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It is a story worth remembering:
you are the boy who does not respect his seniors.
Arrogant,
with a horrible personality,
who makes a hobby of laughing at people
and getting under their skin.
You are the boy who never takes anything seriously,
has not a shred of heart,
and lets others’ words slide off you like water off an oiled surface.
Your name is Miyuki Kazuya.

You meet the boy who befriended the wrong people –
he turned delinquent for,
wasted his trust on,
sullied his reputation for
these people
who used him
like their personal guard dog.
He comes to Seidou,
preceded by his unsavory reputation,
trailed by sidelong whispers,
judged by his hooligan-colored hair.
His name is Kuramochi Youichi.

The first day of school:
Kuramochi shifts from slouch to slouch with glares,
daring the rumors
daring the murmuring classmates
to come closer to him.
And you, Miyuki –
unaware or unconcerned –
you stroll right up to him
and ask him a wholly innocuous question –
will you join the baseball club? 
(He will never forget this act of friendship.)

A year later:
unbeknownst to you both,
or unnoticed by you both,
Kuramochi has given over his loyalty and faith to you
for safekeeping.
And you have allowed more of yourself to be seen
by Kuramochi
than anyone else.
(Because, you see,
Sawamura could never have gotten
this close
if you had not been used to it
because of Kuramochi.)

Here is how an average conversation between the two of you go:
You needle Kuramochi,
jab at his girlfriend-less shaped insecurity,
milk every centimeter you have over him for all it is worth,
and blithely insult his intelligence.
He responds beautifully,
exactly as you wanted,
with serious-faced death threats,
violent glares,
angry headlocks,
and dirty mutterings and curses.

Most people would miss the way
your eyes are dancing,
the way mirth lightens your face,
the way your heart calms and rests
in this comfortable squabbling.
(Kuramochi is a home, just like Sawamura.)
Most people would not see
the fondness that looks so much like glee.

And most people would miss
the way Kuramochi’s irritation
exists in the same space
as his care,
the way he can be angry in one breath
and worried in the next.
His concern
wears a mask of anger,
his fierce loyalty
looks like irritation,
and his affection hides in the lines of
his grumpy face.
He is as prickly as you.
Everything comes out
as though through a filter of aggravation.
But you understand him anyway.

Finally, you let him help you:
He fumbles,
clumsy as a novice
throwing a pitch
for the first time,
as he tries to understand the world you live in.
His mouth shapes itself awkwardly around your language,
his gaze pushes you,
urgent and fierce,
daring you to fight,
his hand always reaches out,
warm and solid on your shoulder.
When have you come to rely on this true, sure thing?

He keeps up with a world wholly different from his own –
for you, he says.
Because of you, he says.
You tease him for going soft,
and he glares at you to shut up,
but how unexpected that your heart lightens,
and you feel a little restored to yourself,
a little more able to challenge,
a little more willing to dare.

He sees you through and true.
And you love him, so much.