The envelope lay between them on the counter, small and unassuming, yet it felt heavier than any book on the shelves. Min's fingers itched to reach for it, but he held back, watching Kei's every movement.
Kei didn't open it immediately. Instead, he ran a thumb along the sealed edge, silent, his face unreadable. The quiet stretched until Min finally couldn't take it anymore.
"Please," Min whispered. "At least let me read it with you."
Kei's eyes softened at that. With a faint sigh, he nodded. He broke the seal cleanly and unfolded the paper inside. His gaze scanned the words, sharp as a blade, and Min leaned in, his heart pounding.
The letter was short—just a handful of lines.
"You cannot run from the past forever."
"What belongs to the shadows will always find its way back to you."
"This is not a threat… it is a reminder."
Beneath the words was a symbol—an intricate design of a crescent moon crossed with a thorned vine.
Min's breath caught. "What does that mean?"
Kei folded the letter again, tucking it neatly back into the envelope. "It means someone remembers me," he said quietly.
"That's not an answer," Min pressed, his voice trembling despite himself.
Kei looked at him then—really looked at him—and for a moment, the calm mask slipped. There was weariness in his eyes, a shadow Min had never seen before. "It's part of something I left behind," he admitted. "Something I didn't want to bring here."
Min's chest ached at the vulnerability in Kei's tone. Without thinking, he reached out and clasped Kei's hand. "Then don't face it alone. Not anymore."
The firmness in Min's voice made Kei pause. Then, slowly, he laced their fingers together, holding on as though the gesture itself anchored him.
Outside, the mist thickened against the windowpanes, but inside, the lantern glow wrapped them in a small circle of warmth. Whatever the letter meant, whatever shadows lingered outside, Min knew one thing for certain—he wasn't letting go of Kei's hand.
Not now. Not ever.
To be continued....