Unspoken Words
1143 Words
Kaito hadn’t heard back.
He’d sent the message two days ago — “You only reach out when you’re lost.” — and then waited, pretending not to. Pretending it hadn’t cost him anything to write it. But Haruto hadn’t replied. Not even a read receipt.
Now, the silence was starting to feel like an answer. Not a loud one. Just a quiet, deliberate absence.
He told himself it didn’t matter. That he’d said what he needed to say. That Haruto could do whatever he wanted with it — ignore it, delete it, pretend it never arrived. But the truth was, Kaito checked his phone more often than usual. Not for the reply. Just for the possibility of one.
---
The bookstore was quieter than usual. Kaito wandered in without thinking, his feet moving before his mind caught up. He didn’t need anything. He wasn’t looking for anything. But the hush between shelves felt like a place where he could disappear without explanation.
He drifted toward the philosophy section, fingers grazing spines without reading titles. The smell of paper and dust settled around him like a memory.
Then he turned a corner and stopped.
Haruto was there.
Ren beside him, tugging at his sleeve, pointing at a book with a dragon on the cover. Haruto was crouched beside him, listening, nodding, his expression soft in a way Kaito hadn’t seen in years.
Kaito froze. Haruto didn’t.
Their eyes met. No surprise. No panic. Just a long, unreadable look.
Ren noticed first.
“That’s the guy Papa saw at school,” he said, loud enough to make Kaito’s stomach twist.
Haruto blinked slowly, then looked down at Ren. “That’s enough.”
But Ren was already walking toward Kaito, curious and unafraid. “Do you like dragons?”
Kaito crouched, voice softer than usual. “Only the ones that don’t breathe fire.”
Ren grinned. “Those are boring.”
Haruto stepped forward, his expression unreadable. “Ren, we should go.”
Kaito stood. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“You didn’t,” Haruto said. But his voice was tight, like he was holding something back. Not anger. Not warmth. Just restraint.
Ren tugged Haruto’s hand. “Can he come with us?”
Haruto didn’t answer. He just looked at Kaito — not with hostility, not with invitation. Just that same quiet tension that had always lived between them. The kind that made Kaito feel like he was standing on the edge of something, waiting for permission to fall.
---
Later that night, Kaito sat on his balcony, legs stretched out, cigarette between his fingers, smoke curling into the dark. He wasn’t thinking about quitting. He wasn’t thinking about anything, really — just the silence.
The city below was restless. Cars passed. Music drifted from a neighbor’s window. Somewhere, someone laughed too loudly. But up here, it was just him and the night.
His phone buzzed. Riku.
Kaito let it ring, then picked up on the fourth buzz.
“You’re alive,” Riku said. “I was starting to think you’d been kidnapped by your own feelings.”
Kaito snorted. “I’m fine.”
“You sound like someone who’s lying.”
“I’m just tired.”
Riku paused. “You’ve been weird lately.”
Kaito flicked ash into the tray. “Weird how?”
“Like you’re waiting for something. Or someone.”
Kaito didn’t answer right away. He took a drag, let the smoke settle in his lungs before exhaling slowly.
“I saw Haruto today,” he said finally.
Riku went quiet. “Professor Haruto?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay… and?”
Kaito hesitated. “There’s something I didn’t tell you.”
Riku laughed nervously. “You slept with our professor?”
Kaito didn’t laugh. “Not exactly.”
“Oh my god. You almost slept with our professor?”
Kaito rubbed his temple. “It wasn’t planned. It was before I knew who he was. It was one night. At that bar near the station.”
Riku was silent for a beat. “Wait. That night you disappeared and came back looking like you’d been hit by a truck?”
Kaito nodded, even though Riku couldn’t see him. “That was him.”
“Holy—Kaito. And now he’s teaching our class?”
“Yeah.”
“And you messaged him?”
“I said something. He didn’t reply.”
Riku exhaled. “Okay. That’s… a lot. Are you okay?”
“I don’t know.”
Riku was quiet again. Then, softer: “Do you want him to reply?”
Kaito stared out at the city. “I don’t know that either.”
Riku was quiet again. Then, softer: “Do you want him to reply?”
Kaito stared out at the city. “I don’t know that either.”
Riku let out a slow breath. “Okay. So… what happens now?”
“I go to class. I pretend nothing’s weird. I keep my head down.”
“That sounds miserable.”
“It’s manageable.”
Riku hesitated. “Is it though? You’re not exactly built for emotional suppression.”
Kaito gave a dry laugh. “You’d be surprised.”
“I mean, I knew you were good at brooding, but this is next-level.”
Kaito flicked ash into the tray, watching it scatter. “It’s not like I want anything from him.”
“Except maybe a reply.”
“Except maybe that.”
Riku shifted on the other end of the line. “So what was it, really? That night. Was it just physical?”
Kaito didn’t answer right away. His mind went back to the bar — the dim light, the quiet urgency, the way Haruto had looked at him like he wasn’t a stranger. Like he mattered.
“No,” he said finally. “It wasn’t just physical.”
Riku was quiet. “Okay. That’s… a lot.”
“I know.”
“You think he remembers?”
Kaito nodded slowly. “He used my name without checking the roster.”
Riku whistled. “That’s either impressive memory or emotional sabotage.”
“Maybe both.”
Another pause. Then Riku said, “You know I’ve got your back, right? Even if this gets messy. Even if it’s already messy.”
Kaito smiled faintly. “Thanks.”
“I mean, I’ll still make fun of you. But I’ll do it supportively.”
“I wouldn’t expect anything less.”
They sat in silence for a moment, the kind that didn’t need filling.
Then Riku added, “You’re not gonna write him another message, are you?”
Kaito looked at his phone. “Not tonight.”
“Good. Let him sweat.”
Kaito laughed quietly, the sound low and real.
And for the first time in days, the silence didn’t feel so heavy.
- Writer
