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"Guardatela."
"Hm... no."
"No?"
A shake of the head, replied to with a scoff.
"E perché?"
"Perché no."
"Kojiro. È bellissima. Sei cieco?"
The scoff was reciprocated and followed with another shake of his head. He lifted his beer bottle from the glass table, feeling the condensation running down his arm as he took a sip. "I'm not fuckin' blind, I just know she won't be worth my time. She looks... busy."
She was pretty. Tall, with sturdy, broad shoulders. Tan skin to match her brown hair. Her dress seemed to be handmade, short and falling in all the right places. She was ordering a magazine and a coffee, smiling brightly.
"And how can you tell?" The man's classmate was staring right at him, arms crossed, firm in his way of thinking. His accent in English was thick, nearly competing with Kojiro's. "You barely even looked her way."
"I know what I like." He leaned back against the chair, nodding politely at a couple of old ladies passing by them. The streets were unusually empty for this hour (though he supposed the heat must account for it, somehow). “And it’s not that.”
After a pause, the Italian glanced his way, curious. “What do you like?”
Familiar people. Long-time friends, the type no one can afford to lose.
Both men sat in silence then. Kojiro was thinking of a way to leave without causing a fuss. He usually loved spending time in this plaza, typically right after classes ended for the day, but there was something about the weather that made him itch to be inside. He could feel the sweat rolling down his back from underneath his shirt. If he were up to it, he’d ride down to the beach again, take a dip.
He’d been in Naples for about six months now. The glitz and glamour of being in a new country had worn off of Kojiro by now, but every now and then, a spark of amazement coursed through him as he walked by a new statue, or noticed a shop he hadn’t seen before. There was no problem with romanticizing his current reality, right? He had just recently turned 19 (a lonely thing, passed off as just another regular day for his own sake), and he sure as hell was making the most of all of his new liberties.
The women, the drinks. His own apartment, just like in the movies. He didn’t have to take the bus, his cooking institute was a short bike ride away. Mt. Vesuvius peeked through every now and then, as if to greet the foreigner. The sand was just as hot, the water just as nice, the food just as delicious (in its own way). And yet, he wasn’t used to anything-- at least, not fully. There were still mornings when he woke up, confused as to why the space surrounding him didn’t look like his bedroom, or as to why all the signs along the street weren’t in Japanese, or why no one seemed familiar to him.
He missed Okinawa. It was such a surreal feeling. There were days where he could blink and swear he was back home, even for just a few seconds, but it was always too uncanny. He missed his grandparents, he missed his skateboard (how could he have possibly left it?), he missed his friends.
He missed his best friend in the entire fucking world.
Kojiro had written him a few letters during his stay, of course. The last one, sent about three weeks ago, contained a series of developed pictures of every little thing he saw, along with some progress images of his growing hair. He knew his friend would probably make fun of the unruly, shaggy curls if they were in person, but it just made him all the more excited to let them grow longer.
‘ It’s almost as long as your own hair! ’, he’d written in the back, the kanji smearing a bit due to bad timing with his hands. Maybe Kaoru would reply to that, call him a clumsy oaf.
He missed him. International calling was too expensive for someone on a student’s budget, so he mainly resorted to letters and hoping he’d write back. It wasn’t the same, though. Just as he mixed his streets, he’d found himself mixing his people lately. Soft skin, thin build, long hair. What’s the difference?
Were his letters too obvious? Too bold? He didn’t think so. There were no confessions. He knew Kaoru was still feeling… that other heartbreak. Sometimes he felt guilty for leaving, too. Both boys knew this was the right path for him to take, he just hated that it happened so soon. It could be seen as intentional. He’d never do that, though. Kojiro cares too much.
He just wished to hear back.
“Are you abandoning me?”
Kojiro looked down at the other, laughing and shaking his head as he put his sunglasses on. He even left € 5 on the table, knowing in his heart of hearts it barely covered one of the beers he had. “Very funny. You don’t have class tomorrow, but some of us do. I’m going home.”
“You never answered my question!”
“Addio, amico. I hope your sister’s well.”
He didn’t bother listening to what was being shouted at him. Kojiro hopped on his bike, clearing his mind of letters and friends as he rode home, basking in the golden sunset. The rattling from the cobblestones was enough to keep him distracted, anyway.
As soon as his place came into view, he hopped off the bicycle, walking the rest of the way. He greeted his landlord and laughed at the old man’s comment about how he’ll “start charging him rent in meals, all of the stuff upstairs smells so good,” and continued the walk upstairs, making sure to take his ride with him since he lost the lock he usually carried. It was carelessly brought up the stairs of the small building, and he stopped, right on top, looking at his door in confusion.
There was a package. Well, that wasn’t the word. It seemed to be a basket, with something bulging out at the top, covered entirely in different sets of wrapping paper and packaging tape. His bike rested against the wall and he unlocked the door before picking up the strange, heavy thing and taking it inside.
His heart swelled the second he saw the note taped to the outside, recognizing the handwriting.
‘ Sorry for the delay. Happy birthday .’
Oh, he could cry.
Important matters first. The package was set on his coffee table and he undressed in his bathroom, rinsing off the sweat of the day before changing into a different shirt. The windows were open and the fans turned on, allowing the studio to cool down. His mind was racing, wondering what could possibly be inside the odd little gift. Kaoru always had a weird streak when it came to gifts, never quite knowing what was going to be a hit or not. With how badly he missed him, though, he knew he would probably love it regardless.
Finally, after checking on everything else, he slipped into the kitchen for just a second, then took a seat on his small couch. He ripped the package open with the assistance of a utility knife, and laughed in disbelief at what was in front of him.
His skateboard! With new wheels and everything! It seemed like Kaoru had repainted the deck, filling in the worn-out spots. The colors just barely matched, but the intention was clear. He’d also replaced the grip tape, making it all one solid layer again instead of the patchwork mess Kojiro had the last time he used it. He had half a mind to go outside right now and test it.
In the basket, there were an array of spices and snacks from back home, and a recipe book Kojiro was pretty sure he lost, and pictures! His grandparents in their garden, some of his high school friends raising a glass, presumably to him. Kaoru painting the board, pictures of the pier where they always met. His piercings were gone. His friend was working hard, it seemed, showing him the progress of his calligraphy and of this new… what was that? It seemed to be a robot. That smart son of a bitch.
He’d have to get a photo book. Or maybe a cork board to hang them, or shit, maybe even just wedge all of them along the edges of his mirror. He flipped through all of them again and again, feeling his heart and the emptiness in his chest expanding with each little detail. Home was so far away. He missed Okinawa.
Kojiro was elated. Elated and so, so sad that he couldn’t hug Kaoru, couldn’t thank him in person. He rummaged through the snacks and the rest of the knickknacks, pausing when seeing a little slip of paper at the bottom. A plane ticket to the island, with a sticky note at the top. It was another congratulations on his studies and his birthday, with a note at the bottom reminding him to pack his swimsuit and passport and to not be late to the airport.
It was like he could read his mind. His best friend, the one person he couldn’t afford to lose, spoiling him rotten.
One more week, and he’d be back home.