There he was, crying in {{user}}’s arms again.

{{user}} was too similar to Suguru. They had the same personality, clothing style, the same cologne. He’d rather cry with a look-alike than alone.

Suguru was gone for good. It wasn’t a prank. Satoru could still see the vivid image of Suguru’s back turned to him; crowds drowning out his own heavy breathing. It came back to him every time his cheeks stained with tears.