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Daylight lingers on the horizon and turns the surface of the river into shimmering stars. It leaves Haiji breathless. Stars like this you can’t find anywhere else in Tokyo, and he stares at them―sitting on top of the hill, legs stretched ahead, hands firm on the grass and the light on his skin as spotless as the sky―with unwavering dedication.
By his side, Fujioka stands still. He had been as silent as ever, walking to Haiji as if this was a thing they still did, that never stopped happening. Haiji had only spared him a glance. Fujioka had nodded. Now, Fujioka stares at the glimmering water with the kind of understanding that makes Haiji breathe easy and stop breathing, both at the same time.
Laughter grows on his chest.
Haiji closes his eyes. He listens to the sound of the river, the movement of the grass under his fingers, the soft shifting of clothes as Fujioka sits on the ground, the warm breeze of his breath, the way he asks “Are you happy, Kiyose?”
*
There’s a hill by the track field on school grounds.
Haiji sits on it after practice and on his dreams. Fujioka Kazuma is always there. Steady as a statue, a soft warm smile on his lips, and a shared future on the tip of his fingers as his touch lingers on the inside of Haiji’s wrist.
On this hill they had met. On this hill they had kissed. On this hill they would forever stand.
On this hill Haiji stares at the sky as it turns from blue to red to purple to black and then, he stares at the stars.
Back then, happiness wasn’t a thing he could reach―it was both ahead and all around, like the burning light of a meteor. Blinding. Happiness was the way Fujioka kept his pace as they run. Happiness was the sound of his feet on the ground. Happiness was the finish line.
Happiness was a dream.
In this dream Haiji had spread himself on the hill, or maybe the hill had spread under him. His heart had been hammering on his chest, his legs burned as if they were on fire and his breath was caught on his lungs.
In this dream, Fujioka had been the one laughing.
“I thought you could go on forever, Kiyose,” he said, his silhouette a shadow against the moon in the sky. Haiji stared at him, trying to catch up with him, feeling the whole Earth spin under his body.
“You… you are evil, Fujioka,” Haiji said, smiling, smiling in spite of himself. He gave a little pat to Fujioka’s knee and his hand lingered close to Fujioka’s own. “I’ll race you downwards next time.”
Fujioka nodded, in this dream, on the hill by the track field.
*
“Are you happy, Kiyose?” Fujioka asks now. As they sit, on the hill by the river, in Tokyo, after his knee, after Hakone. On this hill where Haiji made new dreams without him.
Haiji blinks at Fujioka.
Laughter finally bubbles up his throat until the sound echoes down the hill and shakes the surface of the river, turning stars into ripples, memories into dust. When he comes to himself, he stares at Fujioka. His smile is barely there, but Haiji can read it, like he always had, and the warmth in it blinds him. As usual, Fujioka waits patiently, lets Haiji set the pace. It’s overwhelming. It reminds him of home―the kind you find when you get lost.
Fujioka voice doesn’t carry any judgement. He doesn’t ask “Are you happy now?” He just wants to know, as he had known back then, on another hill similar to this.
“I think I am,” Haiji says, sincere. “I think I will be.”