Work Text:
Jo noticed the distance long before anyone else did.
The slower replies, the way Yuma stopped waiting for him after class, the way conversations that once lasted hours suddenly ended after only a few minutes. At first, Jo thought maybe Yuma was simply tired or stressed from classes.
But then it kept happening.
And Yuma kept smiling through it all like nothing was wrong.
It was the kind of smile that looked real enough to fool everyone else. Loud laughter, careless jokes, endless conversations with anyone around him. But Jo knew Yuma too well. He noticed how forced it sounded sometimes, like Yuma was desperately trying to fill every silence before his thoughts could catch up to him.
Jo hated watching it.
At first, he thought he had done something wrong.
He spent weeks replaying every conversation in his head, wondering if he had crossed a line somewhere without realizing it. But no matter how much he thought about it, nothing made sense.
Until one day, it finally did.
It was small.
So painfully small that anyone else would have missed it.
Jo had leaned against Yuma’s shoulder absentmindedly while showing him something on his phone, something he’d done a hundred times before. But this time, Yuma froze.
Not obviously.
Just enough for Jo to notice.
Then Yuma quietly pulled away.
And suddenly, every missing piece fell into place so fast it made Jo feel breathless.
The distance, the avoidance, the way Yuma looked at him before immediately looking away.
Oh.
Yuma loved him.
The realization should have made things awkward. Complicated. Uncomfortable.
Instead, it only made Jo’s chest ache.
Because Jo loved him too.
And somehow, that only made everything worse.
Because if Jo knew, then Yuma definitely knew too. Which meant Yuma had been carrying all of this alone while convincing himself Jo could never feel the same way.
Jo hated that thought more than anything.
That was why he started leaving little notes.
Tiny reminders to eat, to sleep earlier, to take breaks during class.
Not because he thought they would magically fix things, but because Jo didn’t know how else to say “I still care about you” without frightening Yuma further away.
But every time Jo tried reaching out, Yuma only retreated more.
It hurt watching him slowly destroy himself like this.
And every night, it became harder pretending not to notice where Yuma disappeared to.
The forest behind the dorms wasn’t difficult to find. Jo had followed him once out of pure worry, keeping enough distance not to be seen.
The first night, he only intended to make sure Yuma was okay.
Then he heard him crying.
Jo stopped instantly behind the trees, heart sinking painfully into his stomach as Yuma’s voice cracked through the quiet night air.
“Why are you staying?”
“You should’ve hated me.”
“I hate loving you like this.”
Every word shattered something inside Jo.
Because Yuma spoke to the stars like they were the only ones listening.
Like Jo had never loved him at all.
Jo stood there silently night after night afterward, hidden beneath the shadows of the trees, listening to every confession Yuma thought would disappear into the sky.
And every single time, Jo wanted to walk forward.
Wanted to hold him.
Wanted to tell him the truth.
That he stayed because he loved him too.
That none of this was one-sided.
But fear kept stopping him.
Because what if Yuma panicked?
What if he pulled away even further?
What if Jo ruined the fragile pieces of connection they still had left?
So instead, Jo remained hidden among the trees, listening helplessly while the person he loved broke apart beneath the stars.
And maybe that made Jo selfish too.
It became a routine.
Every night, sometime after everyone else settled into their dorms, Yuma would quietly leave his room and disappear into the forest behind the campus.
And every night, Jo would follow from a distance.
Not close enough for Yuma to notice.
Just enough to make sure he was safe.
At first, Jo told himself it would only be for one night. Then another. Then another. But eventually, it became impossible to stop. Because no matter how much Yuma smiled during the day, nighttime always revealed the truth.
And the truth was heartbreaking.
Yuma would stand beneath the stars with tears in his eyes, whispering the same painful questions over and over again like prayers that would never be answered.
“Why are you staying?”
“You should’ve hated me.”
“I hate loving you like this.”
Every single night.
The words changed sometimes, but the pain never did.
Jo listened to all of it in silence, fingers clenched tightly at his sides while guilt ate away at him piece by piece.
Because Yuma kept speaking as if nobody loved him back.
As if Jo wasn’t standing right there.
Some nights, Yuma cried until his voice disappeared completely. Other nights, he simply sat there quietly, staring at the stars for hours like he was waiting for them to answer questions nobody else could.
And sometimes—
sometimes Yuma fell asleep there.
Usually against the old wooden fence or beneath the tree closest to the clearing, curled up weakly inside his hoodie while exhaustion finally dragged him under.
Jo hated those nights the most.
The forest became colder after midnight, and every time Jo saw Yuma asleep out there alone, something twisted painfully inside his chest.
One night, Jo almost broke.
Yuma had fallen asleep sitting against the fence again, face exhausted even in sleep, tear stains still faintly visible beneath the moonlight.
Jo stared at him from behind the trees for a long moment.
Then slowly, carefully, he stepped forward.
His heartbeat was so loud he thought Yuma would wake from that alone.
Jo stopped only a few feet away.
Close enough to see the way Yuma’s hands curled slightly inside the sleeves of his hoodie. Close enough to notice how tired he looked all the time now.
Jo wanted so badly to touch him.
To brush the hair away from his face. To wake him gently and tell him to stop hurting himself over something that had never been one-sided to begin with.
But fear rooted him in place.
Because what if Yuma woke up terrified? What if seeing Jo there ruined everything?
Jo swallowed hard and looked away.
Then, after a moment of hesitation, he bent down and picked up a small branch from the ground.
He tossed it lightly toward the fence beside Yuma.
The crack startled Yuma awake instantly.
His eyes flew open, body jerking upright as he looked around in confusion. “What the—?”
Jo stepped back behind the trees immediately, heart nearly stopping in his chest.
Yuma rubbed his eyes tiredly before glancing around the clearing again. For a second, Jo thought he had been caught.
But then Yuma only sighed softly.
“…I should go back,” he murmured to himself.
Jo watched silently as Yuma stood and slowly made his way back toward the dorms, still half-asleep and unaware that someone had been watching over him the entire time.
Only after Yuma disappeared completely did Jo finally step out from the shadows again.
The branch still lay near the fence.
Jo stared at it quietly before lowering himself into the exact spot Yuma had just left behind.
The wood still held faint warmth.
Jo covered his eyes with one hand and laughed weakly under his breath, exhausted and miserable.
“Idiot,” he whispered softly, though whether he meant Yuma or himself, even Jo didn’t know anymore.
The nights continued like that for weeks, maybe even months.
Yuma beneath the stars.
Jo hidden between the trees.
The same confessions repeated over and over until Jo thought they had permanently carved themselves into his chest.
But one night felt different the moment Yuma arrived.
Jo noticed it immediately.
Yuma’s steps were uneven, slower than usual, like he was struggling just to stay standing. His hands trembled where they disappeared into the sleeves of his hoodie, and even from a distance, Jo could tell something had happened.
Yuma stopped near the fence like always.
But this time, he didn’t look at the stars immediately.
He just stood there silently with his head lowered.
And then Jo heard it.
A shaky breath.
Another.
Then suddenly Yuma broke.
Not the quiet crying Jo had grown used to hearing.
This was worse.
A strangled sob tore from Yuma’s throat so violently it made Jo freeze where he stood.
Yuma doubled over slightly, one hand gripping the fence hard enough his knuckles turned white as his breathing completely fell apart.
“I can’t do this anymore,” he choked out brokenly.
Jo’s chest tightened painfully.
Yuma was crying so hard he could barely breathe between sobs now, shoulders shaking violently beneath the oversized hoodie.
“It hurts,” he whispered desperately to nobody. “Why does it hurt this much?”
Jo felt panic crawl up his spine.
Usually, he forced himself to stay hidden. Usually, he convinced himself Yuma needed space more than anything else.
But hearing Yuma sound this shattered—
Jo couldn’t do it tonight.
Then Yuma said something that completely destroyed whatever restraint Jo had left.
“I wish you’d just tell me to stop loving you.”
The words came out small.
Broken.
Defeated.
And Jo moved before he could think.
Leaves crunched beneath his shoes as he stepped out from behind the trees.
Yuma froze instantly.
For one horrible second, neither of them moved.
Yuma’s eyes widened slowly as he lifted his head, tears still running down his face. He looked almost terrified.
“…Jo?” he whispered weakly.
Jo’s heart cracked at the sound of his name.
The moonlight caught every tear staining Yuma’s cheeks, every exhausted expression Yuma had tried so hard to hide during the day.
Jo stepped closer carefully, like approaching something fragile enough to break apart completely.
“I’m sorry,” Jo said softly, voice shaking. “I’m so sorry.”
Yuma stared at him blankly.
And then realization slowly settled into his expression.
The forest, the stars, the confessions.
Jo saw all of it.
Yuma’s face drained of color.
“You—” His voice broke horribly. “You heard me?”
Jo couldn’t lie anymore.
So instead, he nodded once.
And Yuma looked like the world had ended.
His breathing turned uneven again as realization settled fully into his expression, horror slowly replacing the sadness on his face.
So many nights. So many confessions whispered into the dark while believing nobody else was listening.
A broken sound escaped him as he covered his face with one hand, shoulders trembling again — this time from humiliation more than grief.
“I’m sorry,” he said quickly, voice shaking apart. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean— I know it’s weird, I know I ruined everything—”
“Yuma—”
“I tried to stop,” he continued desperately, tears slipping through his fingers. “I tried so hard to stop loving you, I swear I did—”
Jo took another step closer.
But Yuma stepped back immediately.
That hurt more than Jo expected.
“You don’t have to feel bad for me,” Yuma whispered weakly. “You don’t owe me anything.”
“Yuma, listen to me—”
“You’ve always been too kind.” Yuma laughed shakily, wiping furiously at his face again. “That’s the problem. You’re kind to everyone, and I—I started wanting things I was never supposed to want.”
His voice cracked completely.
“I don’t deserve your kindness.”
Jo’s heart twisted violently.
Because Yuma genuinely believed that.
After everything, after carrying all this pain alone, Yuma still thought he was something shameful. Something difficult to love.
“Don’t say that,” Jo said quietly.
But Yuma kept going like he couldn’t stop anymore now that everything was finally spilling out.
“I’m sorry for loving you,” he whispered. “I’m sorry I made things weird. I’m sorry I kept hoping for something impossible.”
Jo saw another apology forming on Yuma’s lips.
And he couldn’t take it anymore.
Before fear could stop him, Jo closed the distance between them and grabbed Yuma gently by the wrist.
Yuma’s eyes widened.
Then Jo kissed him.
Soft.
Careful.
Desperate in a way Jo had been hiding for far too long.
For a second, Yuma completely froze.
Jo could feel it — the shock, the confusion, the way Yuma stopped breathing entirely.
Then Jo slowly pulled back just enough for their foreheads to rest together.
“Stop apologizing,” Jo whispered shakily.
Yuma stared at him like he couldn’t understand what was happening.
Jo’s hands trembled slightly where they held onto Yuma’s sleeves.
“You keep talking like you loved me alone,” he said softly, almost painfully. “But you didn’t.”
Yuma’s lips parted soundlessly.
“I stayed,” Jo whispered, tears burning behind his own eyes now. “Doesn’t that tell you enough?”
Yuma’s eyes were still wide with disbelief, lips parted slightly like he still couldn’t process what had just happened.
Jo could feel him trembling beneath his hands.
The forest had gone completely silent around them.
No more confessions. No more pretending. Just the sound of Yuma’s uneven breathing as tears continued slipping down his face.
“I…” Yuma swallowed hard, voice fragile. “I don’t understand.”
Jo’s chest tightened.
“You don’t have to understand right now,” he whispered softly. “Just listen to me for once.”
Yuma stared at him helplessly.
And somehow, that look hurt Jo more than all the nights hidden behind the trees listening to him cry.
Because Yuma looked genuinely convinced this couldn’t possibly be real.
“I heard everything,” Jo admitted quietly. “Every night.”
Yuma flinched.
Jo hated that.
“I heard you asking why I stayed,” he continued. “I heard you telling the stars to let you move on. I heard every apology.”
Yuma’s eyes immediately filled again.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered instinctively.
Jo let out a weak laugh, almost exhausted.
“There you go again.”
Yuma lowered his gaze quickly, shame creeping back into his expression.
“You shouldn’t have heard any of that,” he murmured shakily. “You shouldn’t have had to deal with someone like me.”
Jo’s heart dropped.
Someone like me.
As if Yuma was something unbearable.
“I don’t deserve you,” Yuma whispered. “Not after making everything complicated like this.”
Jo didn’t even hesitate.
He lifted a hand gently to Yuma’s face, wiping away another tear before it could fall.
“Yuma,” he said softly, firmly. “Look at me.”
Slowly, Yuma did.
And Jo swore he had never loved anyone more painfully than he loved him right now.
“You keep talking like loving you is some difficult thing,” Jo whispered. “Like staying beside you was a burden.”
Yuma’s lips trembled.
“But I stayed because you’re the person I want more than anything.”
The words hit Yuma so hard Jo saw it physically.
A shaky breath escaped him.
Jo stepped closer carefully, their foreheads brushing again.
“I don’t care how messy this is,” he admitted quietly. “I don’t care that you pulled away. I don’t care how long it took us to get here.”
His voice softened even more.
“If I had to listen to you cry beneath these stars every night just to finally tell you this properly, then fine.”
Yuma let out a broken sound somewhere between a sob and a laugh.
Jo smiled weakly at him.
“But stop deciding what I deserve for me,” he whispered. “Because if I get to choose…”
His fingers tightened gently around Yuma’s sleeve.
“I choose you.”
Jo watched Yuma break apart silently in front of him, tears slipping endlessly down his face despite how hard he tried to hold himself together.
And suddenly, all those nights hidden behind the trees felt unbearable.
Every confession.
Every apology.
Every time Yuma stood beneath the stars convincing himself he was alone.
Jo cupped Yuma’s face carefully, thumbs brushing against tear-stained skin before leaning forward and kissing him again.
This time slower.
Gentler.
Like he was trying to pour every unspoken feeling into it.
Yuma melted into him almost immediately, hands trembling where they clutched weakly at Jo’s hoodie as if he still couldn’t believe any of this was real.
When Jo pulled away, he stayed close enough for their foreheads to touch.
“You don’t have to carry this alone anymore,” Jo whispered.
Yuma’s breath hitched painfully.
Jo closed his eyes for a second, overwhelmed by how long he had wanted to say all of this.
“I knew,” he admitted softly. “Maybe not at first, but… eventually I knew.”
Yuma looked embarrassed immediately, but Jo gently shook his head before he could apologize again.
“And after I realized…” Jo laughed weakly under his breath. “I started noticing everything.”
His fingers brushed carefully through Yuma’s hair.
“The way you skip meals whenever you’re overwhelmed.”
Yuma froze slightly.
“The way you pretend you’re okay by getting louder around other people.”
Another shaky breath.
“The way you stop sleeping properly whenever something’s hurting you.”
Yuma’s eyes watered even more.
Jo’s chest ached at the sight.
“I hated watching you do this to yourself,” he whispered honestly. “Every night I listened to you stand here and act like your feelings were some terrible thing you had to punish yourself for.”
Yuma looked away immediately.
Jo gently guided his face back.
“Don’t,” he murmured softly. “Don’t hide from me anymore.”
The vulnerability in Yuma’s expression nearly shattered him.
Jo swallowed hard before continuing.
“I love you, Yuma.”
The words came out quiet but certain.
“So much it actually hurt hearing you cry over me every night while thinking I didn’t feel the same way, thinking i would never see you that way, but I did.”
Yuma’s face crumpled completely at that.
Jo quickly pulled him closer before he could break apart again, wrapping his arms tightly around him.
“You were never difficult to love,” Jo whispered against his hair. “You were never too much.”
Yuma gripped the back of Jo’s hoodie tightly, shoulders shaking.
Jo held him even closer.
“I stayed because I couldn’t leave you alone,” he admitted quietly. “Even when you kept pulling away, I couldn’t do it.”
The wind moved softly through the trees around them, cold against their skin, but Jo barely noticed anymore.
All he could focus on was Yuma finally allowing himself to lean into someone instead of carrying everything alone.
And somewhere above them, the stars watched silently as Yuma’s confessions finally reached the person they were always meant for.
Jo stayed there holding Yuma for a long time, gently running his fingers through his hair while Yuma slowly calmed down against him.
The night around them had grown colder without either of them noticing.
Yuma’s face was still buried against Jo’s shoulder, hands weakly clutching the fabric of his hoodie like he was afraid Jo might disappear if he let go.
Jo’s chest ached painfully at that.
Carefully, he tilted his head down slightly.
“We should head back,” he whispered softly.
Yuma stiffened almost immediately.
Jo noticed it right away.
That tiny fear creeping back in, like the moment they left this forest everything would suddenly become unreal again.
So before Yuma could spiral back into his thoughts, Jo gently pulled back just enough to look at him properly.
“Hey,” he murmured. “I’m serious about this, okay?”
Yuma’s eyes looked red and exhausted beneath the moonlight.
Jo brushed his thumb softly beneath one of them.
“I’m not disappearing tomorrow.”
Yuma’s expression cracked a little at those words.
Jo smiled weakly.
“You don’t have to keep hurting yourself like this anymore.”
Yuma lowered his gaze quietly.
The silence lasted a few seconds before he whispered, “I don’t know how to stop.”
That nearly broke Jo all over again.
Because Yuma sounded genuinely lost.
Jo reached for his hands carefully, rubbing warmth back into his cold fingers.
“Then we’ll figure it out slowly,” he said softly. “Together this time.”
Yuma looked at him uncertainly, like he still couldn’t fully believe he was allowed to have this.
Jo squeezed his hands gently.
“But promise me something first.”
“…What?”
Jo hesitated for a second before speaking.
“Promise me you won’t keep destroying yourself over this anymore.”
Yuma immediately looked away.
Jo could already tell what he was thinking.
The skipped meals.
The sleepless nights.
Crying alone until he could barely breathe.
Punishing himself for feelings Jo now wished he had confessed to sooner.
Jo stepped closer again.
“You don’t have to earn love by suffering for it,” he whispered quietly.
Yuma’s breathing shook.
Jo lifted a hand to his face again, gentle and careful like he was handling something fragile.
“So promise me,” he repeated softly. “No more carrying this alone. No more convincing yourself you’re something terrible for loving me.”
Yuma’s eyes filled again instantly.
Jo smiled sadly at him.
“Please.”
For a moment, Yuma looked like he might cry all over again.
Then finally, very small, he nodded.
“I’ll try,” he whispered.
Jo leaned forward and pressed one last soft kiss against his forehead.
“That’s enough,” he murmured.
And for the first time in a long while, Yuma let someone walk beside him back home instead of returning alone.
The walk back to the dorms was quiet.
Not uncomfortable.
Just soft.
Yuma stayed close beside Jo the entire way, shoulders occasionally brushing together as they walked through the empty campus pathways. Every now and then, Jo glanced over just to make sure Yuma was really still there.
And every single time, his chest tightened all over again.
Because Yuma looked exhausted, eyes still swollen from crying, but lighter somehow. Like some unbearable weight had finally loosened around his ribs.
Jo wanted to memorize this version of him too.
When they finally reached the dorm building, the familiar lights seemed almost too bright after the quiet darkness of the forest.
Yuma slowed slightly near his room.
For a second, neither of them spoke.
Then Yuma looked at him carefully, almost nervously, like he still expected this to disappear if he moved too quickly.
“…Goodnight,” he whispered softly.
Jo smiled immediately.
It was small, but completely genuine.
“Goodnight, Yuma.”
For a moment, neither of them moved again.
Then Yuma quietly reached for the sleeve of Jo’s hoodie before letting go just as quickly, embarrassed by the instinct.
Jo thought that might have been the most adorable thing he had ever seen.
“You should sleep properly tonight,” Jo teased softly.
Yuma groaned weakly, face flushing red almost instantly. “You too.”
Jo laughed quietly under his breath.
Then, after one last hesitant glance toward him, Yuma slipped inside his room.
The door clicked shut gently behind him.
And suddenly, the hallway became silent.
Jo stood there staring at the closed door for several seconds, heart still beating too fast inside his chest.
Then slowly, unbelievably, he smiled to himself.
Not the casual smiles he gave people during the day.
Not the easy ones.
This one felt different.
Warm.
Overwhelmed.
Real.
Because after weeks of listening helplessly from the shadows, after watching Yuma cry himself apart beneath the stars night after night—
Jo had finally reached for him instead of staying hidden.
And if you asked Jo, standing alone in the quiet hallway with Yuma safe on the other side of the door, Jo thought it might’ve been the best thing he had ever done.