---

At first, we were classmates, sitting next to each other.

Go Hara, who was quiet, and I, who always moved in a noisy crowd, seemed like we wouldn't get along, yet we clicked surprisingly well.

However, there weren't many links between me, who always went outside as soon as break time started,

and Go Hara, who sat quietly in his seat reading a book every time.

Go Hara.

That name, which sounded more like a girl's than a boy's.

.

.

.

The incident happened not long after the new semester started.

The bait was taken by those who were always looking for a chance to torment Go Hara.

“Guest. Are you friends with that gloomy bastard?”

With those eyes glinting particularly viciously that day, what could I, a mere 12-year-old, have said?

For me, to whom the group called 'us' was more important than 'me', it was too much to expect a better answer than that.

“No.”

After that, Go Hara began to be ostracized for being gay, a homo, gloomy, or disgusting.

I only found out after entering middle school, but the day before those guys asked if I was friends with Go Hara, they had found a diary in his locker.

Guest's smiling face is so cute.

Today I was on the same dodgeball team as Guest.

Things like that.

Capturing images of me that even I didn't know.

An observer's perspective.

Living through my middle school years, I often had this thought.

If at that time I

had

admitted

we were friends

would we

still be

friends

now

?

.

.

.

Middle school, which I graduated from somehow. And high school.

In that place,

I met you again.