Before twenty minutes:
Shimizu was doing his work—serving, waitering, or manager duty—on his own.
At noon, customers stopped coming, so he went for rest. If customers came, they weren't able to take a rest.
He opened the door—slowly—clack. The window was open, wind was coming. On the sofa, Minato was lying and taking a rest.
He stared at Minato with a red face.
His hair was messy because of the wind. His shirt was a little up, revealing Minato's belly.
When he was staring, Minato mumbled, "Help me!"
First I ignored it. Hmm… he had a nightmare, I think.
He mumbled again and again in his sleep. "Help m—me, pl…ease." "Lion—H—how? Did y—you betray me?"
I got worried; I rushed toward him. I tried to wake him.
"Minato… are you fine? Wa—wake up."
His head was burning, so I tried to check him.
Suddenly, he opened his eyes. His breath mixed with my breath. I wanted to kiss him at that time; I got nearer, but he pushed me.
My heart was beating fast, then he shouted at me.
"What are you doing?" he shouted with crossed eyes. I started crying because he was wrong; I just felt like he was going to abandon me.
If we look at my past; I was always called a "crybaby" by friends. Shimizu was a crybaby. I feared little things—if my parents scolded me, or teasing, or joking.
I stopped crying because the princess told me. In the evening, winds were blowing through my ears. I was crying, my body was trembling;
The princess gave me his hand and comforted me with his lovely voice. From that day to adulthood, I never cried.
15 years ago~~~
Just like my friends, they always bullied me. "You are a crybaby, are you a girl? Or what?!" They pointed at me again and again.
At that time, a new family moved into our area. They were a nuclear family—mother, father, and their only son. At the first meeting, my mother went to meet them.
That aunty's son was playing in the garden—silently.
He was always silent; his face was always blank. Rumours said, "he was emotionless."
I heard from other children in my neighbourhood. Firstly, I ignored him too. But he always played alone; I felt he was traumatized. I also felt lonely like him.
He was similar to me—slowly, I realized. He was similar to me, like a replica of me.
I tried to talk to him, but he always ignored me.
Literally, when he first replied to me, with his cold look on his face: "Why… why are you following me? Are you a stalker or what?"
I mumbled, "Can I be your friend?"
He glared at me. "Oh—you want to be my friend. Do you know who I am? But I don't know you—suspicious."
"I know you because you are my neighbour," I whispered.
"Okay, I am your neighbour, so what is my name? Can you tell me?" He clenched his teeth like I was annoying him.
I paused; my brain stopped working, I got blank. I followed him, stared at his every movement, but I didn't know his name.
"Please be my friend," I whispered again. I grabbed his hand.
"I swear… I know yo—your name, but I—I forgot." I turned my eyes. My body was shaking, I was sweaty; I rubbed my neck with a cracked smile and gazed toward the sky.
My ears became red because of the embarrassment. When I glanced at him, I imagined his face was the same as ever—cold—but this time something was different.
He laughed at me. He pointed at me. "Your lying tricks are so bad. I never told you my name, so how can you know? You know I am a boy from before. You saved me from bullies, remember?"
"I always wanted to thank you." His eyes were sparkling.
My face became red; my heart began to beat fast. That feeling was so different; I didn't get it at that time.
He teased me. "Why is your face red?"
From that day, we always spent time together. We played together, gossiping about others, making fun of them.
For the first time, I saw his true self, not the fake one he wore; I saw the real one, who needed someone to hear him. Who hid deep in his soul.
No one could see his real self, only me—no one except me.
I smiled in front. We knew everything; only one thing he never told—his relationship with that bastard.
In the present:
I didn't want to cry, but my tears moved on their own will. I tried to stop it; it didn't stop.
When he saw it, he panicked and calmed me with his gentle voice, "Don't need to cry, prince."
When he promised, or tried to comfort me, it gave me a good feeling. So, I nodded and gave a beautiful smile as much as I could.
I went back to work because I heard the customers call. One more time, I glanced at the door—is he okay or not?
I was busy with work; some time later, Minato also joined me.
Let's shift to Minato.
Minato is wondering how Shimizu works every day. I am tired already. I saw Shimizu pause in front of a coffee machine. He was dazed. I rushed toward him to check—was he okay or not?
I went toward him; the nearer I got, I slowed my footing so he wouldn't notice. From behind, I shouted:
*Boo~~~
He got startled, took a few steps back. He stared at me with confused eyes.
"Why are you standing like that?" I chuckled.
"Like a light pole standing in front of me," I whispered.
"Wha—what happened…" He squeezed his chest; his heart was beating fast.
"Do—do you need any—anything, Minato?" Shimizu's voice panicked.
In Shimizu's mind:
Oh—I didn't notice him. He startled me. Hmm… I think it was a ghost attack, but that ghost was cute. My eyes widened; I stared at him so desperately. But I needed to tell him something…
Minato mumbled, "I want to leave early today. Can I?"
I was shocked. He already took many days off, and now he needed an early leave too.
"Why? First—you were absent for 2 weeks and also need early leave." My voice rose more than a whisper.
Minato's thinking: I really don't feel okay today because of the home incident; I need to work hard to help Shimizu. But my body can't handle it.
I answered with a cute look on my face so he couldn't resist; he agreed.
"Hmm… I had a headache, so please…" with teary and shiny eyes.
He covered his face, but his ears were reddish red.
"Okay, but please don't do that again," Shimizu said.
Shimizu's thinking: When he notices my feelings or understands me… I am his childhood friend, of course, so what?
He plays dumb, or he is? I get so tired from that drama;
Oh! forget it, but it hurts. If only I felt that way.
TO BE CONTINUED.