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Chapter One: joyful one and quiet one

The first time anyone noticed how close they were, it was a summer evening, warm and lazy, when the cicadas sang so loudly it felt like the whole neighborhood was vibrating.

Their mothers sat on the porch together, laughing over bowls of cut fruit, while inside the house two small boys lay sprawled across the tatami mat. One was talking a mile a minute, waving a toy car through the air like it could fly. The other just watched with a soft half-smile, quiet eyes following every exaggerated swoop.

“Look, if you drive fast enough you can jump over the mountain!” the louder boy declared, making the car leap across a pillow. His hair stuck to his forehead with sweat, but his grin was brighter than the sun outside.

The quieter boy didn’t argue, didn’t correct him, didn’t laugh—he just reached for his own smaller toy truck and parked it neatly beside his friend’s. “...It can wait for your car,” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper.

The extroverted boy paused, blinking, then broke into another grin. “So they can go together? That’s good. You’re smart.”

That was how it always was. One talked, the other listened. One reached out, the other stayed steady like the ground beneath.

Their mothers would tease—“Like shadows and light, those two”—while their fathers, seated at opposite ends of the dinner table, avoided each other’s eyes. The company both families were tied to had been struggling for months now, decisions clashing, pride getting in the way. But in the middle of that invisible battlefield, the boys never noticed.

They shared the same kindergarten classroom, tiny desks side by side. The shy one never had to raise his hand; his best friend always had enough words for both of them. At nap time, when the room fell into a drowsy hush, it wasn’t unusual for them to roll closer, blanket corners overlapping, small fingers brushing until they fell asleep.

It became normal: Saturday sleepovers, juice boxes with two straws, secret forts made of blankets and chairs. The extroverted boy would chatter endlessly about how one day they’d grow up and build their own company, better than their dads’, where nobody would fight. The quiet boy would nod, not because he believed it, but because the sound of his friend’s dreams was more comforting than silence.

One night, after a long day of playing in the park, they lay side by side in the dark. The extrovert whispered, “Hey… you’re not gonna leave, right? Even if our dads don’t like each other?”

The quiet one blinked in the dark, heart too young to name the feeling that swelled in his chest. He turned his head and whispered back, “I won’t leave.”

Their fingers found each other under the blanket. Small, clumsy, but sure.

Outside, the cicadas sang again, and for that moment, the world felt perfectly still.

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Chapter Two: The Shadow Behind the Trees

The sun was dipping low, bathing the park in an orange glow. The swings squeaked in the breeze, and the smell of dust and grass clung to the air.

“Okay, I’ll count this time!” the cheerful boy announced, grinning wide. He slapped his hands against the old oak trunk and shut his eyes tight. “One… two… three…”

The quiet boy hesitated for just a second before running off. His footsteps were soft, almost soundless, as he darted across the playground. He wasn’t the kind of child who liked being chased, but he loved the way his best friend’s laughter always came when the game began.

He found himself wandering to the far end of the park, where the slide’s shadow stretched long and the bushes grew thicker. Perfect, he thought. His friend would never find him here.

But as he crouched low behind the hedges, he felt it—a prickling sensation along the back of his neck.

He turned.

A man was standing a few steps away. Not smiling. Not moving. Just staring.

The boy’s chest tightened. He wanted to get up, to run back, but his small legs froze. The man took a slow step forward, and the park seemed to fall silent, all the shouts of other children fading away.

“...Twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty! Ready or not, here I come!”

The loud voice rang out, full of laughter and life. The joyful boy sprinted from the tree, spinning around as he searched. His eyes caught the familiar mop of hair half-hidden in the bushes—and then, someone else.

His grin vanished.

“HEY!” he shouted, louder than ever before, his voice breaking the air like glass shattering. He ran straight toward his friend without a second thought. “I found you!”

The man startled, muttered something under his breath, and stepped back into the shadows. By the time the joyful boy reached the bushes, the stranger was already gone.

He grabbed his best friend’s wrist tightly. “What happened? Who was that? Did he—”

The quiet boy shook his head quickly, eyes wide, lips trembling. He couldn’t form the words.

The cheerful boy’s chest heaved. He puffed himself up the way only children could, throwing his small arm protectively around his friend’s shoulders. “It’s okay. Don’t be scared. I’m here now.”

They stood there for a moment, breathing hard, holding onto each other. Finally, the cheerful one grinned again, though his voice was softer this time. “Next time, you hide closer, okay? I don’t want to lose you.”

The quiet boy nodded, clutching his sleeve with small fingers. For the rest of the evening, they stayed side by side, never straying far, as the orange sky deepened into night.

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That night, the quiet boy lay stiff under the blanket during their sleepover. The house was safe, the lights warm, but every time he shut his eyes, he saw that man’s stare.

Beside him, the joyful boy whispered in the dark, “You’re not sleeping, are you?”

The quiet one didn’t answer. His fingers only gripped the edge of the blanket tighter.

Without another word, the cheerful boy scooted closer until their shoulders touched. He tugged the blanket so it covered them both. “It’s fine now. You’ve got me.”

For the first time since the park, the quiet boy’s body loosened. His hand crept out from under the blanket, finding his friend’s. Small fingers tangled, holding on.

The joyful boy squeezed back, firm and sure. “I’ll always find you.”

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author's note:

I'll continue this story and everyday I'll post a chapter, i hope y'all will like this story, it's all my own work and my imagination

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Chapter Three: The Promise at the Doorstep

By the time they were five, it felt like they had never lived a day apart.

From their first clumsy steps in kindergarten to afternoons spent chasing fireflies, their days were strung together like beads of sunlight and laughter.

The quiet boy still didn’t speak much, but he didn’t have to—his friend always filled the silence, and somehow, he understood everything anyway.

The joyful boy, in turn, couldn’t imagine telling his stories to anyone else. The best games, the best secrets, the best naps—all belonged to them.

But one evening, things were different.

The quiet boy had been sitting on the front step, hugging his knees, waiting for the usual knock that meant his best friend had come to drag him off for another adventure. When the knock finally came, he jumped up with a small smile—only for it to falter the moment he saw his friend’s face.

The joyful boy wasn’t grinning. His eyes were puffy, like he’d been crying earlier but didn’t want to show it.

“Hey…” he started softly, not like his usual self. “I… I’m not here to play today.”

Confused, the quiet boy tilted his head. His heart sank before he even knew why.

“My dad’s company is moving. Tomorrow. We’re… we’re leaving town.” His words tumbled out clumsily, too heavy for such a small mouth. “It’s far away. I don’t know when I can come back.”

The quiet boy’s eyes widened. His throat burned, and before he could stop himself, tears spilled fast down his cheeks. He let out a sound he never made in front of anyone—loud, broken sobs that shook his small frame.

The joyful boy panicked and grabbed both his hands. “Don’t cry! Please don’t cry—” His own voice cracked. His own tears finally slipped free.

“I don’t want to go either! But… but I have to.”

The quiet boy tried to shake his head, tried to beg him to stay, but all that came out were hiccups and sobs.

So the cheerful boy did the only thing he could. He leaned close, clutching his friend’s fingers tightly, and whispered with trembling determination:

“I’ll come back to you. No matter what. Will you… will you wait for me?”

Through blurred eyes, the quiet boy nodded again and again, unable to form words.

The joyful boy gave him a watery smile, then pulled him into a fierce hug, small arms squeezing as if he could freeze time.

That night, the quiet boy lay awake, clutching the sleeve his friend had left damp with tears. And though the cicadas sang like every other summer night, for the first time, the world felt unbearably quiet.

it was so sudden, everything fall away..he never expected that, his only best friend will leave him like this..

Will he find me again?

I'll wait for you ..

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