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The only sound that could be heard there was the singing of birds. Perhaps, from time to time, an unknown couple would pass by, even if far from that place, and, aside from people who happened to walk there by chance, nothing else distracted his attention.
The clouds and the sky were blending into one, and the deep blue that had lasted all day was fading, giving way to softer, lighter shades. It was dusk, and night was approaching. But the cool breeze of the day did not weaken; instead, it grew denser little by little.
So there were the birds, the strangers, the cold wind of the breeze, and, every now and then, the warm touch of those fingers on his face. It was timid, subtle, retreating as quickly as it approached. Ryogi felt comfort every time he sensed that touch. It was invigorating—experiencing this feeling made him feel more alive each time. Something he had never imagined would happen for years.
In any case, he never quite knew what to do when he was there, lying carefreely on that green grass that pricked his skin, while his fingers timidly intertwined with those of that boy. He felt so shy and embarrassed—not that he was uncomfortable, in a bad way, by touching someone's fingers, but he had never imagined he would become so intimate like this. He smiled. Shikadai was like a light in his life.
He was happy that someone so kind and honest was willing to help him rebuild his life. He didn't know how he could repay him, but he swore to himself that he would do anything to never let Shikadai down. It was more than a promise; it was his mission, his new purpose.
— You’re distracted — said Shikadai.
Ryogi cursed himself mentally for it. He had so much time to think when he was alone; it didn’t make sense to get lost in his own thoughts when, for the first time, real life could offer him something much better.
— I'm sorry — he said, and, not for the first time that day, he allowed himself to appreciate those beautiful green eyes. Shikadai was looking at him; Ryogi returned the gaze.
It was something so intimate, so pleasant—Shikadai looking at him that way. His heart filled with joy, he felt breathless, struggling to keep breathing. They were lying face to face, their hands joined between them, and Shikadai, now and then, played with his fingers or occasionally brushed a strand of hair from his face.
— So... do you want to play another game of Shogi?
He asked, as he sat on the grass, his hand now over his, smiling in such a genuine way that it could be considered something divine. In moments like this, Ryogi could only say yes.
So he simply sat on the ground like him, taking a moment to appreciate the wind in his hair, the sky—once blue, now painted in a thousand intense shades of pink and orange—the warm, gentle touch on his cold skin, the breeze brushing his bare feet against the green grass, and the shogi board carelessly placed beside Shikadai. Ryogi took a deep breath and then smiled.
He was going to make Shikadai lose every game...