Chapter 1
(Time: inescapable, inevitable, moving)
There's a tiny clock on his wrist, bright red numbers.
It's supposed to tick, supposed to move, supposed to tell him when he'll meet his soulmate.
The time will run to zero when they've met, moving numbers will become stationary—the ticking that signified uncertainty transforming to the silent stability of forever.
Matsuda Riku's clock hasn't ticked for as long as he can remember.
For as long as he's looked at it, he has seen only zeroes.
Nothing else.
The bright red light doesn't bring anticipation to him like it does for everyone else.
It's a looming, painful reminder that maybe there's not someone out there for him.
Maybe his soulmate is gone, dead, left him there.
Maybe he's never had one to begin with.
The first time he actually remembers looking down at the timer marring his wrist he's three, a few weeks away from four.
His mother is in the kitchen cooking dinner when he walks in, bare feet pounding on the floor with every step—he never did know how to keep quiet when he was that young.
"What's this?" He pulls on her shirt, gesturing to his wrist when she turns to look at him, all warm eyes and smiles.
(She can't see it, of course.
He's the only one that's able to see the numbers on his wrist, but everyone knows that there's a clock on each person's wrist, so it's easy to guess what he's talking about.)
"It's a timer.
When it stops ticking and reaches zero it means you've found the person you're supposed to be together forever with."
He remembers staring at the red numbers for a moment and not completely getting it, and murmuring a quiet "oh" before running off to get back to the toys he'd left strewn on his bedroom floor.
The thought of clocks and numbers and forevers are very far from his mind then.
It isn't until much later that he wonders why his timer is at zero already or why he's never seen it with any numbers besides zero.
"Matsu-chan!"
Matsuda can't explain the weird combination of annoyance and fondness that overcomes him when the too familiar presence lets go of his mother's hand and runs toward him, nearly tackling him to the ground.
(Even to this day, he still can't explain it, chalks it up to one of those things that will probably always be a mystery.)
Tamura Sora has been his friend for as long as he can remember.
So many of his memories—of their memories—involve each other that he can't really pinpoint a time when they weren't together.
Their mothers had apparently been old friends, excited to have children who would be born around the same time, wanted them to be friends.
Well, they've gotten their wish—Tamura and Matsuda had always been together, part of each other's lives, best friends.
"Get off!" Matsuda complains, trying to shake Tamura off of his arm.
The younger boy had jumped on him, clinging onto him and chattering excitedly.
"Aww, you're mean." Tamura's eyes are filled with mischief.
"Did you miss your nap again, Matsu-chan?
Is that why you're always so cranky?"
He pinches Tamura's arm, and the boy yelps in pain, letting go of him and immediately whining.
"Mom!
Matsu-chan pinched me... again!"
Tamura Sora is a brat.
He's spoiled, likes to tease, thinks he can get away with whatever he wants—he probably can, because as bratty as Tamura is, he's that charming kid with a cute face and sweet smile that draws attention and makes people want to indulge him.
It's annoying.
But at the same time, it's something he's grown used to.
And even though Tamura can be a complete pain, he's still fun to be around, even when he acts like a total crybaby.
"Sorry," Matsuda murmurs, not to Tamura—never to Tamura, whose crocodile tears and quivering lip are suddenly gone the moment Matsuda says it—but to his mother, who probably doesn't want her son being hit or pinched.
It's not that he wants to say it, but Matsuda's mother probably would have made him say it anyway, so may as well do it before she's upset with him.
"No, no, it's fine, Riku-kun," Tamura's mother assures him.
"Why don't you two go and play?"
Matsuda looks at Tamura, who is smiling expectantly.
(See, annoying.) He grabs the other boy's hand.
"Come on, let's go."
"I get to pick what we play to make up for you pinching me, right Matsu-chan?"
"Fine." He has to restrain himself from squeezing Tamura's hand too tightly.
(Together: companionship, united, close.)
It's probably something they'll always be.