still needs structure. If it’s too organic, it’ll lose its integrity.”
Yuma raised an eyebrow. Lines? Structure? It sounded technical—like something straight out of an industrial design critique. Harua huffed and crossed his arms, his playful grin making it hard to tell how serious he was.
“You’re such a perfectionist,” Harua teased. “Just try it my way for once, okay? I swear it’ll look better.”
Jo’s fingers brushed the edges of his book as he seemed to mull it over. “I’ll think about it,” he said finally. “But I’m not promising anything.”
Yuma smirked to himself. Perfectionist, huh? That tracked. Jo had the aura of someone who put thought into every single thing he did, from the way he dressed—subtle but effortlessly sharp—to how he carried himself, always calm, always deliberate.
The train hit a curve, and Harua reached out instinctively to steady himself, gripping the back of Jo’s seat. He shot Jo a look. “You’re lucky I like you, you know. Most people wouldn’t bother putting up with all this nonsense.”
Jo gave a faint smile, one so small Yuma almost missed it. “Most people don’t. That’s why you’re still here.”
Harua laughed, the sound bright and unabashed. “I should charge you for my patience.”
Yuma watched the interaction with quiet amusement. He still couldn’t quite reconcile Jo’s striking, almost intimidating appearance with the lighthearted banter unfolding in front of him. The towering, cedar-like figure seemed somehow softer in Harua’s presence, less untouchable.
The train began to slow as it pulled into the next station. Harua stood, stretching dramatically before slinging his bag over his shoulder. “Anyway, I’m out. See you tomorrow?”
Jo nodded, adjusting his grip on the book. “See you.”
Harua left the train with a casual wave, disappearing into the crowd on the platform. The doors slid shut, and the train resumed its journey, leaving Jo alone with his book. Yuma hesitated, his gaze flicking to the faint sheen of Jo’s university ID peeking out from beneath his jacket. The ID was looped on a lanyard, tucked discreetly, but the movement of the train made it shift slightly, just enough for Yuma to catch a glimpse.
Fine Arts Department.
Yuma squinted, leaning a little closer under the guise of adjusting his bag. A fellow creative from the same faculty. A small grin spread across his face. So that explains the dust jacket, he thought. And the conversation.
The train jolted, and Jo adjusted his posture, his fingers tightening briefly on the book. Yuma caught the motion and couldn’t help but wonder—was Jo as composed as he seemed, or was there something beneath that cedar-tree stillness?
On impulse, Yuma stepped forward, sliding into the seat Harua had vacated. Jo didn’t look up, but Yuma caught the faintest flicker of tension in his shoulders.
“Architecture, huh?” Yuma said casually, nodding toward the dust jacket. “You into that?”
Jo turned, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studied Yuma. For a moment, Yuma thought he wouldn’t respond. But then Jo glanced back at the book, his expression unreadable.
“It’s just a cover,” Jo said finally, his voice soft but steady.
Yuma raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “A cover for what?”
Jo’s lips curved in the faintest smile, though he didn’t look up. “A book.”
Yuma laughed, leaning back in the seat. “Fair enough.”
Yuma didn’t press further, content to sit beside the mystery of Asakura Jo, whose words seemed simple but carried far more weight than they let on. The train settled into a rhythm, and the silence between them felt surprisingly companionable.
---
The lecturer’s voice droned on, its cadence low and even, as though the man was performing an incantation instead of dissecting today’s lesson on “persona.” Yuma propped his chin on his hand, staring at the front of the room but only half-listening. The words floated past him: Nietzsche, Rilke, Mishima—concepts of masks and selves, of the truths we obscure and the faces we wear.
He’d done the reading—Graham Parkes’s essay on “Facing the Masks” had been dense but manageable. Yet, Yuma found it hard to focus on the lecture itself. His attention kept drifting.
It drifted, more specifically, to Jo.
The realization had struck Yuma like a lightning bolt about fifteen minutes into class. Jo was sitting on the far left side of the lecture hall, angled slightly so that the light from the high windows fell directly onto his face. His posture was as straight and deliberate as ever, his pen moving with quiet precision as he jotted notes.
Yuma couldn’t believe he hadn’t noticed before.
Sure, he’d always sat toward the back, where distractions were fewer and the seats were less cramped, but Jo was striking. His stillness, his intensity—how had Yuma not spotted him in this very class before now? The answer gnawed at him: he hadn’t been looking.
Now, though, he was looking. A bit too much, in fact.
Yuma shifted uncomfortably in his seat, letting his gaze slide to the lecturer for a moment. “As Nietzsche describes in The Birth of Tragedy, the mask is a tool of transformation. It conceals the human imperfections of the actor, allowing them to embody something larger, more universal. The mask itself becomes a vehicle for power.”
The professor’s words felt oddly relevant. Yuma glanced at Jo again.
There was something about him that reminded Yuma of that idea—of the mask as both a facade and a form of transcendence. Jo’s reserved demeanor, his unyielding focus, felt like armor, a deliberate separation between himself and the world. Even now, seated among classmates, he seemed a world apart from them, his attention entirely on his notebook and the teacher’s words.
At that moment, Yuma noticed the book on Jo’s desk, its cover fully visible now that Jo had set it aside. The dust jacket featured an intricate mask design—layered shades of black and gold, with sharp, elegant angles that gave it a theatrical quality. The mask seemed almost alive, its gaze staring back at Yuma with an enigmatic intensity.
Fitting, Yuma thought. He couldn’t have picked a better metaphor for Jo if he’d tried.
Yuma’s eyes flicked to Jo’s pen as it stilled. Jo looked up, his head tilted slightly, and raised his hand.
“Yes, Mr. Asakura?” the lecturer prompted.
“I was wondering,” Jo began, his voice steady but soft, “if the idea of the mask as concealment is inherently negative. Parkes suggests on page 68 that the mask doesn’t just hide but also reveals, that it draws attention to specific aspects of the self. Could it be that the mask isn’t a barrier but a tool for self-expression?”
Yuma straightened slightly in his seat, impressed despite himself. The question was thoughtful, precise, even a little challenging. Jo didn’t seem like the kind of person to speak without purpose, and the confidence in his tone was evident despite its quietness.
The lecturer smiled faintly. “An excellent point, Mr. Asakura. Indeed, Nietzsche himself later evolves his view, suggesting that masks are not just protective but also generative. They allow us to play roles, to experiment with identity. In this sense, the mask is a medium, not just a shield.”
Yuma watched as Jo nodded and returned to his notes, his focus unbroken. The sharp line of his jaw, the way his hair framed his face, the faint crease in his brow—all of it added to the enigma that was Asakura Jo.
“Yuma,” a voice hissed beside him.
Startled, Yuma turned to find Taki leaning closer, a sly grin on his face. “You’re staring.”
“I’m not,” Yuma whispered back, though he knew it was a lie. He shot Taki a glare for good measure, but Taki only chuckled, sitting back in his seat.
The lecturer continued, oblivious. “Rilke writes in The Notebooks of Malte Laurids Brigge that ‘the mask becomes the person.’ It is no longer a mere facade but a reflection of the wearer’s essence. This, of course, raises questions about the self. If the mask becomes the person, then what remains beneath?”
Yuma tapped his pen against his notebook, not bothering to write anything down. His thoughts were a whirl, fragments of the lecture colliding with his observations of Jo. The guy had always been in this class. Always. And yet, Yuma had only started noticing him on the train—this quiet, towering figure with his strange, charming book covers.
Maybe it was the train rides that had planted the seed of curiosity. Or maybe it was something deeper, something Yuma couldn’t quite name right now. Jo wasn’t like anyone else Yuma knew. He was shiny and new, like a toy a cat couldn’t help but bat at.
“Miss Ueda,” the lecturer called out, jolting Yuma from his thoughts. He realized too late that the professor had asked a question.
His classmate answered smoothly, saving Yuma from the possibility of being called on next. He let out a quiet breath, but his relief was short-lived. His gaze drifted back to Jo, drawn as though by some invisible thread.
Jo didn’t move much. His body remained still, his attention disciplined. But there was something in the way his hand brushed his notebook, the way his eyes flicked up occasionally as though searching for clarity, that fascinated Yuma. It was like watching someone build a fortress, brick by brick, with meticulous care.
As the lecture neared its end, the professor posed a final question. “We’ve talked about masks as concealment, as protection, and as expression. But what do you think happens when the mask is removed? What lies beneath? Is it a truer self, or merely another mask?”
A murmur of voices followed, but Jo didn’t contribute this time. He was writing again, his pen moving fluidly over the page. Yuma wondered what he thought of the question. Did Jo see himself in these ideas of masks and personas? Did he wear one, consciously or not?
The professor dismissed the class a few minutes later, the sound of shuffling papers and scraping chairs filling the room. Yuma stayed seated, watching as Jo gathered his things with the same deliberate precision he did everything else.
As Jo stood, Yuma noticed the lanyard around his neck, the university ID swaying slightly with the movement. He caught another detail this time: Industrial Design.
Yuma smirked to himself as Jo exited the lecture hall, his tall frame cutting an easy path through the crowd. Of course. The dust jackets, the clean lines, the focus on detail—it all made sense now.
“Yuma,” Taki said again, elbowing him as they walked toward the door. “You really were staring.”
“Shut up,” Yuma muttered, but his tone lacked bite. He wasn’t about to deny it this time.
He realized he was starting to enjoy this game.
---
The outdoor tables at the campus coffee shop were usually a hub of noise and laughter, clusters of students gathering between classes to caffeinate and gossip. Today, though, the area hummed at a lower frequency. The chill of late afternoon had driven most people inside, leaving only a few scattered stragglers willing to brave the breeze.
Jo was one of them.
Yuma spotted him immediately as he rounded the corner with his own cup of steaming coffee in hand. Jo sat alone, one leg crossed over the other, his posture as straight as ever. The book from earlier rested on the small table in front of him, the mask-patterned dust jacket unmistakable. His fingers ghosted over the page as he read, the same deliberate focus Yuma had come to associate with him.
Yuma hesitated. He hadn’t planned this. He hadn’t even known Jo would be here. But now that he was, something gnawed at Yuma’s insides—something restless, demanding.
I shouldn’t. I really shouldn’t.
And yet, Yuma found himself walking toward the table, his steps purposeful. By the time Jo glanced up, startled by the shadow falling over him, it was already too late.
“Mind if I sit here?” Yuma asked, not waiting for an answer before pulling out the chair opposite Jo and settling into it.
Jo blinked, his surprise evident. For a moment, he didn’t speak, his hand pausing mid-turn of a page. “Um… sure,” he said finally, his tone careful, almost guarded.
Yuma grinned, leaning back and taking a sip of his coffee. “You don’t seem thrilled.”
“It’s not that,” Jo said quickly, closing the book and setting it on the table. “I just… didn’t expect company.”
“I’ll try not to ruin your day, then,” Yuma teased, setting his cup down. His eyes flicked to the book. “Still reading Nietzsche?”
Jo shook his head, and for the first time, Yuma saw the faintest hint of a smile tug at the corner of his lips. “No. This one’s… different.”
“Different how?”
Jo hesitated, his fingers brushing the edge of the book. “It’s fiction.”
“Fiction?” Yuma raised an eyebrow. “What’s it about?”
Jo didn’t answer right away. Instead, he glanced at the book, as though weighing how much to reveal. “Masks,” he said finally, his voice soft. “And the people who wear them.”
Yuma hummed thoughtfully, leaning forward. “So it ties back to today’s lecture?”
“Only tangentially.” Jo’s eyes flicked up to meet Yuma’s, and for a moment, Yuma forgot what he’d been about to say. There was something disarming about Jo’s gaze—steady, unflinching, yet not cold. It felt as though Jo could see through him, past every quip and grin, straight to the part Yuma rarely let people see.
Yuma cleared his throat, breaking the silence. “It’s funny, isn’t it? How masks can reveal just as much as they hide. Like that dust jacket of yours.” He nodded toward the book, his grin softening into something more curious. “You’ve got a thing for covers, don’t you?”
Jo’s eyes widened slightly, caught off guard by the observation. “I guess you could say that,” he admitted. “I like how they make books feel more… personal.”
“Personal?” Yuma tilted his head. “But isn’t the point of a cover to keep people from knowing what you’re reading?”
Jo’s lips twitched, somewhere between a smile and a smirk. “That’s one way to look at it. But it’s not just about hiding. It’s about… choosing how to show yourself.”
“Ah,” Yuma said, leaning back. “So you’re a guy who likes to keep people guessing.”
“Hmmmmm,” Jo said softly, his gaze dropping back to the book.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The wind rustled the leaves on the nearby trees, carrying the faint aroma of coffee and autumn with it. Yuma found himself studying Jo again, unable to help it. The way his fingers rested lightly on the book, the small furrow in his brow as though he were still thinking about something. He seemed so composed, so self-contained, yet there was a warmth in his presence Yuma hadn’t noticed before.
“You’re not what I expected,” Yuma said suddenly, surprising himself.
Jo looked up, his expression questioning. “What do you mean?”
Yuma shrugged, trying to sound casual. “I don’t know. You just seem like the kind of guy who’d avoid people like me.”
Jo’s brow furrowed. “Why would I avoid you?”
“I talk too much,” Yuma said with a grin. “And I don’t know when to leave people alone.”
Jo’s lips curved again, faint but genuine. “Maybe I don’t mind.”
The words were quiet, almost shy, but they hit Yuma like a spark catching dry kindling.
He wasn’t ready to let this conversation end just yet.
“You’re good at this,” Yuma said, nodding toward the book. “The whole… talking-about-masks-and-hiding-things thing. You made a lot of good points in class today.”
Jo’s blush was faint but noticeable. “I enjoyed today’s assigned reading. That’s all.”
“Well, you sounded like you knew what you were talking about,” Yuma said, his grin returning. “Way better than me. I usually just wing it.”
Jo glanced at him, his eyes softening slightly. “I don’t know about that. Your answers are usually thoughtful, if a bit provocative.”
Yuma blinked, caught off guard by the quiet compliment. “You were paying attention?”
Jo nodded, looking down at his book again. “You made some good points last week when we discussed Mishima.”
For a moment, Yuma didn’t know what to say. He hadn’t expected Jo to notice him, let alone remember anything he’d said in class. The thought sent a strange warmth curling in his chest.
“Well,” Yuma said finally, leaning forward with a smirk. “Guess that makes us even.”
Jo looked up, his brow furrowing. “Even?”
“You noticed me in class, I noticed your book covers,” Yuma said lightly. “Fair trade, don’t you think?”
Jo’s lips twitched again, and for the first time, Yuma thought he saw a flicker of amusement in his eyes. “Perhaps.”
It wasn’t much, but it was enough. Enough to leave Yuma salivating for more—for whatever lay beneath Jo’s quiet demeanor, for the chance to keep chipping away at the enigma that was Asakura Jo.
The breeze picked up again, rustling the pages of Jo’s book and sending a stray leaf skittering across the table. Jo reached out to steady the book, his movements graceful, almost automatic. Yuma watched him for a moment longer, then picked up his coffee, letting the warmth seep into his hands.
“Thanks for letting me crash your table,” he said, standing.
Jo glanced up, a slight smile on his face. “Anytime.”
Yuma grinned. “Careful. I might take you up on that.”
As he walked away, the sound of Jo’s quiet voice lingered in his ears, mixing with the crisp rustle of leaves. And for the first time in a while, Yuma felt like he’d found a puzzle worth solving.
---
The train doors slid shut with a mechanical hiss, locking in the evening rush. The carriage lurched forward, and Yuma swayed with the movement, one hand gripping the overhead handle while the other rested in his pocket. The air was heavy with the scent of wet coats and faded perfume, a cocktail of commuter fatigue that blanketed the space.
Somewhere down the length of the carriage, Jo stood with his usual quiet poise, one hand clutching the strap of his bag and the other cradling a familiar paperback. Yuma recognized the mask-patterned dust jacket immediately, the clean lines unmistakable even in the dim, fluorescent light. Jo was reading again, his focus as sharp and undisturbed as ever, despite the crush of people around him.
Yuma told himself not to look. He told himself this was just another coincidence, that he wasn’t secretly hoping to end up in the same carriage as Jo every other train ride. But it was getting harder to convince himself, especially when Jo glanced up, their eyes meeting briefly before Jo’s gaze darted back to his book.
The train shuddered as it pulled into the next station, the crowd surging as more passengers piled on. Yuma gripped the handle tighter, shifting to avoid a stray elbow. He saw Jo do the same, his shoulders stiffening as the space around him grew tighter. With each passing station, the flow of bodies pressed them closer together, until Yuma found himself standing just a few inches from Jo, their proximity unavoidable.
“Hey,” Yuma said casually, flashing a small grin. “Fancy meeting you here.”
Jo blinked, startled, before nodding. “Yeah. Hi.”
It was barely a word, but Yuma could tell Jo was trying. His voice was soft, and his eyes flickered nervously between Yuma and the crowd.
“Crowded today, huh?” Yuma added, leaning slightly to match the train’s sway.
Jo nodded again, clutching his book tighter. “Yeah.”
Before Yuma could think of something else to say, the train hit another curve, the momentum pushing the two of them even closer. Jo stumbled slightly, his bag shifting on his shoulder, and Yuma instinctively reached out to steady him. The moment passed quickly, but not without leaving Jo visibly flustered, his cheeks tinged pink.
Then it happened.
As Jo adjusted his grip on the book, the train jolted unexpectedly. The paperback slipped from his hand, its dust jacket sliding off in one fluid motion. Yuma’s reflexes kicked in, and he caught both the book and the jacket mid-air, his fingers closing around them just before they hit the ground.
“Got it,” Yuma said, holding them out with a triumphant smile.
Jo’s expression froze. His eyes widened in horror as they flicked between Yuma and the now-exposed cover of the book.
Yuma glanced down at the title out of instinct, and his brows lifted in surprise. It wasn’t the architecture-inspired novel he’d half-expected. Instead, the title was a striking A Masquerade of Masks, the cover art depicting two men entwined, their faces partially obscured by elaborate Venetian masks. The image was sensual, charged, and left no doubt about the book’s genre.
It was a boys love novel.
Yuma felt a flicker of amusement but quickly schooled his expression. He wasn’t a stranger to BL—Taki read enough of it for their entire friend group—but he hadn’t pegged Jo as the type. The contradiction only made him more interesting.
Before Yuma could comment, Jo’s face turned a deep, mortified red. “That’s—uh, can I have that back?” he stammered, his voice barely audible over the noise of the train.
Yuma held the book out, but Jo fumbled, grabbing only the dust jacket. His movements were frantic, his usual composure shattered. He clutched the empty cover like a lifeline, avoiding Yuma’s gaze as his breathing quickened.
“This is my stop!” Jo blurted, his voice cracking slightly. The train hadn’t even started slowing down, but he pushed his way toward the doors, squeezing through the crowd with a mix of urgency and desperation.
Yuma watched, dumbfounded, as Jo stumbled onto the platform the moment the doors opened. The train pulled away a few seconds later, and Yuma glanced at the map above the door, noting that it definitely wasn’t Jo’s stop.
“Did he just…?” Yuma muttered, glancing down at the book still in his hand. The absurdity of the situation left him momentarily stunned, but then a bemused smile crept onto his face.
With nothing else to do, he flipped the book open. The pages were soft and well-thumbed, the faint scent of ink and paper wafting up as he skimmed the first few lines. The story pulled him in immediately—an evocative tale set during a masquerade, with hidden identities, forbidden desires, and a tension that simmered just beneath the surface.
Yuma’s neutral expression slipped as he read further. The prose was lush, the imagery vivid, and the scenes… graphic. Very graphic. His brows raised slightly, but he kept reading, drawn in by the artistry of the writing despite himself.
A snicker from nearby broke his concentration. He glanced up to find a trio of high school students standing a few feet away, their uniforms rumpled and their grins obnoxiously wide.
“Is he seriously reading that?” one of them whispered, not quietly enough to avoid being heard.
Yuma raised an eyebrow, his grip on the book unwavering. He didn’t bother reacting right away, letting their laughter build as the train eased forward. Only when they leaned in closer, emboldened by his silence, did he look up, his expression calm but pointed.
Without missing a beat, Yuma stuck out his tongue and pulled down his lower eyelid in an akanbe taunt. The students froze, their eyes widening in shock, before hastily looking away. One of them muttered something about “weird adults” before turning back to his phone.
Yuma smirked, unbothered. He returned to the book, flipping another page as the train rattled on. The story was as intriguing as it was unexpected.
As the train pulled into his stop, Yuma carefully tucked the book into his bag, making a mental note to return it later. The thought of Jo’s reaction—equal parts mortified and flustered—brought a grin to his face.
“Looks like he’s got good taste after all,” Yuma muttered to himself, stepping off the train and into the evening air.
---
Yuma pushed through the double doors of the library, his breath hitching from a mix of exertion and frustration. The morning had been an exercise in futility, his search for Jo spanning the better part of campus. He’d checked classrooms, the central quadrangle, and even the art studios, each stop turning up empty. It wasn’t until he’d practically stumbled into Harua near the vending machines that things took a turn.
“You’re looking for Jo?” Harua had said, his voice tinged with amusement. “Why?”
“Just… something I need to talk to him about,” Yuma had replied vaguely, unwilling to share too much.
Harua’s grin had widened. “I’ll tell you where he is—on one condition.”
Yuma groaned, rubbing his temple. “What?”
“Taki’s number.” Harua’s tone was innocent, but the gleam in his eyes betrayed him. “You know, for… reasons.”
Yuma had rolled his eyes but relented, rattling off the number while Harua typed it gleefully into his phone.
“Top floor of the library,” Harua had said with a wink. “He’s been there all morning. Good luck.”
Now, as Yuma ascended the library’s main staircase two steps at a time, he spotted Jo almost immediately. He was seated near the back corner of the top floor, half-hidden behind a tall stack of books. The now familiar mask-patterned dust jacket rested on the desk in front of him, empty. His gaze was focused intently on his notebook, his pen moving with precise, deliberate strokes.
Yuma approached with quick, determined steps, his sneakers squeaking faintly against the polished floor. Jo didn’t notice him until Yuma reached his side and cleared his throat pointedly.
Jo glanced up, his brow furrowing in confusion. “Yuma?”
“Oh, so you do know my name. Interesting.”
“Why are you here?” Jo asked.
“Come on,” Yuma said, his tone leaving no room for argument.
“What—wait, where are we going?” Jo asked, his voice hushed but sharp as Yuma grabbed him by the arm and tugged him to his feet.
“You’ll see,” Yuma replied, already guiding him toward the stairs.
Jo stumbled slightly, his tall frame at odds with Yuma’s shorter height but undeniably determined grip. “Yuma, seriously—”
“Just trust me,” Yuma said, his voice softening slightly. He glanced back at Jo, catching the faint flicker of bewilderment in his dark eyes. “I’m not going to do anything weird, okay? Just… come with me.”
Jo hesitated but didn’t resist, his steps falling into sync with Yuma’s as they ascended the staircase to the library rooftop. By the time they reached the terrace, Jo’s confusion had given way to cautious curiosity, his gaze darting around the empty space.
Yuma released his grip, his expression light but earnest. “Sit tight. I’ll get us some coffee.”
Jo blinked, still clearly unsure of what was happening, but he didn’t argue. He settled onto one of the low benches, his tall frame folding awkwardly as Yuma disappeared toward the vending machines.
When Yuma returned a few minutes later with two steaming cups, Jo accepted his silently, his gaze flicking between Yuma and the horizon. The rooftop was quiet, the breeze carrying the faint rustle of leaves from the trees below.
“What are we doing here?” Jo asked finally, his voice low.
“Talking,” Yuma said simply, handing Jo his coffee before settling onto the bench beside him.
And just like that, the conversation began.
“I can’t believe you manhandled me up the rooftop,” Jo said suddenly, his voice even but laced with a trace of dry humor.
Yuma grinned, unapologetic. “You’re the one who tried to bolt.”
Jo raised an eyebrow. “What else was I supposed to do when you marched over like that?”
“Not try to disappear into the stacks,” Yuma shot back, still leaning casually against the railing. “You’re not exactly subtle, you know. You’re taller than half the shelves.”
Jo’s lips twitched, though he didn’t quite smile. He looked down at his coffee, his fingers brushing the rim of the cup. “What do you want, Yuma?”
Yuma straightened, his grin softening into something less teasing. “To talk.”
“We could’ve done that quietly in the library.”
“Yeah, but the library isn’t private.” Yuma gestured around the empty rooftop. “This is better. No distractions, no people.”
Jo sighed but didn’t argue. He took another sip of his coffee, his gaze drifting out over the edge of the terrace. The breeze tousled his hair slightly. Yuma shook his head, half-exasperated with himself. Focus, idiot.
“I read your book,” Yuma said finally, breaking the silence.
Jo’s grip on the coffee cup tightened, his shoulders stiffening. “Oh.”
“Yeah.” Yuma leaned forward slightly, his tone light. “It’s good. A little graphic in parts, but I can see why you like it.”
Jo’s face flushed, and he looked away. “I wish you hadn’t…”
“Read it?” Yuma finished for him. “Sure I did. You bolted off the train and left it with me. What was I supposed to do? Pretend it didn’t exist?”
“You could’ve just returned it without reading it.”
“I mean, I will be returning it,” Yuma said, flashing a cheeky grin. “Eventually.”
Jo let out a soft huff that might have been a laugh if he hadn’t been so clearly embarrassed. He shook his head, his hair falling into his eyes. “You’re unbelievable.”
“Yeah, I get that a lot.” Yuma shifted his weight, his grin fading into something softer. “Look, I’m not here to mess with you. I just… I want to understand.”
“Understand what?”
“You,” Yuma said simply. “Why you use those covers. Why you hid the book. Why you practically sprinted off the train like your life depended on it.”
Jo’s jaw tightened; he didn’t reply immediately. Yuma let the silence stretch, not wanting to push too hard. Finally, Jo set his coffee down on the low wall behind him, his hands resting on his knees.
“It’s easier to hide,” Jo said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “Easier than dealing with the stares… or worse.”
Yuma frowned, leaning forward. “What do you mean, worse?”
Jo hesitated, his gaze fixed on the ground. “You’ve seen how people react. The whispers, the looks. Sometimes it’s just that. Other times, it’s…” He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “I don’t want to give people a reason to judge me.”
Yuma’s chest tightened. He thought of the high schoolers on the train the night before, their smug laughter, the way they’d thoughtlessly ridiculed something they didn’t understand. It wasn’t just the book. It was what the book represented.
“I get it,” Yuma said softly. “But you shouldn’t have to hide. You’re allowed to like what you like. Taki loves BL, and he doesn’t care what anyone thinks. Uses it for reference when he finally asks Harua out.”
Jo’s lips curved into a faint smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “Taki’s braver than I am.”
“It’s not about bravery,” Yuma said, his voice firm but kind. “It’s about being yourself. If people can’t handle that, that’s their problem, not yours.”
Jo looked up at him then, his dark eyes searching Yuma’s face. There was something raw in his expression, something vulnerable that Yuma hadn’t seen before. “It’s not just about the books,” Jo said finally, his voice barely audible.
Yuma’s breath hitched, the weight of those words sinking into him. He didn’t need Jo to elaborate to understand. The dust jackets, the secrecy, the fear—they weren’t just about BL novels. They were about Jo. About everything he was and everything he felt he couldn’t be.
For a moment, Yuma didn’t know what to say. He wanted to tell Jo it was okay, that he didn’t have to explain himself, that he didn’t have to hide. But those words felt too big, too heavy for the space between them.
Instead, Yuma reached out, placing a hand on Jo’s arm. The gesture was simple, unassuming, but it carried everything Yuma couldn’t say aloud. Jo looked down at the hand, his expression softening slightly.
“If it’s any comfort, you don’t have to hide around me,” Yuma said quietly.
Jo’s lips parted, as though he wanted to say something, but no words came out. He just nodded, his shoulders relaxing ever so slightly.
---
The train jolted forward with a low groan, the rhythmic clatter of wheels filling the space. Evening shadows stretched across the crowded carriage, the fluorescent lights overhead casting a muted glow on the passengers. Yuma leaned against the panel near the doors, arms crossed, his gaze flicking toward Jo, who stood just a step away, gripping the overhead strap with one hand, while holding the folded dust jacket lightly in the other, its mask-patterned design vivid even in the dim light.
Jo’s usual stoic expression had softened, his dark eyes fixed somewhere beyond Yuma’s shoulder. The train swayed, pressing them slightly closer together. Neither seemed to notice—or mind.
“You know,” Yuma said, breaking the silence, “it’s not like I planned all this.”
Jo’s brow furrowed slightly, his attention snapping to Yuma. “Planned what?”
“All the times we’ve run into each other,” Yuma clarified. “On the train, in class, at the coffee shop. Most of it’s just coincidence. I swear.”
Jo studied him for a moment, his gaze unreadable but thoughtful. “Most of it?”
Yuma shrugged, a crooked grin forming on his lips. “Okay, maybe I got a little curious recently. Can you blame me? You’ve got this whole ‘mystery guy with a book’ thing going on.”
To Yuma’s surprise, Jo nodded, a small, almost self-deprecating smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Fair enough.”
That simple response caught Yuma off guard, and before he could think of a clever retort, Jo continued.
“The truth is…” Jo hesitated, his fingers tightening briefly on the strap before he looked directly at Yuma. “I’ve been keeping tabs on you too.”
Yuma blinked, startled. “Wait, what?”
Jo’s voice softened, quieter now, though the noise of the train couldn’t quite mask the vulnerability in his tone. “Not in an obvious way. Just… watching. Noticing.”
“Noticing?” Yuma echoed, his grin fading into something more curious. “Like what?”
Jo glanced down, his lashes casting faint shadows over his cheeks. “The way you talk to people. How you’re always smiling, even when you’re teasing someone. How you can just… walk into a room and make it lighter.”
Yuma felt warmth rise in his chest, creeping up his neck. He tried to keep his tone light. “Sounds like you’ve been looking a lot harder than me.”
“Maybe,” Jo admitted, his lips twitching faintly. “It’s hard not to. You’re… charming.”
The word lingered in the air between them, delicate and unassuming, but it sent a jolt through Yuma all the same. He stared at Jo, unsure how to respond. Jo didn’t give him the chance.
“I used to wonder,” Jo said softly, his gaze shifting to the floor, “if I’d ever get to experience the world I only saw in my books.”
The confession hit Yuma like a bolt of lightning. He straightened, uncrossing his arms and taking a small step closer. “What makes you think you wouldn’t?”
Jo gave a faint shrug, his expression guarded. “I don’t know. I guess… I’ve always been more comfortable with stories than people.”
“Well, for what it’s worth,” Yuma said, his voice steady but warm, “I think it’s more likely than you think. And knowing you, you’d probably bag any guy you wanted.”
Jo’s head snapped up, his eyes wide with disbelief. “What?”
“Don’t act so surprised,” Yuma teased, his grin returning. “You’re smart, tall, good-looking. You’ve got that quiet, brooding thing going on. Trust me, you’re a catch.”
Jo shook his head, a faint blush coloring his cheeks. “I don’t care about being a catch.”
“Okay, then.” Yuma tilted his head, intrigued. “What do you care about?”
Jo’s gaze locked onto his, steady and unflinching. His voice, when he spoke, was low but clear. “Finally being noticed by this one guy I keep watching from a distance.”
The words were simple, but their weight was undeniable. Yuma’s breath hitched, his grin faltering as the meaning sank in. Jo wasn’t talking about just anyone—he was talking about him.
Yuma opened his mouth, unsure of what he was even going to say, but the loud chime of the train doors sliding shut snapped him back to the present. He glanced at the map above the door, realization dawning.
“Jo,” Yuma said, pointing to the map. “You missed your stop.”
Jo followed his gaze to the map, his lips curving into the faintest of smiles. “I know.”
“You know?” Yuma asked, his voice laced with disbelief.
Jo nodded, his grip on the strap loosening slightly. “I just… wanted to keep talking. I can always take the train back later.”
Yuma stared at him, his heart pounding in a way that felt both foreign and thrilling. Jo’s words weren’t grand or dramatic, but they carried a quiet intensity that left Yuma momentarily speechless. Finally, he let out a soft laugh, shaking his head.
“You’re full of surprises, you know that?” Yuma said, his grin returning.
Jo’s lips twitched, and this time, the smile reached his eyes. “So are you.”
---
The train swayed gently as it sped toward Yuma’s stop, the rhythmic clatter of wheels on tracks filling the quiet space between them. Jo stood close, his tall frame still yet unguarded in a way Yuma hadn’t expected. The folded cloth dust jacket rested in Jo’s hand, his fingers brushing its edges absently. It was as though Jo wasn’t entirely sure what to do with it—or himself.
Yuma, still leaning near the sliding doors, studied him with growing amusement. The stoic facade Jo so carefully maintained had cracked, just enough for Yuma to glimpse something softer underneath. The thought sparked a quiet thrill in his chest.
“You’re holding that like it’s about to vanish into thin air,” Yuma teased, nodding toward the dust jacket. “You know, it’s not going anywhere.”
Jo glanced down, his lips twitching in what might have been a self-deprecating smile. “Habit, I guess.”
Yuma tilted his head, his grin playful but thoughtful. “Now that I think of it, you’re kinda like a living book yourself—hardbound, veiled in a soft dust jacket. Always makes people wonder what’s inside.”
Jo’s brow furrowed slightly, his gaze flickering toward Yuma. “And what’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing,” Yuma said easily. “It’s just… you’re more interesting without the cover.”
The words hung between them, unassuming but heavy with meaning. Jo shifted his stance, the tension in his shoulders betraying a mix of surprise and something Yuma couldn’t quite name.
“You think so?” Jo asked softly, his voice barely audible over the hum of the train.
Yuma’s grin softened into something warmer. “I know so.”
Jo’s eyes met his then, steady and searching, and for a moment, the noise of the train faded into the background. Yuma’s chest tightened, his usual quips faltering under the weight of Jo’s gaze. He cleared his throat, breaking the moment with a quick laugh.
“You know, those dust jackets of yours?” Yuma said. “They’re like a mask, but not in a bad way. More like… a way to say something without saying it outright.”
Jo tilted his head, his expression unreadable but intent. “And what do you think I’m saying?”
“That you care,” Yuma replied, his voice quieter now. “About what you read. About what people see. And maybe about what you’re willing to share.”
Jo’s fingers tightened briefly on the dust jacket, his lips parting as though to respond, but the words didn’t come. Instead, he took a small step closer, the movement subtle but deliberate. Yuma felt the air shift between them, charged with something unspoken but undeniable.
The train jolted, and Jo’s hand brushed against Yuma’s, the contact fleeting but enough to send a jolt up Yuma’s spine. He didn’t pull away. Neither did Jo.
“I’ve said it a while ago. I’ll say it again. You don’t have to hide around me,” Yuma said, his voice barely above a whisper. The words weren’t calculated or rehearsed; they were instinctive, a quiet truth offered without expectation.
Jo’s gaze flicked down to their hands, the corners of his lips curving into the faintest smile. “You’re relentless, aren’t you?”
Yuma chuckled, his grin returning. “You’ll get used to it.”
The train began to slow, the familiar chime signaling Yuma’s stop. He straightened, his hand brushing against Jo’s as he adjusted his bag. The contact lingered a moment longer than necessary, enough to make Jo glance up, his expression guarded but soft.
“This is me,” Yuma said as he pointed toward the approaching platform, his tone light but laced with subtext. He shifted toward the doors, but paused halfway, turning back with a devilish glint in his eye. Jo’s gaze followed him, dark and questioning.
“You know,” Yuma added, his voice dropping just slightly, “since you’ve already missed your stop, you might as well come up to my place. I can lend you a book or something.”
Jo blinked, clearly caught off guard. His lips parted as if to say something, but the words didn’t come. Yuma didn’t miss the faint color rising in his cheeks, the way his fingers flexed briefly against the strap he held, as if debating whether to hold on or let go. Yuma tilted his head, his grin softening. Jo’s lips twitched, caught between a smile and something unreadable, a flicker of hesitation that made Yuma’s chest tighten with anticipation.
The train doors slid open, and Yuma stepped off without waiting for a reply. He told himself not to look back, to keep walking toward the edge of the platform where the stairs beckoned. But curiosity tugged at him like a string, and he turned just as the doors began to close.
For a moment, Yuma expected to see Jo still inside, standing in his usual quiet composure, watching the world pass by. Instead, he was met with an empty space where Jo should have been. Yuma blinked, his grin faltering as he scanned the platform.
And there he was.
Jo stood just a few steps away, his tall frame unmistakable under the dim station lights. He was motionless at first, the faint glow catching on the sharp lines of his profile and the folded dust jacket still in his hand. He looked almost as surprised as Yuma felt, as though he hadn’t fully processed his own decision to step off the train.
“You’re here,” Yuma said, his laugh escaping before he could stop it. He shook his head, half in disbelief, as Jo began to approach.
Jo’s lips twitched, a small, self-aware smile crossing his face. “You said I might as well follow you, didn’t you?”
“I did,” Yuma admitted, his grin returning. “Didn’t think you’d actually do it, though.”
Jo stopped a step away, his expression soft but steady. “Neither did I.”
The platform was quieter now, most of the other passengers having already filtered toward the exits. The faint hum of the next train echoed in the distance, but for the moment, it was just the two of them. Yuma tilted his head, studying Jo with a mix of curiosity and amusement.
“What changed your mind?” Yuma asked, his tone playful but genuinely intrigued.
“Wasn’t ready for the conversation to end,” Jo admitted softly, his voice steady but low.
Yuma glanced up at him, surprised by the quiet confession. Jo’s dark eyes held his, unguarded in a way that made Yuma’s breath catch. There was something about the way Jo looked at him—steady, searching, yet impossibly soft. It was a kind of vulnerability that felt almost magnetic.
“Well,” Yuma said, his voice dropping just slightly, “I have enough alcohol in my apartment to keep the conversation going the entire night.”
Jo’s gaze flicked to his lips, just for a fraction of a second, but it was enough to send a spark of warmth coursing through Yuma’s chest. Slowly, almost hesitantly, Jo reached out, his fingers brushing Yuma’s wrist. The touch was light, barely there, but it lingered—just long enough to make Yuma’s heart skip.
Yuma tilted his head, his grin softening as he stepped closer. “You’re full of surprises tonight.”
“You said I’m good at habits,” Jo replied, his lips curving faintly. “Maybe I’m trying something new.”
The words were so quiet Yuma almost didn’t catch them. He didn’t need to, though—not when Jo was already leaning in, his presence warm and steady against the chill of the evening. Yuma didn’t pull away. Instead, he let the space between them narrow, his hand shifting just slightly to press against Jo’s. The touch wasn’t rushed or demanding—just enough to close the distance.
Jo’s breath hitched, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment as their foreheads nearly touched. Yuma could feel the faint heat radiating from Jo’s skin, the tension in the air crackling like static. His free hand moved instinctively, brushing lightly against Jo’s arm before settling at his side.
The moment lingered, the world around them fading into nothing but quiet breaths and the soft hum of the station lights. Then, with deliberate slowness, Jo leaned back, his lips twitching into what could only be described as a shy smile.
Jo chuckled, low and soft, as he glanced down at the dust jacket still in his hand. “So… about that book you’re lending me.”
Yuma raised an eyebrow, his grin returning. “What about it?”
“Does it come with a dust jacket?” Jo asked, his tone dry but his eyes glinting with humor.
Yuma laughed, the sound echoing softly against the empty platform. “If you’re lucky, it won’t.”
Jo shook his head, his smile growing just a fraction wider. “I’ve been told I have excellent luck.”
The two of them stood there for a moment longer, the night air swirling gently around them. Finally, Yuma turned, motioning toward the station exit with a tilt of his head.
Jo nodded, falling into step beside him as they walked toward the glowing streetlights ahead. Yuma’s grin stayed firmly in place, his chest warm with the thrill of something that felt a little bit like discovery—and a night seemingly full of promise.