The river was Itsuki's sanctuary. He had discovered it one bright morning, wandering a little farther from home than usual, and ever since, its gentle murmur had called him back again and again. Today, he ran along its banks with Haruto, who laughed wildly as he splashed through the shallow water. Itsuki followed more cautiously, dipping his toes in first, feeling the cool ripple of the current against his small feet.
"Don't be so slow!" Haruto teased, turning to grin at him. "The water won't bite!"
Itsuki smiled, feeling a warmth spread through his chest. Haruto's fearless energy was contagious, but the river demanded patience. Stones were slippery, the current stronger than it seemed, and one wrong step could send him tumbling. He measured each step carefully, testing the depth with his toes, learning the rhythm of the water.
They wandered further down the riverbank, where a small cluster of reeds swayed in the current. Haruto darted forward impulsively, almost toppling over a shallow stone ledge, while Itsuki followed with deliberate caution. That was when Itsuki noticed a small, feeble bird caught in the reeds, its wings tangled. The tiny creature struggled weakly, its feathers damp and muddy.
Without a word, Itsuki knelt beside it. His hands trembled slightly as he reached for the bird, careful not to harm it. Haruto watched curiously, stepping back, unsure if he should interfere. Itsuki's patience and steady movements calmed the bird, and after several careful minutes, it was free. The little bird fluttered to the nearest branch, shaking off the water, and then chirped softly as if in thanks.
"You… you saved it," Haruto said, awe evident in his voice. "I wouldn't have been that careful."
Itsuki blushed, glancing at his friend. "It was… small. I had to be gentle."
Haruto nodded, a thoughtful expression crossing his usually playful face. "Yeah. I see now… sometimes it's better to think before acting." He paused, then grinned. "But other times, it's fun to just jump in!"
Itsuki laughed quietly, feeling a strange sense of balance in the world—between caution and courage, observation and action. He realized that even small victories, like freeing a bird, mattered. They were not loud or grand, but they left marks on the heart, shaping the way one moved through the world.
As the afternoon wore on, Itsuki and Haruto made their way to a shallow stretch of the river where stones jutted out like stepping platforms. They hopped from stone to stone, racing each other carefully, learning the rhythm of the water beneath. Itsuki's careful steps contrasted with Haruto's reckless leaps, yet they moved together in a strange harmony.
At one point, Itsuki lost his balance and slipped. Cold water splashed over his hands and knees, and he gasped. Haruto extended a hand instantly, steadying him. "See? Falling isn't the end. You just get up and keep going."
Itsuki nodded, his chest still pounding from the shock, but he felt the truth of Haruto's words. It was not just about balance or speed—it was about trust, about knowing someone was there beside you when the world tried to knock you down. He began to understand that courage did not always roar; sometimes it was quiet, patient, and steady, like the river itself.
As the sun dipped toward the horizon, painting the river in golden hues, the boys sat on a flat stone, their feet dangling in the water. Itsuki watched the reflections ripple across the surface, thinking about the day's events: the bird, the stones, the careful steps he had taken and the moments he had allowed himself to leap. Haruto kicked lightly at the water, sending small waves shimmering toward him.
"Do you think… we'll always have adventures like this?" Itsuki asked softly, a hint of wonder in his voice.
Haruto grinned. "Of course! We're a team now. And teams always find adventures."
Itsuki smiled back, feeling a warmth that went deeper than the sun or the water. Friendship, he realized, was like the river: sometimes calm, sometimes rushing and unpredictable, but always shaping the banks around it, quietly, steadily, and forever leaving marks that could not be erased.
That night, as Itsuki lay curled up near the hearth, he thought about the day—the careful steps, the gentle hands, the trust between friends. Even at four years old, he began to see the world as a place of both shadow and light, danger and beauty, and he knew that with patience, observation, and a friend like Haruto by his side, he could navigate it all.