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Prince is asleep in the backseat almost as soon as they get into the car.
They’re all deadly tired, of course, after the wild ride that were the qualifiers. Most of them doze off on the drive home; but Prince still looks worst of all, passed out in every sense of the word, slumped against the car door with his head on his chest and the manga volume he was still reading on the walk lying somewhere on the ground. When he looks back over his shoulder, Kakeru can’t help thinking he looks more dead than alive.
The others wake up when Haiji finally pulls up in front of their home, their drowsiness quickly fading when they remember the upcoming victory celebration. Prince is still asleep. In the buzz of excitement the others jump out of the car without remembering to wake him up.
“He’s out like a light,” Haiji remarks as he undoes his seat belt and pulls the key out of the ignition. “Can you wake him up? I’m going ahead to help with the food.”
Kakeru nods, and Haiji tosses him the car key and goes after the team. He is left alone with the key in his hand and a sleeping Prince in the backseat.
Honestly, he feels kind of bad about waking him. He exerted himself more than anyone else; he deserves all the rest he can get.
But of course he also deserves to have some of the victory feast before the others eat all the food without him.
So Kakeru leaves his seat, walks around the car, and slides into the backseat from the door opposite the side where Prince is asleep. He could have just opened the one he’s slumped against, but somehow that seems just a little too harsh. Besides, he doesn’t want Prince falling sideways out of the car.
“Prince,” he says quietly, giving him a nudge. “Prince, wake up.”
A groan half muffled by the door. “I’m skipping morning practice today. Tell the others I’m dead.”
“No… it’s not morning,” Kakeru replies. “We’re home.”
Another groan, then Prince lifts his head and looks around, his face covered in marks where it lay squished against the window and door. “Oh, right,” he says. “It’s still the same day. So that’s why I feel like I just ran a marathon.”
Kakeru blinks owlishly, and Prince cracks a small smile. “I’m joking.”
Kakeru smiles back. There’s a moment’s silence as Prince rakes a hand through his hair and yawns, letting his gaze roam around.
“This slave-driving race followed me into my dreams,” he says at last, suddenly looking very tired. “Even after we qualified, I’m never going to be free from this, am I?”
Kakeru doesn’t answer immediately. Prince furrows his brow.
“We did qualify,” he says, “right?”
Kakeru nods.
“Good.” Prince breathes a sigh of relief. “So that part wasn’t a dream.”
“You did well.”
Prince’s head snaps up. “Hm?”
“At the race,” Kakeru answers. “You did well.”
For a long, awkward moment Prince simply looks at him, his pale eyes scanning his face as if searching for something Kakeru doesn’t understand. Then he snorts. “I almost died, but carry on.”
“Still.” Kakeru doesn’t avoid his eyes while speaking, not anymore. “This was a harder task for you than for the rest of us. And you made it.”
“Just barely.”
Kakeru blinks. Something about Prince’s tone has changed. He isn’t looking at him anymore; he is gazing out through the window, his wavy hair obscuring his face. “I’m still the slowest guy on the team,” he says, his hands tensing up where they lie in his lap. “I’ve never been an athlete. What’s so easy for all of you guys is almost impossible to me. If we hadn’t made it in… I know it would’ve been because of me.”
For a moment Kakeru doesn’t say anything. He isn’t fully sure what to say. He has never been in Prince’s situation. To him, running has always come naturally. He has never had to worry about not being good enough or dragging down his team.
But he does know he doesn’t like that attitude.
“It wouldn’t.”
On an impulse he reaches for Prince’s arm, fingers closing around his sleeve. “If a team doesn’t make it, it’s never one person’s fault,” he says determinedly. “If one person’s slow, it’s okay as long as the others can make up for it and run faster.”
Prince turns around. Their eyes meet again and interlock, dark blue and golden-brown, as time comes to a stop.
Then, just for a split second, Prince breathes a small laugh.
“You sure have changed,” he says. “I remember a time when you would’ve said the opposite.”
Kakeru shifts and shuffles uncomfortably. He doesn’t like to be reminded.
“I think I like the new you better.”
Kakeru goes pink, and Prince looks at him in quiet amusement before picking his manga off the floor and opening the car door. “Well, let’s go,” he says, back to his usual tone of mild exasperation. “I don’t want the others filing a missing report.”
With that he gets out, and Kakeru is left stumbling after him. He is still so flustered that he almost forgets to lock the car; it’s only the thought of demon-mode Haiji that saves him, though he doubts anyone would try to steal that rusty old tin can.
But for the entire way into the house he can’t stop wondering if he could have done the same things Prince did if their places had been exchanged.