Ren Tsubaki's company towered over the city like a monument made of glass and steel. From the outside, it looked flawless—untouchable. Kaien felt small every time he walked through its revolving doors, surrounded by people in tailored suits and sharp heels, all moving with purpose.
But Ren walked beside him like it was nothing.
"Don't stare," Ren murmured as they entered the private elevator. "They'll think you're impressed."
Kaien scoffed. "I am impressed. I just didn't expect your building to look like it could launch a spaceship."
Ren smirked, but it faded quickly. The elevator doors slid shut, sealing them in silence. Kaien noticed it then—the way Ren's shoulders stiffened when they were alone, like the weight he carried finally settled back in place.
That was the first crack.
Kaien spent the next few weeks working closely with Ren's research team. He solved problems faster than expected, pointed out flaws others missed, and proposed solutions so clean they left senior engineers stunned.
Ren noticed everything.
Sometimes Kaien would catch Ren watching him from across the room, dark eyes thoughtful, unreadable. Not like a boss observing an employee—but like someone quietly holding onto something precious.
Late one night, Kaien stayed behind to finish debugging a system. The office was nearly empty, city lights flickering beyond the windows.
"You should go home."
Kaien nearly jumped out of his skin. Ren stood behind him, coat draped over one arm.
"You scared me," Kaien muttered. "Don't you CEOs sleep?"
Ren exhaled. "I don't sleep much."
Kaien glanced at the clock. "It's past midnight."
"I know."
There was something off about his voice—tired in a way that had nothing to do with work.
"Sit," Kaien said suddenly, spinning his chair toward Ren. "You look like you're about to collapse."
Ren hesitated. Then, surprisingly, he sat on the edge of the desk.
That was the second crack.
They talked. Not about work—about nothing important at first. Coffee preferences. Bad school memories. Ren admitted he didn't like sweet things. Kaien teased him for being boring.
Then the conversation shifted.
"I didn't build this company because I wanted power," Ren said quietly, eyes fixed on the city below. "I inherited it when I was too young to refuse."
Kaien stayed silent, listening.
"Everyone expects me to be perfect. Strong. Untouchable." Ren's fingers tightened around his coat. "If I falter, everything collapses."
Kaien's chest ached.
"So you never get to be human," he said softly.
Ren looked at him then—really looked at him. The glass walls reflected the city lights behind them, but in that moment, it felt like the world had narrowed to just the two of them.
"You see it," Ren said. "Everyone else sees the CEO. You see the cracks."
Kaien swallowed. "Cracks don't mean broken."
Ren's breath hitched. Just slightly. But Kaien noticed.
That night became a pattern.
Late hours. Quiet talks. Shared silence that felt safer than words. Ren began relying on Kaien—not just for his intelligence, but for the calm he brought into Ren's chaotic world.
And Kaien… Kaien found himself memorizing Ren's expressions. The rare smile. The way his voice softened when he said Kaien's name.
But cracks cut both ways.
One evening, Kaien overheard executives whispering.
"Ren's been distracted lately.""That kid he hired—too close.""Feelings make leaders weak."
Kaien's stomach twisted.
Later, he found Ren alone in his office, lights dimmed.
"You okay?" Kaien asked.
Ren hesitated. Then shook his head. "No."
That single word shattered something.
Kaien stepped closer. "You don't have to carry everything alone."
Ren laughed softly, bitter. "If I let go, I lose everything."
Kaien met his gaze, heart pounding. "You won't lose me."
Silence.
Heavy. Fragile.
Ren reached out—then stopped, hand hovering between them.
That was the deepest crack of all.
Neither of them crossed it.
Yet.
Things changed without either of them saying a word.
Kaien noticed it first in the small details.
Ren stopped staying late.Meetings replaced quiet conversations.Messages went unanswered for hours—then days.
The office felt colder, even though nothing had physically changed. Glass walls still reflected the city, machines still hummed, and employees still moved like clockwork. But the warmth Kaien had felt beside Ren was gone, like someone had turned off a light and pretended it had never been there.
Kaien told himself he was overthinking.
He always did that.
But then came the announcement.
A company-wide meeting. Executives seated up front. Ren standing tall at the center, composed, unreadable—the CEO everyone else knew.
"Effective immediately," Ren said evenly, "I'll be restructuring internal teams. Certain temporary positions will be dissolved."
Kaien's chest tightened.
He didn't look at Ren. He couldn't.
After the meeting, an email arrived.
Your contract will conclude at the end of the month.Thank you for your contribution.
That was it.
No explanation. No warning. No conversation.
Kaien laughed softly at his desk, fingers trembling. "Wow," he muttered. "So that's how it ends."
He packed his things quietly that evening. No dramatic exit. No confrontation. Just a cardboard box and a heart heavier than it should've been.
As he stepped into the elevator, a voice called out.
"Kaien."
He turned.
Ren stood at the end of the hallway, breath uneven, tie loosened for once. For a moment, Kaien almost hoped—almost—
"This was your decision?" Kaien asked, voice calm but hollow.
Ren didn't answer right away.
"Yes," he said finally.
Something broke.
"I trusted you," Kaien said. "I thought… never mind."
He stepped into the elevator. The doors slid shut between them, leaving Ren staring at his own reflection in the glass.
Ren told himself he did the right thing.
That distance was protection.That power came with sacrifice.That caring too much was dangerous.
The board had warned him. Investors had noticed. Kaien had become a weakness—someone who saw through him too easily, someone who mattered.
And Ren Tsubaki was not allowed to have weaknesses.
Still, nights stretched longer.
Ren sat alone in his office, lights off, staring at the empty chair where Kaien used to sit during late hours. The silence screamed louder than any argument could have.
He picked up his phone more times than he could count.
Never pressed call.
Kaien went back to his old routine. School. Family. Late nights with his half-broken laptop.
But nothing felt the same.
Every problem he solved reminded him of Ren. Every quiet moment echoed with words left unsaid.
One evening, the lantern festival returned.
The same river. The same glowing lights.
Kaien stood by the water, holding a lantern he hadn't planned to release.
"Wishes are stupid," he muttered.
"Then why are you here?"
Kaien froze.
Ren stood a few steps away, no suit this time—just a simple coat, hair slightly messy, eyes tired in a way no boardroom could hide.
"You shouldn't be here," Kaien said softly.
"I know."
Silence stretched between them, thick and fragile.
"I pushed you away," Ren said at last. "Because I was afraid."
Kaien turned to face him. "You don't get to decide what hurts less for me."
Ren swallowed. "I didn't want you dragged into my world."
"I chose to be there," Kaien said. His voice shook. "And you chose to let me go."
Lanterns floated into the sky around them, carrying wishes that didn't belong to either of them.
Ren took a step closer—but stopped.
"I don't know how to be both," he whispered. "The man I am… and the man I want to be with you."
Kaien looked at him for a long time.
Then he turned back to the river and released his lantern.
"Figure it out," he said quietly. "Or don't. But don't come back unless you mean it."
Ren watched the lantern drift away, its light trembling but steady.
And for the first time, he realized something terrifying.
Success meant nothing—if the one person who truly saw him walked away.