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One gusty, gray-skied afternoon, there's an unusual envelope in Reo's locker.
The presence of the envelope isn't what's unusual—Reo gets many of these, printed in flowery pastel hues and adorned proudly with stickers or shimmering ribbons. He’s used to them, these little sheets of color, slipped in under the metal locker door. This one is different, though, in the way it lacks any color at all. It sits crookedly on top of his shoes, cast somewhere between white and gray, bent at two corners and slightly soggy.
Reo picks it up and rubs the wrinkled paper between his fingers. It smells of dirt and rainwater, but it seems clean enough, so he slips it into his bag without a second thought. There are better things to think about, like football, or lunch, or Nagi, who's surely waiting for him to arrive on the rooftop so that they can eat lunch together.
Somehow, though, Reo's day gets even more unusual. Nagi is on the rooftop, just where Reo expected him, but there's nothing in his hands. No food, no phone. And he's staring at Reo the moment he steps foot through the door with a mildly nauseous look on his face, not as if he's about to puke, but more like he's weighing the pros and cons of doing so. Reo rarely sees Nagi make any expressions that aren't at least idly hollowed out by boredom, so the not-so-subtle furrow between Nagi's brows has him immediately alarmed.
"Are you okay?" Reo asks. He hurries over, leaning into the wind, so that he can sit by Nagi's side against the wall. "You're not sick, are you?"
"I'm fine," Nagi says. It's unlike him—too hasty, too loud. "How are you?"
"Good," Reo says. He puts a hand on Nagi's forehead. There's a slight warmth against his palm, nothing near a fever. Nagi frowns at him, all muscles stiff, like he's half a second away from breaking into a run. "Did something happen?"
Nagi shakes his head, tossing Reo's hand aside in the process. "Nothing," he says firmly. He turns away to stare out at the scenery with a feigned disinterest that leaves him awkward, with shoulders hunched and squinted eyes that seem to be fighting the urge to look back at Reo.
Reo knows there's no point in prying further. Nagi is fiercely, childishly stubborn, which makes him a great striker and an occasionally bothersome friend, and if he wants to let Reo in on whatever's disturbing him today, he'll do so at his own pace. Reo settles for giving Nagi a pat on the back before he returns his attention to his schoolbag. It takes him a moment, rooting around through his books and papers, but he fishes the envelope out eventually, from where it's been tucked between the stapled pages of an old essay.
With startling speed, Nagi turns back to Reo and asks, "What is that?"
"I don't know," Reo says. He lifts it into the watery sunlight and flips it, examining each side. Both are blank and wrinkled. "I found it in my locker just now. It might be something to fill out for the football team."
"Or maybe it's a love letter," Nagi says. "Don't you get a lot of those?"
"It doesn't really look like one, though."
Nagi shrugs. Once again, he shifts his attention to the sky. "Open it," he says.
The envelope flutters in Reo's hand, like it's calling for him to look. The flap opens up with ease under his fingers, revealing a folded sheet of lined paper. Reo shakes it out into his palm and straightens it out.
To Reo:
Ever since the day we met, I feel like everything in my life has turned inside out. All my days used to be aimless, but now when I wake up, I can look forward to seeing you again. You're like the sun—you always light everything up, and make everything warm. Whenever I think of you, I feel as if I could endure anything. It's like you add a silver lining to every unbearable thing in the world.
I hope that I'm as important to you as you are to me. You have a far fuller life than I do, and you're busy with so many things, but it makes me happy whenever you make time for me. It's selfish, but I hope we can spend all the rest of our days together, and you'll keep your attention on me, even if I'm far less interesting than everything else you already have.
I'm not brave enough to say it out loud yet, but I love you. We haven't known each other for long, but nobody has ever made me feel the way you do. I wish
…and there's no more. The rest is smudged away into illegibility, right down to the bottom of the page. Reo checks the back, just in case, but it's completely blank.
"Huh," Reo says. He squints down at the second half of the page, but there's nothing there for him but the faintest smudges of graphite. "That's weird."
Nagi coughs. He wipes his palms against the hem of his shirt. "What's weird?"
Reo brandishes the paper under Nagi's nose. "Look," Reo says. "It's not finished."
"It's not?"
Nagi snatches the letter from Reo and brings it up to his own face, frantic eyes flitting up and down as he scans the page. Reo can't hold back a smile at the sight of him, agitated over something other than video games for once. "It's strange, right?" Reo asks, and Nagi's gaze snaps upward in an instant. "It even cuts off in the middle of the sentence."
"No, Reo," Nagi says. He lowers the paper. For some reason, he seems distressed. "It's not that it's unfinished. It's—"
"The rainwater," Reo exclaims, snapping his fingers. "It was raining this morning! It must have gotten wet, and the rest of the letter got smudged! That's why the envelope was damp!"
"Well, yeah," Nagi mutters. "And—"
"And that's why you're in a bad mood, too," Reo declares. He takes Nagi by the shoulders. Nagi's eyes go wide and startled, and the letter crinkles violently in his hands. "You don't like the rain. That's why you've been so on edge, right?"
Nagi blinks slowly. The letter slips from his grasp and flutters down onto Reo's thigh. It's then that Reo realizes how close they are, with their knees pressed together, sharing the same little bubble of air. He gets to see the softening of Nagi's expression, when his eyelids drift lower and the frown melts off of his lips.
"Kind of," Nagi says quietly. He scoops the paper up and presses it back into Reo's hand. "You don't know who wrote this?"
"Am I supposed to know?"
The two of them stare at each other for three seconds of bewildered silence. Nagi's frown returns in full force. Reo musters up an awkward, indignant smile. "What?" he says defensively.
The wind kicks up. Nagi ducks his head. "Nothing."
Reo joins the breeze in ruffling Nagi's hair. He folds the letter up and slides it back into his bag. "It's fun to have a secret admirer, at least," he says, and he closes the zipper.
Nagi shuffles a little closer, until he can drop his head onto Reo's shoulder. "Is it really?" he asks.
"Well, yeah, it's mysterious," Reo says. "Imagine if I got another one in my locker the next day!"
Reo gets another one in his locker the next day.
It's dry this time, at least. Reo can't stop turning it over in his hands, skimming his fingertips along the crisp edges of the envelope. He doesn't think any other written confessions have managed to wring anything past vague appreciation out of him. This one feels different, somehow. It's stripped bare of all color, leaving nothing but words, and maybe that makes it feel more sincere.
Reo saves it to read during lunch with Nagi again. When he reaches the rooftop, it feels like finding a singular blossom after a heavy storm, or something equally as sappy and precious—it's a small miracle, this flat stretch of concrete, and Nagi. Reo smiles when they lock eyes, and Nagi seems to be in a better mood today, too, because he pats the space at his side, almost eagerly.
"I got another letter today," Reo says cheerfully as he sits back against the wall, tossing his bag between them. "Do you think it's the same person?"
"I don't know," Nagi says. He's wielding his phone in one hand and packaged bread in the other. Still, he watches over the top of his screen as Reo makes his way over. There's something resembling a smile teasing at the corners of his mouth.
"Come on, let's read it together," Reo says. He drops to the ground and leans into Nagi's side.
Nagi lifts his phone higher, until it sits between his face and Reo's. "I don't really care," he mumbles.
Reo's already opening the envelope. Again, just like yesterday, there's a folded sheet of lined paper tucked neatly inside. This one is unmarked, untouched by rainwater or anything else hostile. It blooms open like a flower in Reo's palm, revealing a set of crooked, handwritten lines.
To Reo:
I never imagined myself writing letters like this. It's more effort than I've ever put in for anything in my life. I think it's because of you that I've started living more. It sounds dramatic, but I don't know how else to say it; there are so many things that I would only do for you.
At first, I wanted to keep my feelings to myself. I was satisfied enough with seeing you every day. But as I got to know you better, I realized that I wanted to show you how much you meant to me. It's partly selfish, but it's also because you deserve to know that someone loves you.
I always think to myself that I'm lucky to have met you. Thank you for making all my days meaningful.
Reo reads and rereads the letter until he's committed it to memory. There's something giddy bubbling to life under his skin. He turns to Nagi. "It's another love letter! Another one!" Reo tells him, shaking him insistently by the shoulder.
Nagi doesn't look up from his phone. "Wow," he says.
Reo elbows him. He flattens the letter out against his thigh, under the sunlight, so he can admire it for a little longer. He adds, "It's not signed. I wonder who it's from."
"Yeah," Nagi sighs. "I wonder."
Reo runs through a mental list of people he knows—classmates, team members, Nagi. Nobody really strikes him as a likely candidate. The letters seem so affectionate, so sincere, and he can't think of anyone who matches that image. There are people who like him, of course, but those are shallow, fleeting things. Only someone who knows him could write something so heartfelt.
Who knows Reo? Nagi is probably the only one. But Nagi is Nagi. He doesn't even write his assignments. Reo, after a brief moment of muted disappointment, dismisses the idea.
"What are you thinking about?" Nagi asks.
Reo winks at him. He says, "You."
Nagi blushes. He lets Reo pinch his cheek, all glinting eyes and pouting lips, and Reo can't help but think about it: how easy it would be if it was Nagi, writing to him.
Reo's locker is despairingly empty the following day. Every fluffy, bursting emotion that had been bouncing around in his chest since yesterday drains right into the ground in an instant. He searches the ground by his feet just in case he's accidentally dropped it somehow, but he hasn't missed anything. There's nothing to miss. There's no letter. Nothing.
Reo is a little devastated, to be honest. Maybe disproportionately so. They're pieces of paper, from someone whose name he doesn't know. He's gotten plenty of confession letters in the past, too, and he'll probably get some in the future. It shouldn't even be on his list of worries at all, and yet he finds it sitting at the very top, needling at him all the way up to the rooftop.
Nagi, unsurprisingly, is on his phone when Reo opens the doors. He takes one look at Reo and lowers the device into his lap. "What is it?" he asks.
"What?"
"You look upset."
Reo tries for a smile. He makes his way over and sits in front of Nagi on the ground. With a weary sigh, he says, "I didn't get a letter today."
"Is that why you're upset?"
"Well, yeah."
Nagi tilts his head one way, then the other. He makes his skepticism known in the subtle wrinkling of his nose. "Why?" he asks. "Were you expecting to get one every day?"
It sounds unrealistic, voiced aloud like this. Sheepishly, Reo shrugs. "I was hoping for more than two," he mutters.
"Maybe they ran out of things to say," Nagi says.
The second letter had already been shorter than the first. Reo should have noticed back then and spared himself some of the disappointment now. It wasn't plausible, anyway, expecting the messages not to stop. It was a one-sided conversation in the first place. Reo doesn't have any way to respond—it's no wonder the sender would stop eventually.
Oh no, Reo thinks. Was I supposed to respond?
The envelopes had been blank. The letters had been so, so sweet, but so very vague. Nobody he knows has been acting any differently than usual. It feels like a dead end, trying to make anything of it. The little seed of dismay in Reo's stomach blooms into full-fledged regret.
Nagi nudges Reo's knee with his own. "Sorry," he says softly.
Reo looks up at him, startled. "Why are you sorry?"
"I feel bad for you."
There's something in the way he says it, hushed and hesitant, that makes Reo smile. "Don't be sorry, Nagi," Reo tells him. "You haven't done anything."
Nagi looks at Reo for a few moments longer. He really looks, and he leans in close, until Reo can see the mellow glow of the sun in his irises. He squints a little, crinkling the corners of his eyes, and that of all things gets Reo's heartbeat stuttering. Eventually, he sits back and says, rather forlornly, "You're really disappointed."
"It's fine, Nagi."
"Maybe they're just taking a break for today. They'll send another one tomorrow."
That draws a laugh out of Reo. "You don't have to try to make me feel better," Reo says.
Nagi peers up at him like scolded puppies do to their owners. It's adorable, and Reo is irreversibly endeared by it. The weight of Nagi's gaze on him is a comfort with far more gravity than he'd realized. It doesn't matter how many things slip through his fingers, surely, if he's got Nagi with him. It doesn't matter how many letters he gets; he wouldn't trade Nagi's company for any of them, no matter how gut-wrenching or how heart-rending they may be.
The thing is, Reo is dreadfully curious. He's so curious that it's all he thinks about, from the moment he passes out through the front doors of the school to the moment he returns. It halts the tip of his pen whenever he tries to make any progress on schoolwork. It permeates all his dreams, and his daydreams, too.
It's not as if he's going to accept the confession. Reo just wants to know who it is. He wants to be able to attach a face to those sweet, sentimental messages. It churns like hunger through his body, and the only thing that will satiate it is a name—that one name, so mercilessly washed away on that first day of rain.
The first two letters hadn't been in his locker when he first arrived at school, but they'd appeared right before lunch. It's easy, then, to conclude that whoever had left them did it during their morning classes. There's nothing else Reo can take from this mystery, so he holds onto his singular clue with desperation. The only thing worse than not knowing is doing nothing about not knowing, and at this point, there's only one thing he can think of to do. So, that's how he finds himself the next day, skipping his morning classes to lurk in the empty corridor, just around the corner from his locker.
Reo knows very well that it's irrational. There hadn't even been a letter yesterday. There's nothing saying he'll get one today. Most likely, he'll stand here all the way until lunchtime, and he'll have nothing to show for it. The great gaping maw of the hallway seems to taunt him, huge and yawning and exceptionally empty.
Still, what other options are there? Reo has to do something. He can't just let this thread slip away without fighting at least a little.
There's a muted clang from ahead. Reo's whole body jolts at the sound. All of a sudden, the overhead lights are very, very bright, and there's heat rising up to his face, to his neck. Adrenaline hurries his pulse along until it's hammering in his ears. Someone is there. Someone is in front of his locker. Against all odds, even after yesterday, that person is in front of his locker.
Reo steadies himself with a slow, measured breath. He peers around the corner. Standing by Reo’s locker, easing an envelope through the crack above the door, is Nagi.
Nagi spots him instantly and freezes. His expression cycles rapidly through a whirlwind of emotions—shock, trepidation, confusion—before he lets out a defeated sigh. "Hey, Reo," he says.
Reo blinks. The sight in front of him doesn't change. All his responses crumble on the tip of his tongue. He walks closer, one step after another, until he can grab Nagi's wrist. There it is, in his hand—a white envelope, just like the two that came before it.
"I was the one who left the letters," Nagi says, as if it wasn't already obvious. "Sorry."
Reo looks up. His gaze draws a wobbly line along Nagi's forearm, the bend of his shoulder, up to the gentle curve of his cheek. Then, there are his eyes, soft as ever, just as Reo knows them to be. "Why didn't you say anything?" Reo asks.
"I tried," Nagi says. He fidgets with the envelope, scrunching the paper between his fingers. Reo's stomach flips at the sensation of Nagi's wrist flexing against his palm. "But you seemed excited to have a secret admirer, so…"
"But it's you," Reo says. He tightens his grip. His skin feels feverish where they make contact. He's not sure if it's him or Nagi, or both of them. "If it was you, I'd want to know."
Nagi's face reddens. The twinkling reflection of the ceiling lights in his eyes flickers as he blinks. Still, his voice is steady when he says, "Now you know."
Reo's attention drifts back to the envelope. Nagi's holding onto it tight, dragging creases into its surface. It's the third time he's done this. Reo's stuck on the thought of him, sitting alone in his dorm, taking the precious time to spill his feelings out onto paper for Reo to read. The words come back to him now—the end of the first letter, rendered unreadable.
"Nagi," Reo says. Nagi straightens up, lips parting, eyes growing wider. "In the first letter you wrote, what was at the end? What did you wish for?"
Nagi squeezes his eyes shut, as if it pains him just to recall it. In a rush, he says, "I wanted to date you."
It clicks for Reo, in that moment. Nagi's nervousness that day wasn't just the byproduct of a bad mood, or something else inconsequential. He'd been waiting for Reo's answer to his confession. A yes or a no to his feelings, which he’d laid bare in written form.
Love floats up to the forefront of Reo's mind, penciled in Nagi's handwriting. He inhales sharply, and the sound of it seems to snap against the walls.
"Reo?" Nagi murmurs.
An answer. Reo's heart is beating so furiously, it's all he can hear. Surely, that's his answer, isn't it?
Nagi is watching him, waiting for him. Reo can't stop staring at the sparks in his irises. He asks, "Can I kiss you?"
Trembling fingers, trembling lips. Nagi nods. Reo cradles Nagi's face in his hands and steps forward. The skin on his palms burns, just like his face, his neck, the fire in his chest. There isn't a need for words, just the gentle press of Reo's mouth against Nagi's, silent and tender.