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They still walk home together after school.
It used to be the five of them, with Noma, Ookusu and Takamiya trailing along behind them. They would get out of school as quickly as possible, sometimes even cutting the last class so they would have more daylight to wander the streets, find trouble, get into fights. They never provoked the fight, never went up to another group with the intention of violence, but Hanamichi’s bright hair and loud voice attracted plenty of attention and they never backed down when trouble came looking.
Youhei never felt fear when he was in the middle of a brawl, fists flying around him, blood spraying from broken noses, his knuckles stinging. He always had Hanamichi at his back, an immense, immovable strength, and sometimes Hanamichi would just start laughing in the middle of the fight. And Youhei would laugh too, because he knew exactly how Hanamichi felt, how every sensation in his body felt so vivid, so alive.
Now, for Hanamichi, it’s all about basketball.
It’s about basketball practice in the morning before school, and trying to stay awake during class so that he can get the necessary grades to keep playing basketball, and hours and hours of basketball practice after school, until it’s dark outside and there’s nobody on the streets to make trouble.
For the first year, Noma, Ookusu and Takamiya hung around, because basketball was new and different, and it was hilarious to watch Hanamichi fail. As Hanamichi got more and more serious, and actually started getting good at it, they stopped hanging around. They’re all still friends, and they still come to support Hanamichi for the important games, but their lives don’t revolve around Hanamichi anymore.
After the first year, Youhei joined the basketball club as an unofficial manager, helping to run errands, lift heavy things, and standing on the sidelines with Haruko a lot. This led to a rather awkward situation in their second year, with Haruko confessing to him and him turning her down as gently as he could, but there were still tears and anger and that was just from Hanamichi. But Hanamichi got over it, because there was basketball to concentrate on, and Haruko got over it pretty quickly too after a basketball player from another school asked her out.
Youhei is friendly with the other members of the basketball club, because he’s an easygoing guy on the surface. He even gets along with Rukawa, mostly by keeping a healthy, respectful distance from each other. But Youhei’s life still revolves around Hanamichi, like it has done since they first met in junior high, and like it will continue to do until something comes along to separate them, until Youhei can’t hold on any longer.
So they go to morning practice together, and Youhei kicks Hanamichi’s chair in class when Hanamichi starts to nod off, and they go to practice after class together. And they still walk home together after school, even though it’s just the two of them now and the streets are empty and quiet.
As they walk, Youhei blows warm air on his hands and reminds himself to wear a scarf. It’s starting to get colder as they get closer to the end of the year.
“Have you decided where you want to go next year?” he suddenly asks, interrupting Hanamichi’s detailed commentary of all the great plays he made in practice.
Hanamichi shrugs, not looking bothered by the cold or the sudden question. “Those two schools that scouted me, I read those brochures they gave me and I don’t have the grades for an athletic recomendation. So I have to sit the entrance exams, and if I don’t pass, it doesn’t matter where I want to go, does it.”
“I’ll help you study,” Youhei offers again, as he has so many times over the years.
“Yeah, thanks bro.” The grin Hanamichi tosses at him is bright enough to light up the dark street around them, but Youhei’s gaze doesn’t linger, focuses on the path ahead.
“What about you? Have you decided yet?” Hanamichi asks.
“Not really. I’ve got a few options, but I don’t know yet,” Youhei answers vaguely. He thinks about the textbooks sitting on his desk at home, the practice exams, and doesn’t mention that he could probably get into any university he wanted, though his record might make it harder for the best schools. He could certainly get into any university that Hanamichi could get into.
After a few minutes, which is about as long as he can stay quiet, Hanamichi muses out loud, “Or hey, maybe I’ll just go pro. Maybe I’ll go to America like Rukawa!”
Youhei lets his silence speak for itself.
“Shut up,” Hanamichi says, but without any real heat in his voice. “When I’m making hundreds of millions of dollars, and I’m living in a giant mansion in America and you’re here working a shitty office job, you’ll think back to this moment when you said I couldn’t do it!”
“I didn’t say you couldn’t do it,” Youhei replies mildly. “I just thought it.”
Hanamichi’s response is a friendly punch to Youhei’s shoulder, which will probably leave a bruise, but Youhei doesn’t mind. Bruises are just a part of being friends with Hanamichi.
They arrive at the intersection where they go their separate ways, though they usually duck into the Family Mart on the corner so that Hanamichi can pick up his dinner. This doesn’t take long, as Hanamichi simply sweeps an entire shelf of discounted onigiri into a basket and takes it to the counter, where the employee nods at them in recognition.
As they walk out of the store, Hanamichi says, “Or maybe I’ll be that guy.” His voice is unusually subdued.
Youhei knows exactly what Hanamichi means, because he always does, and he chooses his words carefully. “There’s nothing wrong with earning a living while you’re trying to figure out what to do next.”
Hanamichi frowns and seems to think about that for a moment. Then he shakes out his broad shoulders like he’s releasing all the tension from them, and he yells out “Growing up is hard!” in the empty parking lot of the Family Mart.
Youhei laughs softly. “Growing up is hard,” he agrees.
They go their separate ways, Hanamichi turning left at the intersection and Youhei turning right, and with every step he takes away from Hanamichi, he feels an inexplicable fear creeping in, a feeling like his fingers are slipping off the edge and he can’t hold on any longer.