Alternate Ending for Bijo ka Yajuu
Later that night, Nagase sat alone on the couch in his dimly lit apartment. The faint glow of the city lights outside filtered through the curtains, casting soft shadows on the walls. His jacket was tossed over the back of a chair, and an untouched cup of tea sat on the table in front of him.
He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, and let out a long, slow sigh. His thoughts replayed the events of the afternoon on a loop, each detail lingering longer than the last.
Her lips.
Nine years. It had been nine long years since the last time he'd kissed her. Yet, when their lips met today, it felt as though no time had passed. The softness, the sweetness, the warmth—it was all there, just as he remembered.
Nagase let out a soft laugh, shaking his head as if trying to ground himself in the moment. He picked up his phone from the coffee table and stared at the message still displayed on the screen.
"I'm glad you made it today. Talk to you later. Let's make this work."
Her words brought a small smile to his face. She had always been direct, never one for unnecessary embellishments. But even in her simplicity, he could feel the weight of her sincerity.
He set the phone down and leaned back, resting his head against the couch. "Let's make this work," he repeated to himself, his voice barely above a whisper. The phrase was both comforting and daunting.
He knew the road ahead wouldn't be easy. With her in America and him in Tokyo, the challenges of a long-distance relationship were glaring. There would be nights like this—quiet, lonely nights where all he'd have was the memory of her smile or the sound of her voice on the other end of the line.
But then he thought of her determination, the way she had looked at him earlier that day. Takamiya wasn't someone who backed down from a challenge, and neither was he.
His eyes drifted to the small box sitting on the table. Inside was the keychain she had handed him that afternoon—a token of their renewed connection. He picked it up, running his thumb over its surface. It was such a simple thing, yet it carried so much meaning.
As he held the keychain, he allowed himself to dream of the future. He imagined visiting her in New York, surprising her with flowers, and walking together through unfamiliar streets. He thought about their phone calls, their messages, the moments they would carve out of their busy lives just to hear each other's voices.
A flicker of doubt crept into his mind, but he pushed it aside. "We've come this far," he muttered to himself. "I'm not losing her again."
The taste of her lips lingered on his memory, a reminder of what they had fought to regain. He smiled, a quiet but resolute smile, as he leaned back and closed his eyes.
Tomorrow, the challenges would come. Tomorrow, the world would try to pull them apart again. But tonight, he allowed himself to savor the joy of having her back, of knowing that they both wanted the same thing.
"Let's make this work," he whispered again, and for the first time in years, he felt the weight of hope settling comfortably in his chest. They had a long road ahead, but together, they could make it through—even if it meant starting from opposite sides of the world.