(WHAT WE NEVER SAID)
Platform 5, 11:47 PM
The platform was nearly empty. A few people huddled near the far end, their voices quiet, blurred by distance and cold. Overhead, the announcement board blinked: Last Train — 11:55 PM.
Yuki stood with his hands in his coat pockets, eyes on the tracks. The night air bit at his cheeks. He should’ve worn something thicker, but he hadn’t planned to stop and think this long. Or to wait.
Ren stood a few feet behind him, silent. Like always.
They hadn’t meant to walk here together. They’d just… ended up this way. Again.
Yuki tilted his head slightly. “You’re not going to say anything?”
Ren’s breath fogged in the air. “What should I say?”
“I don’t know.” Yuki shrugged one shoulder. “Anything. Something that’s not silence.”
Another pause. A train in the distance, a low metallic hum.
Yuki let out a bitter laugh. “You know, every time I think I’m ready to move on, you look at me like that. Like I’m the only thing in the world that matters. But you never say anything. And I’m tired of pretending that’s enough.”
Ren’s expression shifted — not much, just barely. But Yuki caught it. He always did.
“I’m standing here,” Yuki said softly, “and I don’t know if I should get on that train or not.”
He stared at the tracks like they held the answer.
“A part of me wants to leave. Because waiting hurts. Because not knowing if you feel the same has been—exhausting.”
He turned to look at Ren, voice quieter now. “But a bigger part of me… is still hoping you’ll say something. Anything. Just give me a reason to stay.”
Ren didn’t look away this time.
“I should’ve told you,” he said, voice low but clear. “All those years, I wanted to say it. But I didn’t. Not once. And I’m sorry.”
He stepped closer, hands trembling slightly at his sides. His next words weren’t whispered. They didn’t break.
“I love you.”
Yuki blinked. For a second, it was like time paused.
Ren continued, almost too quietly.
“I should’ve said it a hundred times. Every time you waited, every time you smiled at me like you were hoping. I should’ve told you then. But I’m telling you now.”
The board above them blinked again. The train was approaching.
Yuki exhaled slowly, a breath that seemed to carry a hundred nights of doubt.
Then, gently, almost like he was afraid to break the moment, he said:
“Then I’m not getting on that train tonight.”
