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The heat in Takayama during a clear afternoon was usually a trap, or well, inconsistent. If you didn’t grow up in the mountains, you wouldn’t know how to tell if rain was coming before the clouds even cleared the peaks.
Damon knows this like the back of his hand, though. He could feel the shift in the atmospheric pressure against his temples.
On his way out, he hears his mother call out to him, “Oh, and pick up those light bulbs for the hallway, honey. The good ones from the convenience store past the bridge, not those ones down the street!”
Now, Damon is standing under the sloped wooden roof of an old sake brewery’s entrance, an umbrella hooked securely in his arm while he watched the sky collapse. The rain drops were slamming into the stone streets, turning the grid of Sanmachi Suji into a blur of rushing water and grey mist. Damon adjusts his grip on the plastic bag hanging from his wrist; he’s fine waiting here for maybe ten or twenty minutes until the rain clears. Besides, there is an undeniable charm to rainy days — as long as he stays dry, of course. There’s something peaceful about the sound of raindrops falling into the silence.
That is until, the silence was interrupted by the sound of frantic… English.
“Nononono! No! This can’t be happening! Not now—!”
Damon didn’t move his head right away, instead, he shifts his gaze, cutting through the foggy curtain of the rain.
Sprinting blindly down the street was a guy who looks like he had been genetically engineered in the streets of Tokyo, and then, accidentally transported into the countryside. He is wearing pristine, oversized streetwear, a white tech-wear jacket that is more or less being ruined at present by the downpour, and a camera strap slung across his body.
Damon watches the foreigner with detached amusement; yeah, by the looks of it, this guy was definitely a tourist who’s lost. He was turning in circles, phone practically glued to his face.
And then, the tourist spots the wooden awning where Damon is standing and makes a sliding sprint for it, nearly wiping out the wet stones before skidding under the wooden roof.
The tourist slams his back against the wall, heaving a sigh. He didn’t even notice Damon at first — too busy wiping the rain droplets off his camera lens. He looks like a soaked, highly stressed stray cat.
And then, the guy starts tapping on his phone screen frantically, before taking a deep breath. Clutching his phone with requisite force in both hands, he lowers his head into a rushed, polite bow and tries to speak.
“A-Ano… sumimasen!” The foreigner stammers, “Ma…Machiya hoteru wa doko… doko desuka? Watashi wa—mayo-imashita.”
Leaving out the expected thick accent, the tourist had just used the wrong particles, mispronounced the verb for being lost, not to mention, he looks like he’s about to pass out from anxiety. But hey, at least he made the effort. Even while shivering and stranded in a downpour, the pink haired tourist still tried to be polite.
Damon didn’t flinch or blink, when the foreigner raised his head, Damon’s eyes follow to look at the guy — and then, Damon’s breath actually catches in his throat.
Up close, the tourist was a striking collision of colors. Strands of damp, fading pastel pink hair were plastered against his forehead, his cheeks were prominently flushed a shade of pretty pink, likely the result of the humid heat earlier, followed by the sudden downpour.
But it’s the tourist’s eyes that makes Damon freeze. They were a vivid, striking shade of yellow; almost gold—piercing and bright even beneath the misty fog of the storm overhead.
Damon tries to keep his face entirely indifferent as he fights down the sudden jolt of interest.
He lets the silence stretch for a deliberate beat, letting his shoulders drop just a fraction and then, in a perfectly calm, fluent cadence he says, “I speak English.”
The tourist predictably stills. For a second, Damon starts to wonder if the guy’s brain had short-circuited or something. And right before his eyes, the tourist’s entire face transforms, a wave of relief washing over him dramatically. Damon has to bite back a chuckle.
“Oh, thank god,” says the tourist. His shoulders start to relax, dropping about three inches. “You have no idea—I thought I was going to have to live under this roof forever. My phone’s like, on two percent, and my GPS died. I’ve been walking in circles for like, thirty minutes!”
The tourist lets out a nervous laugh, a hand immediately flying to the back of his neck to scratch it nervously.
“I’m trying to find the Machiya Hotel. The townhouse one?” The tourist asks, looking at Damon like he’s a savior.
Damon turns his head slightly, pointing a finger through the street of rain toward a narrow side alley just a block away. “Take that next left. Walk past the old canal. It’s right there with the curtains out front. You’re barely a minute away.”
The tourist’s eyes light up. “Are you serious? It’s that close?” And then, he lets out a breathless, maybe self-deprecating laugh, likely embarrassed by his own terrible sense of direction.
The tourist extends a hand toward Damon, “Man, thank you so much. Seriously. I’m Ka—”
And then, he stops dead mid-syllable, eyes darting to the side for a fraction of a second.
Damon catches it instantly, that was a classic tell. The tourist was hesitating, probably scrambling his brain for a lie.
“—Kyle. I’m Kyle. It’s nice to meet you.”
Damon stares at the tourist, green eyes narrowing in amusement. What a clumsy save. Damon knows a fake name when he hears one, but he decides not to call him out on it.
With a free hand, he reaches out with a firm grip, shaking the tourist’s hand. “I’m Damon.”
“Damon,” Kyle repeats, “awesome. Seriously, dude. You’re a lifesaver.” The tourist exclaims. Right then, his phone screen flashes a final red battery warning, and then it turns completely black. “Well, perfect timing. I’m gonna run for it before the rain picks up again. Thanks a ton, Damon!”
With a grateful, erratic wave, Kyle turns to charge back out into the downpour, heading exactly where Damon had pointed.
Damon watches the white tech-wear jacket disappear around the corner of the alley, a soft chuckle huffing out of him. Kyle, huh? Damon thinks to himself as he pops open his umbrella with a click. You’re not a very good liar, Kyle.
Around ten in the evening, the thunderstorm is already settling into a patter against Damon’s bedroom window.
He is propped up against his pillows, completely washed in the flow of his phone. His bedroom was dim, save for the hallway light peeking under his door. His volume was turned down low as he swiped his thumb upward, scrolling through his feed aimlessly.
It turns out the YouTube rabbit hole spares no one. Sure, he did find a few solid educational videos, but a slip of the finger immediately sent him down a detour of cat videos, random video compilations, a thirty minute podcast of what, Damon doesn’t intend to know.
Well, it is a bedtime routine of some sort. An attempt to drain the last remaining energy of his brain until his eyes would eventually grow too heavy to stay open.
An automated cooking tutorial, another clip of a cat chasing a laser, some kind of DIY video, an obviously fake story narrated by a text-to-speech voice with Subway Surfers gameplay running in the background… Swipe, swipe, swipe.
The wave of drowsiness was starting to pull at his consciousness, making his eyelids flutter. Damon is about to lock his phone and toss it onto the nightstand when his thumb swiped up one more time, the following video loading promptly.
“—so, I’m officially in the Japanese Alps for the next few days, and guys, let me tell you—”
Damon’s thumb freezes mid-air.
The voice blasting from the speaker was incredibly expressive, smooth, and carried a natural wit. But it wasn’t the engaging tone that made Damon’s drowsiness evaporate.
It was the person in the video.
Damon sits up straight, blinking rapidly. On the screen was a guy walking down a sunlit path, holding his camera up at arm’s length to film himself. He was wearing a black bucket hat, peeking out from beneath the brim were strands of fading pastel pink hair.
And then, the guy pauses. Turning a pair of striking, bright yellow eyes directly into the lens, flashing a charming smile.
No way, thinks Damon. There’s no mistaking it. The guy on the video looks and sounds the same as the tourist he had met earlier in the rain.
Damon’s breath hitches, he could literally feel his heart taking an erratic leap as he stared at the screen, utterly fascinated. The guy on the video was talking effortlessly, moving the camera to show a mountain river, looking entirely in his element. Magnetic, confident, the contrast to the drenched, shivering stray cat of a tourist just a few hours ago under a wooden awning was completely jarring.
Damon’s gaze flicks down to the bottom of the video to look at the channel details. There was no ‘Kyle’ listed anywhere. Instead, printed in bold, clean, white lettering next to a verified checkmark was the name:
Kai Monteago
Subscriber Count: 5.45 Million
While Damon is staring at the name, the realization deliberately bloomed in his head—the pieces of puzzle slamming together.
“Man, thank you so much. Seriously. I’m Ka—yle. I’m Kyle.”
A low cackle rumbles in the back of his throat. He leaned his head back against the wall, a thoroughly amused smile cutting across his face as he looked back down the screen where Kyle or Kai was gesturing animatedly.
Of all the fake names he could have given Damon, he actually went with Kyle. If he wanted to hide his identity from Damon, he should have picked something that didn’t sound exactly like his real name, or YouTube name. Not to mention, Kyle is just about the most generic textbook name out there.
Well, all traces of sleep were completely gone now. Damon shifts his weight, as a newfound energy took over.
Damon taps directly on the channel icon, ready to dive headfirst into the deep end of Kai’s digital life to see what other secrets Kyle is possibly hiding.
Damon had scrolled all the way back to the beginning of Kai or Kyle’s Japan series, starting with the vogue metropolis, astonishing skyscrapers and flashing fluorescent lights of Tokyo, and then, he moved through the traditional temples of Kyoto, and following his journey all the way up into the valley of Gifu.
As Damon watched video after video, his initial amusement turned into something entirely different.
He was thoroughly captivated.
Online, Kai or Kyle was charismatic, but what stood out most to Damon was how genuinely respectful he was. He had seen his fair share of tourists who treated foreign countries like theme parks — and Kai or Kyle was different. He had clearly done his research, he took off his shoes without being asked, he bowed correctly, and he tried his best to speak the local language even when he fumbled. He was also talking about the local history with sincere reverence.
It was truly contrasting remarkably to that flustered, pink-haired disaster under the sake brewery roof, yet both versions seemed completely real — even though he didn’t know Kai or Kyle well enough to actually tell.
Damon finds himself smiling at the screen, somehow, his chest warmed with a sense of appreciation he hadn’t expected to feel at all tonight.
By the time he finished the latest upload, it was past midnight. He clicked on Kai or Kyle’s channel description, but his eyes catch a link buried at the very bottom of it.
For the real ones.
Curiosity piqued, Damon taps on the link.
The link then redirected him to another YouTube channel, the subscriber count was drastically smaller, barely a few thousand people, and the channel layout was unpolished. There were no eye-catching flashy thumbnails or edited banners. The profile photo is just a blurry, candid photo of Kai or Kyle smiling.
And right at the top of the page, a blinking red dot catches his attention.
LIVE
Damon’s eyebrows shoot up. He’s live right now?
Without hesitation, Damon taps on the stream. The video loads instantly, and he’s surprised by yet another contrast tonight. Kai or Kyle was sitting on the tatami floor of his room at The Machiya Hotel, propped up against a futon. He’s wearing an oversized grey hoodie, strands of his messy pink hair falling into his eyes, and he’s wearing a pair of clear-framed glasses.
Kai or Kyle is holding a mug, reading the live chat scrolling on his laptop off-screen. He was talking directly to his small community, answering random questions in a way that almost feels like a late-night phone call with a friend,
Suddenly, Kai or Kyle pauses, taking a sip from his mug as his honey brown eyes scanned a new comment on his screen — ah, Damon guesses. So, he was wearing contacts earlier.
A sudden, sheepish smile spreads across Kai or Kyle’s face instantly, flushing a rosy hue.
“Wait, hold on,” says Kai, laughing softly as he leaned closer to his laptop. “The chat is moving really fast. Someone just asked… Who was that guy standing in the background of your Gifu short? Is he a local?”
Damon’s entire body goes completely still.
Kai or Kyle rubs a hand at the back of his neck again, the exact same tic Damon had seen earlier that afternoon. And then, he lets out a shy, breathless chuckle. “Oh my god, you guys actually spotted that?” Kai or Kyle is now covering his face with one hand for a second before looking back at the screen.
“Okay, look. I was so lost today… the storm came out of nowhere, my phone was dying, and I completely panicked.”
Kai or Kyle leans closer to his laptop, lowering his voice like he’s telling his chat a top secret.
“I found this wooden awning to hide under, and there was this guy standing there. You guys, he looked… Intense. Like, totally gorgeous, but kind of intimidating, you know? I was horrified I was going to offend him, so I tried using the phrases I practiced. I completely butchered it! I sounded like an absolute idiot! My accent was so bad!”
Kai lets out a soft laugh again as he continues, “and then, he just looks at me, like, poker face, and goes, ‘I speak English.’ I swear to god, you guys. My soul left my body. He was really nice about it too! He gave me the directions, and he was just… man, he looked like he walked right out of a movie. I panicked so hard when I was introducing myself, I literally told him my name was KYLE, because I don’t want him googling my channel! Who the hell names themselves Kyle on the spot?!”
Damon sees the chat run faster while Kai or Kyle was telling the story, and then Kai or Kyle lets out a soft groan. “Honestly, I’ve been thinking about it. He was really cute, and I chickened out of asking for his contact or social media because I didn’t want to be a weird tourist. I’m just really thankful he was there.”
As Damon was sitting in the dark, he leans his head back against the wall, yet another thoroughly charmed smile spreading across his lips.
Well, Kai or Kyle may not be a good liar, but at least he’s cute.
Over the next few days, Damon’s bedtime routine has changed.
He was practically tracking Kai or Kyle’s digital footprint like a man possessed. He watched the main channel vlogs to see where he had explored during the day, but it’s the other channel that he keeps returning to. He’s able to catch every late-night livestream just to he could hear Kai or Kyle’s relaxed voice talking about his adventures in Takayama.
This of course is merely morbid curiosity—Damon just wants to keep tabs on the terrible liar he had rescued from the rain that day.
But his mother however, begs to differ.
One afternoon, Damon is sitting at the low wooden table in their living room, a video is playing from his laptop. Kai is sitting in a local park, his pink hair catching the sunlight as he was talking to the camera. Damon is leaning his chin on his palm, and the rare, soft smile resting on his lips does not go unnoticed by his mother.
“You’re going to burn a hole through that screen if you keep staring at it like that.”
Damon blinks, his face instantly smoothes back into his usual neutral expression. He didn’t slam the laptop shut, he would look guilty, he just tilted the screen down a bit. “I’m just watching a video.”
His mother hums, walking into the room carrying a basket of folded laundry, her green eyes scanning his face. She sets the basket down, leaning over his shoulder where she finds a paused image of a yellow-eyed, pink-haired boy on the screen.
“An international travel blogger?” She muses, her tone lacing with curiosity. “That’s unusual for you, dear. You usually complain that internet personalities are too loud and a waste of time.”
“He’s different,” says Damon, trying to keep his voice deadpan. “He’s respectful of the local culture. I was just checking his review of the historic district.”
“Mhm,” his mother hums, an implicating smile gracing her lips. “And does this respectful nature require you to look at him like he hung the moon? He’s very handsome, you know.”
…Tsk, a sudden flush of heat rushes right up Damon’s face, turning the tips of his cheeks a blatant shade of pink. He closes the laptop entirely, pushing himself up from the table. “I’m going out.”
His mother laughs at this action, but as Damon is walking outside the door, she calls out to him, “Bring back some matchpapers if you pass the shrine! And don’t scare the poor boy if you run into him!”
He isn’t doing that, nor does he intend to…
Exiting the house to escape his mother’s teasing, Damon aimlessly strolled through the crisp afternoon air. The mountain sun was warm, and the streets of Takayama were serene. He needed a place to clear his head, preferably away from his mother, so she couldn’t analyze his expressions.
He decides to head towards a cafe tucked away near the Miyagawa River. It’s a spot he knew tourists rarely stumbled upon.
Damon slides the heavy wooden door of the cafe open, the scent of roasted coffee beans instantly washing over him. The cafe was mostly empty, bathed in the afternoon light filtering through the lattice windows. Damon steps inside, eyes scanning the room.
And then, his entire body goes rigid.
Sitting in the far corner booth, was the boy with fading pink hair—wearing his clear-framed glasses, an oversized black shirt, seemingly concentrating on something on his notebook.
Now, that really is one hell of a coincidence. Damon isn’t the type to believe in fate and preferred not to rely on probability, yet here he is, staring at Kai, or Kyle, much sooner than he expected. He didn’t even know how long Kai or Kyle will be staying in Takayama.
Choosing to meet fate halfway, he makes his move and approaches Kai or Kyle.
“Didn’t think I’d see you here, and not wandering around lost, either.”
Caught off guard by the sudden voice, Kai lifts his honey brown eyes from his notebook, mouth slightly parting in a gasp, “Oh, Damon!” Kai or Kyle’s face lights up, the same charming smile Damon has seen multiple times in his videos were taking over his features again, “Hey! Wow, what a coincidence. I was just trying the local roast.”
Damon keeps his expression neutral, though, his eyes were gleaming with undeniable amusement. He turns his gaze down to the table, looking at the dark, steaming mug resting right next to Kai’s notebook. “Black coffee?” Damon drawls, slightly tilting his head. “You don’t really look like the type who enjoys coffee. I would’ve pinned you for a frappuccino guy. The kind with zero actual coffee in it.”
Kai freezes, a hand hovering over his notebook. Damon notices how his fingers slightly twitched — because, it’s the truth, and it’s something a long-time subscriber would have known about Kai.
Kai stares up at Damon, his honey-brown eyes widening behind his clear-framed glasses, a nervous flush starts to creep up as he scrambles for a response. Damon had already pulled the wooden chair opposite the YouTuber back with a scrape against the wooden floor.
“So,” Damon starts, “How is the historic district treating you so far, Kyle?”
Somehow, hearing that name spoken aloud in Damon’s tone makes Kai’s stomach clench. He nervously clears his throat, trying to play it cool. “Oh, it’s great! Really beautiful. I’m really glad you uh, gave me those directions the other day.”
“Are you?” Damon raises a brow. “Because I’ve been thinking about that time, and I have to ask, of all the names you could have chosen, why Kyle?”
The smile completely dies on Kai’s face. He stiffens, the flush on his cheeks exploding into a broader shade of red that spread all the way to the tips of his ears, under his pink hair.
“I—what do you mean?” A nervous laugh emits from Kai as he stammers. “T-that’s my name, I—”
“Come on,” Damon interrupts, thoroughly enjoying the show.
“Wait, wait, wait!” Kai is waving his hands in front of his face like he’s trying to pause the conversation. “Time out! Hold on! I’m not processing any of this right now. I need an actual, step-by-step explanation! You knew who I was? You knew I lied about my name?!”
Damon leans back in his chair, chuckling. “Calm down, Kyle. Or Kai. Let me explain.”
That’s the last thing Kai does. In a flash, he’s rattling one panicked guess after another.
“Did you recognize me from my channel when I was lost? Is that why you helped me? Oh god, did you think I was some arrogant influencer playing d—”
“Not at all,” Damon shakes his head. “I had absolutely no idea who you were. I just saw a tourist panicking while there’s a downpour.”
The panic is fading into pure confusion now, “Okay, then, how did you find out? Am I—Am I trending in Gifu?!”
“No.” Damon says, well, maybe the algorithm did have something to do with it. “Your face just popped up on my feed. I recognized you immediately.”
Kai deadpans. “You stalked me.”
“Investigated,” Damon corrects.
“Kill me now.” Kai buries his face in his hands in embarrassment.
“Why?” Damon asks. “I really appreciated how respectful you were. You took the time to learn the customs. It… It was nice to see.”
Hearing that, Kai slowly peeks through his fingers. The compliment catching him off guard completely. “Really? You liked them?”
“I did,” says Damon. Then, his green eyes narrow in a spark of wicked amusement. “But my favorite isn’t in your main channel.”
“…What?” Kai freezes, his fingers had slipped away from his face.
“For the real ones,” says Damon.
If Kai’s face is red before, it’s practically glowing now. His jaw quite actually, drops. His brain replays his entire late-night livestreams from his bedroom at the Machiya Hotel— the exact, highly specific topic he had spent some time blushing about to his chat.
“…No.” Kai’s voice cracks in denial. “No, no, no! There’s no way—“
“I saw the whole thing,” says Damon, and Kai is officially deceased. He wishes the floor of the cafe would magically open up and swallow him whole. He clutches his pink hair in between fingers, shaking his head in pure disbelief. “Oh my god—”
“Every word,” Damon still isn’t done, apparently. “You thought I was intimidating? A local guy who looked like he walked right out of a movie?”
Kai could only let out a helpless whine, completely pinned by Damon’s gaze. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”
“I am,” Damon admits freely. “It’s not every day a famous vlogger confesses to thousands of people that he thinks I’m cute, Kyle.”
Kai is still hiding behind his hand, shoulders shaking in a mixture of laughter and embarrassment. “I’m never going live again. My chat is never going to let me live this down if they find out you actually saw all of that.”
An idea clicks in Damon’s mind. He’s far from done, and he really isn’t about to leave things hanging.
“They don’t have to find out,” says Damon. “Unless of course, the price of my silence is too high for you.”
Kai slowly lowers his hand, “Are you blackmailing me?”
“I prefer the term negotiating,” Damon insists. “I’m just trying to help you maintain your integrity. You said something else on that stream. Right at the end.”
Kai swallows hard. “…I said a lot of things.”
“…You said you chickened out of asking for my contact because you didn’t want to be weird,” Damon reminds. “As a hospitable local, it would be rude of me to let a guest leave Takayama with unfulfilled wishes.” That and, his mother would be really disappointed in his upbringing.
Kai lets out a laugh. “Wow, so this is charity work?”
Damon shrugs. “The weather in Takayama is unpredictable. You clearly have a terrible sense of direction.”
Kai stares at him for a beat. Somehow, Damon’s confidence makes Kai a little envious. Damon doesn’t need a digital screen to be forward, and yet, it makes kai’s heart flutter all the same. “Are you… are you asking me out?”
Is the Pope Catholic?
“I don’t think I’m being very subtle about it.” Damon remarks, leaning forward just enough to mirror Kai’s posture. “So, are you going to give me your number, or are you going to keep pretending you like black coffee?”
With a wide, defeated smile that makes the pink tips of his hair shake, Kai starts tapping the screen. “Okay, okay! Shut up!” Jeez, this guy was totally terrifying…
With a free hand, Kai tries to pry his notebook open. They were already walking down the Sanmachi Suji, fingers loosely intertwined. It was utterly perplexing. The last thing Kai expected in his trip is that he would be led through the streets by the exact local he had been gushing to his livestream just a few nights before.
Damon glances down at the scribbled bulleted list peaking out from Kai’s notebook, an amused huff escaping him. “Hida beef sushi, Hoba Miso… That certainly looks like a tourist brochure.” Ah, well, with Damon around, at least Kai can steer clear of the tourist traps.
Kai defensively pulls the notebook closer to his chest, “Hey! Those TikTok vloggers said these are the top spots!”
“Those TikTok vloggers don’t live here,” Damon counters. He stops walking for a second, long enough to glance at Kai with a teasing smirk. “On second thought, I know just the thing we should look for.”
Whether it was a stroke of pure luck or some higher destiny pulling the strings, all that matters was this moment, now that Kai or Kyle was here beside him, fingers intertwined while walking down the Sanmachi Suji, this is enough.