Kaito turned then, and Erito saw it—the crack in his best friend’s chest, raw and weeping. “Then why ?”
“And yet, he doesn’t see me. Not really. He sees a girlfriend. A role. You… you look at me like I’m a painting you’re trying to understand.”
Erito had laughed then. He wasn’t laughing now. He was watching the way the condensation from her beer dripped down her index finger.
Erito Saito had never been afraid of heights. He’d climbed the old transmission tower behind the school in his second year, just to prove a point. But standing in Rina Kawamura’s apartment doorway, watching her towel-dry her hair, he felt a vertigo far more paralyzing. Erito - Rina Kawamura - Best friend-s girlfrien...
Erito’s throat tightened. “What do you mean?”
“Don’t,” Kaito said. His voice was flat. Empty. “I don’t want your apology. I want to understand. Was I that terrible? Was I that easy to betray?”
“I know,” he replied, and kissed her again. Kaito turned then, and Erito saw it—the crack
He walked away. Erito watched him go, the city lights smearing into gold and red through his tears.
He didn’t scream. He didn’t cry. He simply called Erito and said, “The spare key to my place. I need it back.”
“I’m sorry,” Erito said. The words felt like gravel. He sees a girlfriend
Erito drove to the meeting point—a pedestrian bridge over the Kaname River, where the three of them had once thrown cherry blossom petals and made stupid promises about being friends until they were old. Kaito was already there, leaning against the railing, looking out at the water.
“You’re late,” she said, not unkindly. Her voice was the same low, smoky murmur that had haunted his dreams for six months. “Kaito’s stuck at work. He said you’d keep me company.”
And still, they didn’t stop. The end came not with a dramatic confrontation, but with a forgotten receipt.