Chapter Text
“We have hope, I think?” your brother says.
It is June in the thick of summer, the weather unreasonably hot.
“I don’t mean to be overconfident, but with Midousuji-kun… Perhaps we could manage a podium finish on one of the days? That was always Yasu-senpai’s dream, even if we never managed to do it back then. It’d be amazing!”
*
Your son comes back from Kanagawa burned by the sun, with a lightness to his bones and a new fire in his eyes. He tells anyone who would listen about how outstanding his kouhai was, how amazing his accomplishments in the interhigh.
“Two zekken!” he exclaims. “He beat the Hakogaku sprinter – Shinkai, the national high school record holder – now Midousuji is the fastest in Japan!”
His enthusiasm is endearing, and you’re touched by how much he obviously loves his team. You are glad he managed to find pride in his role as captain-but-not-the-ace, because you remember what Mitsuko told you about how upset he was on that first day. You also know that neither your son nor his much vaunted kouhai actually finished the race, and the team itself dropped two places compared to the previous year. You are proud, of course you are. But as happy as he is now, you know it is hard to objectively view your son’s captainship as a success. Obviously, you are not objective.
You notice the faint flush that creeps up on his cheeks every time he speaks about this Midousuji, the way he keeps reaching up to push back at his hair. And you start to wonder.
*
“Why don’t you invite him over for dinner?”
Your son’s eyes grow wide.
“For the team,” you add. “To thank them for their hard work, and for supporting you as captain.” Your son doesn’t contradict you on this point, although he does break eye contact for a brief moment. “Tsuji-kun and Ihara-kun are graduating too, aren’t they?”
*
You see a woman pulling a purple and white jersey out from one of the washing machines at the laundromat one afternoon. Pink sakura petals, red lining on the sleeves. You’re holding on to the same thing in your hands.
“Hello, I’m sorry, I just happened to see – we have the same laundry. Your son’s in the cycling club too? At Kyoto Fushimi?”
“Oh – yes, but this belongs to my nephew, actually.”
“My son, Ishigaki, he’s the captain.”
“Ishigaki? I think Midousuji-kun might have mentioned him before. He doesn’t talk much about his friends,” she smiles, with some effort. “Your son must have been kind to him.”
Midousuji?
“Oh?” she says, surprised, when you mention the dinner. “He didn’t say anything about it. But don’t worry, I’ll make sure he turns up.”
*
When you finally do meet Midousuji, he is both everything and nothing like you expected.
He arrives, accompanied by a woman the same age as your mother, who spend a while chatting at the door before she waves goodbye and leaves. He’s much taller than you thought, hands curling around a fruit basket he seems at a loss of what to do with.
“I think he wants to give you something,” you whisper, nudging your mother’s shoulder.
“Oh? Thank you, Midousuji-kun. These are very lovely.”
“Thank you for inviting me,” he says quietly, handing over the basket. Then he stands with his long arms hanging down by his sides, head bent and not quite looking at your mother’s face. You’re surprised when he speaks, because his voice comes out high pitched and uncertain, and you certainly cannot match the Midousuji your brother describes with the boy standing awkwardly in front of you now.
“Do go and sit down, Midousuji-kun! Koutarou and the others should be back soon. It shouldn’t take them too long to walk over from the store.”
Your brother does return soon enough. There is the stirring at the door from the group of boys you’ve come to know as your brother’s teammates as they come in, from Tsuji’s low mumble to Mizuta’s excited chatter.
“We’re back!” your brother announces, waving to you in the kitchen as he toes off his shoes. “Oh – Midousuji!”
Midousuji’s expression grows tight at the sound of your brother calling his name. The conversation the others were having dies immediately and one of the bags nearly slips out of Yamaguchi’s hands. But your brother has already turned to him, waiting.
It doesn’t quite make sense to you, yet. But you think you might understand.