Some winters begin without warning.
A breath in the cold, a sound softened by snow.
A moment you don't realize you'll keep forever, they say.
Memory drift like snowfall. Light, quiet, returning to the
places where warm Swans lived. And sometimes, in the hush of a
winter morning, you find yourself standing in an old
version of your own world, one where everything felt simpler,
softer, brighter than you remember.
This is the story of the days that stayed, the one that
settled gently on the heart and never melted away.
This is winter's last melody, the days that stayed.
Some memories don't feel like memories at first.
They feel like small, ordinary moments, until time turns them
into something brighter. Haroud remembered the hall that
day, the warmth of the heaters, the way snow drifted lazily
outside the tall windows, softening the walled beyond the
glass. He had just entered a building,
boots still dusted with white, not really sure which club to
join, only knowing that the winter made him want to try
something warm and quiet. That's when he saw him.
Wren stood behind the small wooden table with a handmade
sign. Music box.
Craft club. Beginners welcome.
He wasn't calling out to students like the other clubs.
He wasn't flashy or loud or even trying to recruit.
He was simply focused, turning a tiny wooden gear between his
fingers, examining it with a kind of gentle concentration
that made the whole noisy hall feel quieter.
Haru slowed down. Rent scarf was wrapped too high,
covering half his face, but his eyes were soft, steady, warm in
a way Harold didn't expect from a stranger.
Ren looked up, sensing someone had stopped in front of the
table. Just for a moment, their eyes
met. Harold opened his mouth to say
something, anything, but Ren spoke first, voice quiet and
shy. You can try making one.
The music boxes, I mean, if you want.
It wasn't a sales pitch, not even close.
It was an invitation, said the way Wren did everything at that
age. Something in Harrow melted a
little. He stepped closer, drawn in by
the warmth of the scene, the wooden pieces lined neatly in
trees, the soft ticking sound of a tiny metal spring.
Wren's breath fogging slightly as cold air from the hallway
drifted in. Harrow reach for a small wooden
box, Wren's finger brushed his by accident.
And just like that, the memory opened, bright and quiet,
exactly the way Haru chose to keep it.
Haru remember sitting down before he even decided to, Wren
had pulled the chair out for him.
Awkwardly, shyly, as if unsure whether it was the right thing
to do. Haru sat.
Wren excelled, relieved. Between them, the beginner music
box kid waited. A small wooden casing, 4 tiny
gears, a metal comb wrapped in paper.
Ren cleared his throat softly. You start with this one.
He said, picking up the first gear.
It's easy. I mean, maybe not too easy, but
you'll get it. His voice was gentle, almost
careful, the kind of tone people use when they want you to feel
welcome. Haru watched his hands move,
steady, precise, yet somehow nervous too.
He mirrored to motion, picking up the same piece.
Their elbows brushed. Neither pulled away.
Ren leaned a little closer to point at the slot on the wooden
frame. Here.
Haru fitted the gear into place. It clicked softly.
Ren's eyes brightened, not dramatically, just enough for
Haru to notice. Perfect.
Wren murmured, almost proud, and Haru, surprised by the warmth
blooming in his chest, smiled without thinking.
Wren noticed, looked away quickly, then back again, but
somehow that moment lingered. Wren handed him the second
piece, fingertips brushing his. Haru tightened the tiny screw.
Ren steadied the box so it wouldn't wobble.
Their hands worked in a quiet harmony.
The last gear slid neatly into place.
Ren let out a soft breath, a laugh almost too small to hear.
See, you're good at this. Harold shook his head.
You just explained it really well.
Ren's ears turned pink. He didn't deny it.
He didn't look away this time. For the first time that winter,
Harrow felt something shift, a gentle, warming talk inside him,
the beginning of a melody he would remember 4 years.
The snow outside thickened, blurring the world to white.
Inside, the music box took its shape, and so did something
else. Some people don't enter your
life slowly. They arrive, and before you know
it, your days begin to bend toward them without effort,
without fear, without thinking. Haru remembers in its flashes,
bright, warm, quiet pieces of a winter that felt kinder than the
ones before it when waiting for him outside the club room, hence
talked into his sleeves because he forgot gloves again.
The two of them walking across campus was the kind of closeness
that didn't need explanation, carrying the same pace, the same
quiet comfort. The way Ren would look at the
music box part was deep focus, and Haru would study him
instead, learning more from the curve of Ren's expression than
the lesson itself, and how Ren always seemed relieved when Haru
showed up again the next day, Ren offered Haru the warm can of
cocoa from the vending machine. It's cold, so here evenings
where they stayed too long in the club room, the heater
humming, the campus outside turning blue, was early night
cold and neither of them wanting to leave first.
It happened fast, faster than anything in Haru's life up to
that .1 winter, and when more suddenly the person he saw
everywhere. Looking back, Haru often felt
this was when they became one, just two boys who didn't know
how not to be around each other. The campus pass was nearly empty
by the time they left the club room.
Evening had turned the snow pale blue and the lamps glowed in a
small Hallows that trembled with the wind.
Harold walked a little slower than usual, not because he was
tired, but because Rand was next to him, close enough that their
sleeves brushed now and then. A patch of ice caught Harrow off
guard. He slipped just half a step, but
Wren reacted before either of them had time to think.
A hand at Harrow's wrist. However.
We gain balance. But Wren didn't let go right
away. His fingers stayed where they
were, not gripping, not pulling, just there.
Harrow's pulse flickered in his chest, surprised at how much a
touch could feel like being seen.
The snowfall thickened, each flake drifting slower, heavier,
as if the world was trying to give them a moment.
Wren's hand loosened, just slightly, as if about to
retreat. Harold didn't move.
His fingers shifted, only a small adjustment, barely
noticeable, but enough for Wren's hand to settle into his,
their palms aligning underneath. For a second, nothing happened.
And then everything dead. Ren's fingers curled softly
around his, Not a bold holed, a shy 1A beginning.
No one else was on the pass, No club members heading home, no
couples passing by. Just the two of them and the
sound of a snow touching ground. They were supposed to split at
the courtyard. That was the routine.
Haru toured the dorms, ran toward the station, but after
the handhold, neither of them loosened their fingers.
When the crossroad arrived, Harrow slowed down.
Ren matched him. Harrow turned left.
Ren followed. Neither said anything about it.
The snow started falling heavier, each flake tapping
softly on the hood of Ren's jacket.
Harrow glanced sideways. You're soaked, he said, voice
warm. Was concerned.
Do you want to come in just for a bit, to warm up?
Ren nodded too quickly, a little embarrassed, a little relieved.
Inside Haru's small dorm room, the air smell faintly of
laundry. An instant miso.
He turned on the small floor heater, it's orange coils
glowing softly. Ren sat across from him on the
floor, legs tucked in, steam rising from his breath.
They didn't talk much, they didn't need to.
A long moment passed where they just listened to the heater hum.
Ren's knee brushed Haru's once, then again, then they both
pretended not to move closer. Haru handed him a towel for his
hair. Ren used it clumsily.
Haru laughed softly. Ren looked up with pink cheeks,
towel half covering his face. Sorry.
Ren murmured. For what?
Ren shrugged. For everything, I guess.
Harrow shook his head. Something softened in the air.
The heater swarm spread across the room.
Ren's fingertips inched closer along the floor, stopping just
besides Harrow's hand without touching.
Harrow felt his breast catch, not out of fear, but because it
felt inevitable. You OK?
Harrow asked quietly. Wren nodded.
I just don't want to go back out yet.
Then don't. Harrow said, and he meant it.
Wren's shoulder relaxed for the first time since they came
inside. They ended up sitting shoulder
to shoulder, back against Harrow's narrow bed, sharing the
same blanket. The snow outside kept falling.
The night kept deepening, but need of them.
Move toward the door. Ren leaned just slightly, his
head almost touching Harus. Haru felt the warmth of him,
like something fragile. And you?
Is it OK if I stay a little longer?
Ren whispered. Haru didn't look at him, he
didn't need to. Yeah, He said, voice soft.
Stay. And Ren did.
The blanket shifted, their shoulders pressed closer.
Their hands, which had been resting separately, began
drifting again, slowly, naturally, until Ren's finger
found Harrows under the fold of the fabric.
Harrow felt something loosen in his chest, something that had
been held tightly for weeks without a knee.
They stayed like that, shoulders touching, hands hidden, but
held, their breasts brushing the same small pocket of air.
Harrow turned slightly toward him.
Ren mirrored. Tim was out thinking.
The room felt smaller. The space between them felt
careful, fragile, full. Ren looked at Harrow for just a
second too long, the kind of 2nd that says everything was out
sound. Harrow's breast caught Ren
notice, and that noticing brought him closer.
Not all at once, just a slow lean, like gravity was choosing
for them. Harrow didn't move away.
Their foreheads brush first. A quiet, accidental touch.
Ren inhaled shakily. Harrow exhale, like he'd been
waiting for this without knowing.
Ren leaned the rest of the way. Their lips met softly, barely
there. A feather light touch, a nervous
press. A first kiss that felt like
stepping into warm light after standing in the cold too long.
Ren made a tiny sound, and they pulled Harrow closer.
Without thinking, they parted by owning a breath.
Ren's lashes trembled. Harrow swallowed, heart unsteady
and full. Then Harrow leaned in again.
This time, the kiss landed with intention.
Ren's hand lifted from under the blanket and culped Harrow's
cheek, thumb brushing once. They didn't rush, they didn't
deepen. They simply held a moment, as if
it was something delicate and rare.
When they finally pulled apart, foreheads still touching, their
breasts mixed in the narrow space between them, Wren capped
his hand on Harrow's cheek. Harrow covered it with his own,
holding it there, their lips still warm from the kiss.
The blanket slipped from their shoulders.
They didn't notice. Wren shifted closer, his knees
brushing Harrows, his breast trembling with something new.
Not fear, not uncertainty, just unfamiliar weight of wanting.
Harrow lifted a hand, hesitating for only a heartbeat before
touching Ren's jaw, his fingers tracing along warm skin like he
was learning a shape he always wondered about.
Ren's eyes fluttered shut at the touch.
Harrow leaned in again, their lips meeting with a little more
certainty, a little more want. Still slow, still gentle, but
carrying a warmth that spread through the room like the quiet
glow of the heater. They stayed close like that for
a long time, kissing softly, carefully, with the hesitant
confidence of two people who had never done this before.
But they knew, instinctively, how to be gentle with each
other. Wren shifted and Harrow led him,
their bodies aligning in a way that felt natural, like they
were finding a place that had always been waiting.
Harrow's hands slid to Wren's shoulder.
Wren's fingers curled into Harrow's sweater.
Their breasts tangled. Their hearts caught.
They paused once, the tiniest moment of stillness where both
of them seemed to ask wordlessly.
Is this OK? Harrow nodded first, barely
noticeable, but enough. Wren answered by leaning in
again, his forehead resting against Harrows as their lips
met in a slow, trembling kiss that deepened by emotion alone.
The room felt warm, the world felt soft.
Their closeness unfolded piece by piece, gentle touches, the
kind of warms 2 first timers find when they are learning
someone they care for. They held each other like it was
the most natural thing they ever done.
Learning warms, learning closeness, learning each other
with a tenderness that didn't need to be explained.
Winter didn't change all at once.
It changed in small ways, quiet ways, The kind that never feel
like a beginning until you look back.
After the first night, Ren started staying over often.
At first it was once a week, then twice.
Then it became so natural that Hara found himself leaving a
spare toothbrush in the cup beside his own without thinking
about it. Ren laughed when he saw it, a
soft, embarrassed sound, but he never moved it.
Kisses becoming part of their routine, a greeting, a good
night. A pause between words, each one
soft and tentative at first, then deeper, then something that
need of them questioned anymore. Some nights their closeness
deepened in the shy, careful way of two first timers learning
warms with hands and breath rather than certainty.
A memory folded into light and quiet, the room dimming into
something tender and unspoken. Rumours drifted through the
campus like early snow, but neither boy cared.
They walked past whispers with fingers brushing with smiles
they couldn't hide was a closeness that didn't need
permission. Between classes and cold
mornings, they spent hours in the music box room.
The scent of wood shavings, A metallic click of tiny gears,
the soft glow of the lamp above their workspace.
Harold worked quietly on his project, a box carved with two
small trees inside, their branches leaning just close
enough to touch. He sanded them carefully, traced
the shape again and again until the wood felt like a memory
under his fingers. Ren sat beside him, tongue
between his teeth and concentration working on
something of his own. One late afternoon, with snow
drifting lazily outside the frosted window, Ren finished his
box. He held it out awkwardly.
Here. Harrow blinked at him,
surprised. Ren's box wasn't perfect, the
carving slightly uneven, the figures a little simple, but
inside 2 tiny shapes held hands. It's us.
Ren muttered, face going pink. Harrow's heart tightened in a
way he didn't have words for. He opened his mouth, felt the
weight of the box in his hands, felt Ren's hope like a soft
light beside him, and froze, his own project set unfinished
beside him. Not perfect enough, not ready,
not good enough to give back. He hesitated, just a second, but
it was enough. Ren's expression flickered,
barely there, a small crack in his smile before he pulled it
back together. I just wanted you to have it,
Hara. Forced to smile, Ren nodded, but
the moment had already shifted just a little, a faint shadow
where only worms had been. The snow outside thickened,
blurring the world to white. Wren moved closer again, and
Harrow leaned into him, letting the worms return.
The air felt clear somehow, sharp, bright, filled with the
quiet bus of something unspoken between them.
They walked together toward the courtyard.
The same way they had always did, shoulders brushing every
few steps, hands grazing. Wren looked tired from studying,
eyes soft, hair pushed back vastly under his beanie.
He kept stealing glances at Haru whenever he thought Haru was
unlocking. Haru noticed everything at the
courtyard. Their passes split Haru toward
his dorm, ran toward the station.
They stopped without needing to say why.
The snow fell lightly, dusting Ren's scarf and lashes.
See you tomorrow? Ren asked.
Haru nodded. Ren smiled, a small, relieved
curve off his lips, and turned to go.
Haru watched him take a few steps, just a few, Then Ren
paused. He turned back, eyes meeting
Haru's across the quiet courtyard.
It wasn't dramatic, it wasn't a grand gesture, just a soft look
that said everything they hadn't found words for yet.
Haru's hand tightened on the strap of his back.
Ren's fingers flexed at his side like he almost reached out
again. Neither of them moved closer,
neither stepped away. The snow kept falling between
two boys standing in a silence that didn't feel empty at all.
Wren gave a tiny nod. Haru answered with one of his
own. Then they walked their separate
routes, but both kept turning back, just once more, and then
once again, until the past curved and the other was out of
sight. Some winters stay with you in
the way footsteps linger on fresh snow, or how a single
moment can echo long after it's gone.
For Haru, this was the winter he remembered most.
The warmth, the closeness, the days that stayed.
And if you like to keep walking through Haru's memories with us,
there's more waiting. This was Winter's last melody,
Chapter 1. The days that stayed.
Thank you for listening to Winter's Last Melody.
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