1981:ch-15

Take Me Back

To The Year

1981

Chapter 15:

"A Lingering Weight"

The cool morning breeze brushed against Haruto's face as he walked beside Souta, their usual path to gakkō unfolding before them. The quiet streets of their small town were still waking up, bathed in the golden morning light.

Souta glanced up at him, noticing the way he had been oddly quiet since they left her house. Normally, their mornings were filled with playful banter, but today, Haruto seemed… distant.

"You're weird today," she finally said, tilting her head at him.

Haruto blinked, momentarily pulled from his thoughts. "Huh?"

"You're being weird," she repeated, stuffing her hands into her pockets. "All quiet and moody. Did you not get enough sleep?"

He let out a short sigh. "I slept fine."

Souta narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously. "Liar."

Haruto rolled his eyes. "Why do you even care?"

"Because you're my best friend, obviously." She gave him a playful shove, but he barely reacted, which only made her pout. "See? You'd usually push me back by now. What's wrong with you?"

"Nothing," he muttered, staring straight ahead.

Souta frowned. She wasn't convinced, but she knew Haruto well enough to know that pushing him wouldn't get her anywhere. He wasn't the type to just spill his thoughts, no matter how much they weighed on him.

Instead, she sighed dramatically, throwing her hands up. "Fine, keep your secrets."

Haruto huffed, shaking his head. "You're so dramatic."

"Only because you're being frustrating."

A small smirk tugged at his lips despite himself. "When am I not?"

"Fair point."

The conversation died down after that, and Souta simply walked beside him, occasionally stealing glances his way. She didn't know what was bothering him, but she could tell something was definitely on his mind.

And whatever it was, it was making him act colder than usual.

—

The first class passed uneventfully.

Haruto sat at his desk, absentmindedly tapping his pencil against his notebook. The professor's voice droned on in the background, but he barely registered the words.

Even when Souta turned around once to whisper something to him, he only gave short, uninterested responses.

"Oi, are you even listening?" she whispered.

Haruto blinked. "What?"

Souta sighed, shaking her head. "Never mind. You're impossible today."

He let out a quiet breath, leaning back in his chair. He knew he was acting off, but he couldn't shake the thoughts still lingering in his mind.

The irritation from yesterday—thinking about Ryuji, about Souta talking about him—it was still there, pressing against his chest.

And the worst part?

He had no right to feel this way.

Souta wasn't his.

She could like whoever she wanted.

Even if that thought made something inside him twist uncomfortably.

—

By the time class ended, Haruto was more than ready to leave.

As usual, he and Souta started heading home together, but today, they had a small detour—Aomi's Bakery, her parents' shop.

Souta worked there often, helping her family out whenever she could. It was a cozy little place, one that Haruto had grown familiar with over the years.

"You're still coming to help tomorrow, right?" Souta asked, looking up at him as they walked.

Haruto shoved his hands into his pockets. "Yeah, yeah. Same as usual."

Souta smiled. "Good. My mom says you're getting better at handling customers."

He snorted. "That's a lie."

"Maybe," she teased. "But at least you don't look completely miserable doing it."

Haruto rolled his eyes. "Debatable."

Souta chuckled before glancing up at him again. "You sure you're okay, though?"

Haruto sighed. He should've expected her to bring it up again.

"I told you, I'm fine."

She studied him for a moment before humming. "Alright. But if something's bothering you, you can tell me, you know?"

"I know."

But he wouldn't. Not yet.

As they reached the bakery, the familiar scent of freshly baked bread and pastries greeted them. Souta smiled as she stepped inside, waving at her mother, who was busy arranging some new pastries in the display case.

Haruto lingered at the door for a moment before sighing.

"I'll be going now," he murmured, his tone still carrying that bored indifference.

Souta blinked at him. "Oh, okay."

"I'll be here tomorrow, like always," he added, glancing away.

Souta smiled softly. "Yeah. See you tomorrow."

Without another word, Haruto turned on his heel and left.

Souta watched him go, her brows furrowing slightly.

There was definitely something wrong.

And she wasn't going to let him keep avoiding her forever.

…

The walk back home felt longer than usual.

Haruto stuffed his hands into his pockets, his gaze fixed on the ground as he walked through the quiet streets of their small town. The late afternoon sun cast a warm glow over everything, but it didn't do much to ease the weight in his chest.

Something about today felt off.

No—he felt off.

Ever since yesterday, that conversation about Ryuji had been gnawing at him, and no matter how much he told himself it didn't matter, that it shouldn't matter, it still did.

Souta had been talking about him so casually, like it was just another meaningless conversation, but to Haruto, it wasn't.

Because for the first time, he found himself wondering—what if?

What if Souta really was interested in Ryūji?

What if she liked him?

What if, one day, she started looking at Ryūji the way she never looked at him?

Haruto let out a frustrated sigh, kicking a loose rock on the pavement. It skidded across the street before disappearing into the grass.

This was stupid.

Why was he even thinking about this?

It's not like he had any right to feel this way.

Souta wasn't his.

She was his best friend. Nothing more. Nothing less.

And yet, the thought of her liking someone else—even just the possibility of it—made his chest tighten uncomfortably.

"Tch," he muttered under his breath, running a hand through his hair.

He hated this.

He hated how restless he felt. How irritated. How jealous.

It was a ridiculous emotion, one he had no reason to feel, and yet here he was, caught in it.

By the time he reached home, his mood hadn't improved.

He lazily pushed the door open, stepping inside. The familiar scent of dinner filled the air, but he barely paid attention to it.

"I'm home," he muttered, barely loud enough to be heard.

From the kitchen, his mother called back, "Welcome home, Haruto! Dinner will be ready soon!"

"Yeah," he mumbled, already making his way upstairs.

He closed his bedroom door behind him and let out a long breath.

Throwing his bag to the floor, he collapsed onto his bed, staring up at the ceiling.

His thoughts were still a mess.

No matter how much he tried to push them away, they just kept creeping back in.

Why does she have to talk about him?

Why does it bother me so much?

Haruto shut his eyes, letting out a frustrated sigh.

He knew why.

He just didn't want to admit it.

After a moment, he pushed himself up and headed to the bathroom.

Maybe a shower would help clear his head. He would always do whenever he was drowning in his thoughts.

—

The warm water ran down his skin, steam filling the small bathroom. Haruto leaned his forehead against the cool tiles, his hands resting against the wall.

The sound of running water drowned out the world outside, giving him a moment of quiet.

A moment to breathe.

Closing his eyes, he let the heat soak into his muscles, trying to relax.

But even then, his mind refused to stay still.

What if she actually likes him?

The thought came uninvited, and his grip on the wall tightened slightly.

Would that really be so surprising? Ryūji wasn't a bad guy. He was smart, well-liked, and a lot of girls in their school thought he was cool.

Haruto had never really paid attention to him before. He had no reason to. But now—

Now, he was starting to resent the guy.

Not because of anything he had done—Ryūji probably didn't even know Haruto existed.

No, Haruto resented him for a different reason.

Because, for the first time, he was realizing just how replaceable he could be.

Souta had always been by his side, ever since they were kids. It was always just the two of them. But people changed. Feelings changed.

And one day, she might not need him anymore.

One day, she might choose someone else.

The thought left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Letting out a slow breath, he turned off the water and grabbed a towel.

As he stepped out of the shower, he caught his reflection in the fogged-up mirror.

He looked tired.

Shaking his head, he ran a hand through his wet hair before walking back to his room.

He needed to stop thinking about this.

But deep down, he knew—

It wasn't going to be that easy.