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Anton first noticed it in September, when the air still smelled like cut grass and the campus trees hadn’t yet decided what color they wanted to be: Every Tuesday, the same guy walked right outside of his window at exactly 9:04 am.
Anton didn’t know why he knew that. He only knew for a fact that if he stepped out of his dorm at exactly 9:05, bag slung over one shoulder, coffee burning the tip of his fingers, he would be there — adjusting his headphones, swaying from side to side like he had nowhere urgent to be, like he had all the time in the world. Carefree.
He wasn’t sure why he was so drawn to him. It could be the uncertainty of not being in his birth country for the first time in years. Alone, with no one to lean on.
Anton was never really the outgoing type. Which is why his desire to move to Korea for College came as a surprise to his family. He just needed a change of pace, to break away from the mundane life he’d been living in New Jersey.
Breaking out of his shell proved to be harder than expected, his limited knowledge of the country and its culture made it quite complicated to fit in.
At first, they walked together by accident.
“Morning,” the other boy had said one day, easy and bright, falling into step beside him like it was the most natural thing to do.
“Good morning,” Anton nodded with a shy smile, surprised at how quickly his pace adjusted to match the other’s without even thinking about it.
“We’ve crossed paths so many times and I just realized that I never introduced myself,” the boy said, glancing over at Anton. “My name’s Shotaro,” He put his hand out for a handshake, lips rising into a sweet smile.
“I’m Anton, nice to meet you,” he replied, taking the other’s hand into his.
After that it became a habit. Every Tuesday, Shotaro would slip by his side to walk together until they had to go their separate ways. The two of them didn’t talk much at first. Just small things. Classes. Professors. Complaints about early lectures and group projects. But the silence between them was comfortable, padded by the sound of shoes on pavement and leaves crunching underfoot.
—
By October the route was theirs.
They knew each crack in the pavement like the back of their hand.
That 15 minute walk somehow became a permanent part of their routine. Anton began timing his mornings around it — not that he would ever admit it, not to Shotaro, not even to himself. He’d wait at the door if he was early, pretending to look for something in his bag until a familiar figure caught the corner of his eye. Other days, Shotaro would walk deliberately slowly, lingering around the corner until Anton caught up.
Neither of them ever said, Let’s walk together.
They just did.
Shotaro talked more now, about his dance major, about choreography ideas, about how he liked shopping because it helped him think. Anton enjoyed listening, enjoyed letting Shotaro’s voice fill the quiet, occasionally sharing his own anecdotes about his music major.
He soon realized that this little routine they’d slipped into helped him feel grounded. When he walked beside Shotaro, he didn’t feel as anxious, his thoughts didn’t spiral anymore. The day actually felt manageable when it started out this way. These walks quickly became the highlight of his week.
It was a habit, a routine. Routines were safe.
—
Things changed when winter rolled around.
The walks grew colder. Hands in pockets. rosy cheeks. breath fogging between them.
They talked about deeper things then.
Shotaro shared his worries about graduation, the uncertainty that came with this new step in his life. Anton confessed that he sometimes regretted moving here to study, that he missed his mom and his annoying little brother. And Shotaro reassured him: told him that he was smart and strong, that if he was able to get through it, there’s no doubt that Anton could do it too.
At some point, Shotaro started carrying two pairs of gloves with him. Wordlessly offering one to the younger when he forgot his own. Anton pretended not to notice the way his hand lingered a beat too long, the way his cheeks heated up at every brush of their fingers. Or the way Shotaro leaned closer when it was cold. The way he laughed with his whole body at every single one of his jokes. The way he looked at him with so much fondness whenever he uttered a word — like he was the most important person in the world, like he’d die if he missed a single word that came out of his mouth.
Still, Anton told himself that it was friendship. It had to be. Shotaro was just an extremely friendly person. He’d seen him interact with juniors in his major a few times. He treated everyone with the utmost respect and kindness, not afraid to offer his help to anyone in need. Anton was just another one of the people that he had taken under his wing.
Shotaro was a senior, Anton was not. Their lives were already on different timelines, stretching towards different futures. It felt nice to have someone to rely on but wanting more would only complicate something that was as good as it was. Anton said nothing.
Shotaro brought up the idea to exchange numbers, to not limit themselves to only seeing each other once a week. Anton reached for his phone, sliding his own in the palm of the other’s hand with a smile.
The first message came that same evening. Shotaro was inviting him to his place, to hang out with some of his friends, a small get-together to celebrate the end of the semester. “I feel like you’ll fit right in” the last message read. Anton replied almost immediately, “I’ll be there :)”.
He’d allowed himself to be greedy, just this once. To take everything that was given to him. Nothing more, nothing less.
—
Before they knew it, winter break was over, Their casual hangouts getting increasingly frequent. They’d rarely even go a few days without seeing each other.
Spring came too quickly.
Suddenly, there were graduation banners strung across campus and flyers for farewell parties on every bulletin board. Shotaro started mentioning “after May” more often — internships, auditions, the vague intimidating next step.
Anton listened and smiled, ignoring the feeling of something tight twisting in his chest.
The walks didn’t stop, they only became less frequent. With this being his last semester and Shotaro’s schedule becoming increasingly busy, Anton found himself walking alone more often. The absence of the older always felt so wrong, like forgetting something important at home.
On the few occasions where he was able to join him, Anton made sure to savor every second of their time together. He stared at Shotaro hard enough to burn an image of him on the inside of his eyelids, memorizing every line, every curve, every sound, and every smell. Everything from the way the sunlight filtered through the new leaves, the sound of Shotaro’s shoes dragging against the concrete, the exact moment they reached the steps where they would always split up, hesitating, lingering like a held breath.
One day, Anton stopped walking. Shotaro took a few more steps before realizing, turning back, confused.
“Hey,” Shotaro said gently. “You okay?”
Anton at him, eyes soft but uncertain. “Do you ever think about what will happen after…to us, I mean?”
His chest ached. “After I graduate?”
Anton nodded.
He wanted to say I don’t want it to end. I don’t want this to end. To beg him to stay, to not leave him alone, again. Instead he said, “I’m sure you’ll do great wherever you go. It’s just that I'll miss my walking buddy. I’ll miss you.”
“I’ll miss you too, Anton”
Anton smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. They finished their walk in silence that day.
—
The last week before Shotaro’s graduation felt fragile, like it might break if one of them breathed too hard.
Shotaro invited him on a late night walk to make up for all of the ones he’d missed.
It felt nice, the gentle spring breeze dancing through his hair. Everything felt heightened — every laugh, every glance, every accidental brush of hand. Anton wondered if Shotaro felt it too, or if this ache was his alone.
Shotaro stopped on his tracks and didn’t move, looking up at the moon. “This is probably our last walk,” he said quietly.
Anton swallowed, looking up too. “Yeah.”
Neither of them looked away.
“When I first introduced myself, I didn't think it would matter this much,” Shotaro admitted, running his hands through his hair. “Tuesday mornings. Walks with you.”
Anton’s heart stuttered. He looked at shotaro and took a deep breath. “I think,” he said carefully, voice barely steady, “that it mattered to me because it was you.”
Shotaro’s breath caught in his throat. “Anton…”
The space between them felt electric, charged with everything left unsaid and for a moment Shotaro was sure that Anton would leave it there, that this would be another almost.
Instead he reached out, fingers brushing Shotaro’s sleeve. Shotaro finally looked at him.
“I don’t want to walk away and pretend this was nothing,” Anton said. “Even if I'm scared.”
Shotaro let himself breathe. “We don’t have to,” he said, pulling Anton closer by arm.
They smiled — soft, relieved, real — and leaned in. The kiss was gentle, unhurried, like their walks. Like something that had been building quietly all along.
—
Fall came around again and things changed, but not in the way Anton expected. Shotaro didn’t disappear, he still texted good mornings. They still walked together when he visited campus, retracing old routes like stepping into memories.
Distance existed, but so did intention.
On a random Tuesday in early September Anton waited by the door at 9:03 a.m., heart light with anticipation. Shotaro arrived at 9:04.
Some walks didn’t end, they just learned new paths.