The next morning, Ryuzí walked into class expecting the usual. A too-loud "Ryyuuuuzíii!" A bento shoved in his face. Suki dragging him to the rooftop before he could blink.
But instead—
"Morning," Suki said simply, sliding into his seat. No dramatic grin, no over-the-top greeting. Just... normal.
Ryuzí blinked. "...That's it?"
Suki shrugged, pulling out his notebook. "Yeah. That's it."
Ryuzí frowned. Something felt off. But before he could ask, Kenji bounded in, already complaining about the bread line, and the moment passed.
All through class, Ryuzí kept sneaking glances. Normally, Suki would be leaning over his desk, doodling stupid things on his notes, whispering jokes until Ryuzí threatened to throw him out the window.
But today? Nothing. Suki stayed in his seat, scribbling quietly, only laughing when someone else said something.
It felt... wrong.
At lunch, Ryuzí headed toward the rooftop out of habit. He paused when he noticed Suki still sitting, chatting with Kenji and Aoi instead of bounding after him.
"...Aren't you coming?" Ryuzí asked.
Suki looked up, smiling faintly. "You can go ahead. I'll eat here today."
Ryuzí's chest tightened. "...Why."
Suki tilted his head. "You don't need me clinging all the time, right? Thought I'd give you space."
Ryuzí froze. His throat went dry. "...Idiot."
But this time, the word lacked bite.
The rooftop felt emptier than usual. Ryuzí sat on the bench, picking at his food, the silence pressing in around him. He told himself it was peaceful. That it was better this way.
But his chopsticks hovered in midair, his chest aching in a way he couldn't ignore.
Why does it feel so damn quiet without him?
After school, Suki packed his things quickly, waving. "See you tomorrow!"
Ryuzí blinked. "...You're not walking home?"
Suki chuckled softly. "Not today. I've got errands. Later!"
And just like that, he was gone, leaving Ryuzí staring at the empty doorway.
The walk home felt longer than usual. Too quiet. The noise of the city faded into background static, his thoughts louder than everything else.
I'm used to him beside me. Annoying, loud, always talking... His fists clenched. But today—without him—it feels like something's missing.
That night, Ryuzí lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling. His phone buzzed once, a message from Suki.
"Don't forget your homework. See? I can be responsible too."
Ryuzí stared at the glowing screen, his chest tightening.
"...Idiot," he whispered to the empty room. But this time the word trembled with something else entirely.
Loneliness. Longing.
The next morning, when Suki gave him another simple "Morning," Ryuzí found himself blurting out before he could stop: "...Stop that."
Suki blinked. "Stop what?"
"Stop... being distant." Ryuzí's ears turned red. He looked away, muttering, "...It's annoying."
Suki's smile softened. "Oh? You noticed?"
Ryuzí stiffened. "...Tch."
Suki chuckled quietly, leaning just a little closer. "Guess that means you don't hate having me around, huh?"
Ryuzí's chest ached. He scowled, muttering the only word he could manage: "...Idiot."
But this time, his pulse betrayed him, pounding in his ears, loud as thunder.
That day dragged worse than the last. Suki was still "giving space," not clinging, not teasing. He laughed with others, smiled at everyone, his sunshine spilling everywhere but onto Ryuzí.
Every time Ryuzí glanced over, his stomach twisted. Why do I want him looking at me instead?
By rooftop lunch, he didn't bother pretending. He sat on the bench, staring at the empty spot beside him. His bento remained untouched.
"...Come back," he muttered into the wind. His throat tightened. His fists clenched. "...Please."
The word slipped out before he could stop it.
That evening, he sat in his room, homework open but ignored. His phone lay on the desk, the screen black. His reflection stared back at him from the window, pale and tired.
What is happening to me?
His chest throbbed, his thoughts circling endlessly. Every memory of Suki — his laugh, his grin, the way he called his name like no one else did — stabbed at him, sharp and sweet all at once.
He pressed a hand to his sternum, his breath shaking. "...It hurts."
For years, silence had been safety. But now, silence was unbearable. He wanted noise. He wanted light. He wanted him.
The realization hit like a tidal wave, crashing through the walls he'd built.
"I want him," he whispered hoarsely, burying his face in his hands. His shoulders trembled. "I want Suki."
And for the first time in years, Ryuzí cried.