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1.
The first time Wataru saw him was during his first week of junior high, the one morning the daily challengers actually targeted someone else on his way to campus. He was in a grungy alley, a cerulean blur that the exact same hue of Wataru's own blazer among a gray sea of delinquents. Five against one, and the one just happened to be a schoolmate? Wataru's course of action was clear.
Wataru's assistance was enough to turn the tide of battle, and in no time the blue team sent the grays hurting and packing back to their own territory. Proud of his handiwork, Wataru watched as the enemy retreated with a grin on his face.
It was as soon as he turned back around, that one of his hands was snatched up by the other boy's in something between a firm handshake and warm squeeze.
"Thanks, I can't tell you how glad I am that you helped with that." As he talked, Wataru finally got a good look at his schoolmate: frizzy hair streaked with yellow, and a smile as disarming as his eyes were piercing.
"Wataru Azuma," he offered, introducing himself.
"Azuma? Ryuuichirou Kiyama," the other boy answered, and he bowed. A deep bow, especially for a peer and particularly for one that was obviously some brand of delinquent.
It made Wataru a little nervous. "Really, just 'Wataru' is fine," he asserted, before turning and gesturing in the direction that the gang had fled in. "And those guys have been stalking around every day this week just to--"
"See ya Azuma!" came a shout, and Wataru spun back around just in time to see Kiyama start of down the block, waving back at him.
"'Wataru,'" he corrected again, but the other boy was nearly out of sight. Wataru is left with nothing to do but stand there for a minute, letting the amusing, but all too short interaction sink in.
A wide grin spread across his face, as Wataru Azuma decided then and there that he liked that kid.
2.
They bumped into each other quite frequently, usually before or after school, often in the form of bailing each other out of a fight they'd gotten mixed up in. As nice as Kiyama was, he sported a temper that rivaled Wataru's own. Fortunately, he also sported a left hook that covered most of his bases.
One day they greeted with a fist bump and grins when Kiyama started, "your mom's omelette rice is the best!"
"Isn't it?" Wataru beamed, and set a mental timer. They never spoke more than a few minutes, just enough time to swap jokes and semi-personal details like trading cards. It wasn't that long ago that “Mom Runs a Restaurant lvl.17” changed hands before that afternoon he caught them outside of Kamome.
The boy beside Kiyama nodded. Wataru couldn't be quite sure when it started, but suddenly it seemed that every where Kiyama went, he had a classmate that wasn't too fair behind.
Of slight stature, he had a nervous face and pasty complexion, as if he were going to keel over at any second. Definitely not the type you'd expect to see attached to an apparent delinquent. Something about that bugged Wataru, like an itch he couldn't scratch, but he never really had time to address it. Even then, it looked like Kiyama was about to dash off any second.
"You're off to...?" Wataru nearly blurted out, suddenly desperate to keep Kiyama there for as long as he could.
"The arcade. See ya, Azuma!"
"'Wataru!'"
But they were halfway down the block in a matter of seconds, already chattering away. Wataru nodded to himself as they turned a corner and slipped out of view. That's about right, he thought, a little disappointed, as he slipped back inside the doors of Kamome.
3.
It would be about two months before Wataru would see him again. Like every other student in the school, he knew exactly why, but he wasn’t allowed to say. The news reports had deemed him another bite of the alphabet soup of the story; everyone involved was a minor, and his classmate had been dubbed 'Child B' by the local press. The reports didn’t describe him much differently from Suspects 'C', 'D' and 'E', the ones he knew really sent 'A' six feet under. Wataru could barely look at his English homework without getting impatient and frustrated and feeling a little bit sickened.
Being left in the dark so long, Wataru nearly exploded when heard the newest of the rumors: he was finally coming back.
For the first time, it was easy to catch up to Kiyama.
His hair was all black, and his eyes seemed glued to his shoes as he trudged down the halls like he had weights chained to his ankles. There was no chipper "hey, Azuma!" for Wataru to correct, and worst of all was that empty space beside Kiyama, where Wataru had gotten so used to him being...
It just wasn't right. Wataru ached to fix it, fix it all. All he had to do was drag Kiyama outside, and they'd find a fight to win, laugh, then grab a bite at his mom's. Afterward they'd find a street to race down, like he always did, and maybe go to the arcade where they joke around and Kiyama would call him his first name, like used to do with him and--
"Don't touch me!"
Without even noticing, Wataru had up walked to the other boy and grabbed for Kiyama, who just stared back at like he was...
...like he was scared.
With only that, Kiyama turned around and started off down the hall again. A group of boys stumbled over themselves to let Kiyama through. Wataru didn't notice them. He only saw the way his friend's hands were trembling, even as he rushed down the corridor. He looked down at his own hands, wondering what he'd done wrong and sputtering every swear word he knew.
Wataru wouldn't speak to him again during their middle school attendance.
4.
"I, uh, I miss--" Wataru stuttered, as he made his way up the Karasumori stairwell. He couldn't just come out and say it like that, he thought, as he ascended another flight.
Kiyama had mellowed out a great deal from the high of the weeks when they'd first met, and that low he'd hit right after the Incident. But he stayed predictable as ever. Instead of dashing here and there, he lay low wherever he could seek refuge from other people, and his favorite spot was the rooftop: Wataru's destination.
Sure enough: there he was!
With a smirk, Wataru hopped over to the abandoned desk where the other boy was reading, and slapped a hand on Kiyama.
"Azuma," Kiyama started.
"U-uh, yeah?"
"Don't touch me," he replied promptly, sharply.
It was such an abrasive response that it almost unnerved Wataru, but he was not to be deterred. Keeping an eye on their contact, he leans over the other boy's shoulder as far as he can, pretending that he was interested in the comic Kiyama is browsing.
"Since we're starting high school and all," he nearly shouted, and Kiyama immediately flinched away from the boy near his ear. Still, Wataru was so hopeful and giddy he didn't think once about bringing his tone. "I was thinking we could turn over a new page."
"'Leaf,'" Kiyama corrects. Wataru's grin ceased to falter, though he did notice how the lines in Kiyama's face deepen into a harsher scowl.
"Kiyama..." desperate for something, anything. And then he blurted out, "they've reached the snake guy, right?"
"Yeah."
"And whatshisface learned the lightning technique already? Or is he still training?"
"Wataru," Kiyama finally sighed, exasperated. It wasn't until he turned to see the dumbstruck look of the boy behind him that he realized he'd slipped, and he slumped down in his chair.
Wataru only grinned.
Kiyama let out a defeated-sounding sigh that hurt Wataru a lot to hear. But Wataru was a little happy when the only thing he does is sigh, before turning back around and mumbling about the last few months of the manga's events.
The knowledge that Kiyama was, in that moment, so resentful of him weighed so heavily on him he felt sick, but he wouldn't quit. Not with the unasked company, and not with the pushing of boundaries. But Wataru would take what he could get.
5.
He saw her first.
She was a petite woman. In her hand she held a shopping bag, Wataru could only see the withered flowers and tips of sticks of incense poking over the top. She didn't notice him, but it really didn't matter. Wataru was fine with waiting longer, as long has he had to.
He didn't know how much time had past when Kiyama finally walked out of the cemetery, but his steps were unsteady and eyes distant like he'd just stepped off a battlefield. Wataru rushed up to him, arms wide, ready to catch him. But Kiyama stopped fast before he gets there, posture shaky but staying upright.
Wataru searched for something to say: How did it go? What did she say? How do you feel? But his lips wouldn't move, and when he looked to Kiyama's face, he knew it was for the best.
But Wataru knew he had to do something, so he grabs his friend and pulls him close.
Instead of the sharp intake of air that always preceded his sharper words, he heard a soft, wet, disgusting thing. Wataru responded by squeezing him closer, until he could feel the other boy's heart beat against his chest because he needed to hold him down somehow. It was racing so fast it just might burst out and fly off somewhere. If Wataru let him go this time, he might just fly away and never come back.
So he just stood there, holding his sobbing friend and praying that he stayed there.
It took a long time for anything to happen after that, but it was not until Kiyama's heart had slowed down to match his own did the other boy finally move, and Wataru's own heart sunk with the knowledge that he couldn't hold him any tighter, what if he still got away--
And it took Wataru all he has not to start crying himself when Kiyama finally returned the hug, wrapping his arms around Wataru so tightly that both could barely breathe.
X.
Wataru had absolutely no idea what to expect when his mother roused him at nearly midnight to tell him that one of his friends was waiting downstairs. So he slipped on some shoes and wavered between Yuuta and Ryousuke in his head, wondering what new problem had come up or how to send them home A-SAP so he could catch some precious Zs.
So Kiyama must have recognized the surprise on his face when he got to the bottom of the stairs.
The redhead blinked, his mouth hanging open long enough that bugs could have nested and bred in there.
"Payback," finally went the boy at the table.
Again, Wataru frowned. Kiyama looked to him quizzically, before his face fell into a frown of its own.
"No. 'Paying you back'. Repaying you."
"Oh, I get it!" Wataru shouted, pointing to Kiyama. Laughing like he'd heard a good joke, he continued. "I thought I'm supposed to be the shit one with words."
Kiyama looked crestfallen. As impervious as he seemed, he was never one to take the teasing as well as Wataru was. So they both sat there, silent until Kiyama suggested in a voice barely above a whisper, "let's... take a walk?"
It's barely ten minutes later that the two are walking along the sand, and Wataru is doing his best to disarm his friend's worry.
"Look, it's really okay," he goes, before chewing on his lip. "It's not like I really knew the man or anything. It was all just... really quick? Maybe, y'know, I'll be real down after I get a chance to process all this. Maybe it'll take some time."
And some time passes as they walk, before Kiyama's voice comes suddenly, urgently: "You're really okay?"
Wataru is so overwhelmed, he doesn't know how to answer. In fact, he gets lost in his thoughts: This is his darkest moment, and my greatest weakness! The mere site of such a hunk of a man in pain makes me want to comfort him right now!
"You do know that you're talking out loud right?" Kiyama's voice broke Wataru's thoughts, and suddenly the latter's cheeks were burning as red as his bed-mussed locks. It was a sight that made a sly smile cross Kiyama's face.
And then he kissed him.
It was quick, but a peck on the lips, not the passionate tongue-tangos of chick flicks or adult videos. But Kiyama kissed him, the first time years that he'd initiated contact.
"That good enough?" he grumbled as he pulled away. "It had better be, since you apparently know I'm not good at this."
Wataru cleared his throat, trying to will down the heat had rushed to his face. "For now. I might need some more comforting later."
"Don't push it."
"It's what I do."
To that, Kiyama pushed Wataru so hard he nearly toppled into the sand. Wataru returned the gesture, succeeding in knocking the other boy over. When they both righted themselves again, they were so close their shoulders were touching, but neither says a word about it.
And they sit like that, watching over the sea until the sky lights up, and the seagulls start their morning calls.