⸻

Nobita never thought much about the way Dekisugi smiled.

Not until that rainy Thursday afternoon in the school library.

It had started like every other day. He was late to school, scolded by Sensei, and Doraemon had refused to help with a last-minute gadget this time—“You need to grow up someday, Nobita.”

He sighed and wandered into the library, not really to read, but to sleep. The rain outside made everything feel slow and still. He dragged a chair to the far corner… only to find Dekisugi already there, lost in a book.

“Oh—sorry. Didn’t see you.”

Dekisugi looked up, a little startled. Then he smiled, that gentle, composed smile Nobita was used to seeing from afar. “No problem. You can sit here if you want. It’s quiet.”

Nobita hesitated. He usually avoided being around Dekisugi. Not because he disliked him, but because Dekisugi was everything he wasn’t—smart, athletic, respected… someone Shizuka liked.

He sat down anyway.

Minutes passed. The silence wasn’t awkward—it was… calm.

Then Dekisugi spoke without looking up. “You know, you’re better than you think.”

“Huh?”

Dekisugi turned a page. “In class… during group activities. You always think you’re messing up, but sometimes you have the most creative answers. You just get nervous.”

Nobita blinked. “You noticed that?”

“Of course. I notice a lot of things.”

A quiet hum filled the air as the rain tapped gently against the windows.

“Like what?” Nobita asked, heart oddly thumping.

Dekisugi finally looked at him directly. “Like how you look out the window during math, but your eyes don’t follow anything. Like you’re somewhere else.”

“Maybe I am,” Nobita said softly.

Dekisugi’s voice dropped too. “Where do you go, Nobita?”

The question caught him off guard. “I… I don’t know. Somewhere I’m not a failure. Somewhere I don’t ruin everything I touch.”

Dekisugi closed his book, something unreadable in his eyes. “You’re not a failure.”

Nobita scoffed, half-laughing. “You’re only saying that to be nice.”

“I’m saying it because it’s true.”

Another silence. This time, charged. Real. Dekisugi leaned forward just slightly, voice lower now.

“I wish you’d see yourself the way I see you.”

Nobita’s throat dried. “How… do you see me?”

Dekisugi hesitated. Then: “Brave. Kind. Honest. You care more than anyone else I know. You feel deeply. You try—even when everything’s stacked against you.”

Nobita’s eyes widened. He didn’t speak.

“And,” Dekisugi added, “You never stop hoping. Even when you say you have.”

The moment stretched between them like the space between stars—untouchable, infinite, and full of aching possibility.

“Dekisugi…” Nobita whispered, “Why are you telling me all this now?”

Dekisugi smiled again. This time, it wasn’t perfect. It trembled. “Because it’s our last year. Because you’ve always looked at me like I was on a pedestal, and I hate it. I just wanted you to know—I’ve been looking at you, too.”

Something in Nobita cracked open. For once, he didn’t feel small.

He didn’t feel like he was less.

He felt… seen.

The rain stopped.

⸻

[End]

⸻

After that day in the library, something shifted between them. Not drastically. No declarations. No public scenes.

Just… quiet changes.

Dekisugi started waiting for Nobita outside class. Sometimes, they walked together to the station. Other times, they’d sit in the park, not speaking much—just being. Nobita didn’t know what this was, but it felt safe.

One evening, as the sun dipped behind the Tokyo skyline, Nobita asked, “Do you think we’ll still know each other in ten years?”

Dekisugi looked at him, surprised. “Of course. Why wouldn’t we?”

Nobita stared at his shoes. “I don’t know. Maybe you’ll be a famous scientist. I’ll probably still be messing up job interviews.”

Dekisugi leaned back on the bench, hands behind his head. “Maybe. But maybe you’ll be writing children’s books. Or designing gadgets that Doraemon hasn’t even thought of.”

Nobita laughed. “Now you’re just teasing.”

“I’m serious.” Dekisugi turned his head, expression open. “You have imagination, Nobita. That’s something the rest of us lack.”

Nobita’s chest warmed at the compliment. It didn’t feel like pity. Dekisugi meant it.

⸻

The Cultural Festival

Their class was preparing a haunted house. Nobita, surprisingly, volunteered to help with props. He wasn’t good at cutting or gluing, but he stayed late, trying to do something useful.

Dekisugi stayed late too—painting signs, organizing costumes, laughing softly when Nobita got stuck in fake cobwebs.

At one point, they found themselves alone in the darkened classroom, fairy lights casting soft glows on the walls.

“You didn’t have to wait with me,” Nobita murmured, brushing glitter off his fingers.

“I wanted to,” Dekisugi replied, gently. “I like being around you.”

Nobita swallowed hard. “You… really mean that?”

Dekisugi stepped closer. Not too close. Just enough to be clear. “You don’t have to be perfect for people to care about you.”

Nobita didn’t know how to respond. His heart was loud. He wasn’t used to being wanted like this—quietly, honestly, without expectations.

So he just whispered, “Thank you.”

Dekisugi gave a small, shy smile. “Always.”

⸻

Winter Came

It was nearing graduation. Doraemon was preparing to return to the future soon. The thought made Nobita ache. He couldn’t imagine life without his best friend—or without the safety net.

One snowy evening, Dekisugi found Nobita alone by the school gates, watching the snowflakes fall.

“You okay?” Dekisugi asked, wrapping his scarf a little tighter.

“I’m scared,” Nobita admitted. “Of growing up. Of failing. Of losing people.”

Dekisugi stood beside him. “Even if you lose some people, some stay. I’m not going anywhere.”

Nobita looked up, snowflakes catching in his eyelashes. “Promise?”

Dekisugi nodded. “Promise.”

⸻

Graduation Day

The ceremony was emotional for everyone. Nobita cried, obviously. Dekisugi didn’t—but his voice trembled when he gave the class speech.

Afterwards, as the students scattered with cameras and yearbooks, Dekisugi pulled Nobita aside behind the school building—their old hideaway from exams and stress.

“I have something for you,” he said, pulling out a small, worn book. The Little Prince.

“You gave me this already,” Nobita said, puzzled.

Dekisugi shook his head. “Open it.”

Inside was a handwritten note:

“To Nobita—

You taught me that not everything has to be logical. That emotions are messy, and that’s okay. I used to think I had all the answers, but being your friend showed me there’s more to life than being right. I don’t know where life will take us—but I want to keep finding out, with you.”

Nobita stared at the note, heart in his throat. He looked up.

Dekisugi met his eyes. “I like you, Nobita. More than a friend.”

Nobita stepped forward, voice shaking. “I think I’ve liked you for a while. I just didn’t think I deserved to.”

Dekisugi took his hand, gently. “You do.”

And there, under the sakura trees, they shared their first kiss—soft, slow, and full of all the things they had never said until now.

⸻

[To Be Continued…?]

⸻

Nobita had always feared goodbyes.

Especially ones that came with no promises of return.

The days after graduation passed in a strange, golden blur. The kind where everything felt like it could slip away if he blinked too hard.

Doraemon was quieter lately. He still smiled, still shared gadgets, still played along with Nobita’s jokes—but something hung in the air between them. A countdown Nobita didn’t want to see.

⸻

“You’ve grown,” Doraemon said one evening, as they watched the stars from the roof.

Nobita leaned on his elbows. “I don’t feel like I have.”

“You have. You don’t need me anymore.”

“I still want you here,” Nobita replied, voice cracking. “Isn’t that enough?”

Doraemon reached over, gently patting his back. “You’re not alone. And you won’t be. I think… you’ve already found someone who understands you.”

Nobita didn’t reply. He didn’t need to.

Doraemon smiled, eyes full of something bittersweet. “Dekisugi, right?”

⸻

A Quiet Night With Dekisugi

They didn’t go anywhere fancy. Just Dekisugi’s room, both of them lying on the floor, a record playing faintly. Nobita had brought snacks, and Dekisugi was reading aloud from an article on philosophy—because he knew Nobita found his voice calming.

“You’ve been… distant,” Dekisugi said after a while.

Nobita closed his eyes. “I’m scared again.”

Dekisugi shifted closer. “Of what?”

“That everything good in my life is going to leave.”

Dekisugi didn’t answer right away. Then he reached for Nobita’s hand. “You’re allowed to be scared. But I’m still here. And I’ll keep being here.”

Nobita turned to face him, eyes glossy. “Even when I mess up?”

Dekisugi nodded. “Especially then.”

⸻

Doraemon’s Departure

The day arrived with no fanfare. Just a quiet morning. A quiet room. A quiet hug.

“I’m proud of you, Nobita,” Doraemon said, eyes shining. “Really, truly proud.”

“I don’t know how to live without you,” Nobita whispered.

“You won’t have to. I’m a part of your story now. But it’s your turn to write the rest.”

As Doraemon stepped into the time portal, Nobita didn’t cry. Not yet.

He just stood there, feeling the weight of growing up crash gently around him.

⸻

Later That Night

Dekisugi found him at the park, sitting on the swing set, knees pulled to his chest.

Nobita didn’t speak. Dekisugi didn’t push.

Instead, he sat beside him and quietly said, “Want me to stay the night?”

Nobita nodded.

At home, they curled up under the covers, fully clothed, just holding each other. Nobita finally cried—quiet, broken sobs—and Dekisugi held him through all of it.

In the dark, Dekisugi whispered, “You’re not alone. I’ve got you.”

⸻

College Begins

They didn’t go to the same college, but they stayed in the same city. Some days were harder. They were both busy. But they made time—for movie nights, ramen dinners, random texts about memories and feelings.

Their relationship wasn’t perfect. They argued sometimes. Nobita had bouts of self-doubt. Dekisugi struggled to express his emotions.

But they chose each other, again and again.

Every time.

⸻

One Year Later

It was Nobita’s birthday. Dekisugi took him to a quiet hilltop overlooking the city lights. They’d gone there as kids. This time, they were older, steadier.

Dekisugi pulled out a small, handmade journal. “For you. I’ve been writing in it since last summer.”

Nobita opened it. Inside were pages and pages of letters. Letters Dekisugi had written to him. Some short. Some long. Some when he was angry. Others when he missed him.

At the end was a simple line:

“There are a thousand versions of you in my memories. I’ve loved every single one.”

Nobita looked up, tears streaming down his face.

Dekisugi leaned in, brushing them away.

And under the stars, their lips met again—this time not for the first time, but as a promise:

They were building something real.

⸻

[To Be Continued?]