The night air hit Suki like cold water.
He didn't notice the way the streetlights broke into small halos. He didn't notice the way the pavement darkened with the threat of rain. He didn't even notice that he'd forgotten his scarf on Ryuzí's couch.
He only noticed the echo of his own voice replaying in his skull:
"If distance is what you're giving me, Ryuzí… then I'll give it back."
It sounded brave when he said it.
It sounded like the stupidest lie he'd ever told now.
His shoes slapped against the sidewalk, fast, then faster, then uneven. His breaths came short and sharp, fogging in the winter air. Each inhale scraped, each exhale shook.
"Match him," he whispered under his breath. His voice was thin, breaking. "Just match him. No big deal. Match his energy. Match his distance. Match—"
His voice cracked on the last word.
He rubbed angrily at his eyes, but tears kept spilling out, hot and humiliating.
"He doesn't want me close," he whispered to the empty street. "So fine. Fine. I won't be close. I won't reach first. I won't—"
A hiccup punched through him.
He stopped walking.
Bent forward slightly.
Hands gripping the strap of his bag so tightly his knuckles whitened.
"I can do this," he whispered to himself. "I can. I can be distant too. I can stop being annoying. I can stop bothering him. I can pretend I'm okay. Just like he does."
Another tear rolled down.
Then another.
"I'll match him," Suki whispered, voice shaking. "I'll match him until it doesn't… hurt so much."
He didn't even realize he was crying harder until his vision blurred so badly he had to stop in front of a closed bakery. The metal shutters reflected a warped version of himself — small, shaking, breath fogging up the metal.
He pressed his forehead against it.
"It hurts," he whispered. "It hurts so much."
But matching distance?
That hurt even more.
⸻
Back at Ryuzí's Door
Ryuzí stood exactly where Suki had left him.
He didn't move.
Didn't breathe properly.
Didn't blink for a long moment.
He simply stared at the closed door, the ghost of the soft click echoing in his head.
He replayed the scene again and again:
Suki's trembling smile.The tears he tried to blink away.The whispered, "I'll match you."
And worst of all—
That tiny flinch when Ryuzí reached for him.
A flinch Suki had learned from him.
Dr. Kudo's voice threaded through his thoughts:
"If you keep locking him out, he'll think he did something wrong.""Avoidance hurts.""Silence hurts.""Distance hurts.""Tell him one small truth."
Ryuzí felt something twist painfully in his chest.
"One small truth…" he murmured, voice rough.
But instead, he'd given Suki one big wound.
He scrubbed his hands over his face and sank down onto the couch. His palms shook. His jaw locked. His heart hammered so hard he felt it in his throat.
He'd hurt Suki.
He knew it.
He felt it.
And the worst part?
He'd done it without meaning to.
Again.
"Damn it," he whispered into his hands. "I didn't— I didn't mean—"
But intentions didn't matter.
Impact did.
And the impact was clear: Suki walked away thinking he wasn't wanted.
Ryuzí let his head fall back against the couch.
"Idiot," he whispered — at himself, not Suki.
The ceiling didn't answer. It never did.
⸻
Suki's House – The Door Opens
The lights in Suki's home were still on.
It made sense. His sisters never slept early.
He wiped his face with his sleeve, sniffed once, twice, and tried to pull himself together. He practiced a smile — it came out twisted. Tried again — too shaky. Gave up.
He unlocked the door quietly.
It swung open before he even touched the handle.
Rika stood there.
Eyes widening.
Her phone slipped a little in her hand.
"Suki?" she breathed. "Hey—what—what happened?"
Behind her, Hana appeared, halfway through tying her hair into a bun, holding a mug of tea.
"Oh my god— Suki?"
He didn't even try to pretend.
The moment he saw their faces —
Every wall he built on the walk home cracked.
And then collapsed.
"Rika…" he whispered.
His voice broke completely.
He didn't know how it happened but suddenly Hana's arms were around him and Rika's hand was on the back of his neck, and his face was buried in someone's hoodie, and he was shaking too hard to speak.
He cried.
Not the quiet tears he tried to swallow at Ryuzí's place.
But the ugly, full-body sobs that ripped out of him without permission.
His bag fell to the floor with a dull thud.
Rika rubbed slow circles on his back.
Hana whispered, "It's okay. You're safe. Let it out, sweetheart."
But Suki only cried harder.
"I— I— didn't—" he choked.
"Shh. Don't talk. Just breathe."
He gasped for air like someone drowning.
"It hurts," he finally whispered into Rika's shoulder. "It hurts so much."
Rika's grip tightened. "What happened? Did someone— did something happen at school? Did someone say something?"
"No—" he hiccuped. "Not school."
Hana exchanged a look with Rika.
"…Ryuzí?" she asked softly.
Suki's breath caught.
That was answer enough.
Hana's expression darkened — not with anger, but with protective older-sister instinct.
"What did he do?" she asked gently.
Suki shook his head immediately. "He— didn't— he didn't do anything. I mean— he didn't mean to— I just…" His voice shook harder. "I just… hurt."
Hana cupped his cheek. "Sweetheart, you can talk to us."
Suki swallowed.
Thought of Ryuzí's hand brushing his away.
Thought of his own voice saying "I'll match you" even though it felt like ripping his own heart out.
But he couldn't tell them.
Not yet.
Not when he didn't even understand all of it himself.
"Can we… not talk about it?" he whispered. "Just— for tonight?"
Rika nodded instantly.
"Of course."
Hana squeezed him again. "Absolutely. No pressure."
He inhaled shakily.
As they held him, a new worry crept in:
He'd said something about therapy.
He'd told his sisters, in a messy burst of emotion,
"He shouldn't say things about therapy if he hasn't even told me he goes."
But now his sisters looked confused.
And Suki realized with a sick drop in his stomach:
Ryuzí didn't tell him anything.
Suki only knew because he followed him once.
His sisters didn't know that.
"I… didn't mean that," Suki whispered, rubbing his eyes. "Just… ignore that part."
Rika frowned. "Suki—"
"Please."
The sisters fell silent.
They exchanged a worried look.
And Suki hated himself for adding another lie to the list.
⸻
Suki's Room – Alone
The moment his door closed, the silence was crushing.
He sat on the edge of his bed, fingers threaded through his hair, eyes burning and swollen.
He didn't change clothes.
Didn't turn on the lights.
Just sat there in the dim room, feeling the ache settle in his bones.
He whispered into the dark:
"I didn't want to match you. I just… didn't want to be the only one trying."
A sob escaped before he could stop it.
He curled forward, knees to his chest, forehead pressed against them.
He tried to breathe.
Failed.
Tried again.
Failed again.
He whispered,
"I love you… and it hurts."
⸻
Ryuzi – The Realization
Ryuzí sat on the floor, back against the couch, his head buried in his hands.
He'd stayed frozen at the door until his legs gave out.
His chest felt tight. His throat felt raw.
He didn't know how long he sat there. Minutes. Hours. Time blurred. The room stayed cold.
He thought of Suki, walking alone.Thought of Suki's tears.Thought of Suki telling him "I'll match you" like it was a vow or a break.
He whispered,
"What did I do?"
He knew the answer.
He'd taught Suki distance.
He'd trained him to expect silence.
He'd shown him how to step back by doing it first.
And now Suki would give him exactly what he thought he wanted.
His heart sank deeper.
Dr. Kudo had warned him:
"If you avoid sharing your feelings, he will think you don't care."
"Avoidance hurts the people you want to protect."
"Tell him one small truth."
He hadn't.
And now—
Suki had given him distance back.
Ryuzí's phone buzzed on the couch.
He lunged for it so fast he almost fumbled it.
He typed:
Ryuzi:Are you home?
The three dots appeared.
Ryuzí held his breath.
Then they vanished.
Came back.
Vanished.
Came back again.
Then—
Suki:yes.
One word.
Lowercase.
No emoji.
No sun.
No warmth.
Cold.
Short.
Formal.
A perfect mirror of Ryuzí's own messages from the past weeks.
His stomach dropped.
He typed again, fingers trembling:
Ryuzi:Are you… okay?
Suki took longer this time.
Much longer.
Finally:
Suki:i'm fine.
Ryuzí's breath caught.
It was the exact kind of text he always sent Suki.
Plain. Reassuring on the surface. Empty underneath.
He typed again:
Ryuzi:Can we talk tomorrow?
A full minute passed.
Then:
Suki:maybe.
Ryuzí's chest tightened painfully.
Not "yes."Not "no."Not "of course."Not "I want to."
Just:
maybe.
Distance returned in perfect symmetry.
He typed one last time:
Ryuzi:Goodnight.
Suki replied instantly this time.
Too instantly.
Like he'd been waiting to close the door.
Suki:goodnight.
Ryuzí set his phone down very slowly.
Pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes.
And for the first time in a long time,
he felt genuinely afraid.
Afraid he was losing the boy who had run toward him from the beginning.
Afraid he had broken something fragile without noticing when it cracked.
And afraid that the distance he thought would protect Suki…
Was the distance that might destroy them.
⸻
Group Threads
Rika texted Kenji:
Rika:Suki came home crying.Not talking.Just… keep an eye on him at school tomorrow?
Kenji responded immediately:
Kenji:Always.Tell him I'm here.
Aoi texted Miyako:
Aoi:Suki okay?
Miyako stared at her phone awhile before replying:
Miyako:No.But he will be.… I hope.
Haruto sent a message to the group chat:
Haruto:Did something happen between Ryuzi and Suki?
A beat.
No answer.
Then — surprisingly —
Miyako:Yes.But let them talk first.We shouldn't interfere.
Kenji's dot appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.
Then:
Kenji:If he doesn't come to school tomorrow…I'll check on him myself.
They all agreed silently.
⸻