Dear Koutarou

The Bridge

Dear Bokuto,

It's pretty early, so I hope you don't mind the misspellings. My mind's pretty foggy at six in the morning, and I'd only happened to wake up about five minutes ago looking for a notebook I could use.

If you're wondering what the notebook's for, rest assured, this is my fully written apology.

I know, I know. I should be saying it out loud – everything I have to say would lose their dramatic effect (which I believe is very important to you) if I had to put it all on paper. I know that, but I'm doing this anyway.

I just don't want to cry in front of you, Bokuto-san.

FEBRUARY 16TH. Bokuto stood on an empty and battered bridge in the outskirts of Tokyo, eyeing the river that skirted through the valley just below him. He watched as the water sparkled, basked in the afternoon sunlight, before his head shot up to meet the sky. Sprayed across it were hues of yellow, blue, and pink pastel for as far as the eye could see.

And Bokuto wallowed in the consolation it provided him.

He'd always liked looking at the sky. After all, everyone, regardless of their location in the planet, shared it as a single roof no matter how far apart they were. It always made him feel as though someone had been watching over him – or at least, that was what the preacher told him, and what he had been forcing himself to think.

In reality, the sky was a constant reminder of his loneliness, and he basked in the feeling of nobody ever being there for him, sinking even deeper into his own thoughts to a point that he could no longer find himself crying to sleep.

One thing was for sure, though.

He used to like looking at the sky.

"Look, Kou-chan," his grandmother would tell him on starry nights, "the stars are twinkling for you!" Eight-year-old Bokuto would scurry over to her, sink into her lap, follow wherever her finger directed him to look as she named every constellation as though he was reciting the alphabet.

Bokuto shook his head. The preacher told him his grandmother would always be watching over him from the heavens where that righteous soul of hers belonged, and patiently wait for him to join hands with her once it was her grandson's turn to go. Bokuto never really thought that that was the best piece of advice someone could give at a funeral, especially with Bokuto being her only family member, but he could have cared less.

It was better than being told apologies as though they had anything to do with his grandmother's illness.

Gran, if you really are watching over me right now, Bokuto thought, lifting his right leg to place his foot on the railing, if you're patiently waiting for me to come and join hands with you, he gripped the metal with both hands, preparing to hoist his weight up, I bet you wouldn't mind if I came to see you sooner.

"What are you doing?" asked someone from behind him.

The new voice was calm and authoritative in a way that it left Bokuto startled and withdrawing his leg to whip his whole body the opposite direction, only to find a man whose hands were shoved into the pockets of a chunky blue goosedown, staring at him with half-lidded, uncaring, and piercing blue almonds.

Bokuto's initial thought was to run. Of course, he hadn't really known the police would be guarding an abandoned bridge. After all, he was alone when he got there, and this man had sprung out of nowhere to ask whatever the hell he was doing. If Bokuto did unknowingly trespass into private property... well, he really was stupid.