He spotted them the moment he turned the corner. Baji and Kazutora sitting on the wide stone steps like they didn't know his world was on fire. Baji had his arms draped lazily over his knees, his usual slouch in place. Kazutora was more closed off, head dipped, long bangs hiding his face like they always did when he didn't want to be seen.
Mikey stopped walking.
The wind moved softly through the trees behind the shrine, rustling the old paper charms tied to the ropes. It smelled like dust, stone, and smoke. He didn't move right away. He was trying to stay calm, trying to remember the why of things. The big picture. Toman.
The gang they were building for freedom and strength. For something better.
Baji had been there from the beginning. Kazutora, too, in his own way. Broken, twitchy, smiling-too-big Kazutora who clung to Baji like he was the last light left in a collapsing tunnel.
They were his friends. His brothers. And now? Now Mikey couldn't stop thinking about the scar on Shinichiro's scalp. The dislocated arm and the pain in his voice. The silence in his eyes when he told Mikey the truth.
"I didn't see who hit me. But they left together," Shinichiro had said.
Mikey's jaw clenched because Kazutora still wasn't looking at him. That's what gave it away. That one glance down, filled with guilt. With cowardice.
His vision narrowed—his steps moving before he even told them to. Up the stairs.
One, two, three—
His fist landed on Kazutora's face before a single word escaped his mouth. It was hard. Sharp. Honest.
Kazutora reeled back, eyes wide—but Mikey wasn't done. Another punch. And another. The sound of knuckles meeting bone echoed off the stone.
"Mikey—!" Baji lunged forward to grab him—but Mikey's arm flew out, striking him across the face in the same breath. A fast, brutal swing. Just once.
Baji staggered as Kazutora wiped blood from his mouth, stunned. Mikey stood between them, chest heaving, but he didn't yell. Didn't scream.
The opposite, really. That awful calm was back again. The hollow kind. The one that made the world feel far away and quiet.
He stared down at them with eyes that barely felt like his own. "…Why didn't you tell me?"
His voice was flat. Too quiet.
Kazutora looked down again, lip trembling, but he didn't speak.
So Baji did.
"…It was supposed to be your birthday gift," Baji said, voice rough. "That's all. We didn't know."
Mikey didn't move, so Baji went on. "We didn't know he worked there. Shinichiro. He looked like just some guy trying to stop us from taking the bike."
His hand curled into a fist at his side. "We didn't mean for it to happen. Kazutora panicked. I—I didn't know he'd grabbed the wrench."
Mikey still didn't speak. The words felt like cotton in his ears.
"It wasn't supposed to go like that," Baji added. "We wanted to surprise you. That's all."
Kazutora finally looked up, blood at the corner of his mouth, eyes wet. He didn't say I'm sorry. And maybe that was worse.
Mikey just stood there. That hollow calm still wrapping around his bones like chains in water, because Kazutora still didn't answer. Not really. He looked up with wide, glassy eyes and opened his mouth, but whatever came out wasn't enough.
A stammer, nothing more than a breath. Not even an excuse.
Mikey's fingers curled into fists again. His body moved before his thoughts did—rage rising fast and real this time, not the quiet kind that buried itself in his bones but the sharp kind, hot and blinding.
He surged forward, ready to hit again—
And a hand caught the back of his shirt.
Gentle. Not yanking. Just there, like a quiet anchor in the storm.
Mikey didn't turn to look. Didn't need to. He knew it was Takemichi's, because the moment that hand touched him, the anger slid back beneath the surface like a tide pulled in by moonlight.
The calm returned. Not fake or forced. Just… there.
He breathed in slowly, then exhaled shakily. And when he spoke again, his voice wasn't flat anymore. It cracked—just barely—but it cracked.
"You know how close he was to dying?" Mikey said softly, eyes still locked on Kazutora. "He was dying. If Takemichi hadn't helped him, hadn't called the ambulance…"
His throat tightened. He swallowed hard.
"I would've lost him," Mikey whispered. "For a bike. For a surprise. For a birthday present."
Kazutora looked like he couldn't breathe while Baji had his head down, jaw clenched.
"I haven't even heard a 'sorry' yet," Mikey said, voice rising—not in anger now, but in disbelief. "From the one who actually did it."
Kazutora flinched. Then finally—quietly—he spoke. "…Do you still think of me as a friend?"
The words were small. So soft Mikey almost didn't catch them, but he did. And something cold rolled through him again. Not rage. Not even grief as he stared at Kazutora, eyes sharp and bottomless.
"…It's hard," Mikey said, his voice was hollow again. "But it's hard because you still haven't apologized yet."
Kazutora's breath hitched, but Mikey didn't say anything else. Didn't need to. The silence that followed said everything he couldn't bring himself to voice.
'You hurt someone I love.'
'You didn't come clean.'
'And I don't know if I'll ever trust you again.'
'But also—
'I wish I could.'
Kazutora still hadn't moved. Still half-curled in on himself, eyes lowered, shoulders tight, blood drying at the corner of his mouth.
Mikey waited for anything—an explanation, an apology, a sign that Kazutora even understood what he'd done.
The silence dragged until "…I'm sorry."
The words were barely there, but Mikey heard them.
Kazutora looked up. His hands were shaking, fingers twitching like he didn't know what to do with them. His mouth opened again—trembled—then spoke.
"I was supposed to be the lookout," he said, voice thin and raw. "Keisuke was the one trying to hotwire the bike. I was watching the alley."
He didn't look at Baji. Didn't look at Mikey.
"I saw someone come in. I saw him see Keisuke. And I panicked." His throat worked around the next words like they hurt. "I didn't know who he was. I didn't think about it. I just saw a wrench nearby and I—I grabbed it."
The words came faster now, like they'd been locked behind a dam that finally cracked.
"I didn't think about the guy. About him. I thought—Keisuke's gonna get in trouble. I have to do something. I have to stop it." His hands were curled now, pressing into the stone step like they could hold him together. "When I hit him, I didn't hear him scream. I just heard the crack. And then the blood. And I felt…"
He looked up. The tears in his eyes. The truth in them.
"I felt relief," Kazutora said, voice cracking. "Because Keisuke was okay. Because we ran and he didn't get caught. Because I fixed it."
He laughed once. Sharp. Ugly. Empty. I think I'm broken."
The wind moved through the trees again.
"I keep thinking," Kazutora whispered, "about that sound. The sound his body made when I hit him. And I didn't feel guilt right away. I just feel scared. Like I should run. Like I don't want to see the face of the person I hurt."
He finally looked at Mikey—really looked at him. "I'm afraid. All the time. That I'm not just broken. That I'll break everything else, too."
Mikey stood there, still and hollow and reeling. He hadn't expected the truth to come out like this. Not with shaking hands and a cracked voice and eyes that looked more like a storm than a boy.
Baji stepped forward. His cheek was still red where Mikey had hit him, but he didn't flinch, didn't hesitate. Just stood behind Kazutora—hands at his sides, voice low but steady.
"Kazutora's not broken," he said.
Kazutora didn't react. He was still looking at Mikey like the world was hanging on his answer. Baji crouched slightly, one hand braced on his knee, the other curling loosely into a fist.
"Even if he is," he went on, quieter now, "we're friends. And friends don't let each other get crushed by their worst parts. We deal with it together."
Kazutora didn't blink. Didn't nod.
Maybe he heard it.
Maybe he didn't.
But he still hadn't looked away from Mikey.
Mikey stared back, frozen in place.
Then Kazutora spoke again. Soft. Wrecked.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I'll try to fix it."
His voice broke on the last word.
"Just—tell me how. Tell me what to do to fix it."
And Mikey… He didn't know. His throat tightened. His lungs ached like he'd forgotten how to breathe.
How do you fix nearly killing someone I love?
He stepped back. Just once. Just far enough that his shoulder met something solid. Takemichi's hand. Still there, holding the back of his shirt with that same gentle, grounding grip.
And everything steadied again.
The tremble in his spine eased. The fog in his chest lifted. He closed his eyes for half a breath. Then looked back at Kazutora. "…You should apologize to Shin-nii first."
His voice was quiet. Flat, but no longer cold. "He's the one you hurt. Not me. Not really."
Kazutora's eyes glistened and Mikey looked down, his hands curled tighter.
"And maybe," he said slowly, "after a while… we can be okay."
He didn't promise or say when, but he left the door open.
And that—after everything—was more than Kazutora had expected, who stood up slowly, eyes still shining but his mouth set in a firm, tight line.
He didn't say anything else. Just nodded once. Then turned. Baji followed him, brushing dirt from his jeans, glancing back at Mikey only once—with a small, grateful nod.
"…Thanks," Baji muttered, voice low but sincere. "For not giving up on us."
Mikey didn't answer. He watched them walk away—two shadows moving down the steps, shoulder to shoulder again.
And then they were gone.
The wind picked up slightly, brushing through the trees overhead.
Stillness settled.
And Mikey finally turned.
Takemichi hadn't moved.
He was standing just behind him, arms loose at his sides, expression soft—so damn soft—with a quiet understanding Mikey hadn't seen in anyone in a long time. Not pity or concern. Just… knowing. It broke something in him.
Mikey stepped forward, arms stiff at first. Then he pulled Takemichi into a hug. Awkward, at first. But then he buried his face in Takemichi's shoulder, arms tightening, fists clenched in the back of his shirt.
He didn't cry, but his hands were shaking.
His whole body was trembling like something inside him had started to come apart and he didn't know how to stop it.
He couldn't speak.
He couldn't.
Because if he tried, it wouldn't be words—it'd be a sob.
And maybe he couldn't come back from that.
But Takemichi didn't ask anything of him. He just held him tighter. Warm. Steady. Real.
"You don't have to hold it all in," Takemichi murmured against his ear. "Not for me. Not for anyone. You're allowed to let go."
And those words—Those words were a key in the lock.
Mikey's fingers curled tighter into Takemichi's shirt, his forehead pressed into his shoulder like he wanted to disappear inside him, and the shaking grew worse—not violent, but deep. Full-body tremors like the aftershocks of something buried too long.
But the warmth… It was still there. Calm. Patient. Unshakable. And this time, it was even warmer, gentler. So beautiful it almost hurt.
Mikey didn't know how long they stood there like that. But it was long enough for the fear to fade. Long enough for the tremors to still. And long enough for Mikey to realize—maybe for the first time—That this was what it felt like to be held without conditions.
Just… held.
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