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It's pouring on the way to the train station.
“This weather sure sets the mood, doesn't it,” Niwazuma jokes, in another seemingly desperate attempt to lift the mood a little bit. Urakubo gives a half-hearted shrug in response, and stares at his moving feet. He understands the joke—he's referring to the usual formula for sad scenes in shitty soap operas that he's seen in passing while browsing channels on TV, where it’s always raining. He understands, but he doesn't find it funny.
Out of the corner of his eye, he can see his friend hanging his shoulders when he doesn't respond. He hears a soft sigh escape Niwazuma's lips; it's obvious that he's as uncomfortable with the situation as Urakubo is, and while he realizes that acting distant isn't going to make things easier, he can't bring himself to pretend he's alright with what's about to happen.
Urakubo knows that's selfish.
It's selfish of him to want Niwazuma to stay with him, to continue cycling with him, to not go somewhere where he's seven hours away from him. He knows, but it burns deep within him, tears him up inside. It's all-consuming.
And because he knows it's selfish, he holds back, becomes distant. He won't bother the one walking beside him with these pathetic feelings.
After all, this is what Niwazuma wants; this is what's going to make him happy. That should be enough for Urakubo—even if he doesn’t feel that way.
“Look.”
The sound of his friend's voice grabs his attention, forces Urakubo to look in his direction.
“I know this is difficult...”
Urakubo's eyebrows knit together in an annoyed frown, but he doesn't open his mouth to talk back, giving the other the opportunity to continue. He turns his face back to the asphalt as Niwazuma speaks to him. “...But it's not like we're never going to see eachother again, you know? We can text, and call... Hell, we can even video call with your new cellphone. And of course, I'll be coming over during breaks.”
He sounds optimistic, as though he thinks things are going to remain as they once were.
There are a lot of things wrong with that thought. Even if they are reunited in the future, things won't be the same for Urakubo anymore. He'll be alone again, just he and his bicycle and the little garden he's watched over since childhood; he won't have anything to ride for anymore. He was the one thing that kept him going despite all else, and now he’s leaving him behind.
His heart aches. He knows this feeling—he's had a taste of it before.
He doesn't want to think about that right now. He physically shakes his head to distract himself, but regardless, memories come drifting his way, carried along unceasingly by a metaphorical, rocky river.
Urakubo remembers his father telling him they weren't going to be able to visit the Pacific anymore. He remembers the sound of his own wailing, remembers what was later dubbed “throwing a tantrum”, and the feeling of his dad's arms wrapping around him and holding him tight, despite his struggling.
He remembers what came after that, too; the absence of the familiar sights and sounds of the ocean, the trips to the grocery store and loitering around there out of boredom... He remembers thoughts like “I'd rather die” and “what's the point” that had seeped into his mind frequently.
He remembers Niwazuma's outstretched hand.
Urakubo shakes his head again, wilder than before, because he especially doesn't want to think about that.
He's in luck, though. In his daydreaming, he hadn't noticed that they'd already reached their destination, so he doesn’t have time to slip back toward memory lane.
They're a little early. On purpose, he assumes, because his friend isn't the type to leave people hanging with half-assed goodbyes. He's not certain if he's happy about that or not. It’ll make letting go more difficult.
Finally, he breaks his stare away from the ground, and turns his head to look at the person beside him. He watches as Niwazuma sets down his bicycle against a pillar, securing it so it won't fall over the moment he removes his hand from the saddle, and turns to Urakubo, who isn't sure what to say.
Urakubo can tell that he doesn't know how to position himself either.
They stand there, in complete silence, and before he's able to protest, he's suddenly caught between Niwazuma's arms and his chest.
It feels warm, wet. His cheek clings to his coat, skin glued to the fabric by raindrops, but it's not uncomfortable. The grip Niwazuma has on him is so tight that he can barely move, and so Urakubo gives up the hope of keeping his distance, slowly wrapping his arms around his waist instead. Perhaps they don't need to say anything.
When he closes his eyes, different memories resurface, triggered by that familiar feeling of his friend holding him close. Of riding together, of finally feeling like he had something to live for again, of the way his cheeks had warmed up when he'd called him by his given name for the first time…
Memories of things that weren't great, as well.
Of Machimiya. Of getting banned from the Inter-High team they were supposed to be a part of. Of the fight against Sohoku on the third day. Of losing, and how awful he'd felt for being unable to give the person that saved him something big, something worthwhile, the only thing he'd ever asked for, in return. Memories of being held, and forgiven, despite his countless fuck-ups...
His train of thought is broken by a soft “Yuusaku”, and he hums in response. He can feel the grip on his neck and shoulders loosen up, and he pulls away just a little. “What is it?”
Niwazuma smiles, and nods his head to the left. “I gotta go soon.” he says, when Urakubo turns his head and sees the train closing in on the platform. His mouth forms a quiet “oh”, and his arms slide down immediately. Niwazuma, too, pulls back from the embrace, and gives him a firm pat on the shoulder.
“Again, it's only for a little while, and I can make time for you. I wouldn't want to miss you, either.”
Then why are you leaving? He doesn't voice his thought, pushes it away. It's irrelevant.
“You better keep your word,” he manages to mumble in a monotone voice, despite the fact that he can feel his throat tightening. He's met with a hearty laugh, one that Urakubo knows means he intends to do as he says. It's only a minor relief.
“Of course. I'll message you when I arrive safely. Take care, Yuusaku.”
His eyes follow Niwazuma as he turns and walks away, fixating on his back when he merges with the crowd of people pushing and pulling to board on time. They follow him as he makes his way through the narrow pathway to an unoccupied seat.
Urakubo involuntarily moves a little closer to where his friend is sitting, locks his gaze with his own for the last time, before the train slowly begins to move. Niwazuma waves, but he doesn't process it quickly enough to reciprocate the action in time for him to see.
He watches as the train accelerates, his heart pounding in his chest faster and faster the further away it gets. He stays, as though glued to the platform, until he can’t see it anymore.
Urakubo's heart aches. He knows this feeling—he's had a taste of it before.
His hand instinctively reaches for the back of his neck. He runs his fingers through his soaked hair, and tugs.