Chapter Text
Ryo walks behind Amagai, the silence far too loud and near-stifling as they walk through the forest. Only the crunching of leaves and the snapping of branches that come with every step of Ryo’s beat-up combat boots and Amagai’s pristine sneakers make noise, accompanied by the muted sounds of the fauna surrounding them.
The chirp of a bird. The crunching of their steps. The clicking as their path turns from crunchy leaves to an intentionally placed path of slabs. The hollow tapping as they step onto the wooden bridge. The sound of rushing water.
Ryo recalls all the times they used to go here when they were younger. Back when things were different. Before Senomon, and before Amagai burnt his bridges with the Kōhei of Ryo’s memories, Ryo recalls weekends spent buying cheap convenience store snacks; Amagai would always buy a few things, and Ryo would get a soda and a singular bag of chips, because back then his parents still had the care to give him 300 yen for them. They were dirt poor, but they were always willing to give him just enough. Ryo and he would walk to the forest and sit on this bridge to eat. They’d giggle, and they’d always thought it’d last forever.
They never cherished those moments back then. They never appreciated the chance they had. Ryo thinks that if he could go back, even for a moment, he’d bask in it. He’d go back and tell his nine-year-old self to savour every moment of what he had, when everything was always so fleeting.
They went to different schools after, and Ryo’s parents stopped caring and started dismissing him, and he was staying in more and more. The money couldn’t be spared, and Ryo was upset, but even his child brain understood. Then he was told to stop going, and his father (the same father who would later beg for him to be close to Amagai again) told him to stop seeing his best friend.
His only friend.
But Ryo was a child, and Amagai didn’t push nearly as hard as Ryo would’ve hoped. Those weekend trips turned to every two weeks, then every month, then to dust.
Ryo would sit alone, drumming his fingers—the leader of Nami High with no entourage around him—and he’d try to remember the excitement of each of those days. The joy of having something to look forward to. The disappointment when they dissolved. He’d feel longing for that semblance of happiness that he once had, back when money was tight but he didn’t have to worry, and the kids bullied him, but he had somebody—a friend.
What was left now? The distant favour of peers, no distinct friend. Kōhei was his friend, his only friend. God, how he missed Kōhei. Ryo thought back on every interaction they had, trying to recall the specifics surrounding what occurred. Trying to imagine what Kōhei said, when he’d never been focused on remembering in the moment, when he never thought they would end at all.
Now, now that Amagai has returned (Amagai distinctly, not Kōhei), their walks to the bridge have been infrequent, more sombre than anything else. They’re filled with poignant silence—the Amagai that Ryo now knows only yells or says nothing at all. Ryo has no gall to start a conversation, so they don’t speak. There are no snacks. No laughing.
They’re older, true. Who would expect them to act the exact same as they did eight or nine years ago? Ryo would fret if they acted the same as they had then, but it was no lie to say that he mourned the fact that his joyous moments have turned as bleak as everything feels.
Amagai shows him kindness on occasion. But Ryo can’t lie and argue that Amagai is kind regularly. He’s not. Ryo wonders, when they go on the bridge now, if Amagai will speak to him or say nothing. If, when he spoke, it would be kind, or it would be laced with bitter anger and fury—if Ryo would even know why he was so angry.
The last time they’d been was right before their attack on Oya. Months ago. In that time, they overran a district, fought an entire school, and Ryo battled Fujio from Oya. In that time, Ryo proved his loyalty to Kōhei in the most public way. When all hope was deemed lost, when his body was already protesting from the number of hits he’d already taken, he pushed past it all to beat Fujio.
In that time, Ryo secured Amagai the position he’d been craving for so long. The leader of the top school in the SWORD district.
In that time, Ryo and Amagai have established an odd relationship…if that’s how you could describe it.
Amagai has everything he asked for—everything he’d asked Ryo for. His alliances fell through, and Ryo was the sole reason why he succeeded. He’s the top school. The students like him even more now that they have a sense of superiority as students at the top school, despite the win not having much to do with Amagai at all and certainly not with them. Despite the fact that they’re near-abysmal fighters in comparison to the students from the other school,.
Amagai has everything. He has money, favour, and the position he’s craved. Yet, somehow, Ryo has not increased his favour with Amagai. If anything, Amagai’s been more distant. Snappy, rude. His waxing poetics about the hierarchical nature of the world have only gotten more intense and more targeted directly at Ryo.
“Have you ever considered what you want to do after this?” Amagai questioned him.
“I haven’t. I don’t know.” He blinked. It wasn’t exactly true. He’d always thought about it, but he zoned out each time.
Amagai laughed and drummed his fingers. “I’ll start training in the business—I’m taking over once I get to my mid-twenties or something. I’m gonna be making six figures.”
Ryo nods. What was he supposed to say? “That’s nice. You deserve it. Maybe I’ll try to go to university.”
Amagai laughed once more. “You think you’ll get in? Yeah, right.”
It stung. He was right. He knew the entrance exams were ridiculously difficult, and it wasn’t as if he’d had…the best education. Or the best grades. Or that his dad would approve of him going to university as opposed to starting a job straight out of high school.
“I guess I’ll start applying for jobs? I don’t know. I don’t know what skills I have to offer.”
“I guess that’s why you’ll never be anything important—poor.”
Ryo swallowed, stared off into the distance. “Yeah, I guess.” He said, despondent.
Amagai kept sneering at him. He’d curse more at Ryo, as if he’d done something wrong. Usually, he couldn’t think of anything that could’ve been upsetting to Amagai. It was frustrating, but more disheartening.
He’d never been on worse terms with Amagai, and never had it been so unclear as to why he was on bad terms.
Amagai and he…it was awkward, unbalanced, and ridden with one-sided anger. Just the other day, Amagai screamed at him over something as minuscule as ordering the wrong drink for his dinner. Screamed. Ryo recalled that he shut down in response, spewing apologies—especially when Amagai flung one of the plastic boxes across the room and it turned out to be Ryo’s dinner spilled all over the floor.
(Maybe he spent the last of his pay cheque from last month on that meal—and it was barely midway through the current month—because it was a late night and he hadn’t had anything to eat since breakfast. Maybe he really needed that. He didn’t let Amagai know.)
When his apologies failed, he stopped apologising. He froze, and as Amagai came closer to scream in his face, he just accepted that he was going to be hit. He stood stock still, feet unmoving, only daring to blink and have his eyes trail along Amagai’s slowly advancing form. When Amagai’s hand rose quickly to slap him, he flinched—near imperceptibly. Amagai blinked sharply, as if he’d been snapped out of a trance, stepped away from him, grabbed his container of food, and stormed away.
Ryo cried after he left.
He didn’t let Amagai know.
Now, they stood on the bridge, only days later, silence surrounding them.
Ryo knows that Amagai is angry. Just like he always is. He’s still not sure.
The irony of Amagai always being angry at him isn’t lost on him—he’s entirely aware of how absurd it is. Were it not for him, Amagai would be crawling himself up at the current moment from the position at the bottom of the school ranking. Ryo wishes he could spit that out at Amagai and acknowledge how unfair he was being; he wishes he could get angry at it because he had every right.
Ryo could never be angry at Amagai. Maybe that’s the part that’s most upsetting—the fact that Amagai has no issue being cross, and Ryo can never manage much more than a fleeting, fading annoyance.
He’s sure it’s obvious too—Tsukasa, in their few interactions, picked it up almost instantly. It was embarrassing that for someone whose emotions were so purposefully hidden behind layers of indifference, they were dismantled to find his biggest secret instantly.
He recalled looking at Tsukasa, bound on the floor of Senomon with a nose that was steadily leaking blood from Amagai’s sharp knee to his face, and making eye contact. It felt like Tsukasa was seeing straight through him—straight through Suzaki.
“I mean, he must have some sort of dirt on you, otherwise, why would you work for him?” Tsukasa questioned, at first.
Ryo, back turned to him, continued walking.
“Of course, unless there’s something more.”
He stopped abruptly.
“What is it?” Tsukasa questioned, perceptive as always. “A debt to pay? A one-sided friendship? A one-sided romance?”
“You don’t know anything.” He scoffed, his voice hard. Humiliation prickled at his skin.
“Hit the nail on the head, then, huh? You think he cares? Is that what you convinced yourself of?”
“Shut up.”
“You’re smarter than that. You know what he thinks—you’re not anything to him anymore.”
He spun on his heel, hands curled into fists, to look at Tsukasa.
“You think you’re so fucking smart.” He spits, and Tsukasa cocks an eyebrow.
“You never engage with others. I’ve made you angry. I know I’m right—and you’re not wrong. Well, at least your feelings—about him? 100 percent.”
“Amagai should’ve gagged you too.” Is all he replies, walking out, shame boiling in him.
Because Tsukasa was right. About everything, and Ryo abhorred it.
The desperation that he’s encroaching on now is almost worse, reaching a point where all he wants to do is sink to his knees and profess to Amagai that he needs him so badly that he fears he’ll die without him.
He stands too close beside Amagai on the bridge overlook. He knows he’s too close, because he can almost brush the hand that Amagai has resting on the railing. His fingertips itch to reach out and touch them.
He doesn’t.
The silence stretches on for what feels indefinite, and Ryo will never be the one to break it.
It’s not peaceful, not like it is on occasion, because the tensions are so high.
The water they overlook used to be a gorgeous, clear blue back when they were little. Now it’s a cloudy grey. Somehow, even the environment feels the weight of their changing personalities and relations.
All Ryo does is wait for the inevitable bomb drop.
It comes moments later. Amagai turns to him, and Ryo follows his motion, directing his eyes from the murky water to the clear brown of Amagai’s eyes.
“I’m thinking about removing you from payroll.”
Ryo jolts instantly. “What?” he replies, rushed.
“I’m probably going to remove you from my payroll.” Amagai repeats, inspecting a fingernail with only a sliver of his attention.
“Why—” Ryo begins. His voice cracks and fades.
“What did I do?” He questions.
Amagai just shrugs. “Don’t really need you anymore. I’ve reached the top. There’s really not anyone for you to fight now, so why would I keep you on the payroll?”
Ryo’s throat feels like it’s closing in. He might be suffocating. “Amagai… I can find another use. Please.”
Amagai laughs. “‘Another use?’ Like what? It’s not like you have any strategic knowledge. You’re not that smart. I don’t need a starfighter now that the fighting is done.”
“What if they come back to take back their position? I was the only reason why you succeeded last time, Amagai.”
Amagai shrugs.
Ryo lowers his voice, almost to a whisper. “Amagai, I need this job. Please, please don’t take this away from me.”
“So you suppose I should just waste my money on you? You’re not that useful at the current moment, but I’m supposed to keep paying you just because you need it?”
“I know; I know that it’s greedy, but I need you, Amagai.”
“Me?” Amagai scoffs. “You mean my money.”
How many times must they toe this line?
“Amagai, I have no one else. It’s not your money; I have no one but you.”
Amagai’s face curls into one of disgust. “That’s pathetic.”
“I don’t care, Amagai. You—” His voice breaks once more. He collapses onto the wooden bridge, with a loud thud emitting from the action. “I have nothing else. My only purpose—”
“The fuck is your issue?” Amagai cuts him off, staring down as if he hadn’t just ripped away everything that Ryo had with a few words.
“You tell me to jump; I’d dive right off this bridge.”
“Okay—that’s a goddamn problem. You’re fucked up.”
“I’d cease breathing if you told me to; I’d give up anything for you; I don’t know what I'll do if you stop speaking to me.”
Amagai takes a large step back. “What the fuck? Stop that—stop talking, Suzaki.” If Ryo could process his tone, maybe he’d hear the slightest bit of horror embedded in the words.
He can’t, not when Amagai is going to get rid of him, and he’ll have to try to live without any purpose, without his love, without the only reason he keeps breathing.
“Sometimes I think that everything is pointless—”
“Ryo!” Amagai snaps, yelling.
It’s deafening, despite how open the area they’re in is. Ryo falls silent, his chest heaving from panic.
Please, you can’t hate me, Amagai. You can’t.
“Just…” He exhales heavily, running a hand over his face. “Just be quiet. I’m not firing you, whatever. Never do what you just did again, though. What the actual fuck, Suzaki?”
Amagai is breathing just as heavily as he is, his eyes frantically shifting around out of concern.
Ryo doesn’t know why he’d be in such distress. It’s not like he’s ever cared outwardly about what Ryo had to say—
What is Ryo supposed to do? The damage is done. Amagai hates him anyway, and now he thinks him some sort of freak, and whose fault is that but Ryo’s?
Ryo’s, for once again, being unable to contain his emotions. Ryo’s for making a mockery of Amagai’s decisions. Ryo’s for causing him indescribable concern and fostering an environment that was toxic on both of their behalves. Ryo’s for allowing Amagai to trample over top of him and then being upset by the resulting consequences. It’s not his fault for having these feelings—but he continuously causes more strife by being unable to control them.
Amagai didn’t deserve someone like him—someone who wasn’t truly capable of regulating in a way that was manageable. Someone whose sense of self relied almost solely on the person who would eventually become his partner. Amagai and he barely functioned at this level—as two partners in crime who were also friends (but only somewhat) and also had an odd, indescribable undercurrent of want. Sexual, emotional, or carnal? A mix of all three? Ryo wasn’t even sure. But he felt it. He knew that Amagai did as well, but that wasn’t really the point. How could they ever work out as more, if they couldn’t even work out like this?
Ryo was never under the impression that he was emotionally stable or that he would be remotely stable in a relationship. He wasn’t under the impression that Amagai could manage to be a good partner either. Why would he be? Just as Ryo had given no indication that he would be, neither had Amagai. Someone whose emotions flip viscerally so quickly was almost more alarming than someone like Ryo's, whose simply overflowed, crashing in heavy, infrequent waves.
No, Amagai wouldn’t be a good partner. Ryo couldn’t confidently say that he cared. Ryo wanted him. Beyond all reason, beyond all the issues that would inevitably arise from the sharp desire he felt. Amagai never let him know how he felt.
He still didn’t that day. Ryo broke down and begged at his feet for a simple chance to be near him, and Amagai’s face hardened. Concerned, perhaps. Perhaps hidden under the callousness of his gaze, Amagai was concerned. Ryo had nearly confessed to him words that he'd kept secret for too long. Words that came too close to exposing how he truly felt about Amagai, about the world, about his life and his importance.
So yeah, maybe Amagai was concerned—Ryo in that moment alone gave him at least three reasons to be. But, Amagai's concern was likely to be impersonal at best. Concern didn't constitute care, and it was rather unlikely that Amagai could care about anything that Suzaki Ryo had to say. Ryo could give up everything, and he’d still be no closer to determining if Amagai did care. That fact was devastating.
Kōhei would've cared. Ryo hasn't seen Kōhei in what feels like a lifetime.
So, Amagai told him to stand up, and he did. Amagai walked away from the bridge, and Ryo followed dutifully.
The crunching of the leaves ingrained itself in his head. He abhorred it.
It’d be so wrong to crash his lips against Amagai’s. All it’d do was consume him with guilt over his actions. So despite his fingers itching and his long-lasting desire, Ryo stayed silent and followed him back.