The night was heavy, but not quiet. A hum ran through the city like a low drum, from bikes, from dogs, from people who did not sleep even when the hour begged them to. Haruya and Kaito sat on the old roof of the school storehouse, legs swinging, faces lit by a small phone screen that had no sound but threw their shadows big against the walls.
"See, I told you, this video is gold," Haruya said, holding back laughter. He shoved the phone closer to Kaito's face. On the screen, a cat was chasing a laser, then tripping over itself.
Kaito tried to stay serious, but his lip twitched. "You're an idiot, Haru. We're literally surrounded by guys who want to break our bones and you're watching cat videos."
"Correction," Haruya grinned, pointing at the sky with his finger like he was giving a lecture. "We are surrounded by guys who already tried to break our bones. Big difference."
Kaito shook his head, but laughter escaped his chest anyway. "Sometimes I think you're not even human. Who laughs in a war like this?"
"Me," Haruya said proudly, his teeth bright in the dark. "Because if I don't, I'll cry. And crying makes my nose stuffy, and I hate that."
Their laugh carried into the wind, and for a moment, the world felt lighter. But below, in the broken alleys, shadows moved. Shoes scraped on stone. Cigarettes glowed like tiny red eyes. The gangs were restless tonight, and their restlessness had a name.
Haruya.
The drawing in his notebook had spread. One page, one sketch, and now half the underworld thought he had some hidden treasure, a map, a secret code. Haruya didn't even understand why. He had drawn it the same way he always did—fast, messy, careless. But something about that sketch had pulled eyes, whispers, and now danger.
"Hey," Kaito nudged him, voice lower. "You feel that?"
"Feel what? My hunger? Yeah, I feel it too. I could eat three bowls of ramen right now."
"No, idiot," Kaito said, leaning forward, eyes narrowed. "The street. It's too quiet."
The sound had changed. The hum of the city had dropped, like a hand pressed down on its throat. Haruya tilted his head, listening. Then he smiled. "Well, looks like we're about to get our evening exercise."
Footsteps rose. Six, maybe seven pairs. Hard, quick, closing in.
From the alley mouth, boys in black jackets appeared, faces half hidden, bats in their hands. They walked with a rhythm that meant trouble.
One of them called up, "Haruya Kuroda. You think you can laugh your way out of this?"
Haruya raised his hand like a kid in class. "Yes, actually. It's my special skill."
Kaito groaned, running his hand down his face. "I'm going to kill you before they do."
The gang started climbing the roof, slow but steady. Haruya didn't move at first. He just watched, eyes flicking not to the boys but to the moon above them. Then he whispered, "Funny thing, Kai. Every time they come for us, I feel like it's a game I already played."
"What do you mean?"
"I don't know." His voice was soft now. "Like a dream that repeats. Same roof, same faces, same lines. But I don't remember the ending."
Before Kaito could answer, the first boy swung his bat.
Haruya ducked. The swing cut air, fast, angry, and loud. Haruya spun on his heel, grabbed the boy's sleeve, and pushed. The boy slipped, shouting, falling back down to the ground below.
The fight began.
It was not clean. It never was. Fists slammed into walls, bats hit iron pipes, curses filled the air like broken glass. Kaito was brutal, his strikes sharp, his eyes cold. Haruya was the opposite—dodging, laughing, teasing even as blows brushed his shoulder. He moved like the fight was a joke only he knew the punchline of.
"You swing like my grandma!" he shouted at one boy, ducking a strike.
"Shut up!" the boy yelled, furious.
"Make me!" Haruya stuck out his tongue, then tripped him with one quick kick.
Kaito punched another square in the jaw, sending him stumbling. He turned to Haruya. "Can you not provoke every single one of them?!"
"But provoking is fun," Haruya answered, dodging another hit. "It makes them sloppy. See?" He pointed as the boy swung again, missing, hitting his own teammate by mistake.
The roof turned into chaos, but in the middle of it, Haruya's laugh cut sharp and bright. It didn't fit the fight. It didn't fit the danger. But it was real, so real that even Kaito almost smiled in the heat of it.
Minutes later, the boys retreated, bruised and swearing, dragging their fallen with them. They threw curses up at the two friends, promising the fight wasn't over.
It never was.
Haruya sat back down on the roof, wiping a cut from his cheek with his sleeve. "Well. That was fun."
"Fun?" Kaito snapped. "You call this fun? You're insane."
"Maybe." Haruya leaned back, looking at the stars. His breath came slow now. "But at least I'm alive. And when I laugh, I know I'm alive. That's enough."
Kaito stared at him for a long time, then sighed. He didn't understand Haruya. Maybe no one did. But he stayed. He always stayed.
Below them, in the dark alley, someone else was watching. A figure with pale hair, notebook in hand, writing in fast strokes. Not Miyuki. Not a friend. But someone who knew the truth behind the sketch Haruya had drawn. Someone who knew the sketch was not just lines, but memory.
The ink of time was already moving.