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He tickles at the edges of Kazuma’s memory like the residual imprint of some long-forgotten ghost.
Though Kazuma can’t put his finger on exactly what it is, really—the crooked, toothy smile, maybe; or the fiery, star-bright eyes; or the smart mouth running at a thousand miles a minute—and it’s not like he knows how to even start to understand the reasons why the universe decided to drop this noisy, over-eager boy straight into his lap after having suffered such a humiliating defeat at his hands just the week before, but he can’t be totally sure that it’s a coincidence.
‘What,’ Ryuunosuke says, with a curl to the corner of his frown. ‘Is there something on my face?’
Kazuma’s teeth sink into his tongue for a moment, but then he shakes his head. Shakes those stray, unruly thoughts all the way off his shoulders.
‘It’s nothing.’ He shrugs, and briefly rolls his lips inward to wet them. ‘Just thought we might’ve actually met somewhere before, that’s all.’
‘You mean when I came over to say hello to you while you were practically on your knees after the speech competition last week?’
Kazuma heaves out a long, despairing sigh at that. In all honesty, he probably should’ve guessed that this guy would end up having an unexpectedly cheeky side to him, too.
‘… I’m just kidding,’ Ryuunosuke laughs, good-natured and merry and radiant as the sun. ‘Come on, Kazuma Asougi. Let’s head in. I have to say, I’m kind of surprised to see that you’re taking this class as well.’
‘Now I’m starting to regret it.’
‘I’m not that bad.’ A slender pinkie finger reaches out, coiling over and hooking itself onto Kazuma’s own; the touch is blood-hot, as if Ryuunosuke has always run warm by nature, and Kazuma can’t help jolting a little at the sudden fever licking at the nerve endings beneath his skin. ‘Hey, we’ll both get better at word games and tongue-twisters and stuff if we go through them together, I reckon. If I promise you it’ll be fun, will you promise you’ll give me a chance?’
Ryuunosuke’s grin burns like summer, hooking firmly into the notches between Kazuma’s bones, freckling his throat with pinpricks of sweat.
At any rate, he thinks, it’s hard to say no to that.
Unsurprisingly, it’s too late to discreetly look away once Ryuunosuke’s swiveled around to face him; caught red-handed, Kazuma swallows, heat prickling unbidden in the hollow of his throat.
‘Why do you keep staring at me,’ Ryuunosuke asks, lax lips pursed with curiosity. No protest, no discomfort; just plain interest, clear as day, and Kazuma can’t be more gratefully relieved for it.
‘It’s … sorry. Even now, I still—can’t shake the feeling,’ Kazuma admits, straightening his shoulders, hardening his jaw. No point in swerving the truth, after all. ‘You really don’t remember us meeting at any point before the speech contest?’
Ryuunosuke hums in response, leveling him with a blatantly attentive gaze accompanied by an intrigued sideways head-tilt, and suddenly every layer of Kazuma’s skin is peeling back to expose him down to every vein and every bone, vulnerable and bare. His toes curl restlessly inside his shoes.
‘… Not that I can recall. As I’ve told you several times already.’ Ryuunosuke reaches into the picnic basket between them, then, and unceremoniously extracts a fluffy rice ball. ‘But I guess I wouldn’t rule out the possibility, given how persistent you’ve been about the whole thing.’
‘It’s not like I’m deliberately trying to be a nuisance about it. It’s just bothering me.’
‘I know.’ Ryuunosuke’s reassuring grin is bright, sun-kissed. ‘Hey, have you considered that maybe my face seems familiar to you because we’ve literally been friends for a couple of months now?’
‘Ha-ha,’ Kazuma monotones in reply, thoroughly unimpressed.
If anything, that only serves to swell Ryuunosuke’s toothy smile even wider, and for whatever reason, the steady thrum of Kazuma’s pulse oddly skips a beat at the sight. ‘You’ve been so consistently in-your-face about the future and your defense attorney goals and dreams and all that stuff. It’s just interesting to see you stuck in the past over something, for a change.’
‘You could take a page out of my book, you know. I mean with the goals and dreams stuff, obviously, not the being stuck thing,’ Kazuma points out, meaningfully pushing up a single eyebrow. ‘Do you have any idea where you’re going to go after your studies yet, or do you still have no real direction right now?’
The resulting whine that drags through Ryuunosuke’s teeth at that sentiment is instant, and more than enough of an answer to Kazuma’s question in itself. Kazuma’s lungs spill out a full-chested sigh, and he moves to fetch a rice ball from the picnic basket as well.
‘Tell you what,’ he says, lifting it up to nibble delicately at its edges. ‘If you still have no particular idea what you’re doing by the time I’m practicing law, will you keep me company in court? Just once, at least. I’ll let you stand at the bench with me. You know, to see how you might feel about it.’
It’s not until he stretches out his little finger—an explicit offer and vow—that Ryuunosuke’s expression shifts and molds into a serious look.
‘… Wait. You’re not messing around.’
‘Why would I be? Anyone can be a lawyer if they put their mind to it,’ Kazuma insists, straightforward and blunt. ‘And I’ve always had some kind of feeling about you.’
For the length of a few quiet breaths, Ryuunosuke’s face stays stone-blank, unreadable. But a wisp of laughter eventually chimes out from his throat, warm as summer and radiant as bells, and then he’s leaning over to twine their pinkie fingers together like there’d never been any pause or shred of hesitation in their conversation at all.
‘Boy, you sure have a lot of faith in me. How can I possibly refuse?’ he says, his dark irises twinkling like starlight. ‘Fine. Just once.’
‘At least,’ Kazuma reiterates, and the fact that the corners of his own mouth are twitching upward beyond his control is definitely all Ryuunosuke’s fault, as far as he’s concerned.
Not that Ryuunosuke ever seems to mind.
‘—Honestly,’ Kazuma says flatly, sloping himself to press his upper spine against the back panel of the wardrobe, ‘I think you’re worrying too much.’
Beside him, Ryuunosuke’s mouth bends into an impressive pout, slack and creased around the edges.
‘Which one of us is the registered defense attorney, and which one of us is currently stashed into the cabin’s wardrobe like some kind of secret mistress?’
‘It’ll be fine. What’ll they do if I take you to court with me anyway—arrest us? Come on, I meant it when I said I’d like you to get into law with me.’ A wisp of amusement curves Kazuma’s parted lips into a half-smirk, then, and he tilts his head sideways in interest. ‘… Secret mistress, huh?’
Ryuunosuke splutters, flushing beet-red, as honest and stupid as he’s been since the day they’d met; Kazuma can’t say for certain that the sudden stirring in the pit of his own belly has anything to do with the steady rocking of the timber beneath their feet, or the churning waves beyond the porthole windows, but it’s an oddly welcome feeling.
‘Well. Joining my secret mistress in his little nook sure has been comfy, but it’s probably about time you got to stretch your legs a bit.’ With that, he swivels his body at the hip and extends a lean pinkie finger, throwing Ryuunosuke a pointed look. ‘Anyway, everything’s going to work out fine. You can trust me on that, okay?’
For a moment, all Ryuunosuke can offer in reply is a leisurely eyeroll. But then he reaches out to link his little finger to Kazuma’s in an unmistakable promise—a strangely nostalgic sensation—and Kazuma unfolds his legs and pushes himself to his feet while tugging Ryuunosuke along with him, up and out of the open wardrobe, his mouth quirked into an elated grin.
Because he knows without any doubt that soon enough, they’ll disembark together toward the start of their future. Soon enough, they’ll be tearing through the streets of London with no one to stop them. Soon enough, they’ll be working toward their happy ending, side-by-side.
Right?
He drifts into slumber with the salty fragrance of the sea swirling in his lungs, the exhaustion of the day’s hard work on the docks weighing down his bones, and the phantom imprint of a snug little finger wrapped around his own.
And though he can’t recall his own name, or his own past, or anything else, it’s at least weirdly comforting to still have that.
‘Hey,’ a soft but vibrant voice calls out. ‘Are you okay?’
Just like that, he’s no longer swathed in his heavy cloak or shielded behind his pale mask; no longer stable on his feet or sound in his bearings; no longer as tall or sturdy he remembers. In fact, he’s strangely small, all of a sudden. Short limbs, stubby fingers, tiny hands and feet.
And he’s soaked all over, sprawled on his elbows and knees across a shallow pond with some kind of dull soreness pulsing across every bone and tendon and muscle in his body. As far as he can tell, he must’ve tripped and fallen.
‘… Are you hurt? Come on, grab my hand.’
It’s then that he realizes that the one who’s talking to him is a little boy, no bigger than himself. Semi-spiky black hair, round face, and large, kind eyes glimmering with obvious concern.
He doesn’t know what’s going on. He doesn’t know where he is, or why he’s here, or how he’s somehow magically turned back into a child in the midst of it all. He doesn’t know how he ended up in these gardens to begin with. He doesn’t know what any of this is about.
All he knows is that now that the other boy’s here, he’s safe. He’ll be alright.
‘… Okay,’ his own voice scratches out, minuscule and tender and quiet.
He reaches out; clasps the boy’s hand tight—a blood-warm touch against his own damp, shivering fingers. The boy squeezes reassuringly, half-open mouth unfurling and blooming into a relieved smile.
Then the boy pulls with all his might, and the Masked Apprentice is tugged right out of the muddy water. Right out of restless, uneasy sleep. Right out of a strange, indecipherable dream, and the oddly comforting heat and solace that’d unexpectedly come with it.
Right back into the pitch-dark room and lonely silence he’d left behind only minutes before.
‘… You mean like, a slumber party?’
It’s absurd and beyond even his own understanding, really, why his instant reflex is to scramble away and dive back around the corner out of sight as though he’s got something to hide. After all, he has every reason to be present at the Old Bailey for any kind of business—and judging from what he’s previously seen of the two girls currently walking by, so do they.
‘Well, it’d be like an ongoing slumber party, depending on how long you two decide to stay in the country,’ the girl in the pale traditional garb muses, her gentle chuckle light and feathery. ‘But yes, Iris, I’d insist you stay with us. And you can share my room if you’d want to! I’m sure my father wouldn’t mind.’
The little pink-haired girl’s eyes circle out, wide and sparkling. ‘Even if we end up talking all night?’
‘Well, he might mind us talking all night. But then again … if you were staying in my room, he wouldn’t know if we were doing that, would he?’
Delicate, joyous laughter fills the hollow corridor, pricking at every inch of the Masked Apprentice’s chest. ‘Susie! That’s the most rebellious thing I’ve ever heard you say!’
Something about it is strangely familiar, in all honesty. This kind of easy friendship that feels like it might have shape and exist in some way that he has no idea how to actually describe, that feels like it might mold perfectly into the yawning chasm still gaping open in his heart as if it’s always belonged there. As if someone’s always belonged there.
Which is nothing more than an asinine thought, he knows, because at the end of the day, he has no friends.
And nothing can change that cold, hard fact.
‘… I think it’s the most rebellious thing I’ve ever heard me say, too. Can’t help it, it’s pretty exciting.’ Another mild giggle, and then the black-haired girl’s suddenly sticking out her little finger as if to barter a deal. ‘So promise me you guys will come to Japan soon, okay? I swear I’ll do everything I can to help make it the best vacation ever.’
‘No need to tell me twice! I’m there.’
The other girl ambles forward, eagerly clasping the offered pinkie finger with her own, and out of nowhere, the sight suddenly itches in some place that the Masked Apprentice has no clue how to even reach. Creeping, tingling, tickling persistently somewhere at the far corners of his brain like irritating peach skin between his teeth.
No part of it makes sense; at the end of the day, he doesn’t understand or know anything about this.
And maybe he doesn’t want to know, either.
In a single breath, he’s gone, swiveling on his heel and slipping straight out of there like a faded wisp of smoke.
Ah … hey, are you awake?
Without warning, he suddenly breaks the surface of every perplexing dream he can barely remember having—straight up and out of yet another night of cold, restless sleep.
The bizarre, translucent image of a little boy’s concerned face dissipates from behind his slowly opening eyelids; by the time his bleary gaze refocuses, it’s greeted by an equally concerned expression worn by the black-haired, wound-up defense attorney he’d only just recently met.
He blinks the stray beads of moisture out of his lashes and stares, drowsy and confused.
‘Sorry,’ the young man whispers, somewhat sheepish and flustered. ‘I didn’t mean to wake you up. I … don’t even know why I’m here. I couldn’t sleep, and the next thing I knew, I was on the street waving down a carriage—’
All in all, Prosecutor Van Zieks’ office has always been extravagantly vast, sternly chilly, stonily quiet. So maybe it shouldn’t be odd that the defense attorney’s presence in it feels furnace-hot and beacon-bright, scorching every stitch and seam holding the splintered fragments of the Masked Apprentice’s brittle mind together right now.
But he knows he can’t let himself grow intrigued by it, either way.
‘—Anyway, you’re … who I think you are, aren’t you.’
For someone whose tongue knows its way around words so expertly, you sure aren’t being very clear about what you’re saying, the Masked Apprentice almost tells him—and doesn’t. Because in all honesty, he has no real idea where the part about being well-spoken had even come from, since it isn’t something that he’s grown familiar enough with the defense attorney to actually know.
He squirms where he’s seated on the floor, propped up against the wall. His throat suddenly tightens; his next inhale trips and stumbles like he’s suffocating.
‘God, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—’ the defense attorney’s face crumples, then, as if his heart’s just cracked into a thousand pieces. As if the Masked Apprentice means something to him, and that’s maybe the strangest thing yet. ‘—Everything will be just fine, yeah? If I’m right about you, then I promise you’ll eventually remember. You’ll remember yourself. You’ll remember everything. You’ll remember me. Okay?’
Out of the blue, he reaches out and hooks their little fingers together; caught off-guard, the Masked Apprentice flinches, yanking his fist back so quickly in reflex that he clumsily thumps his own chest by accident with it.
And that’s all it takes for an abrupt flash of familiarity to strike all the way up his spine like lightning.
Because he’s done this before—he’s sure of it. There’d undoubtedly been a little boy, somewhere, whom he can barely recall meeting beyond the fractured glass shards of his memory. But he can recall vague slivers of some kind of special oath flowering to life between them. Of tiny fingers twined together in a pinkie promise. Of the boy’s pearl-toothed smile as they’d taken turns tapping their chests with their joined hands in some silly, childish attempt to imbue their new pledge with extra magical power.
The heat of the defense attorney’s skin leaks through the smooth cotton of the Masked Apprentice’s glove, as secure and safe as the boy’s hand had been.
Startled, the defense attorney pulls himself away, fully breaking their touch. The Masked Apprentice immediately swivels his head sideways, averting his gaze, the unexpectedly heavy bones of his sternum shuddering in the dark.
He’s not sure he understands why he misses their fleeting contact already.
But he knows, at least, that the little boy’s fingertips had been warm, pressing kindness and consolation into his damp skin with mild, gentle strokes; he can’t particularly help the guilt swelling in his stomach for getting the boy’s jacket dirty with smudges of algae and flecks of pond water, even when the bright tilted smile bending the boy’s mouth makes it more than obvious that it isn’t really anything to feel bad over.
‘There you go,’ the boy tells him vibrantly, full face alight with unmistakable pleasure. ‘Hey, let’s go over there. My jacket might be good enough as a temporary towel but you’ll dry off faster in the sun, I’d think.’
Petite legs slowly unfold and extend to their entire length, hoisting the boy up inch by inch, before he skips off eagerly all of a sudden, brimming with enough gusto to stir up the quiet air in the gardens all around them and parting curtains of pale golden light along the way.
Logically speaking, the Masked Apprentice knows that this has to be another illusory fantasy or dream. After all, it’s not possible for him to supernaturally turn the gears of time back by so many years and somehow become this young and small again, delicate bones aching from his unexpected trip and fall, hesitation simmering all the way down to the tips of his toes and leaving him uncertain over what to do next.
And yet, he gradually pushes himself up to his feet and trails after the little boy anyway.
Sunrays trickle over their forearms and collarbones and half-shy smiles with lulling heat, cushioning the animated keenness of their inane chatter about games and daydreams and childish secrets, about hopes and hobbies and the most charming corners of their town. All in all, there’s something about the tranquility of noise that’s paradoxically strange, the Masked Apprentice thinks idly; somehow, the little boy’s electrifying energy is more of a soothing balm to his red-raw misgivings and restless reservations than anything else he’s known for a while.
Because he doesn’t have friends. This isn’t anything more than a hallucinatory vision: he can only guess that none of it is meant to make sense.
‘… I mean, if I’d come by earlier, I would’ve still loved to keep you company so you didn’t have to play and explore in the public gardens all by yourself. Does that mean that you don’t have a lot of friends around town, or?’
The Masked Apprentice almost startles—he can’t tell whether or not the little boy’s just read his mind, but the question is an unexpected coincidence, either way.
‘I do go out and talk with the neighborhood kids on the street occasionally. Does that count?’ The words have already poured out of his own mouth before he can clamp his teeth down around them; truth be told, he doesn’t know why he’s saying any of this. Not when he doesn’t actually remember anything about anything at all. ‘I’ve generally been taking more of an interest in preparing myself to do the best I can in everything so I’ll do well when I’m all grown up. Spending time on my own and taking walks around by myself like I did today is just a bit more convenient, sometimes.’
‘That’s good and all, but I think having friends isn’t such a bad thing. Even if only for a day,’ the boy grins, white-hot and merry, before abruptly leaping to his feet again and offering an outstretched hand toward the Masked Apprentice in obvious invitation. ‘Come on! There’s so much to see, and it’d be less fun for me to have to look at everything by myself anyway. So I can go along with you around the gardens this time.’
No condescending sympathy, no insistent pressure. Just pure eager enthusiasm and unbridled excitement, as clear as a summer morning.
This time, when he reaches out to grasp the boy’s hand, firm and solid and sure, there’s no hesitation left trickling through his veins to speak of.
Which is only natural, at the end of the day. The young boy was the one who’d pulled him out of the pond with the same secure grip only two hours earlier, after all; it makes sense, really, that he’d be the one to so easily brush the grime and restraint straight off the Masked Apprentice’s shoulders for the second time and help him find his footing again.
Just like Ryuunosuke’s doing now, suddenly tugging him straight out of the funeral-dark void of bleary, unremembered phantasms and cold, solitary memory loss, right back into hard reality, right back into the soft and sensitive crux of that safely familiar concern and earnest voice and the unwavering, wholehearted fever of his steady gaze.
‘—Kazuma!’
Somehow, that’s all it takes; right then and there, underneath the piercing stares of three astonished people and a cold wax statue, Kazuma remembers.
He remembers.
‘… Ryuunosuke,’ Kazuma eventually rasps out in reply; it leaks past the tight, thin line of his teeth as little more than a faint whisper.
Evidently, though, it’s enough.
Ryuunosuke’s answering smile instantly burns in the gaps of Kazuma’s ribs, springing his own dulled blood-beats to life and swelling his stinging chest with a surge of silent gratitude and an unspoken bloom of fond devotion for his best friend that he’d regrettably forgotten about for far too long—and who knows, he thinks, if there may be more to it all than just a simple companionship with a mouthy classmate who’d always managed to steal his attentions and his heart with hardly any effort from the get-go.
It’s a little worse, maybe, now that Kazuma’s memories are back. Just as Ryuunosuke had predicted and promised.
Because for whatever reason, he can’t exactly think about Ryuunosuke anymore without his own pulse racing in his throat, and he can’t help missing the warmth of Ryuunosuke’s little finger coiled around his own, and he can’t stamp down the stifling breathlessness or the muted thrill thrumming against his sternum even as he’s stepping through the courtroom doors to face his best friend as an equal-ranking rival for the very first time—
—And the most terrible part of it all is: he knows full well that, after everything, it’s likely been a hell of a long time coming.
God.
He really is, without question, doomed.
‘Ah.’ A single thin eyebrow pushes itself up high on the Great Detective’s forehead. ‘Your well-dressed prince is here to sweep you away, Mr. Naruhodou.’
‘Will you just—let him in, please,’ Ryuunosuke groans, to the obvious interest of all the Baker Street residents and guests gathered in the living room behind them. Cheekbones flame-red, he reaches out to slip his hand into Kazuma’s and pulls him through the doorway, right past the Great Detective himself, and Kazuma has to wonder if his own heated face looks any more blood-flushed than Ryuunosuke’s at that point. ‘If you’ll all excuse us for a moment.’
Judicial Assistant Mikotoba actually hums with unsubtle delight as the two of them start to make their way up the stairs, hand-in-hand, to which Kazuma can’t help spilling out an exasperated sigh.
‘They’re too perceptive for their own good,’ he grumbles under his breath, once they’re nestled in the darkened belly of Ryuunosuke’s room.
‘Is that so?’
The tips of Kazuma’s ears bloom hot all over again, and hard teeth sink into his lower lip.
Hard to believe that you won’t be here after tonight, he doesn’t say. Judicial Assistant Mikotoba hadn’t told him much about the impending departure beyond her own personal impressions; the knowledge still stirs in his gut and shivers in his chest cavity anyway.
Though now is hardly the time to be apprehensive about Ryuunosuke leaving, he knows. Not when they’re at least still in each other’s orbit right at this very moment in time. Face-to-face, hovering only inches apart. Standing tall, with purposeful gazes hooking into each other’s and every unsaid emotion between them slowly slotting into place beneath the faint silver moonlight.
‘—You’re going to be an incredible lawyer, Ryuunosuke,’ tumbles from Kazuma’s mouth all of a sudden.
Ryuunosuke blinks in reaction, seemingly caught off-guard.
‘I mean, you already are. But, you know, I meant moreso, with hard work. Which I’m aware won’t be any problem for you.’ And sure, he’s kind of rambling now, but no one on earth’s been able to get him close to tongue-tied the same way that Ryuunosuke’s always been able to with ease, from the moment Ryuunosuke had walked into his life and basically guaranteed his humbling loss in all speech contests forever. He swallows past the knot in his throat, and reaches over to curl a slackened little finger around Ryuunosuke’s. ‘So … I’ll do my best too. Then hopefully it won’t matter where you or I might go—when we’re back in the courtroom together, we’ll be partners, through and through. Okay?’
It’s hard to focus beyond the too-loud heartbeats pounding all the way up to the roof of his mouth, or the living heat of Ryuunosuke’s knuckle curved over his own.
Partners: truth be told, it’s almost terrifying how much power the word seems to carry, especially now that he’s uttered it aloud.
For a moment, Ryuunosuke’s gaze flicks down to their interwoven hands, his earnest face a portrait of surprise. But then, little by little, tender lips slowly curve into that smile: the honey-warm, slightly tilted one that Kazuma’s suspected for a while now might actually be reserved for him alone.
‘… Deal,’ Ryuunosuke declares, and pulls Kazuma’s hand along as he moves to gently tap his own chest with his fist.
A more-than-familiar gesture that stirs an unexpected pang of longing along the curves of Kazuma’s ribs, that tugs at nearly forgotten memories in the dark like a jarring wake-up call. Out of the blue, everything instantly makes sense.
Kazuma’s eyes blow wide open at the sudden surge of understanding.
‘Ryuunosuke,’ he rasps out, all semblance of air stolen from his lungs; he can’t believe that it’s taken this long for him to realize. ‘Oh my god. We were kids, weren’t we? I fell into a pond, and you were there, and we’re—’
‘—Yeah. That one night when I came to see you at the office before you got your memories back, I finally remembered all that. For obvious reasons.’ Ryuunosuke shoots him an indulgent grin, sweet as spun sugar and unfairly charming all at once. ‘God, our childhoods feel like a lifetime ago. But we sure went above and beyond with fulfilling our promise from back then, don’t you think?’
At that, Kazuma’s breath catches.
Because he’s never really taken much stock of destiny, or fate, or any watercolored fantasy with that kind of dreamy optimism threaded through it; even now, he still doesn’t. All in all, he’s always been far more prone to bolstering every thought and feeling with logic and reason, and he’s hardly going to change that now just to prop up the unbelievable chances of having become this intimately intertwined with a young man that he’d met only once as a small child.
But he can’t exactly deny that it’s an incredible coincidence.
Though the distant past doesn’t actually matter much, in the wake of everything. Not when Ryuunosuke’s openly gazing at him like he’s somehow found home again, not with so many hopes and wants simmering under the layers of Kazuma’s skin like it’s well past time to let his own yearnings loose, not in light of all the challenges and hardships that they’d endured and conquered before they’d finally found their moment of peace and ended up converging in this very room.
Really, Kazuma’s ached long enough to continue to not say anything.
So he shifts his weight, and squares his shoulders. Unrolls his spine straight. Carefully braces himself.
‘… I mean, just now I did say that I hoped to be your partner, through and through,’ he points out smoothly after a moment, unsteady pulse still drumming through his veins like thunder. ‘Will you be using your renowned talents to extract the finer truth of that statement, Defense Lawyer Ryuunosuke Naruhodou?’
Probably the cheekiest and boldest Kazuma’s ever managed to be, and hell, he doesn’t regret it one bit.
Ryuunosuke huffs out a quiet laugh, frayed and shaky at the edges like Kazuma’s words are the best piece of news he’s ever heard in his life. Like all their shared moments of upbeat joy, heartfelt smiles, tears of pain, and harrowing loss had always been leading them here. Like their ever-blossoming friendship’s carried more unspoken sentiments than either of them can count and this has all been an eternity in the making. Like he loves Kazuma the way that Kazuma undoubtedly loves him.
All in all, they’re alive. Here. Together, knitted into the delicate fabric of each other’s beings, even when they’re going to be oceans apart.
‘It’s okay,’ Ryuunosuke says, eyes visibly damp and misting over. ‘I think I can guess.’
Just like that, partners doesn’t seem so terrifying, after all.
Kazuma grins when he leans in, tapping their connected fists to his heart too, and knows there’s definitely extra magic in their midst when their mouths warmly meet.
‘… So.’ Kazuma clears his throat, shuffles his feet. Lifts his chin, and stares at the other boy point-blank like everything’s hinging on this one decisive moment. ‘Do you—maybe want to see each other again after this? And play together again sometime?’
Guilt and regret colors the boy’s soft-rimmed eyes when he swivels his head to stare back, and something in Kazuma’s gut immediately sinks.
‘Look at you,’ the boy says in a tender voice, reaching out to graze a knuckle across Kazuma’s cheek. ‘You’re still wet and muddy all over.’
‘Yeah, well, thanks again for pulling me out of the pond—should’ve watched my step, shouldn’t I? Don’t know what I would’ve done if no one else was wandering around the gardens this morning!’ Kazuma answers gratefully, biting down on his lip. ‘But that’s beside the point. You’re not answering my question.’
‘Mmm. Sorry.’
It’s strange, really, that this little boy seems hardly any older than Kazuma’s own delicate age of seven, and yet every syllable’s coming out of his mouth in a way that’s both subtle and enormous all at once. And every look he’s throwing in Kazuma’s direction feels weighed down with more than meets the eye, somehow.
‘I … don’t think we can,’ the boy murmurs after a few beats of silence, earnest and apologetic. ‘Next week I’ll be moving a few districts away, and I wouldn’t be able to walk all the way here to see you.’
‘Ah. I see.’
At this rate, Kazuma can’t even muster the strength to keep his disappointment from audibly saturating the words.
The boy’s definitely noticed, at least, judging by how quickly he moves to curl his little finger around Kazuma’s in an obvious pledge. ‘I’m sure that we’ll meet again one day, though,’ he says with gentle sincerity, his gaze briefly flicking sideways at the crossroads that the two of them are standing at—as well as the slowly setting sun—like he knows that whatever time they have left together tonight is unfortunately only borrowed. ‘And maybe we’ll get to know each other really well, stick together, and take on the world side-by-side and all that.’
‘Don’t make promises you can’t keep,’ Kazuma deadpans, one part teasing to two parts miserable.
‘Well, let’s give it some extra power then,’ the boy replies enthusiastically, shifting to tap their joined fists to his own chest first, and then to Kazuma’s, looking as proud and pleased about it as if he’s just forged something groundbreaking. ‘There, see? Promises only really mean something when your heart’s in it, anyway.’
‘That’s so cheesy. But I suppose I can’t argue with that.’
‘No, you can’t.’ A bold, slanted grin, and the boy suddenly lets go of Kazuma, backing away down the street with a casual wave of his hand. ‘That settles it, yeah? Guess I’ll see you whenever I see you.’
‘Wait. I don’t even know your name,’ Kazuma calls out after him, halfway to bewildered. And you don’t know mine.
If possible, the boy’s radiant smile glimmers even brighter as he pivots on his heel and ambles off, striding further and further out of Kazuma’s frame of sight until he’s swallowed in the embrace of the evening dark.