Late-afternoon sunlight drifted through the cherry blossoms, turning each falling petal into a soft pink ember as it spiraled toward the ground. The warm spring air brushed against Kenji’s black-and-white fur, carrying the faint sweetness of the blossoms and the distant laughter of children playing near the jungle gym. The world felt gentle here, too gentle, as if it were trying to hold him in place a little longer.
He sat beneath the massive cherry tree, its branches stretching wide like a guardian shielding him from the rest of the world. His school uniform, crisp white shirt, dark slacks, and a slightly loosened tie, rustled softly whenever the breeze passed through. Petals gathered in his lap, clinging to his sleeves and tail, their soft pink contrasting sharply with the monochrome of his fur.
A few kids chased each other near the jungle gym, their laughter rising and falling like birdsong. Their voices felt distant, muffled by the warm haze of the afternoon. Cars rolled by on the street beyond the park, tires humming against the pavement, and a pair of bicycles clicked past on the path behind him. Life moved on around him, steady and unbothered.
But Kenji felt still.
He leaned back against the tree trunk, letting the rough bark press into his shoulders. The scent of the blossoms was stronger here, sweet, floral, almost intoxicating. He breathed it in deeply, hoping it would steady the tightness in his chest. It didn’t.
A shadow fell across him.
He didn’t need to look up to know who it belonged to. He could feel the familiar presence, warm and comforting, like sunlight on a cold day. His best friend always had that effect on him, grounding him, pulling him out of his own head even when he didn’t want to be pulled.
“Kenji,” the voice said softly, almost carried away by the breeze.
Kenji’s ears twitched, but he didn’t answer. His mismatched eyes, one green, one blue, stayed fixed on the drifting petals, watching them fall as if each one were a second slipping away.
His friend stepped closer, the grass rustling under their feet. “You’re quiet today.”
Kenji let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. “Just… thinking.”
“About leaving?”
The words hit harder than they should have. Kenji’s throat tightened. He nodded once, barely.
His friend sat beside him, close enough that their shoulders brushed. For a moment, neither of them spoke. The wind picked up again, scattering petals across the ground in a soft pink flurry. One landed on Kenji’s knee. He brushed it away gently, almost reverently.
“I don’t want this to end,” Kenji whispered.
His friend didn’t respond right away. Instead, he reached out and plucked a blossom from the air, holding it between their fingers. “Then don’t let it,” he said quietly. “Even if you go… this doesn’t disappear.”
Kenji wanted to believe that. He really did. But the bitterness on his tongue deepened, spreading like ink. The taste of despair, sharp, metallic, impossible to ignore, crept up the back of his throat.
The sky above them shifted, clouds drifting lazily across the sun. The light dimmed, softening the colors of the park. The warmth on his fur faded. His tail curled closer to his side, instinctively seeking comfort.
Kenji blinked.
The blossoms slowed their fall, hanging in the air like suspended raindrops. The laughter of the children stretched into an echo. His friend’s voice grew distant, warped, as if underwater.
“Kenji…?”
The world blurred.
The petals froze midair.
And then...
“Kenji. Wake up.” A deeper voice cut through the haze, firm and close.
The park dissolved into darkness.
***********
The darkness didn’t last long. A cold sound broke through it, soft at first, then sharper. Rain. A steady tapping against glass, each drop a tiny needle pulling him back into the world he didn’t want to return to.
Kenji’s eyes fluttered open.
For a moment, everything was blurred, shapes melting into one another like watercolor left out in the storm. His breath came shallow and uneven, the remnants of the dream clinging to him like cobwebs. The warmth of the cherry blossoms was gone. In its place was the chill of early morning air creeping across his damp fur.
“Kenji.”
The voice was closer now, firmer.
He blinked again, vision slowly sharpening. His ceiling came into focus first, faint cracks in the paint, shadows cast by the gray light leaking through the curtains. Then the outline of his father standing beside the bed, arms crossed, posture steady and unyielding.
“You were talking in your sleep,” his father said, tone low but not unkind. “It’s time to get up.”
Kenji swallowed, throat tight. His sheets clung to him, soaked with cold sweat. He pushed himself upright, wincing as the morning chill brushed against his skin. The room felt smaller than usual, as if the walls had crept closer while he slept.
Rain pattered against the window, a soft but relentless rhythm. It filled the silence between them.
His father watched him for a moment, eyes narrowing slightly, not in anger, but in concern he didn’t quite know how to show. “Breakfast is almost ready,” he said. “Get dressed and come downstairs.”
Kenji nodded, though his body felt heavy, as if the dream had left weights tied to his limbs. His father turned and stepped out of the room, the door clicking shut behind him.
Alone again, Kenji let out a shaky breath.
The scent of breakfast drifted faintly through the hallway, pancakes, sausage, something warm and comforting. But to him, it tasted wrong even from here. His stomach twisted, dread curling inside him like a cold fist.
He wiped his forehead with the back of his paw, feeling the dampness of his own sweat. The memory of the dream pressed against his chest, sharp and aching. The cherry blossoms. The warmth. His best friend’s voice fading into nothing.
He wished he could go back.
But the rain kept falling, steady and indifferent, reminding him that morning had come whether he wanted it or not.
Slowly, Kenji swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood, the floorboards cool beneath his feet. The room around him, normally comforting, filled with pieces of his life, felt distant, like he was seeing it through a fogged window.
He took one more breath, steadying himself. Then he reached for his clothes.
The hallway felt colder than his room. Kenji padded down the steps slowly, each footfall soft against the wooden stairs. The smell of breakfast grew stronger with every step, pancakes, sausage, maple syrup, but instead of comforting him, the scent twisted in his stomach. It felt wrong, like sweetness layered over something bitter. The dining room was already set when he entered. His father sat at the head of the table, posture straight, paws folded neatly in front of him. His mother stood by the stove, flipping the last pancake onto a plate before turning with a practiced smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.
“Good morning, sweetheart,” she said gently.
Kenji murmured something close to a greeting and took his seat to his father’s left. The chair felt colder than usual, the metal legs biting into the floor as he pulled it in. A stack of pancakes sat in front of him, fluffy, golden, perfect.
The kind he usually devoured without hesitation. Today, they looked like a mountain he couldn’t climb.
His father picked up his fork. “Eat,” he said simply.
The clink of silverware filled the room as his parents began their meal. It was the only sound, steady, rhythmic, almost too loud in the quiet house. Kenji stared at his plate, the steam rising in soft curls. He lifted his fork, but his paw trembled, the metal cold against his fingers.
He tried to take a bite.
The sweetness of the syrup hit his tongue, but it tasted muted, distant. Beneath it was something else, fear, dread, the metallic tang of a future he didn’t want. He forced himself to chew, but each swallow felt heavier than the last.
His father glanced at him. “You’re not eating.”
Kenji’s throat tightened. “I… I’m not hungry.”
His father’s fork paused midair. The room seemed to still around them.
“Not hungry?” His voice was calm, but there was an edge beneath it. “You need your strength for the trip.”
Kenji’s chest constricted. The word trip felt like a punch. He set his fork down, unable to meet his father’s eyes. “I don’t want to go,” he whispered.
The air shifted.
His mother froze, her paws hovering over her plate. His father lowered his fork slowly, eyes narrowing, not in anger, but in that stern, commanding way that always made Kenji’s ears fold back.
“Kenji,” his father said, voice low, “we’ve discussed this.”
“I know,” Kenji said, voice cracking. “But I... I don’t want to leave. My friends… my school… everything is here.”
His father’s jaw tightened. “This decision is final.”
Kenji felt something inside him snap. “But it’s not fair! You didn’t even ask me...”
“Enough.”
The word hit like a growl, deep, sharp, final. The kind of sound that made every instinct in Kenji’s body go still. His ears flattened completely, and he shrank back into his chair, heart pounding. Silence swallowed the room.
His mother looked down at her plate. His father resumed eating, each movement controlled and precise. Kenji stared at his pancakes, the syrup now cooling into a glossy sheen. His appetite was gone, completely, utterly gone.
He forced himself to take one more bite, then another, each one tasting like nothing. He managed a single pancake and a sausage link before pushing his plate away.
“May I be excused?” he asked quietly.
His father didn’t look up. “Go pack your things.”
Kenji stood, chair legs scraping softly against the floor. He hesitated for a moment, wishing, desperately, that his mother would reach out, pull him into her arms, tell him it would be okay.
But she only watched him with sad eyes.
He turned and walked toward the stairs, the weight of the morning pressing down on him like a storm cloud.
Kenji climbed the stairs slowly, the weight of his father’s command pressing on his shoulders like a physical burden. By the time he reached the top, the house felt too quiet, too still. Only the rain kept moving, tapping steadily against the windowsill like a reminder that time wasn’t going to wait for him.
He pushed open his bedroom door.
The familiar space greeted him, but it didn’t feel like home anymore. Kenji stood in the middle of his room, the soft patter of rain against the window barely reaching him through the pounding of his own heartbeat. His eyes drifted slowly across the space he’d grown up in, taking in every detail as if he were afraid it would disappear the moment he blinked.
His black‑and‑white fur bristled faintly with each shaky breath. His tail curled close to his leg, a quiet instinct for comfort he couldn’t find anywhere else.
He didn’t want to pack. He didn’t want to choose. He didn’t want to leave.
But his father’s voice still echoed in his head, firm and final.
Go pack your things.
Kenji swallowed hard and forced himself to move.
He crossed the room to his desk, where scrapbooks and photos were stacked in neat, familiar piles. His fingers hovered over them, trembling. He wanted to take everything, every memory, every moment, every piece of the life he was being torn away from.
But he couldn’t.
His parents had told him he could only bring a few things.
His ears drooped at the thought, the tips brushing the sides of his head.
He reached for his camera first. The cool metal felt grounding in his paws, a small piece of stability in a world that suddenly felt too big and too uncertain. He slipped it gently into his bag. Then he noticed something beneath it.
A scrapbook.
The one he’d been working on with his best friend.
Kenji froze.
Slowly, he pulled it free. The cover was decorated with photos of the two of them, laughing, posing, making faces at the camera. Inside were pages filled with memories, each one carefully arranged, each caption written with excitement for the adventures they’d planned to add throughout the year.
Adventures that would never happen now. His throat tightened. His vision blurred. Tears welled up, hot and sudden, spilling over before he could stop them. They streaked down the white fur of his cheeks, dripping onto the scrapbook in his paws. He clutched it to his chest, shoulders trembling.
His ears folded back. His tail curled tighter. His breath hitched in uneven bursts.
He sank onto the edge of his bed, the scrapbook pressed against his heart as if holding it hard enough might keep everything from slipping away. He didn’t hear the knock at the door.
But he felt the shift in the air, a soft presence stepping into the room.
He turned.
His mother stood there, her expression gentle, her arms open.
Kenji didn’t hesitate. He ran into her embrace, burying his face against her shoulder. Her arms wrapped around him, warm and steady, one paw stroking the back of his head, fingers brushing through the fur between his ears.
“It’s alright,” she whispered. “Let it out.”
Kenji cried until the ache softened, until the storm inside him quieted. She didn’t rush him. She didn’t tell him to be strong. She just held him.
When his sobs finally eased, she pulled back just enough to look into his eyes, her own glossy with unshed tears.
“You’re going to be okay,” she said softly. “And you’re not going through this alone.”
Kenji swallowed hard. “I’m going to miss you.”
She smiled, brushing a tear from his cheek. “I’ll miss you too. More than you know.”
Together, they gathered the things he would take, his camera, a few scrapbooks, the clothes he’d need. The rest of his room would stay behind, but at least he wouldn’t be leaving empty‑handed.
And for the first time that morning, Kenji felt like he could breathe again
The rain had softened to a mist by the time Kenji stepped outside with his parents, but the air still carried that cold, damp bite that sank into his fur. His black‑and‑white tail curled close to his leg as he climbed into the back seat, clutching the bag that held his camera and scrapbooks. His eyes flicked briefly toward his parents before he looked down at his paws.
His father shut the trunk with a firm thud, then slid into the driver’s seat without a word. His mother settled into the passenger seat, adjusting the heater vents so warm air flowed toward the back.
The car hummed to life.
Kenji felt the vibration through the seat, a low, steady rumble that did nothing to calm the stale taste of despair lingering on his tongue.
The windshield wipers swept lazily across the glass, pushing away droplets that kept returning, stubborn and persistent. The heater filled the car with a faint metallic warmth, mixing with the damp smell of rain clinging to their clothes.
His mother turned slightly in her seat, offering him a soft smile. “Are you warm enough, sweetheart?”
Kenji nodded, though he barely heard his own voice when he murmured, “Yeah.”
His father pulled out of the driveway, the tires crunching softly over wet pavement. The neighborhood rolled past the windows, familiar houses, familiar trees, familiar streets he’d walked a thousand times. Each one tugged at him like a thread unraveling from a sweater.
His mother tried to keep the mood light. “It’ll be a long flight, but we packed snacks. And I put your favorite candies in your bag.”
Kenji nodded again, but his mind was drifting. Her words felt distant, muffled, like he was underwater.
He loosened his grip on his bag just enough to glance at the camera inside. The sight of it made his chest tighten. Every photo he’d ever taken, every memory he’d captured, felt like it was slipping further away with each passing street.
The car turned onto the main road.
Shops and buildings blurred past the window, softened by the rain.
Kenji’s ears twitched as he recognized them one by one.
The ice cream shop where he and his friends stopped every summer. The bookstore where he and his best friend hid from the heat, flipping through manga until the owner chased them out.
The rain‑blurred world outside the car softened as Kenji’s gaze locked onto the passing storefronts. His mind drifted, pulled backward by a memory that rose up so sharply it almost stole his breath.
Then the arcade came into view.
Even through the fogged window, the neon sign glowed like a beacon, bright, buzzing, unmistakable. The same sign he and his best friend used to sprint toward after school, laughing so loudly the shop owners would poke their heads out to see what the commotion was.
The car kept moving, but Kenji wasn’t in it anymore.
***********
The bell above the arcade door chimed as Kenji and his best friend burst inside, nearly tripping over each other in their rush. The blast of cool air hit them instantly, a welcome shock after the heavy heat outside. The place smelled like popcorn, plastic tokens, and that strange metallic tang of machines that had been played far too many times.
Lights pulsed across the room, reds, blues, greens, reflecting off the glossy floor tiles. The air vibrated with overlapping sounds: the clatter of buttons, the triumphant jingles of victory screens, the groans of players who’d just lost their last life.
“Move it!” his friend laughed, grabbing Kenji’s wrist and tugging him deeper into the maze of machines. Kenji stumbled after them, laughing so hard he could barely breathe. They dodged a kid carrying a bucket of tokens, sidestepped a pair of teens arguing over a claw machine, and skidded to a stop in front of their destination.
Star Blaster. The newest version. The one they’d been saving for. The one they’d talked about nonstop for weeks.
His friend slapped two tokens into the slot with a dramatic flourish. “Prepare to lose.”
Kenji snorted. “You say that every time.”
“And one day it’ll be true.”
“Not today.”
The machine roared to life, the screen exploding with color. They leaned forward, paws flying over the controls. Their shoulders bumped. Their elbows collided. Their laughter drowned out the game’s soundtrack.
Kenji landed a perfect combo.
His friend groaned. “Stop being good at things!”
“You stop being bad at things.”
“Rude.”
They were chaos. They were loud. They were happy.
A group of younger kids gathered behind them, watching the match unfold like it was a championship. Kenji’s friend played it up, narrating their own moves dramatically, making the kids giggle.
“Behold! The legendary move of ultimate destruction!”
“You missed,” Kenji deadpanned.
“Shut up.”
The kids burst into laughter.
When the game finally ended, their scores flashed across the screen.
Kenji won. By three points.
His friend stared at the numbers, jaw hanging open. “No. No way. I demand a recount. The machine is rigged. It hates me.”
Kenji doubled over laughing. “Skill issue.”
His friend shoved him lightly. Kenji shoved back. They nearly toppled over, laughing so hard their stomachs hurt.
Then his friend did something small, something Kenji didn’t realize would matter later. They bumped their shoulder against his and said, quietly, “I’m glad we do this together.” Kenji didn’t know what to say. He just smiled, warm and full, the kind of smile that made his eyes crinkle.
Their laughter slowly faded, leaving behind the warm hum of the arcade and the soft glow of the Star Blaster screen. Kenji’s friend leaned back against the machine, catching his breath, cheeks flushed from laughing too hard.
For a moment, the noise around them softened, not gone, but distant, like the world was giving them a pocket of quiet just for the two of them.
“You know…” his friend said, voice lower than before, “I don’t really care about the score.”
Kenji blinked, thrown off by the sudden shift. “Since when?”
His friend shrugged, eyes drifting to the screen where their avatars still flickered in victory poses. “Since I realized it’s not the game I look forward to. It’s… this. Us. Hanging out. Being idiots together.”
Kenji felt something warm bloom in his chest, slow, spreading, confusing. He looked down, suddenly shy, tracing the edge of the machine with the pad of his paw.
His friend nudged him gently, their paw brushing his. “You make everything more fun, you know that?”
Kenji’s ears twitched at the softness in their voice. He didn’t know how to respond. Words felt too small for the feeling swelling inside him.
So he just nodded.
But his friend wasn’t done.
He shifted closer, shoulder brushing his in a way that wasn’t playful this time, it was steady, grounding, intentional.
“I mean it,” He said quietly. “If I didn’t have you… I don’t think I’d enjoy any of this half as much.”
His friend smiled at him, soft, real, the kind of smile that made the arcade lights look dim in comparison.
“You’re my favorite person to do nothing with,” he added, almost shyly.
Kenji’s breath caught.
Kenji swallowed hard. His chest tightened, but not painfully, more like something inside him was unfolding, opening, letting in a warmth he didn’t know he needed.
“I… like being around you too,” he murmured.
He didn’t have the words for the feeling swelling inside him. He didn’t understand it yet. But he felt it — deep, heavy, important.
His friend’s smile widened, bright and relieved, like they’d been waiting for that answer.
And for a moment, the world felt perfect, loud, colorful, chaotic, but perfect, because they were in it together.
They wandered the arcade after that, playing random games, sharing snacks, arguing over which machine was “actually” the best. His friend bought him a soda with the last of their tokens. Kenji bought them a bag of popcorn in return.
They talked about the next time they’d come. And the next. And the next.
They made plans for the whole summer, tournaments, new games, challenges, stupid bets. Kenji didn’t know then that this memory would become a lifeline. He didn’t know it would ache years later. He didn’t know it would be the last time the arcade felt like home.
***********
The arcade faded behind them, swallowed by the rain and distance, but the memory refused to let go. It clung to Kenji’s mind like a warm paw lingering on his shoulder long after the touch had ended. He stared down at his lap, trying to steady his breathing. His paws twitched, restless, as if they were still hovering over the arcade controls, still brushing against his friend’s paw when they both reached for the same button.
He could almost hear their laughter echoing in his ears, bright, unrestrained, the kind that made his chest feel too full. The kind that made everything else in the world feel small.
The car’s interior felt too quiet in comparison.
Too still. Too empty.
Kenji shifted slightly, the seatbelt tugging against his shoulder. His gaze drifted to the window again, watching the rain streak down the glass in thin, trembling lines. Each drop blurred the world outside, turning familiar streets into watercolor smears.
His chest tightened.
He didn’t understand why the memory hurt so much.
Why it felt like something inside him was being pulled apart.
Why thinking about his best friend made his stomach twist in a way that wasn’t just sadness.
He pressed a paw lightly against his chest, as if he could calm the ache with pressure alone.
It didn’t help.
His mind drifted back to the arcade, to the moment his friend leaned against the machine, breathless and smiling, eyes soft in a way Kenji hadn’t understood then. He remembered the warmth of their shoulder against his, the closeness, the quiet sincerity in their voice.
You make everything more fun.
The words echoed now, louder than the rain. Louder than his own heartbeat.
Kenji swallowed hard.
Why did that moment feel different now?
Why did it feel like something he’d missed, something important, was trying to surface?
His fingers curled into the fabric of his pants, gripping tightly. He replayed the scene again, slower this time.
The smile. The nudge.
The softness in their voice.
The way they’d looked at him, not at the game, not at the screen, but at him.
A warmth spread through his chest, confusing and sharp all at once.
He didn’t have a name for it. He didn’t know how to hold it. He didn’t know if he was supposed to.
But it scared him. Not because it was wrong, but because it felt too big, too real, too close to something he wasn’t ready to understand. His breath hitched, barely audible.
He turned his face toward the window, letting the cold glass press against his temple. The chill grounded him, pulled him back from the edge of a realization he wasn’t ready to face.
His paw rested in his lap, claws lightly curled, pads tense.
He tried to breathe evenly. He tried not to think about the arcade.
Or the laughter. Or the warmth. Or the way Owen’s paw had brushed his.
But the memory kept looping, stubborn and bright.
“Kenji? Sweetheart? Did you hear me?” His mother’s voice floated through the haze.
He didn’t answer.
“Kenji?” she repeated, a little louder.
Still nothing.
“Kenji.” Then his father’s voice cut through the car, deep, firm, commanding enough to snap any canine to attention.
Kenji jerked upright, his eyes widening. “Y‑yes?”
His father glanced at him through the rearview mirror, expression unreadable. “Your mother asked if you wanted to listen to music.”
Kenji blinked, realizing he hadn’t heard a single word she’d said. “Oh. Um… sure.”
His mother tapped her phone, and soft music filled the car, gentle, low, something meant to soothe. But Kenji barely heard it. His thoughts were still trailing behind them, clinging to every place they passed.
His tail curled around his leg, tightening.
He thought about messaging Owen. Just a simple "I’m on my way". Or "I wish you were here". Or even just "Hey".
But the chat thread on his phone was still frozen, the last message still his, still unanswered. He hadn’t opened it since the night before he left. He couldn’t bring himself to.
His chest tightened again.
He pressed a paw lightly against it, as if he could steady the ache.
He didn’t know why it hurt so much that Owen wasn’t here. He didn’t know why the silence between them felt so heavy. He didn’t know why the memory of that arcade moment wouldn’t let go.
He just knew something was shifting inside him, something warm and frightening and impossible to ignore.
His father didn’t speak again, but his presence filled the car, steady, unyielding, impossible to ignore. His mother kept glancing back, trying to catch Kenji’s eyes, trying to offer comfort he wasn’t sure he could accept right now.
The airport signs appeared along the roadside.
Kenji’s stomach twisted.
The closer they got, the heavier everything felt, his bag, his chest, his future. The heater’s warmth suddenly felt too hot, too thick, like it was pressing down on him.
His tail curled tighter around his leg and he held his bag closer, as if the camera inside could anchor him to the life he was leaving behind.
His eyes drifted back to the window. The city blurred past. And with every passing moment, the distance between him and his old life grew wider.
The car rolled to a stop under the covered drop‑off lane, rain still pattering softly against the roof. Kenji’s stomach twisted as he unbuckled his seatbelt. His paws felt strangely numb, like they weren’t fully connected to him.
His father stepped out first, grabbing the suitcase from the trunk. His mother hurried around to Kenji’s side, opening the door with a soft, worried smile.
“Come on, sweetheart,” she said gently. “We’ll walk you in.”
Kenji nodded, pulling his hood up as he stepped into the cool, damp air. The airport lights reflected off the wet pavement, turning everything into a blur of gold and gray.
Inside, the terminal buzzed with movement, rolling suitcases, announcements echoing overhead, families hugging tightly. Kenji’s ears twitched at every sound, but none of it felt real.
His mother walked close beside him, her paw brushing his arm every few steps. His father walked ahead, steady and purposeful, but Kenji could see the tension in his shoulders.
They reached the security line far too quickly.
His father set the suitcase down and turned to him. “Your uncle will be waiting when you land. He knows your flight number.”
Kenji nodded. “Yeah.”
“And he’ll take you straight home,” his mother added. “He said he’s already set up your room.”
Kenji swallowed. “Okay.”
His father’s expression softened. He placed a paw on Kenji’s shoulder, firm, grounding. “You’re going to do great. We’re proud of you.”
Kenji’s throat tightened. “Thanks.”
His mother stepped forward next, pulling him into a tight hug. Her paws cupped the back of his head, her voice muffled against his fur. “You call us when you land. And when you get to your uncle’s. And if you need anything. Anything at all.”
“I will,” Kenji whispered.
She pulled back just enough to look at him, her eyes shining. “I love you.”
“I love you too.”
His father cleared his throat, trying to keep his voice steady. “Go on. Before we make this harder than it already is.”
Kenji nodded, gripping the handle of his suitcase. His tail curled under him. He stepped into the security line.
His mother waved. His father lifted a paw in a small, proud gesture.
Kenji waved back.
The line moved forward, slow and steady. Kenji clutched the handle of his suitcase, the wheels clicking softly against the tile as he walked.
Security was a blur, shoes off, backpack scanned, polite nods and murmured instructions. He moved through it all like he was underwater, like the world had dulled around the edges.
At the gate, he sat quietly until his group was called. When it was, he stood, almost surprised by how light his legs felt. The tension that had gripped him all morning was still there, but looser now, like it had finally started to let go.
He handed over his boarding pass. The scanner beeped. The attendant smiled.
He nodded back.
The jet bridge stretched ahead, dimly lit and humming with quiet energy. Kenji stepped onto it, tail low, ears angled forward. The air smelled like metal and recycled air, but it was calm, no rushing crowds, no emotional goodbyes, no eyes on him.
Just the steady rhythm of departure.
He reached the plane door.
Stepped inside. Found his row. 18A. Window.
Kenji leaned back into the seat, letting the steady hum of the engines settle deeper into his bones. The rain outside softened into a gentle blur, the kind that made everything feel far away and safe.
His breathing slowed. His shoulders finally loosened.
For the first time all morning, the knot in his chest wasn’t pulling tighter, it was unwinding, little by little, like a thread slipping free.
His eyes grew heavy.
He let them close halfway, the cool window against his temple grounding him. The world outside faded into soft shapes and muted colors.
And without meaning to, without trying to fight it, his thoughts drifted to Owen.
Not the sharp ache from earlier. Not the confusion. Not the silence.
Just… Owen.
The way he laughed with his whole body. The way his ears perked when he was excited. The way his paw brushed Kenji’s at the arcade, warm, steady, familiar.
Kenji’s breathing softened even more.
He didn’t try to analyze it. He didn’t try to push it away. He didn’t try to name the feeling. He just let himself remember. The warmth of that moment. The closeness. The way it made him feel safe in a way nothing else did.
As Kenji’s breathing began to slow even more, the hum of the engines wrapped around him, then a memory surfaced, soft and unexpected.
Owen, sitting cross-legged beneath the cherry blossoms. Golden eyes bright. Tousled black hair catching the sunlight. A peace sign lifted toward the camera, mouth open in a wide, unguarded smile.
Kenji didn’t remember who took the photo. Maybe Mika. Maybe Owen himself, with the timer set.
But he remembered the moment.
The way the petals drifted around them. The way Owen laughed so hard he fell backward into the grass. The way Kenji had looked at him and felt something he didn’t understand yet. He hadn’t thought about that day in weeks. But now, in the quiet of the cabin, it returned, vivid and warm, like a light flickering on inside his chest.
Kenji exhaled.
And he let himself drift.
***********
Owen pushed open the door, and the familiar chime rang out, but the sound felt hollow without Kenji’s laughter following it. Inside, the arcade was its usual chaos of flashing lights and overlapping sounds. Kids darted between machines. A group of teens shouted at a racing game. Someone dropped a bucket of tokens, the clatter echoing across the room.
But none of it felt the same.
Owen wandered through the aisles, paws shoved into the pockets of his denim jacket, ears twitching at every sound that wasn’t Kenji’s voice. His yellow eyes scanned the room out of habit, looking for someone who wasn’t there.
His steps slowed when he reached Star Blaster.
The seats were empty.
He sat down in Kenji’s usual spot, resting a paw on the cool joystick. He didn’t start the game.
Instead, he leaned back, letting the hum of the machine vibrate through him.
It felt wrong being here alone.
Wrong in a way he didn’t have a name for.
He closed his eyes.
And suddenly, the memory wasn’t just a memory, it was a feeling. A warmth. A closeness. A moment that had meant more than he’d realized. His chest tightened.
He remembered Kenji’s laugh.
The way their shoulders bumped.
The way Kenji’s eyes lit up when he won.
The way Owen had looked at him, really looked, and felt something flicker deep in his chest.
A thought surfaced, quiet, fragile, dangerous.
Was it always him?
Owen’s eyes snapped open.
The thought startled him so much he sat up straight, claws flexing against the seat before he forced them to retract. His ears flattened slightly, then flicked back up as he shook his head.
“No,” he muttered. “It’s just weird without him. That’s all.”
But the feeling didn’t go away.
It lingered, warm, aching, impossible to ignore, like the echo of something waiting to be understood.
He stood abruptly and left the arcade, the bell chiming behind him.
Outside, the cool afternoon air hit his face, grounding him. He tugged his jacket tighter around his frame, tousled hair falling into his eyes as he walked.
He told himself it was just loneliness.
Just missing a friend. Just nostalgia.
But as he walked home, paws shoved deep in his pockets, he couldn’t shake the sense that something inside him had shifted.
Hi everyone, I know there have been hints about the story I’ve been working on, and I’m thrilled to share that I’ve finished the first chapter of Kenji’s adventure. I started writing after being inspired by
’s work, and honestly, I probably wouldn’t be here posting this if it weren’t for him. He created something incredible that pushed me to break barriers and move forward. We became friends through his story, and I remember him saying he’d have chapter 5 ready by Christmas. It didn’t happen quite that way, but instead of getting it as a Christmas gift, I received something far more valuable, the chance to know Jo as a friend and share ideas together, especially as we headed into the new year. I hope everyone will enjoy what I’ve written. I want to create something wholesome and special to share with you all, to show the road my boy takes, the struggles he faces, and the wild, fun moments along the way, making new friends, missing the old ones, and maybe even finding someone special for himself.
🥰 Just this one chapter already felt like a journey filled with a range of beautiful emotions and vivid imagery. I got pulled in very quickly, which makes me really excited for the plans you have.
I mentioned to you before how I could relate to Kenji's last breakfast with his family. And the solemn car ride to the airport, as his memories are streaking past in the rain, was just as resonant for me. I loved the arcade memory. It was touching, warm, and heartbreaking. There's something about reading a really loving, happy, important memory, knowing it is just that, a memory that's now gone forever, that just feels so beautifully devastating.
Then later, the way you described Kenji moving through the airport in a blur hit me pretty close to home too. I've been to plenty of airports for stressful, miserable, sad reasons, and just mindlessly moving through security when your worried mind is someplace completely different is an experience I've had plenty of times. And equally relatable is that odd tranquility of the loud-quiet of an airplane. It's such a weird thing, but I find that when your whole world shrinks to just that airplane cabin it helps me process things in a similar way that Kenji does here.
Congrats on finishing this. I know just how much work it can be writing even a single chapter. You've already got a really compelling setup with this one. I'm excited to see where Kenji's journey leads him, and Owen's too! I was surprised to get a scene from his perspective, and curious how big of a role he'll play. The title leads my brain in a certain direction, but we'll see. I'm happy to be along for the ride! ❤️
🥰 Just this one chapter already felt like a journey filled with a range of beautiful emotions and vi
Thanks for the kind words. I wanted to create a story that feels relatable to me as well, capturing the struggles we face and the emotions we battle for our own well-being. I may not have gone through what Kenji has, but I understand his situation from a different point in my life. One thing I truly value about myself is my ability to feel what others feel—empathy. Not everyone can do this; sympathy is more common, but true understanding is something many struggle with. I created Kenji to push through hard times, and I want him to show the spark he carries. He has a long journey ahead, and I hope to finish the story by year’s end, with some plot twists along the way. A collaboration might even happen if a certain fox is ready 🥰.
My goal is to create something that touches the reader’s heart, not just their desires—at least for this story. I hadn’t planned to end the chapter with Owen’s perspective, but after writing the arcade scene, it felt right to add a bit of foreshadowing to hook the reader’s curiosity.
Leaving behind what you’re most secure with is never easy, and being torn from that safety resonates with me deeply. Through the empathy I pour into my characters and the love I infuse in the story, I want readers to live with them, understand them, relate to them, and love them as much as I do. Knowing people enjoy what I’ve created is enough to keep me going. Even if it’s not received the way I’d hope here, my family and friends are eager for the second chapter, and that tells me I’m doing something right—even if it just stays here. With you Tux and with
being the closest to this story and providing feedback is amazing, I am so proud of where I'm going with this story even if it wholesome, I believe we need more stories that personifies characters with a little of us and our friends to make the meaning that much more genuine.
Thanks for the kind words. I wanted to create a story that feels relatable to me as well, capturing
It makes me really happy that you enjoyed the story. I’m just trying to create something people will appreciate. I’m currently working on chapter 3, and you might not have to wait too long, I have plenty of inspiration to keep writing whenever I can.
It makes me really happy that you enjoyed the story. I’m just trying to create something people will
