F r i e n d s f o r l i f e
The rain played its endless sonata – a minor-key, drawn-out melody punctuated by sharp dissonances wherever large raindrops crashed against the metal back of the bench. Tetora had long since stopped counting them. He just sat there, huddled in his soaked jacket, listening to another, his own, erratic rhythm beating somewhere inside, beneath his ribs.
He didn't hear any footsteps. Just a voice… quiet, steady, like a piano key played without the pedal.
Tetora flinched but didn't lift his head right away. At first he thought it was his imagination. Too often he thought he heard someone calling him. Too often he expected it to be his mom, but the ward smelled of antiseptic and silence, not rain and wet asphalt.
The second time, mh, louder, calmer. And then he looked up.
His golden eyes, swollen from tears, widened. The last, saltiest tear rolled down from them, mixing with the rainwater. Fuji stood over him.
His blond hair, which Tetora was used to seeing pulled back into a low ponytail, now lay tousled, slightly shorter than it had been a week ago, with wet strands clinging to his temples. At his neck, beneath the collar of his black jacket, the end of a silver chain glinted the very one with the little key that Tetora had given him for his eleventh birthday. Fuji still wore it. Always.
There was not a trace of surprise on his face. Nor pity. Only that familiar, stony calm that Tetora had learned to read better than any book. A barely perceptible tension lay deep within his violet eyes. Fuji never showed his emotions openly but Tetora knew when the blond clenched his jaw a little tighter than usual, it meant that inside, everything was already boiling.
"…Fuji?" His voice cracked, hoarse and thin as a broken string.
Fuji remained silent for three heartbeats. Then, slowly, almost weightlessly, he crouched down in front of the bench, coming to eye level with his friend. Rain trickled down his cheekbones, but he didn’t even blink.
"You didn't reply to my messages," he said. Without accusation. Just a statement of fact. "I've checked four parks. This is the fifth."
Tetora wanted to say something... perhaps apologize, or lie and say he'd simply lost his phone, or that he'd forgotten, or that he just needed to be alone. But instead, a short, stifled sob escaped his throat, and he buried his face in his wet sleeves once more.
A warm hand rested on his wrist. Gently. Slowly. As if Fuji were touching something fragile that could shatter at the slightest sudden movement.
"The sleeves," Fuji said quietly. Tetora froze. He knew what the blond meant. Under the fabric, on the skin. Fuji had always known. Ever since he was seven, he'd known where to look when Tetora was silent for too long.
"I…" Tetora began, but Fuji cut him off. Without raising his voice.
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