Morals
What Kiyotaka Ishimaru has been taught is the law of black and white.
The opposite halves of the world know no shades in between; the rules stand on one side, their breakers on the other. It is printed in his mind, in images and words — society knows no order and no mercy, not outside the boundaries of morality.
It is a conflict of natures, the one he takes part in. He grinds wrong after wrong, without rest or a single doubt; because, on the other side, malice never gives anyone a break.
In his nightmares, stopping means failure, and failure his own ruin — he only strives to build honesty, continuously, so that he can burn down lies.
What Kiyotaka Ishimaru learns on his skin, on the other hand, is inevitably wrong.
Against all notions, even the certain ones, it has entered him, and now it runs in his veins – it has become like air or water, like the pulse in his chest, rising and falling with the same consistence.
It is easy to forget Oowada is the name of a delinquent. So much of him stands in the way – it is his honor code, his good soul and his laugh; it is the way he pats his shoulders, the warmth of his arm wraped around them. There are the baths, the affection, the shared moments; there is all of him, and all that Kiyotaka now knows he is.
And their very existence contradicts what should be; all they have found in each other would be lost to the appearances, if, even just for a moment, he still followed what he used to keep as his only truths.
His old certainties shatter to pieces every time his newfound brother talks, with every smile, with every word of gratitude for having met him on his path. Kiyotaka listens, fascinated; he wants to learn every single truth of him, what gives light to his eyes, what bends the creases on his forehead, and all the secrets he still holds too close to reveal.
He guesses much more than he should. He cannot tell how, or why; he only perceives what they are, and have become together. Whatever started it has the strength of a river – so intense and so impossible to control that, within Kiyotaka's heart, it could rip the very roots of his life anytime, driving him wherever the emotions choose to go.
He is aware of it. Nonetheless, to the end, he struggles to keep him close.
His upbringing was strict enough to haunt him with guilt. He is still reminded, in his desolate silence, of how Mondo Oowada could eventually have led him the wrong way. But he was real, friendly, full of acceptance – rules never loved, never breathed like him. Rules, like the dead, are cold and still.
Kiyotaka sheds tears without an end, repeating it to himself – it does not matter, not with him, not anymore. It did not matter.
But it is when rules go back to their meaning that, for sure, he loses himself with no return.