Chapter Text
The only things that could be heard at that moment were the low creak of bicycle chains and the constant hum of cicadas.The road ahead of them stretched long and silent, flanked by dry grass gone golden under the weight of summer. It was a beautiful afternoon, indeed. Warm wind tugged gently at their shirts, sweeping sweat from collarbones and rustling through the trees around them.
Satoru stayed near the back.
It wasn’t that he couldn’t keep up. He just liked it better this way – trailing a little behind, quiet in his own head, where no one could see too much.
From where he rode, he could see the shapes of his friends outlined against the sky. Shoko’s legs pumping effortlessly, her hair slipping out of the bandana tied loosely on her head. Kento following peacefully just behind her, Yu weaving playfully between them like he was racing something – sunlight, shadows, or maybe just the wind itself. And Suguru – always a few feet ahead, always half somewhere else. Riding with one hand loose on the handlebar, the other drifting in the air beside him. Palm wide open as if he could hold on to something weightless. Or wave it away before it stayed too long.
He looked so terribly carefree. Beautiful in that unthinking way some people are – like sunlight through a dirty window, unbothered by whether or not it’s wanted. The kind of beautiful that didn’t ask to be seen – it just existed, quietly radiant, unapologetic. The sun lit him from the side, brushing soft gold across his jaw, his cheekbone, the line of his throat. His shirt clung slightly where sweat had soaked through at the back, outlining the curve of his spine. And the way his hand moved through the air – slow, absent-minded – Satoru wished he didn’t notice. Wished it didn’t gut him the way it did. But it was hard not to watch. Hard not to wonder what it would be like to exist in that sunlight too – to be close enough to touch, to speak without flinching, to want without shame.
He looked down at the road beneath his tires, the way the gravel gave way to packed dirt, the way sunlight scattered through leaves overhead. His shadow stretched long behind him. He tried to focus on that instead. The mechanical rhythm of pedaling. The subtle burn in his thighs. The ache in his shoulders from the ride.
But his gaze flicked back up.
And there Suguru was – still ahead, still unreachable.
The others had started to spread out a bit, the quiet of the ride cracking open in little bursts. Shoko reached up to fix the bandana slipping down her forehead, one hand off the handlebar, and her front wheel wobbled as it caught a patch of loose gravel. For a second, she veered slightly into Kento’s line.
Yu’s laughter rang out, as he swerved out of the way. “Trying to take us all out, Shoko?” he called, grinning wide.
“Graceful,” Kento added dryly, steering around her.
Shoko flipped them both off, muttering something that made Yu laugh even louder. Kento just exhaled sharply through his nose and shifted slightly forward on the pedals
They laughed and jostled up ahead, their voices carried by the warm wind. Satoru stayed just far enough behind, riding in silence. The world moved lively and bright without him, and maybe that was exactly how he wanted it.
The wind shifted, bringing with it the scent of lakewater – sharp, green, edged with algae and mud. They were getting close now. The last part of the trail opened into a soft slope that led down to the shore. Sunlight was breaking wider through the trees, dancing like gold coins on the surface.
Suguru glanced back over his shoulder. Just a second.
Satoru’s breath caught.
It was nothing, really. A glance. Not even directed at him – probably just checking on the others. But his hair had fallen into his eyes a little, slipping loose from the low ponytail tied at the nape of his neck. The angle of his jaw in the sun, the curve of his mouth as he turned made Satoru’s chest tighten in a way he wasn’t prepared for. It was a simple movement, effortless and brief, but it ignited something restless and raw inside him.
A soft whoop echoed ahead – Yu, of course – his bike skidding slightly as he sped down the slope and disappeared past the trees. Shoko followed a second later, standing on her pedals and shifting her weight to pick up speed. Kento’s descent was calmer, his hands steady, his expression unreadable. One by one, they vanished into light.
Suguru was the last to go.
For a moment, he hovered at the top of the hill, head turned slightly, as if waiting. Not quite looking back – but not entirely looking away, either. Then the moment passed, and he was gone too, swallowed by sunlight and the shimmer of lakewater beyond the trees.
Satoru blinked.
The trail ahead was empty now, only the soft whisper of wind through branches and the faint echo of cicadas remained. For a second, he stayed still at the crest of the hill, one foot braced on the ground, his chest tight in a way that had nothing to do with the ride.
Then he pushed off.
The world rushed up to meet him – air whipping past his ears, the trees blurring in his periphery, dappled light flickering over his skin like water. The slope bent beneath his wheels and carried him forward, faster, weightless. He let himself coast, no hands on the handlebars now, just wind and gravity and momentum, the road dropping beneath him like a breath held too long.
At the bottom, the trees fell away all at once – and the lake appeared.
Wide and glittering, its surface broken only by ripples of breeze. The others were already there, bikes dropped in the grass, shoes kicked off in scattered heaps. Yu was up to his knees in the shallows, splashing water at Shoko, who shouted something unprintable and shoved him hard enough to make him stumble. Kento was standing on the shore, watching them with a fondness he didn’t bother to hide.
And Suguru–
“You could’ve gotten yourself hurt, you know?”
His voice echoed in Satoru’s head – low and steady, yet sharper than the breeze. He stood a little off to the side, already shirtless, his skin catching the light, cross necklace glinting where it rested against his chest. His hair was damp at the temples like he’d already been in the water.
Satoru exhaled, slow. The warmth of the sun clung to his skin, but there was a different heat spreading under it now – something that made his hands feel too empty, his chest too full.
He shrugged, a soft smile appearing on his face. “I would never.”
Suguru didn’t answer but something in his expression softened – a flicker, gone before Satoru could name it.
This – almost unreadable – reaction made Satoru smirk faintly as he watched his friend head toward the water to join the others.
Satoru didn’t wait long before peeling off his shirt and letting it fall onto the seat of his bike – a rather old one, now resting in the grass at his feet. The chrome handlebars were streaked with patches of rust, catching glints of sunlight slipping through the trees. The worn leather saddle let out a faint creak as the frame settled into the uneven ground. His shoes landed nearby with a careless thud, toes scuffed, soles dusty from the long ride.
The earth beneath his feet was warm at first – packed dirt giving way to soft, grainy silt, then the shock of cool water rising past his ankles. He drew a sharp breath through his teeth but didn’t stop, wading forward until the lake licked at his knees. Dragonflies skimmed the surface nearby, wings flickering like bits of glass. Somewhere overhead, a woodpecker rapped softly at bark. But mostly, it was quiet – summer kind of quiet, where every sound feels a bit distant and slow, nostalgic in a way.
Then he plunged – one smooth motion, like shedding the weight of thought itself. The water closed over his head, muffling the world to a heartbeat and a hush. When he surfaced, hair plastered to his forehead and eyes squinting as the cold water stung and tried to slip beneath his lashes, blurring his vision.
For a brief stretch of time, everything around Satoru seemed to bend, as if the very air had thickened with the heat of summer and time was folding in on itself. The world slowed down and sped up all at once, caught between a moment and a memory not yet formed. Shapes drifted before him, softened by the shimmering haze rising off the lake. His friends appeared like impressions in a sun-drenched painting – Shoko’s laughter ringing clear and bright, sharp as a bell, though her face was just a warm blur. Yu splashing wildly, water sparkling like liquid diamonds as droplets caught the light and scattered in every direction. Kento stood with water swirling around his calves, the cool lake lapping gently as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other.
Suguru drifted somewhere in the blurred middle of it all – not quite near, not quite far. Waist-deep in the lake, his figure wavered through the shimmer rising off the surface, moving slowly, almost lazily, as if the water had thickened into honey around him. His hands skimmed along the top, fingers parting the light like threads. Every motion he made felt suspended. Not stalled, but slowed by something older than time. He tilted his head back, lashes wet, and the sun slid across his face in soft, golden strokes. His hair clung to his neck and temples, catching glints of light.
It was impossible to tell if he was listening, watching, or simply existing – half here, half elsewhere, as if memory and presence had folded over one another. A breath, a ripple, a moment. Then he turned slightly, casting a glance over his shoulder, and the world caught on that look – the whole summer holding its breath in the curve of it – brief, quiet, and unbearably gentle.
Time shifted again – hours folding in on themselves, slipping by like water between fingers. One moment, Satoru was stretched out on the warm shore, damp skin drying in the sun, laughter spilling easy from his chest as someone tossed a half-deflated ball across the sand. The next, the golden light had grown long and soft, and they were gathering their things in a slow, sun-drunken haze – towels wrung out, bikes unearthed from the grass, the scent of lakewater still clinging to their skin.
It all passed too quickly, like flipping through pages you meant to linger on. Summer pressed close, thick and humming, and yet already felt half gone – as if the memory of it were being made even as it slipped quietly out of reach.
By the time they left the lake, the heat had softened into something gentler – not quite cool, but no longer clinging. Their bikes moved in a loose rhythm along the trail, tires humming over dry earth and fallen leaves. No one said much. There wasn’t a need to. Sunlight filtered low through the branches, fractured and golden, catching in spokes and hair and sweat-damp shirts.
Eventually, the group began to thin – not abruptly, just in that natural, inevitable way summer evenings seem to close. Yu peeled off first, tossing a careless wave over his shoulder, already speeding ahead. Shoko followed soon after, lifting her hand without turning around. “See you,” she called, voice light, already fading. Kento was the last to split off – he didn’t slow, just veered down a narrow path lined with ivy, throwing a quiet “Bye” over his shoulder.
Now, it was just Satoru and Suguru, the hush of the evening pressing in. They didn’t say much. The tires clicked softly beneath them as they walked their bikes side by side, shoes crunching the gravel. The air smelled like warm pine and dry earth, and the heat of the day still lingered in the metal of the handlebars. Neither of them rushed. The world went quiet in the way it sometimes does when something good is ending, and you’re not quite ready to let it go.
“So,” Satoru said after a while, voice low and a little hoarse from the sun and the laughter, “worth the ride out here?”
Suguru smiled faintly, his gaze focused on the road ahead – where the path curved and slowly began to reveal the outline of their hometown. A scattering of rooftops nestled among trees. Porch lights flickering on one by one, soft and golden in the deepening blue. Windows cracked open, curtains fluttering. The hum of cicadas thick everywhere around them.
“Mhm,” he murmured softly, “Yeah. It was.”
Satoru let the silence settle between them again, dragging his fingertips lightly across the brake cables of his bike. The gravel crunched softly under their shoes, the sky had deepened to a kind of velvet blue, stars just beginning to appear above the treetops.
“Cool,” he said eventually, then added, with a crooked smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, “Wanna fuck around a bit more? Just ride around or something. I’m not really ready to head back yet.”
Suguru glanced over, brow raised. “No, Satoru. We have church tomorrow morning,” he said, tone dry but not unkind. “We. You included. Get some rest. And stop swearing.”
Satoru made a face, lips twisting in quiet protest as he looked away. He nudged a loose stone with the toe of his shoe, watching it skitter off the edge of the path and disappear into the tall grass.
He didn’t want to go home. Not yet. Not to that house. He just wanted a little more time – the stretch of this summer evening, of Suguru’s company, of everything feeling slow and soft and a little unreal.
But he didn’t argue. Not out loud, anyway.
“You’re no fun,” he muttered instead.
Suguru scoffed softly, drawing the sound out like a quiet laugh under his breath. “You’ll survive, Satoru.”
And as they walked in complete silence again, he believed him.
Believed he’d survive. Believed this night, this summer, might hold out just a little longer in the spaces between memory and what came next.
The road leveled out beneath them as the last of the trees gave way to the edges of town. Familiar houses emerged from the dusk – small, sloped roofs and sagging porches, some lit by the dim glow of yellow bulbs, others quiet and dark. A dog barked faintly in the distance. Somewhere, a screen door creaked.
At the corner near the shrine, they paused without needing to say much. This was where they always split off – Suguru’s street curving left, Satoru’s straight ahead.
Satoru sighed, one hand still resting lightly on the handlebars. “See you tomorrow,” he said, not quite looking over.
“Bright and early,” Suguru replied, soft and wry, giving a short wave without turning around.
Then they parted – Suguru’s figure slipping away down the shaded path, swallowed by low light and rustling trees.
Satoru pushed his bike slowly down the street, the wheels murmuring over the cracked pavement, toward his home with the porch light off and the windows shut. His shadow stretched long in the lamplight behind him.
The house was dark.
Not the kind of dark that comes with sleep or rest – but something heavier, older. The kind that seeps into the walls and lingers. Satoru eased the screen door shut behind him, careful with the latch. It still made that soft metallic creak, long and thin like a breath drawn too slow. Inside, the air was thick – humid with summer heat, but heavier somehow. Stale. Sour. The smell of old cigarettes hung low in the space between walls, mixed with the sharp bite of cheap liquor and something faintly spoiled, like fruit left out too long.
A radio murmured from the living room – something warbled and distant, static catching on the notes like wind through a frayed curtain. The tune was soft, half-faded. Unfamiliar.
He stepped in, quiet as he could.
The couch sagged under the weight of the man sprawled across it, legs splayed, one arm flung over his face. His mouth hung open slightly, a slow breath dragging in and out. The cushions were old and thin, their fabric worn to threads in places. Bottles clustered on the floor like weeds, some empty, some not – one tipped sideways, leaking a thin, sticky trail onto the already-stained rug. A few more had rolled beneath the coffee table, catching glints of light casted through the blinds
Satoru’s foot caught one. The bottle clinked dully against the table leg, spun once, then settled.
He froze.
Nothing.
Just the crackle of the radio and the slow, uneven rise of his father’s chest. The same as always.
He moved again, careful. Stepped around the mess and toward the stairs, his hand grazing the edge of the wall out of habit. The boards groaned beneath his weight even though he tried to step lightly – they always did. Still, he took them two at a time, breath held tight in his throat until he reached the top and closed his door behind him.
His room was small. The kind of small that pressed in close when the door shut. He leaned back against it, let out a breath that felt too loud in the quiet.
He slipped off his shoes quietly, then slowly peeled off his sweat-damp shirt, letting it fall to the floor. The fan in the corner was busted – had been for months – so he cracked his window open a few inches and tried not to breathe too deep. The air didn’t move much up here either, but at least it didn’t smell like the rest of the house.
He stood there for a moment, then reached for clean clothes. Just something soft and loose.
Before he could pull the shirt over his head, a sudden, heavy thud echoed through the floorboards downstairs. Footsteps followed – slow, unsteady, dragging upward.
The door slammed open with a crack that shook the frame.
“Where the hell’ve you been?” the voice snarled, thick with liquor and anger.
Satoru swallowed hard. His eyes dropped to the floor, unwilling to meet the storm in his father’s bloodshot glare. He said nothing.
“Don’t think I’m blind.” His father staggered inside, swaying like a drunk god about to collapse. “Out late, sneaking ‘round like a rat in the dark. You think this family’s some damn joke? You think you can just walk away and leave us to rot?”
His father’s eyes flicked toward the hallway, where his mother stood just behind the cracked doorframe – silent, watching. Her face was pale, her eyes glassy, fixed on the floor as if praying for strength she didn’t have. She backed away slowly and left without a word.
“You’re a disgrace.” His father’s nails dug into Satoru’s arm, biting into skin like claws. “Look at me when I speak!” His voice was a growl, sharp and brutal.
Satoru flinched as the slap came, dread squeezing his chest tight.
“Do you think the Lord will forgive you for this?” His father’s words spat venom and Satoru didn’t understand why .
Why, why, why, why, why?
“You don’t just disappoint me,” the man growled, fists clenched, trembling with rage. “You disappoint God himself.”
The room shrank around him, suffocating, as his father’s fist slammed into his ribs. Satoru gasped, the air rushing from his lungs in a sharp, painful whoosh. Pain exploded across his side – hot, deep, spreading like fire under his skin. He doubled over, mouth opening to scream, but a second fist caught him hard across the jaw, snapping his head sideways. A metallic taste flooded his mouth, sharp and coppery.
His father’s breath reeked of alcohol and rage, a choking stench that filled the cramped room. “You worthless stain,” he snarled, fingers gripping Satoru’s collar and yanking him upright. The skin at his neck burned where nails dug in, pulling, tearing.
Satoru’s eyes glazed over, a thin film of tears blurring his vision despite himself. He blinked, trying to hold them back, but the sting was relentless – a raw ache burning behind his lids. His breath caught in his throat, trembling and uneven.
His father’s gaze locked onto him – cold, hard, merciless. Without a word, he yanked Satoru harder by the collar and shoved him violently against the bed. The mattress groaned beneath the sudden impact, the sheets twisting beneath Satoru’s back.
“Don’t ever come home late again,” his father snarled, voice low.
Then, still gripping the fabric of his shirt, he released him with a shove, turned sharply, and stormed out. The door slammed behind him with a harsh crack that echoed through the entire house.
Satoru laid there for a moment, stunned – the sting of the bruises burning through his skin, his breath ragged and uneven. Then the tears came, spilling down his cheeks in a relentless stream.
He didn’t wipe them away. They blurred his vision, soaked into the fabric beneath him, and traced quiet paths down to his neck. The room felt impossibly cold now, every shadow stretching longer, closing in.
He curled up tighter, pulling the tangled sheets around his trembling body like a fragile shield against the world that had just turned so cruel. His chest heaved with silent sobs, small and broken, as he pressed his face into the pillow, wishing the dark would swallow him whole.