It rained that morning. Not the gentle kind — the heavy, violent downpour that made the sky look like it was grieving something no one could fix.
Riki Yamade walked alone down the narrow backstreets of East Tokyo, his jacket soaked through, cigarette dangling unlit from his lips. The puddles reflected the neon lights above him like fractured glass.
He hadn't slept since that night at the bar.
Akio's words still echoed like an old wound reopening:
"You're scared, Riki." He had wanted to forget. He had wanted to drink it away, fight it away, burn it away — anything but feel it. But the problem with Akio Hukitaske was that he didn't leave room for forgetting.He lingered — in memory, in heart, in guilt.
Riki kicked a trash can hard enough to dent it, the clatter echoing through the empty street. "Why the hell won't you just leave me alone…" he muttered under his breath, though he wasn't sure who he was talking to — Akio, the past, or himself. At school, he didn't show up for two days.
By the third day, Akio had had enough.
He slammed his locker shut, grabbed his bag, and told his friend group he was "going to kick someone's emotional walls in."
When they asked who, he just said, "The delinquent with the stupid cigarette."
The rain hadn't stopped when Akio finally found Riki — sitting under a rusted pedestrian bridge overlooking the river. The water below churned dark and rough, mirroring the storm above.
Riki didn't look surprised when Akio approached. Didn't even turn his head. "Still following me, huh?" he said quietly. "Yeah," Akio replied, stepping under the bridge to join him. "You're not that hard to find." Akio said, Riki scoffed. "You say that like it's a good thing."
Akio shrugged. "Maybe it is. Means you haven't disappeared yet."
There was a pause. The kind that crackled louder than thunder.
Riki's voice was low when he spoke again. "You don't get it, Hukitaske. You don't belong here. This side of Tokyo isn't for people like you."
Akio leaned against the bridge's pillar, dripping wet, his usual smile replaced by something quieter. "And what am I, huh? Too clean? Too hopeful?" "Too stupid," Riki snapped. "You think you can just fix people because you talk nice? Because you smile? You think you can change me?"
Akio didn't answer. His silence made Riki angrier.
"Say something!" Riki shouted. Akio looked up at him then, rain streaking his face like tears that weren't his. "I don't need to change you, Riki. I just don't want to watch you destroy yourself." Riki's breath hitched, anger breaking into something more fragile — but he masked it with another glare. "You don't know a damn thing about me."
"Then teach me," Akio said, stepping forward. "Tell me. Show me. Just stop pretending you don't want someone to listen!"
"STOP IT!" Riki yelled, pushing him backward. "You think this is some kind of sob story?! You think you can just walk into my life and make everything okay with your dumb grin and your—your stupid jokes?!"
Akio stumbled but didn't fight back. "No. I think I can make it a little less lonely."
That was it. That was the last push.
Riki's fist connected with Akio's cheek. The sound echoed against the metal beams. Akio staggered but didn't retaliate. He just looked up, rain and blood mixing at the corner of his lip. His eyes — soft, unwavering — didn't hold anger. They held understanding.
That made Riki even angrier. "Fight back!" Riki shouted. "Stop looking at me like that!" Akio stood still. "Why? You're not my enemy." Riki's knuckles trembled. "You should be." He replied "Why?" Akio yelled back. "Because if you're not—" His voice broke. "—then I don't know what I'm supposed to do."
Lightning cracked across the sky.
Akio took a step forward, slow and steady. "Then maybe stop fighting the wrong person." "Shut up." Riki yelled back. "Riki—" Akio tried to speak but was cut off by Riki. "I SAID SHUT UP!" Riki yelled back.
Riki lunged, swinging again — faster this time, harder, until his fists were raw and his breath came out ragged. Akio dodged some, took others. He didn't raise his own fists once.
Finally, he caught Riki's arm mid-swing, holding it firm.
Riki froze — panting, drenched, trembling.
"Let go," Riki hissed.
"No," Akio said. "Not until you listen, moron." Akio sneered forward.
"You don't know what happens when people get close to me…" Riki sneered with slight tears on his eyelids.
"Then tell me." Akio replied back.
"They die!" Riki roared, voice breaking open like the sky. "Everyone dies! My family, my friends — anyone I let near me gets taken away! You don't get it! I'm cursed! So just… stop trying!"
The words ripped through the rain, raw and guttural.
Akio didn't move. He didn't speak for a long moment.
Then, quietly: "You think the world decided that, huh? That you don't get to have people anymore?"
Riki said nothing, his jaw clenched. "You're wrong," Akio whispered. "It's not a curse. It's pain. And it's okay to have it."
"I don't want it." Riki replied. "I know." Akio replied. "Then why won't you let me push you away?!"
"Because you're not the only one who's scared here." Akio yelled. Riki blinked — the first time he'd seen Akio's expression falter. "Yeah," Akio said, laughing softly, bitterly. "You think it's easy for me? Getting close to you, knowing you could hate me, hit me, walk away? You think I don't get scared too?"
Riki looked at him, confused. "…Then why do it?" Akio's eyes met his — steady, bright, breaking. "Because I'd rather get hurt with you than watch you die alone."
Silence. The rain slowed, just enough for Riki to hear his own heartbeat — loud, uneven, fragile. He wanted to yell again. To deny it. To prove Akio wrong. But his throat refused to form words. His body shook, not from anger now, but from everything he'd kept buried for years — all the grief, all the guilt, all the desperate need to be seen.
He dropped to his knees.
Akio followed, kneeling beside him in the mud.
Riki pressed his hands to his face. "Why are you doing this…"
"Because someone should've done it for you a long time ago," Akio said softly. Riki's breath caught. He laughed, but it wasn't funny. It was broken. "You're an idiot." "Yeah," Akio said with a faint grin. "But I'm your idiot friend now." Riki didn't answer. Just stayed there, shoulders shaking quietly as the thunder rolled in the distance. Akio didn't touch him, didn't say anything else — just sat there, letting the silence hold what words couldn't. Hours later, the two of them sat beneath the bridge still, the rain finally easing into mist. Akio's cheek was bruised purple. Riki's hands were bleeding, knuckles split and swollen. "Still think you can fix me?" Riki asked hoarsely.
Akio looked at him, smirking weakly. "Who said I'm trying to fix you? I'm just trying to know you."
"That's worse." Riki replied.
"Probably," Akio admitted. "But you're stuck with me now."
Riki glanced at him, brow furrowed. "Why do you even care so much?"
Akio leaned back, staring at the dull glow of the city lights across the river. "Because I know what it's like to feel like nothing you do matters. To feel invisible. To think you're better off vanishing. And I decided a long time ago — if I ever met someone like that again, I wouldn't let them disappear."
Riki stared at him for a long time. "You talk like a damn movie character."
"Yeah, but I've got better hair."
Riki actually snorted — barely audible, but real. Akio grinned. "Ha! Got you."
"Shut up," Riki muttered, turning away quickly. But there was no venom in his voice anymore. Just exhaustion — and maybe, just maybe, a hint of relief. The next morning, Riki didn't go back to the bar. His only home.
He just walked — through streets still damp from the rain, through alleys that used to feel like cages but now just felt… quiet. As the sunset fell through dawn.
He found himself standing in front of the school gates before he even realized where his feet had taken him. Akio was already there, waiting. Bandaged, smiling, stupid as ever.
"Took you long enough," he said casually. Riki sighed. "You never quit, do you?" "Nope." Akio yelled.
Riki shoved his hands in his pockets. "You're insane. You know that, right."
"Maybe. But at least I'm not alone." Akio replied.
Riki's gaze flickered toward him. "Neither are you."
Akio blinked — surprised. But before he could say anything, Riki started walking past him toward the building.
Akio's grin returned, brighter this time. "So… we friends now or what?"
Riki didn't answer. But Akio noticed — just barely — the corner of Riki's mouth twitch upward as he muttered, "Don't push your luck." Akio laughed. Loud, genuine, echoing through the courtyard. "Too late!"
That night, under the fading Tokyo skyline, Akio sat on the rooftop, watching the city lights. His phone buzzed — a text from Riki.
"Don't come by the bar tonight. Got repairs. You'll just make a mess." Akio smirked, typing back. "So you want me there?" "No." "Got it. Be there at 8." There was no reply.
But somewhere in that dim, half-lit bar across the city, Riki stared at his phone — the faintest smile ghosting across his lips before he shoved it in his pocket.
TO BE CONTINUED...