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Yeah. The spark is still there. In fact, it feels like it's getting brighter and warmer by the second.
You spot Shoyo before he spots you. Striding through the airport and past the gate, he’s carrying as much luggage as he did when he left: no more than a backpack and a large duffel, littered with pins he’s carried since his first year of high school. But as heavy as the weight he pulled seemed, the air around him looked lighter. Navigating through the crowd, getting closer and closer to finally seeing you, Shoyo wears a small grin on his face. Not the largest smile you’ve seen on him, not by a long shot, but he dons it so easily, like his cheekbones are lighter than feathers. You suspect he’s forgotten it’s even there—light and warm, like everything he makes you feel.
All those video calls and countless photos across two years did him no justice.
You notice he’s taller, the first thing that stands out to you amidst the herd. You’ve repeatedly assured and reassured him his height was never an issue in your relationship, and to your credit, you’ve scarcely paid it any mind over the years. It only comes to you now because his taller frame allows you to see everything else he’s carrying. Broader shoulders, begging to be let free by the grace of a white tee. A subtle tan line peeks out from beneath the fabric, highlighting the way his skin shines like gold. Shimmering still, even if Japan’s natural light is no match for flamboyant Rio.
The shadows across his shirt taper down his waist, guiding your gaze to the above-knee shorts he’s wearing and—lord, have mercy—carved thighs that take up every inch of fabric. Them and his shapely calves subtly flex with every step he takes. God, and almost like everything he does, he's not even trying.
That's what it feels like anyway, but you know more than anyone that whatever Shoyo does is far from effortless.
At the midway point of the large pick-up area, he finally catches you. Chestnut eyes swirl with joy, spreading through the rest of his body as energy, picking up his pace. Eagerly, he waves at you, revealing some small bruises around his forearm. You suspect he just had to get some practice in before being held down in the air for thirty-six hours.
It reminds you of what he’d left for. Because nothing he came back with came easy. The muscles across his form you so shamelessly admire as he makes his way to you cost him countless hours, tears heard through speakers instead of in your arms, and probably oceans-worth of more that you weren’t able to be there for.
He can only hold himself so high because he’d put himself under the weight of everything new, because the joy of learning it was worth more to him than anything else.
The day he’d told you of his plans after high school, you worried your spark would fade. Light is fast, but it can only travel so far. You didn’t want to stretch yourself out, and with everything else Shoyo planned to pile on his back—more than a backpack and a duffel—you hated the idea of him stretching himself thin even more.
That day, after listening to you quietly, he simply wiped away the tears you didn’t know were falling. “I need to change.”
“We’re going to change.”
“That doesn’t mean we have to part.”
What was between you two dimmed and brightened over time, but it relentlessly kept warm.
Much like the sun, encompassing and surrounding even the farthest parts of the globe.
You look at him now, and your eyes squint, and your skin tightens, like you’re in direct sunlight. The spark is still there, but maybe you never needed to worry about it. He’s here, as he’s always been. That’s what matters most.
He reaches you, embraces you wordlessly, and all of his warmth enwraps you whole as daylight. The feeling that rushes within you lifts the largest grin across your features, larger than any smile you’ve ever given him.
"Welcome home."