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A sound—half gasp, half sob—cut through the silence. Mrs. Ayase. Her hands covered her mouth, tears spilling over her fingers. Yoona held her shoulders, jaw clenched, fury barely contained. Out of everyone in the room, it was Mrs. Ayase’s face that made Alex feel like he just committed the worst sin of his life.

Jun took a huge step forward and crashed into the reception sign, crushing it under his weight. His tears dripped onto the portrait beneath him—blurring Ayase’s smiling face.

Then he was up and gone, through the doors, down the hall, footsteps echoing until they weren’t.

Alex stood there, cheek throbbing, and didn’t follow him.

7

Graduation

Car headlights from the opposite lane flashed blurry stars into Jun’s teary vision. The passing streetlights washed over him as darkness and the looming mountains surrounded the freeway.

Jun sucked in slow breaths, fighting to keep the tears down. They hadn’t stopped since this morning, when he stared at the car ceiling, trying to decide whether to go. Now, alone on this dark freeway, his mind was putting up another fight—replaying everything that just happened at the memorial.

The more it repeated, the less sure he was that any of it happened. Did he make a fool of himself in front of everyone in that room? Did Mrs. Ayase cry because of him? Did he slap Alex across the face? That alone should have sent him driving back to apologize.

But he couldn’t face Alex right now. Not after those last words—that Jun couldn’t do anything in the end. Jun already knew that. His denial had prevented him from accepting it.

The guilt should have weighed the most on Jun. But there was one image he couldn’t shake.

A flowing white dress shirt.

It was like the dream kept haunting him the moment he saw the young European man’s shirt before accidentally spilling on him. But the unwanted memory resurfaced when the man told Jun he wasn’t close to Ruki.

Those words rang in his head until they stopped sounding like real words. They muddled into every memory he had of Ruki, making him wonder if he’d made everything up.

But it couldn’t have been. Ruki was real.

Every memory Jun had of him blurred together. And in every single one, they were beautiful because they had each other. Elementary school days through high school days.

All of that must have happened. Jun was sure of it.

But there was a period where they didn’t talk as much. Every day became once a week, then sometimes, then almost nothing at all. Was Ruki hurting during that time?

A car almost swerved into him. Tires screeched. Horns blared. He jerked back into his lane, heart pounding—not just from the near-accident, but from fear of going deep into the recesses of his own memory.

The questions kept snowballing. Did he have those thoughts in elementary school? Middle school? Was it because they couldn’t see each other for a year and had to use Skype? When Jun came back to America in high school, everything was wonderful. Like the picture-perfect high school life. But did Ruki have those thoughts then?

More tears pooled in his eyes when he realized he didn’t know what Ruki had felt that whole time. It was a shame to call himself his best friend when he knew nothing at all.

Jun took the nearest exit. He wasn’t sure which city he was in and didn’t care. He knew these streets so well it was like autopilot—except he wasn’t the one who had learned all these landmarks. That was Ruki.

All those late-night drives after junk food, after the mall, after long walks in the park. All the times Ruki’s cringey bubblegum playlist filled the car. All those times Ruki did everything to make Jun laugh until his stomach hurt.

Even then? Was he hurting then?

Jun continued to curse himself as he turned right onto a small residential street. The road wound into curves lined with large houses on each side—the shortcuts Ruki used to take coming back to make their late-night curfew. Jun’s stomach twisted into a knot when he reached the crosswalk. The roads were too familiar. One particular street would take him to a place his body remembered even if his mind tried not to. The shortcut to Sunshine Union High School.

His hands tightened on the wheel. The car was the only one at the intersection between Herring and First. Another set of headlights pulled up behind him. He stared at the misty red light and willed it to stay. One more block and the school would come into full view.

The light turned green.

He didn’t brake. He didn’t turn around. His body knew this road—every turn, every light—because he’d ridden it a thousand times, only back then, he was never the one driving.

He cruised under the speed limit. The dry grassy hill and the tall metal gates of the entrance appeared. He turned left at the South Gate where the teachers used to park.

The car snaked along the winding road, between the sloping hill and the high concrete wall of the tennis courts. Jun looped around towards the back of the main gym—the place where they held every rally, every assembly, every dance, every ceremony. The small building attached to the side was still there. That was the spot where Jun used to wait for Ruki to come out of the locker rooms after soccer practice. Almost every day.