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Their witness was long forgotten as the jeers flew back and forth, bouncing off the walls like the way the heat molecules bumped each other in the continuous movements actively generating heat in this very room. Owada would have no ideas about such things, Kiyotaka thought, because men like him wasted time on trivial matters instead of studying.
The bell chimed, followed by the 10PM announcement, and Kiyotaka was quieted for that moment. What were they thinking, starting such a potentially time-consuming competition so close to nightfall? He reminded Owada of the rule to stay in one's own bedroom during the night, to which Owada replied, "Chickening out already, pencil-pusher?"
"No, but set rules are far more important than a competition! Society cannot function without rules and guidelines!" Kiyotaka hollered, finger jabbing Owada's clothed shoulder.
"Furthermore," he continued, "you are misusing that term! Pencil-pusher refers to office workers whose jobs entail writing, record keeping, and general paperwork. Clerical jobs are very important and frequently undervalued. You should not disparage them!"
This point was lost on his competitor, and it wasn't long before the conversation devolved into senseless bickering again.
Eventually, however, the insults slowed - mostly on Owada's part. That's not to say they continued to easily roll off Kiyotaka's tongue; it was against his moral character to continue to berate someone who hardly said a word in defense.
"Had enough, Owada?" Kiyotaka chuckled, and his eyes flicked over in time to see Owada slump over, right off the bench.
The world froze. Kiyotaka stared at the once-fearsome biker, now a lifeless heap on the slick floor. His own words bounced around the inside of his skull: "That's idiotic! Suicidal!"
But he had let Owada go through with it all the same. He didn't say a word in protest as they sat beside each other for what must have been several hours, Owada no doubt boiling in those dress code-violating apparel, in his leather jacket.
Did that make Kiyotaka responsible for...
He shook the thought away. Owada was breathing and his heart rate was a bit fast. Heatstroke didn't progress that quickly anyway.
Owada's eyes fluttered as Kiyotaka rolled him onto his back.
"ARE YOU ALL RIGHT, OWADA?" Kiyotaka boomed right into his face. Owada groaned.
"Well, my eardrums fuckin' aren- HEY!"
Without warning, Kiyotaka had grabbed Mondo and hauled him up like it was nothing. The rapid movement sent Mondo's head spinning. His own arm was wrapped around Kiyotaka, a hand crushing his wrist as Kiyotaka wedged his shoulder under Mondo's arm and dragged him into the hall. The blast of cold air made them both shudder.
"You're very articulate," Kiyotaka noted. "That is very good."
"What? Hey, fuck you, you patronizing-"
"Language! We are in school," Kiyotaka snapped. "Heatstroke often causes confusion, delirium, and slurred or otherwise unusual speech. Syncope could very well be a sign of regular heat exhaustion, and your agitation seems par for the course knowing you. If we get you hydrated and cooled down in a timely manner we should be able to avoid any medical emergencies."
This speech started to sound like gibberish before long, but surely that was just because it was boring - or because it felt like someone hit him over the head with a medical dictionary. Mondo's head was throbbing too, and his throat was too dry to care about syncap or whatever.
Maybe that hot sauna really did wreck his brain, because he couldn't explain why he was letting this uptight nerd guide him down the halls.
And then he was in a dorm room much like his own, but it certainly was not; pie charts and the most generic inspirational quotes adorned the walls and everything was so plain and neat. He even had an ironing board and drying rack. Wait, was that a kendo sword?
"Strip down!" Kiyotaka commanded.
Mondo was torn between asking what the actual hell was wrong with Kiyotaka or just clocking him the face. Kiyotaka went dashing out of the room before he could do either, but not before he noticed (or at least properly noted) something absurdly obvious. Did Kiyotaka himself even realize that he never retrieved his clothes when they left the sauna?
He dropped into the wooden chair at the table and pushed aside the painstakingly near piles of books and papers. He laughed despite everything, even as his head throbbed in protest, and he tossed his heavy coat aside. That was as much as he would strip down.
The door flew open with a bang! Kiyotaka came charging in, slapping an unpleasantly damp cloth onto the back of Mondo's neck and shoving a glass of water in his face. Mondo snatched it sway.
"I got it, thanks. And pick up your fucking towel, bro," Mondo barked.
The panicked intensity melted off Kiyotaka's face, though tension remained in his knit-together eyebrows.
"Bro?" he echoed. A moment later he seemed to remember his fallen towel.
"Yeah. That's cool, right? You seem...okay. Truce?" Mondo asked, holding out a hand after taking s gulp of his water.
"Small sips," was all Kiyotaka said, in a voice uncharacteristically small and quiet. He stared at Mondo's extended hand.
"Come on, I ain't gonna bite."
Kiyotaka took his hand, gripping it surprisingly tightly. "Truce."