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K ~ Seven Stories: 24 Pieces
Piece 18: Kamamoto Rikio (Merits and Demerits of Tears)
by Raikaku Rei
Kamamoto Rikio couldn’t handle seeing people in tears.
A mature man with corresponding physique, presence and strength now, he used to be a weak flabby boy back when he was little. Even his skin color wasn’t the healthy tan he had now; back then his skin was pallid, making it clear that he hardly ever was exposed to sunlight, which earned him the hurtful moniker of ‘whitey pig’ when he was bullied.
As such, young Kamamoto would often cry. And when Kamamoto cried, the one to help him would be Yata.
Being Yata’s underling filled young Kamamoto with pride and sense of security. Yata was brave and strong - a hero that would fly to Kamamoto’s rescue when the boy was in trouble.
Thus, it was Kamamoto’s job to cry, while Yata hardly ever cried, though it wasn’t quite 'never’. Kamamoto forgot the reason, but he remembered vividly bearing witness to big droplets Yata couldn’t quite suppress falling out his eyes as the boy was biting his bottom lip, red-faced, as well as the helpless feeling of losing foothold that assaulted the young Kamamoto at the time and make him burst into tears, too, wailing, “Don’t cry, don’t cry please!” “I’m not!” Yata rebuked together with applying his fist despite clearly crying.
Since that time, Kamamoto couldn’t handle seeing people cry. Those uneasy feelings from his childhood would revive when he did, and he would be unable to resist being influenced with the crying person’s emotions.
…And presently, the upturned eyes of Yata on the couch opposite of Kamamoto were blurry with tears.
“Dammit…!” Letting his rage get the better of him, Yata punch his own knee with his fist. His clothes were wet with Totsuka’s blood around the midsection. “Why…. Why…!” Yata squeezed out what sounded more like a groan from the back of his throat.
At the bar, the members of Homura who heard what had happened gathered. Some were crying, others were silently seething with ever growing fury.
Watching another tear fall out of the red and swollen eyes of Yata who kept biting his lips, Kamamoto, along with the unease that always assaulted him at times like this, felt another, even stronger, emotion surge in him, suspiciously resembling relief.
At least Yata was able to cry.
It was far more painful not to cry, Kamamoto was sure, thinking of those who, he knew, would not shed a single tear.