"Don't wait for me," Gokudera Hayato instructed as he grabbed his black bag and slung it over his right shoulder. "I don't want you meddling with my issues either, so if anything happens, don't ever get involved, you hear me?"
Yamamoto Takeshi nodded, staying silent as he watched his childhood friend slip into his black shoes. He had learnt not to question about Hayato's late night meetings with his 'friends'. The baseball lover had indeed tried to find out more about it at first, but after finding out that his silver-haired friend was dealing with the Mafia, he found himself apprehensive about the whole situation. What could he possibly do to stop his friend? The boy was never one to listen - Takeshi knew - Hayato had been living with him for a total of ten years ever since his father had decided to send him over to his father.
"Make sure you study for that English test we have tomorrow. I'll be off now, baseball idiot."
Hearing his friend use his nickname made Takeshi a little more assured. He grabbed onto Hayato's shirt just as the boy was headed for the door, and pulled him closer for a hug, a grin on his face. "Be home safe, Hayato," he whispered gently. The other boy sighed and relaxed in his arms, for no one could ever escape those muscular arms anyway, before pushing himself away slowly. Flashing a small half-smile, he left.
Takeshi knew he should have listened to his gut feeling and stopped his friend, because by the time he found Hayato's farewell note in between the pages of his English textbook, he was too late.
Too late to stop his best friend from walking to his death.
"Dear Baseball Idiot,
I'm getting straight to the point. I may not survive this fight tonight. Remember to always eat your meals on time, and thank your pops for always taking care of me without a word of complaint. You can keep my belongings if I'm gone. You'll always be in a special place in my heart.
Arrivederci."
Takeshi mourned for the loss of his friend as the casket lowered into the ground three days later.