When I met Shiota, he seemed odd, but I seemed to forget about easily enough. He was nice enough, and I kept him company until we graduated primary school. He was polite and quiet, and came up with the best games. He was always there as comfort, and always listened. I was never asked for any favours. I never talked about him though- to anyone. Why would I? It wasn't until I was halfway through my first year of middle school that I even knew that I missed him. I still drew, the way he /suggested/ I did. One day, a drunken yakuza thug threatened me in an alleyway. Even when the bullet entered my chest, I was calm. As I lay in estuaries of my blood, I saw Shiota, smiling as he always did. Oh, I thought, that's why. Why bother fearing death when you sat next to it's most dangerous child for six years?