Cullen did not leave the barracks until well past 1000. A late beginning of the day for him, to be sure.

The gray clouds were heavy and unmoving. The temperature was in the upper 50s, which made for an awkward weather to dress for. Layer up, and he would run hot; wear lightly, and he would run cold. He ultimately decided on layering, seeing as he was going to walk around quite a bit today.

Cullen wore a short-sleeved pastel green crew-neck T-shirt underneath a slim-fitting black faux leather biker jacket, paired with jeans and brown chukka boots.

He caught the Keikyu Main Line north from Yokosuka-chūō Station at 1047. The Keikyu was the best way to get to Tsukiji Market without having to make any transfers, but what Cullen found most helpful was that it was not the Yokosuka Line. If he were to take that train painted blue and beige, he knew he would be tempted to get off at Shin-Kawasaki and sprint to Tharin's apartment building. But that would be a foolish thing to do indeed.

As he had determined earlier, he was not ready for the talk.

His time on the train lasted for more than an hour. He tried to read Tethras's new book on his phone to pass the time, but it was to no avail. He ended up reading the same paragraph over and over again while his mind continued to drift toward Tharin. Eventually, he concluded that spacing out watching houses and factories pass by was more helpful for the purpose of emptying his mind.

The red and ivory train sped through winding tracks in the outskirts of Tokyo and descended underground after Shinagawa Station. Cullen just stared at himself reflected on the door window for the length of four stops. He grimaced. Rosalie called Tharin a catch. Meanwhile, Cullen could not help but feel like a loser, someone not worth the young man's precious time.

He was ridiculously grateful when the train finally glided into Higashi-ginza Station with a mechanical whirr before his dismal thoughts could befoul his mood even more. He could now concentrate on sightseeing and push Tharin out of his mind.

He ascended the stairs to a major intersection along with a crowd of salarymen in muted gray suits and office ladies in black skirts holding umbrellas. They made him slightly apprehensive, but he had no choice other than to trust the weather forecast. He repeated in his mind, no rain, just clouds.

When he paused to ascertain which way he was supposed to head, he noticed a large four-story white building with Japanese tiled roofs on the other side of the wide boulevard. From its gilded bargeboards hung elaborate flourishes. Eaves were raised high. The whole structure was reminiscent of Japanese traditional architecture, which made it stand out amid ultramodern glass and steel buildings of Ginza.

Cullen synchronized his position on Google Maps and found out that it was the Kabuki-za Theater. As he looked up what kabuki was, he could not help the thought from entering his mind, I bet Thar would love to go see a kabuki play. He shook his head lightly, letting the thought float away like an ice floe.

As Cullen walked the streets of Ginza, he judged the neighborhood soulless and dry. It was like any other central business district Cullen had been to. Not that he'd been to many, but this part of Ginza was just a parade of office buildings, panels of concrete gray, faux wood brown, and glassy blue. Each was more characterless and cheerless than the previous.

Even people walking next to him seemed listless, all donned in fitted work clothes that matched their dispiritedness and visages missing any sort of expression. Cullen suddenly felt like he was swimming in a school of fish. Heedless, reckless, and pointless. Everyone headed toward the same direction, oppressive in their uniformity. He had to get away from them.

But there seemed to be a clear demarcation point between Ginza and Tsukiji, a sort of a demilitarized zone between two radically different neighborhoods with different approaches to life. The crowd of worker bees dissipated after he crossed a particular intersection, and beside him were now brightly dressed vacationers and tourists.

There were a couple open-air stalls that sold tropical fruits, definitely out of place and out of season. These changes lifted his spirit somewhat. Just not enough for him to actually feel jovial or affable.

It was past noon. There would be lines of tourists and visitors around the block, waiting patiently to enjoy the best sushi in the world in all the famous places in Tsukiji Market.

These places were little eateries with nothing more than a bar and stools that would be referred to as holes-in-the-wall if not for the fact that their fame preceded most other restaurants in Japan. They were packed from opening around 0500 to closing in the afternoon. Yet, Cullen had neither the willingness nor the desire to stand in line for sushi.

But there was a salvation for people who started their day late and did not care to wait over two hours to be seated at a restaurant steeped in tradition and exclusivity. Over the past week, Cullen had done his research and found out about Sushi Daigyo, a restaurant that specialized in high-quality seafood at lower prices.

Daigyo obviously did not have the allure or the history that came with places further inside Tsukiji Market. In fact, it was located at the northeastern edge of the market as though it were an unloved family member placed at the very edge of the clan photo. But almost all of the reviews, at least those in English, seemed to be positive. A veritable meteor shower of five stars. Cullen had made the decision to trust the collective intelligence.

On the first alleyway he hit after passing the main intersection dividing Ginza and Tsukiji, Cullen turned right. The smell of ocean seemed to waft up from the pavement. On both sides of the alley were small-scale retailers specializing in seafood. Fish, seaweed, crustaceans, and other unrecognizable sea creatures were all here, waiting to be sold.

He detested the fact that the smell seemed to awaken within him the memory of his first kiss with Tharin. The surf relentlessly breaking against the beach sand and foaming. The delicately briny smell of summer radiating from Tharin's sun-soaked skin as they embraced and locked their lips. The sounds of cars and trains invading their precious little bubble. Even at its very edge, Tsukiji had the power to remind Cullen of his boyfriend.

Fortunately, Cullen need not walk down the alleyway too far before arriving at Daigyo. If there ever was a restaurant purely dedicated to sushi, Daigyo was it. On one of its giant windows was its menu filled with pictures of nigirizushi. Next to it was a wreath made from plastic fish and other decorative items, unreservedly celebratory in its colorful garishness. Red, golden, and green components all combined to form a busy picture.

On top of the restaurant was a wooden sign with its name, Sushi Daigyo, deeply carved in both Japanese and English. On each side of the panel hung a massive plastic tuna.

The restaurant also had a plastic statue of a man – probably of the owner – next to the entrance. Similar to one of those kitschy chef statues holding empty trays Cullen had seen next to inauthentic Italian places, or Colonel Sanders in front of a rundown KFC, the statue was in a white suit and a golden tie with outstretched arms. It wasn't splashy enough to be campy. Just stuck in uncanny valley, doing its utmost to attract more patrons with its creepy stares.

It was lunch time, but there wasn't any line. Not to say the restaurant was empty. Patrons filled every nook and cranny. Cullen realized he was getting hungry in spite of having had breakfast less than four hours ago. The varied hues of fish meat neatly prepared into cuboid parts and arranged in the display on the bar counter had the effect of further boosting his appetite.

A young woman in round, black-rimmed glasses and white apron guided him to the second floor, where there were more empty seats. He was sat at the bar between an office lady, obviously a refugee from Ginza, and a group of tourists.

The table setting was flawless. There were a pair of wooden chopsticks laid horizontally next to a little off-white dipping dish. They were presented on top of a wooden tray in the shape of a half-moon. Next to the large tray were a little ceramic pot of soy sauce and toothpicks. As though this were a high-end Japanese restaurant, there was a sterilized hot towel on its own tray. Cullen cleaned his hands with it and folded it back carefully.

The young server came back and handed him a menu with pictures, gesticulating awkwardly at the English translations of each item. He perused it superficially before letting his gaze land on something called Tuna Deluxe. Its long description on the menu stated that it had all the various parts of tuna – from the fattiest cuts of ōtoro to the leanest slice of akami – incorporated into little morsels of sushi.

At the price of 3,000 yens, it was more expensive than any other lunch he'd ever spent money on. But he need not think further. He had planned on splurging today. Why not? It was a Thanksgiving spent alone. He could damn well do what he pleased.

In fact, Cullen decided to add a couple more items just because he could. A salmon roll and an egg nigirizushi. The total would add up to 3,678 yens, but who cares? He liked those things. He deserved those things.

After placing the order, the server came back with a pot of green tea and a handleless teacup.

He poured himself tea and scrolled through an article on the market and the next destination he was heading to afterwards on his phone. The server came back with a platter of food within fifteen minutes. A bowl of clam soup alongside the morsels of his sushi served on two rectangular ceramic dishes.

The server left presently, and Cullen poured soy sauce and mixed a little dot of wasabi into the dipping dish before staring down at the vibrant plates of food laid out in front of him. It reminded him of that one time at Tharin's studio apartment when the two were lounging around and the topic of conversation turned to food. With his handsome face buried in Cullen's bosom, the young man listed off his preferred types of sushi.

Despite being incredibly fit, Tharin was puzzlingly epicurean. Cullen noticed that the young man had a habit of scrolling through pictures of food on his phone when bored. So much time spent on the Food Porn subreddit… Tharin did mention that a crucial motivator for his working out so much was because he had to offset the calories consumed.

The young man's preference was incredibly specific when it came to sushi. As a principle, Tharin refused to order westernized rolls. He would turn his nose at California rolls and the ones filled with cream cheese and spicy mayonnaise. He freely admitted to being a snob, arguing that sashimi was the best way to enjoy the taste of fish, closely followed by nigirizushi.

Tharin liked mackerel, salmon, eel, squid, and sea urchin. But his favorite, his absolute favorite was ōtoro, the fatty belly of a bluefin tuna.

If his plate were filled with items that registered at clearly different points on his preferability scale, Tharin would work his way from the least favored to the most favored. If he were here, the two pieces of ōtoro would be left alone, reserved for the end of the meal. Cullen was the opposite. He would finish the items he liked first and leave the rest.

Not to say that Cullen had ever had ōtoro before. Sushi was already costly, and ōtoro was the most expensive part of an expensive fish. In fact, it was the priciest item in any sushi place's menu. The best the two men could do was sashimi specials at their regular izakaya when Kumiko offered them at a discount, and they would never include ōtoro or even toro.

Cullen picked up the sushi with a rectangular piece of fatty flesh, dipped it lightly in the soy sauce, and swallowed it whole.

The tuna, aged to perfection, seemed to melt on his tongue. There was just enough resistance to make it worthwhile to chew, but the fatty parts gave away easily. Without overwhelming him, ōtoro presented him with the mellifluous flavor of fat and the bouncy texture of muscles. And its overall taste was robust. It was simply incomparable to any other sushi Cullen had ever had in his life. No, it was on a league of its own.

Even without Tharin's company, the sushi was tasty, and that recognition irritated Cullen beyond what was reasonable.

The little clump of wasabi underneath the ōtoro hit the back of Cullen's nose, and he teared up. It's because of the damn wasabi, that's all, he reiterated to himself.

Cullen was convincing. He sincerely believed it.

After finishing the lunch, Cullen debated about exploring the market further but decided not to in the end. More smell of the ocean was going to trigger his memories of Kamakura and Enoshima. And maybe even Verny Park. It would be unhelpful to say the least.

Not that he could avoid the market entirely on his way to Hama-rikyū Gardens. He had to walk on a covered sidewalk lined with more sushi shops and seafood grocers. But Tsukiji eventually gave way to glass skyscrapers of Shiodome, which then gave way to a neoclassical-style stone bridge that connected Hama-rikyū to the mainland.

Cullen opened the English Wikipedia page on Hama-rikyū and scanned as he strolled across the bridge. The gardens were contained in a trapezoid-shaped island surrounded by the urban sprawl of Tokyo. A cherished green space within the megalopolis, it had a long history. When Tokyo was known as Edo, the samurai elites used this place for duck hunting. Now, there was no more duck hunting. Instead, they were one giant public park open to all, including foreign tourists like Cullen.

And as their privileged origin suggested, the gardens were walled in like a fortress. Cullen and several tourists who braved the cloudy weather passed through an imposing entrance that was reminiscent of a medieval wicket gate.

Cullen could not deny that the gardens were gorgeous, especially the sharp contrasts drawn by their individual elements. The contrast between the groves of evergreen pines – one of which was over three-hundred-years-old – and autumn foliage tinged in all shades of red and yellow. The contrast between the mirror-like waters of the brackish lakes dotting the gardens and the dense, fluffy clouds in the sky. The contrast between the nature and the glitzy skyscrapers of Shiodome in the background, the physical manifestations of human genius.

But Hama-rikyū reminded him too much of Sankei-en. The place where those crystalline eyes sparkled as Cullen vowed to do better, to always strive. And now those vows were broken. Cullen stood alone, entirely lost on how to move forward.

The saving grace of Hama-rikyū for Cullen was that it had Japanese teahouses scattered throughout the various parts of the gardens. Perhaps a tea break would help Cullen forget his woes for a little while. Following the dotted path on Google Maps, Cullen came out of the wooded area onto a large lake. From there, he crossed a wooden bridge to reach Nakajima Teahouse on an island in the middle.

It resembled those two-story Japanese houses he was so used to seeing by now, only with more traditional components and just one story. Its skeleton was composed entirely of timber. He rounded the corner with bamboo fences and crossed the entrance to the front of the teahouse.

The teahouse grounds were covered with gravel, with a series of large granite boulders driven into the ground as a sort of stepping-stones. Another line of bamboo fencing separated the teahouse proper from its grounds, and behind it was a wooden sign that had the menu mounted. A besom was propped up against the fence and the sign.

Cullen read the sign carefully, which was translated into English. For 850 yens, he could get a cup of matcha and a side of traditional sweets. He considered, thinking that it was enough money to pay for a decent lunch set in Tokyo. This teahouse was overpriced. Exceptionally so. But then, Cullen remembered that he was treating himself to a nice Thanksgiving.

He took off his shoes before entering the teahouse. It was so quiet as to feel abandoned. Even the server, who came to take his order and payment, seemed hushed, only saying what was necessary and nothing more. The interior was entirely traditional, except for a few modern conveniences like electric lights. Rectangular tatami mats and paper sliding doors demarcated the rooms.

The structure adjoined a deck, which was occupied solely by a young woman in an understated sweater and denims calmly sipping tea. Cullen finally relaxed as the scene unfolded before him. Putting on the slippers provided by the teahouse, he ventured out onto the deck area and sat down, sitting three benches down from the woman.

Cullen spaced out, holding his head up with his right hand perched on the table, gazing at the pine tree just outside the teahouse sway in the breeze. The temperature remained constant throughout the day, and the air was somewhere between cool and cold, which was perfect in his book.

He totally lost track of time until the server came out to the deck with his order. A black and carmine wooden tray held a light mintcream ceramic bowl of hot, foamy matcha and a chestnut paste sweetmeat decorated with tiny maple-shaped jelly and an ombre of warm crimson coloring.

When the tray was set in front of him, the young woman in gray sweater stood up to leave. She had been sitting on a bench that overlooked the lake, unobscured by the pine tree. After the server and the woman both left, Cullen took his tray and moved over to the other bench.

As he partook, Cullen regretted thinking that the tea set was exorbitant. It most certainly was not. He was surrounded by the serene atmosphere provided by the old-fashioned timber house and the air that held just enough mist to waft the friendly fragrance of the earth. Add to that the panorama of the gardens and the lake as well as hypermodern skyscrapers of Tokyo surrounding it, and the delightful harmony of the bitter green tea and sweet chestnut paste, the experience far exceeded the 850 yens the teahouse charged.

Thar would really appreciate this, a stray thought popped into Cullen's relaxed mind, speeding his heart up and exacerbating the hard-won equanimity. He held the bowl with intent, letting the warmth of the tea course through him and help him calm down once again.

Cullen ended up staying at the teahouse for nearly an hour, during which he did nothing other than enjoy the view. He even discovered egrets lounging on the other side of the lake and watched them bob about, hunting. He would have stayed longer, but it felt like he and his troubles were intruding upon the tranquil teahouse.

As he reluctantly left the teahouse and backtracked through the bridge, he saw a Japanese family come toward him. Two parents and a boy probably around five or so. The parents were young and had their hands entwined. Cullen tried not to stare as he strolled toward them.

But the boy was certainly lively. He held a little branch on his right hand and skipped far ahead of his parents. When the boy saw Cullen, his face broke out in a toothy smile. He immediately ran up to Cullen and tugged at his pantleg.

The boy chattered animatedly, "Oji-chan, dokokara kitano? Amerika-jin nano?"

A series of sentences certainly threw him off. But he did hear a few words he recognized. And the boy stared at him expectantly as though he had asked questions. He nodded and peeped in an unsteady voice, "Hai, amerika-jin desu," hardly able to suppress the self-consciousness that came naturally to him as a foreigner speaking Japanese. It did not help that he was declaring himself American to the boy.

The child would not stop. He chirped some more, "Hee, sōnanda. Oji-chan amerika-jinnanoni nihongo shabererundane. Jaasa, kyaputen amerikani attakoto aru? Supaida-manwa?"

This was beyond Cullen's ability to understand, so he held his hands up and shyly said, "Gomennasai. Wakarimasen." I'm sorry, I don't understand.

Still with his hand firmly grabbing at Cullen's pantleg, the boy pouted. His parents came up to Cullen with horrified faces, and the child's father pulled him away from the man while bowing repeatedly. Even without understanding their Japanese, Cullen could tell they were apologizing.

As he watched the family ramble away with the boy being led by his parents, it occurred to Cullen. The boy had called him oji-chan. If he had heard correctly, the child was calling him uncle. Or maybe grandfather. He was not entirely sure, but it definitely made him feel old.

Cullen mused. He was thirty. And Mia was thirty-four. If things went differently for the Rutherfords, Mia could have had a baby or two by now. Christ, at this age, it wouldn't have been surprising for Cullen to be married with kids.

Tharin on the other hand… At twenty-three, the young man was exactly that. Young. He had so many different paths open to him, and Cullen had no right to close them down just to satisfy his selfish desires.

The pessimistic side of Cullen, perhaps the only one that could interpret his situation logically and soberly, kept suggesting that he, in fact, was not good enough for Tharin. As he followed that line of thinking and descended deeper and deeper into the gloom, he thought he tasted bitter bile. With pursed lips and rounded shoulders, he nodded to himself. I know, thought the man who all of a sudden felt unbearably old and worthless.

Cullen spent another hour in the gardens. He strolled around among the trees and well-tended grass aimlessly until the overwhelming hopelessness sublimated into morose irritation. He then ran into a belvedere filled with benches. A souvenir shop, bathrooms, and a tall tree, the exact taxonomy of which remained a mystery to Cullen, were located across the wide, graveled pathway.

He picked a bench that abutted a plaster wall and sat down to read Tethras's book. His tortured brain finally managed to latch onto the book. It was after 1530 when he closed the reader app and left.

He proceeded through a side entrance from the gardens and walked through the relatively empty streets of Hamamatsuchō to Daimon Station, whence the Keikyu train would convey him southward away from Tokyo. He could see the crimson and white Tokyo Tower as he walked and had to do his utmost to pretend away its existence.

From the train, Cullen peered at the sunset tint the silhouette of the city blood orange. The pigment followed the man's eyes no matter where he turned his gaze.

The time marched on and he was a day older. And days like this one would accumulate until they melded immaculately into a life. A life well-lived, perhaps. A life with regrets, most definitely. Until death would strike him down like it did any living being.

Cullen could not help but wince at the morbid turn his thoughts were taking. But there was no denying that he was gripped in a turmoil.

He left the barracks hoping for some mindless fun, something that could get his mind off Tharin. Instead, literally everything he did today reminded him of Tharin. Was it too much to ask for, to be able to go one day without wrestling with his heart, wondering what he wanted out of this life, what he needed in this life?

Cullen kept his eyes focused on the outside as the train slid into Yokohama Station. People on the platform peered down at their phones, waiting for the train to come to a full stop. No one looked up to meet his eyes. He did not want to head back to the barracks. Not yet. Seeing as a city full of sensory stimulations like Tokyo could not quiet his cogitations, he was not likely to fare better in the confined space of his barrack room.

When the doors opened, Cullen rushed out without thinking. He bumped into a middle-aged man in a suit but paid no mind. The doors closed. The train departed. And he stood amid people busily walking toward the exit, rooted to the platform.

What was he supposed to do now?

A movie would make for a nice distraction. Yes, there had to be a movie theater nearby where he could catch some brainless Hollywood blockbuster. Cullen opened Google Maps and searched for movie theaters near the station.

Fortuitously, there was a large multiplex next door. He made up his mind to go see a movie. No need to check to see if anything worth watching was in. Any movie would suffice.

As Cullen left the concourses behind and traversed the wide central corridor of Yokohama Station, he tried in vain to push down the memory of his reunion with Tharin back in September. When he tried his hardest to fix the relationship he had wantonly broken. He sighed frustratedly. How was he back here again?

He came out of the southwest exit and began to walk on the crowded sidewalk. He crossed a pedestrian bridge that spanned a canal filled with dark-green water and entered the baby blue building that housed the multiplex.

Dune was the only movie being screened that was in English. And there was a showtime coming up in five minutes. Perfect timing. Cullen bought the ticket and ambled over to the theater.

Despite the showtime looming, the theater was half-empty. Cullen found his seat, but it was surrounded on all sides by unoccupied spaces.

Not that it was a bad thing. In fact, it was an immense relief. The chair was slightly tight for a man Cullen's size. His arms stuck out, taking over all the armrests on both sides. If the theater were filled, his heft would have surely bothered his neighbors, and he would have had to shrink himself and hold position while the movie played.

Most of the preview commercials were for Hollywood films, so Cullen had no trouble understanding them. Apparently, Tom Cruise was going to be gliding across the sky like a flying squirrel in the upcoming Mission: Impossible 7. Good for him. And there was to be another movie in the Ghostbusters franchise. Great to know.

For the first hour or so, Cullen managed to concentrate on the movie. Timothée Chalamet with his wispy voice politicking in a planet filled with fjords and adventuring in another filled with deserts. It was an inexplicably superb mix of sci-fi and high fantasy. Cullen had never read the series, so he did not know what to expect, which made directing his attention to the movie infinitely easier.

But Cullen's brain was like a sponge. It had soaked up every thought that had plagued him earlier and began to release them one by one.

The seemingly intractable problems of the age difference, the two men's limited time in Japan, and Cullen's issues with living an openly bisexual life. They were so tightly bound to his feelings for Tharin that a miniscule part of him wondered if it would be just easier to forget about the relationship altogether. Just throw away the knot. Forget about Tharin, and he would not have to deal with any of these problems.

But Cullen had to acknowledge that he had been too eager to dispose of the responsibilities, which belonged to him and him only, surrounding this forced hiatus. Why did he evade his thoughts of Tharin every time as he meandered through Tokyo today? It was because he had been attempting to sidestep these tough questions. Fruitlessly yet persistently.

He had thought that only further introspection on top of introspection could help him. And perhaps that was true a week and a half ago, when Cullen was not trapped in a loop. Now, he recognized that introspections had led to pointless ruminations while the problems continued to fester. And he had achieved nothing so far. As much as Cullen was loath to admit, Rosalie was right in this. Introspection alone was not going to help him contend with the thorniest of the questions. He must try and let his wants guide him for change.

What did Cullen truly want? How could he get what he wanted?

Gripping the armrests with incredible strength, Cullen urged himself, Untangle the knot.

Suddenly, he felt them. A warm, large hand on his hand. Small notches of calluses from the free weights. Lips lingering by his right ear. A surreptitious whisper filled with just enough mischief and a subdued smile, "You make me happy, Cul."

Cullen's whole body pulsated with a frisson that absolutely no one in the theater could comprehend. It was not something that even Timothée Chalamet's soulful acting or orchestral gems crafted by Hans Zimmer could produce.

It was the joy that came from the knowledge that he had found a true companion. As simple as that. It had to be.

Tharin made Cullen happy. The young man's carefree, extroverted nature helped Cullen break out of his shell. The earnestness that emanated from those profound cobalt eyes made Cullen feel cherished. And their interests and hobbies aligned seamlessly. If Cullen were to beseech the higher power to present him with a perfect partner, he could not have asked for a better one.

On top of that, Cullen apparently made Tharin happy, too. Giving himself a chance to be in a relationship with Tharin did not mean that Cullen was being selfish or hindering the young man from moving on. Rather, they could help each other as they chased their respective dreams.

It was not that either of them needed each other. Rationally, Cullen recognized that he did not need Tharin. He did not need anyone. Certainly not in the way that defined his own existence. He was his own person and that was that.

And yet… In his heart, he did not want to revert to solitary life. Choosing to be with Tharin would be important progress for Cullen.

Not to say that being with Tharin would magically solve all of Cullen's issues. They were his issues to work out. And he knew he still had some way to go before he could answer confidently what he wanted out of his life other than Tharin.

Cullen had become complacent in the Navy, following assignments without giving a second thought as to if that was what he actually wanted. Serving the greater good, nebulous as it may be, had been enough before. But now, having met Tharin and seen the way he so fastidiously planned for his future, Cullen recognized that he may eventually outgrow that purpose. And with that, he may outgrow the Navy. Cullen now had to think long and hard about what his dreams beyond the Navy were.

One thing was clear. In every moment of his life, Cullen wanted Tharin there. No matter how good or how bad the moment may be, he wanted Tharin by him. How much more could Cullen's life be with the young man by his side? What kind of a man could Cullen be? And perhaps most importantly, how much more could Tharin's life be with Cullen in it? These were the questions that he was excited to find answers for.

The puzzle pieces in Cullen's mind continued to fall into their rightful places, and the complete picture began to emerge. It was an unexpected but splendid picture. He realized Tharin had been sending signals all along, that he loved Cullen. Back in Harajuku, squeezed in that ancient, tiny photo booth, with their lips fused together. When they gazed down at the city lights from the Tokyo Tower observatory, with their hands twined. Back at Tharin's place that night when they were saying goodbye.

And when Tharin entreated Cullen to think about what he really wanted after the picnic at Verny Park.

In every single instance, Tharin hesitated, and the thoughts were left unsaid. But they were so clear to Cullen now.

I love you.

And the truth was undeniable. Its luminescent, benevolent light was a beacon guiding Cullen through the thick fog of hesitancy and indecisiveness. He gathered enough courage to finally say it.

"I am in love with Tharin Trevelyan."

Cullen susurrated once more, "I love you, Thar." It confirmed the truth and engraved it deeply into his heart.

And he knew he was ready.

Cullen promptly departed the theater, long before the movie was over, and raced through Yokohama Station to catch the next train. He managed to jump onto one as the doors closed.

With ragged breath and high hopes, he watched the fluorescent city lights pass by.

Everything was a blur once he arrived back in Yokosuka. It wasn't at all clear how he made it back to the barracks, but he did. The black cab, the winding roads through residential estates and low-rise commercial buildings, the entrance to the base. Things passed in a sequence that was just above the threshold of the recognizable, which was all that mattered. Cullen was on the right path.

When Cullen opened the front door and entered his barrack room, he found his roommate cooking something in the kitchen. It smelled like tomato sauce. Rylen greeted Cullen, to which he merely gave a half-hearted wave. He did not stick around for a requisite friendly chat as he almost jogged to his bedroom and closed the door.

He took off the jacket and the boots swiftly, leaving them in a pile. He plumped onto his adroitly made bed, unlocked his phone, and pulled up his text chain with Tharin. A second before he pressed the FaceTime button to call the young man, he remembered to check his appearance. He must be disheveled from all the rushing around.

Cullen opened the camera app and switched it to the selfie mode. Thankfully enough, he did not look terrible. His hair was on point. The lower half of his face was swathed with an uncontrolled five o'clock shadow, but he did not mind. He was positive Tharin liked some hair on him. He could feel his armpits drenched in sweat, but that was a minor inconvenience that could be ignored while he made the call.

After clearing his throat a couple times and running his hand through his hair just in case, Cullen activated the video call. Tharin picked up after the first ring.

"Hi." The young man beamed benignly, the brows straight and unwrinkled. He looked so serene that Cullen tensed up even more.

"Hi," murmured Cullen, trying to stop his voice from shaking too much, "I-I need to talk to you."

The soft smile never left Tharin's beautiful visage. He nodded.

And Cullen began.

END NOTE

Aaaaand... it ended on a cliffhanger. Because I am evil.

Next up, the first "finale."

As some of you may know, Honor and Will is coming back on Sunday, August 29! I am going back to the alternating posting schedule, so the next chapter of this fic will be posted on Sunday, September 5. See you then!