Archive of Our Own ^beta

"I've heard that it's a matter of flicking your wrist just right."

Teshima wore a yukata to the festival, as predictable as Manami arriving an hour-late in a tank top and mismatched shoes. Better dressed versus caring too much - knowing more about the event versus having invited the worst possible person - playing martyr versus clinging to pride - he could have had any number of intentions to be read as win or loss. The amount of mental gymnastics it took to read him off a bike was too much work and all they cared about was being able to wear shorts.

"Thanks for that benevolent advice."

With the way Manami stood next to the fish pools, smiling at him lit in lantern light, they had seen him flinch more than once at fellow festival-goers whispering about the nice one trying so hard to get something for his date.

"Well, I don't want to sit around bored! I'm full of helpful hints, you know."

They bounced his star-decorated bag against their leg. The assumption was a little funny, if only because they had been to so few festivals. It grew tiresome as quickly as anything had the tendency to.

"Fat lot of good that does me. Unless some of those hints were actually relevant to my questions."

He swore as another paper catcher tore, and Teshima jolted straight up, turned around, saw their friendly wave, and spun on his heel, right back to the gamekeeper, right back to another pool for something they both knew Manami didn't want in the least.

"Maybe if you'd answer mine."

Festivals carried hundreds of people and questions and Manami couldn't think of why they said that. Everyone in a crowd melted into a humming pool in their head, but they could not shake the acute awareness that Teshima was crouching a yard away, even when they stared at the candles at their feet, even when they raised their head to the sky to catch starlight between tree branches and balloons skimming across it, away, out of sight. Their words floated between them, evenly, inescapable.

"Like what? Another ten minute explanation you won't listen to?"

He had happily given in more times than they could count, falling into lengthy rambles that never stuck, past the fact that he had said something, past the fact that he was always saying something, past the fact that none of the answers were ever for the reasons they expected them to be. It was rare for them to ask questions out of genuine curiosity, and rarer still that they wanted an answer. Lanterns multiplied through the trees, along the path, in their head. Their eyes buzzed.

"I don't know the right one yet."

Giving up on the game wasn't so much a challenge, unlike the complaints of impatient kids beating out Teshima's stubborn grudge. Manami's own discomfort around children who noticed and touched at marks and old scars too well had reached its boiling point far sooner, nothing they considered a defeat, as anyone would respond in such a way given the stress. He only lasted because he wore a yukata, useless as the thing was otherwise. Their cleat clipped uncomfortably against the stones of the path, away from the game, away from Teshima, until they tread through sand, and finally grass.

Wood sandals were louder, obnoxious, when they knew whose they were. For all they didn't want, they still picked up the pace, batting through unkempt stray branches, a smile beginning to grow as his steps didn't get closer, as each of their strides lengthened. Tripping across shoots, scraping legs against the fence, there were only so many steps that it would take before they were at the summit, even if they were just running, and that surprised them.

Manami would hop over the incline, easily reaching the top first, because they had the right tools, because their opponent could never be as singularly driven as them. They would, but here they stumbled to a halt, pebbles bouncing along down the hill, into their shoes. His steps behind them, his voice became clear, complaining, and it was only at his laugh that they realized they had been laughing first.

A race doesn't happen more than once.

They turned away from the summit and left, desperate for anything but this.

Eyes set in darkness, they fumbled away- another open pitch to see. Wind held its breath, no matter how much the rabble of the crowd wanted to pretend their talk could ever approach a gust or even the slightest breeze. Their voices melted alongside the call of something that should have been cicadas, if anything was right, if anything had ever been right. Manami didn't much care. The weight at their head made it hard to breathe and they ripped it off instinctively.  Their helmet dropped to the grass far more heavily than it normally should have, the crowd roused in screams and cheers as though they were about to take the summit. At least they could see now, even with sweat dripping at their lashes, burning their eyes as much as the sun that reflected off a pure white fence. Dawn had broken sooner than they'd ever dreamed, but it was a festival. People would find a way to enjoy it no matter what. They always would.

Their opponent was the first to move, still masked, weighted down in metal, crashing down through the grass.  They were quick to respond.  Fingers going numb, they were only aware of splinters that dug into their palm. They yelled, before they had even the question of why. Wood exploded across their arm, their face, their enemy. It was not cicadas singing, they realized, blood muting the world around them. Just birds. Birds out on as hot a day as this. Manami wasn't familiar with their tunes.

They were turning, their legs not moving, more easily than wheels should allow.  There was no downshift - no slope - no grit of pebbles and concrete bouncing off their ankles. Just the smell of upturned dirt.  Down the way again, they could see the enemy. Now, his armor was dented, cutting back into flesh enough for blood to begin to trickle down his breastplate. It soaked into the mane of his horse.

"Ah." They crouched down closer to their own steed and stifled a sneeze.  They wondered if they had an allergy. Unfamiliar with animals with fur, with zoos, with anything bigger than themself. They could not remember having been near a horse before.

Someone yelled at them, handed them a new weapon, long and blunted and made of the same material still sticking into their skin. But they were still in the game, it seemed, and their horse was already trotting forward again. Manami jammed the hilt in the crook of their neck, trying to survey the damage to their right arm. Bruises from a hit they didn't remember taking, sleeve already ripped away, a cooling body reminding them that they had removed their armor earlier. Or, they asked themself, securing a grip on the lance again, if they had come out to the field without any armor outside that helmet. It sounded about right, if it was themself - if it was him they were facing.

Down the way, they already knew, he had removed his armor. They watched him dispose of his shattered shield.  Under all that, underneath a helmet, his hair was matted and tied back and away.  He tore out the band, let it fall loose around his face, curls bouncing into his eyes.

If Manami knew how saddles worked, they would stand atop, but they could still lean over the head of a steed.  Blood traced the line of their jaw when they smiled.  They snapped their hair away, lost in the moment of their pulse pounding through their fingers, drumming against the reins. They opened their mouth without a thing to yell, sick and too full of energy, insults, anger. "Teshima, I thought you said you were going to knock me on my back! I've been patient!" No reason for their words, no source, and they poured out regardless. "I'd think you're just trying to run me through with that many tries!"

His shout in return was muted, hung up in panting, blocked out by the way the birds only screamed in their ears. "If you want another, I've got a thousand more!"

The crowd screamed. Their horse was running, again, and they missed the acceleration of their bike, the way each turn at their legs felt like the beat of wings. This wasn't the same. It was all about being a wall, all about holding true, lingering on the throbbing in their arm. Even just a weapon breaking in their grasp, like this, had probably sprained it. Just what it would do to a body without any armor, to get hit straight on, at this speed, was enough to make a grin warp their steadfast form. Teshima was approaching. Blood soaked across his shirt in unstoppable conquest, but his eyes were bright as they ever were. His ribs were probably bruised, if not broken, coming on just as stubbornly as them, shattered bodies at the helm. Just what that kind of impact could do to them, just what it could do to him, burning through their blood, but there was no reason for it. No sense at all.

Manami blinked.

"Why were we doing this again?"

"What are you on about." He spat out the words.

They looked over their arm, picking at something that wouldn't be there. "Nothing, I guess."

The echo called them to present attention, enough to take in the endless sound of dripping, louder than their own breath. Here, there was nothing of birds, no haze, no insect chirp to mistake. A stalactite dropped water, at their shoulder, feet, all around them. There was no one else. The solitude reminded them of how hollow their bones felt, but they were not alone enough to fill it themself as they were so accustomed to.

"So," they began at his silence. "Only one of us can leave." It seemed as good a guess as any.

Teshima dragged himself from the floor, enough of an answer itself. "No need to say it so easy." His head rolled back, around, narrowed eyes to counter their own wide-eyed gaze.

"Hm..." Their eyes didn't shift when they tilted their head, rocking on their heels. "So I guess you still haven't managed to get the power to kill with a glance. It's too bad really." Manami swung their arm up to his shoulder, leaning their cheek against their knuckles, hanging over his back. "If you had, then we would have been done with that look alone!"

They expect the first blow to come from his elbow. Instead, it comes as a blunt hammer through their head and out the back, onto to the floor.  They scraped themself up and away - it was a hammer before they processed it as just his head, and it was their entire skull falling apart until it was only their nose.  A salty mess of blood and snot poured down their chin, painting their face vibrant in the dark.

He had been just as scrambled by the collision, fist flying through blank air.  They started to laugh, before it sent a shock of pain through their eyes, sent them coughing with tears streaming down their face.  They were just prepared enough to avoid his next dizzy punch forward.

Manami had stronger legs, but only in chains and familiar lines, anything beyond that unsure and broken and unknown. It should have been the same for him, but that depended on too much they had no chance of understanding. The questions they knew best never gave sensible answers. So when they pushed him away, they were satisfied to see the way Teshima fell and rolled across the floor, smashing into stalagmites hard enough to bowl them over. It hurt, when they raked a sleeve, wearing a jacket here, across their face.  It was enough to let them laugh, wet and harsh and sick. They didn't have to care about anything, given a single moment and no more.

"You should take better care of yourself in a fight!"

He chucked stone at them, easily enough for them to keep an eye on it, just enough for them to forget that they would have needed to move. It slammed into their chest with all the strength of their heart beating.

"That doesn't matter much if I can't finish it." He swung another rock, and they remembered to move out of the way of that one.

"I didn't realize you actually thought you could manage that! It's really too bad." Waiting for a hit, a real hit, kept them bouncing, kept them moving closer when their body screamed.

"Lay off!"

He stepped forward, makeshift weapon in hand, and they knew what they had said before, knew about threats and daydreams and the way their fists would curl up when they would bite back and forth.

"This is kind of boring." And Manami could not believe themself, "You're really boring if this is all you have."  Speaking without thinking. It was hard to accept that they were disappointed - harder yet to accept that they wanted something more.

It was strangely simple to trip him up, leave him trapped between a wall, themself, and an uncomfortably long drop. He looked scared, even through all his pride, and none of it felt like a fight.  

"You're pulling the laziest tricks in the book."

He spit as he ever did, but it felt hollow, even with their arm pressed to his neck. They weren't falling anywhere. They weren't there at all.

"No." The words came out the same way they always did for childish challengers and classmates, when all they wanted to do was leave alone and sleep. "Don't you want to stop?"

There wasn't a spark. There wasn't a reason. Teshima wasn't strong, so it should have been simple to fight and leave him behind in a single moment. They shouldn't have been here - why their hands shook at the thought, even with the remnants of laughter hanging in how their throat burned. There was no answer to find if they couldn't ask the right question. They couldn't figure out why it was different, when he would jump in front of them, in their own logic - but there was no time to think.  There was never time to think, but here especially, because he had knocked them off their balance, and they were both falling down, with no will to pull themself back up.

That's what you're choosing - they could think. Neither of us leave at all - they wouldn't gratify him with words if such weak selfishness was what it came down to.

It didn't matter. The moment was over. 

"Don't quit in such a hurry, Manami!"

He didn't lose his footing on reality like they always managed.  His heels clicked as they staggered back, until he caught the balance of their weight and pulled them into the game again.

They snapped a foot against the ground.  His voice alone could have caught them. "How surprising!" They had a hand at his shoulder without missing a beat, refusing shock. "Even after all your complaining." Their words almost stuck in their throat, but they managed to spit them out, despite the venue change, and the way he loved to push fights they'd never had interest in.

His suit caught the lights blinking across the room like magic, but his cheap trilby ruined the effect, as only Teshima could manage so infallibly. Jazz spun around the room to carry even them back to a sense of life. The bell of their dress crinkled every time the two of them stepped a foot forward, opposite one another, their heel brushing over his laces, his soles cutting just enough into their ankle. With their palms flat up against each other, fingers intertwined, they could see one of their gloves missing, could catch a glimpse of white sticking out his breast pocket.

"I couldn't just leave you stag like that. I'm not about to throw away my reputation as a fantastic partner over the likes of you."

They felt their mouth curve up, even as they bit their tongue to keep themself from spitting in his face. As was only polite. Who asked who to dance was a mystery, but they knew Teshima well enough to read into how it came this far. "You're so reliable." He wouldn't have a clue of any of the steps that brought them here - but he was easier to keep track of in comparison to the in-betweens they lost.

When they dropped their hands from in front of them, up and to the sides, Manami was just as quick to put a hand at his waist to match him. For the challenge it was meant to be, the two of them too easily chose the same steps, not obvious enough, not aggressive enough to be seen as any contemptuous battle by anyone around them. But there was some kind of truth for them. It was absolute when they locked eyes. Even when he gave in, it was at the cost of a haughty smile, too casual for them to accept as any kind of victory.

Yet with one more spin, Manami was in control, more content as they pulled them both into the rhythm like every time they were on a bike. They had no care for where they would weave across the floor, only watching to see where he lost concentration, which direction he wouldn't expect, which lights he seemed to shy his feet away from.

"You shouldn't be so reserved!" They stepped back wide, pulling him along, and he had to hop across the floor to keep up. The sound of their heels landing one after the other made a grin spread across their face. "It doesn't suit you."

Their voice lilted in defiance of the band's smooth tunes, and Teshima's feet slipped, not much, but enough to surprise a wallflower, enough for her drink to splash over his head. Though they laughed, he was just as quick to pull their shoulder closer to his own, punch discoloring their dress much more clearly than his dark attire.

"I was just being nice." He set his voice to match the singer's, making them wince with irritation, when he leaned closer to half whisper, "It isn't fair for me to outshine you every time I follow."

The two fell at a cue - no music cue, no movement of anyone around them, if Manami could have torn their attention away from just how fast they could move to where he would follow raggedly, energetically, passionately - fell into a dip, leaving merely their strength between Teshima and the floor. He went as easily as though the two of them had trained years for this - they held on as though there would never be another chance.

His shoulders shook, and his laughter rang through their bones, quiet, distant, secret as it was. "I thought you were gonna drop me, there."

"No." The music went on as though the two of them had never been moving to it in the first place. "You didn't."

They pulled him upright, graceless, but slow, looking over each others' shoulders, fingers linked as chain made to twine and lock together.

"You say that like you don't want me to trust you." His voice at their ear made them burn for the chance to drop him.

More people crowded onto the floor for a slower song, shortening the distance between every dancer, even them. Manami let their cheek rest at his shoulder, grudgingly, and draped their hand over the other when they could feel his fingers tapping along his back to the beat of what seemed to be the drums. A drop like that should have been enough to let them out, enough excitement, enough of a tie to let go without a care.  But they were both still here, another song, another dance. Manami grit their teeth at the questions growing in their own disconsolate impatience. There was a reason for anything, and they'd learned enough to skate through without asking, enough to survive, enough to be at all. Teshima was just like anyone they'd bypass and ignore in their every day life. He was supposed to be.

It was hard to hold back their joking curiosity, apathetic or not, into statements. Threats were easier. "You're not getting anything out of this."

If it was some particular question that would make the moment melt away, then they wouldn't risk to ask - not just yet. He never paused in shock, not for more than a second, before his attempts to look studiously relaxed became more obvious. In the way his shoulders straightened. In the way he'd tap the tip of his shoe all the more sharply. In the same way that they had become so practiced in, themself.

"Is that all you're worried about?"

Their feet dragged along the floor, even with his attempts to make it look like their slow waltz was effortless. It only proved to make laughter bubble up, with a smile others would have mistaken for cheeriness.

"Anyone would be suspicious."

"No," and his voice laced with forceful ease, "I think that's just you."

They turned their head at that, leaning their other cheek against him, their mouth in as sharp a slant of distaste as they could summon. The music came muffled through his hair and in the back of their mind, they wondered just why it was so simple to stand so close, so easy to keep step when they meant to drag down his attempts. Manami lifted their gaze, noting how focused a face he kept, a warm smile for everyone but them, and they sighed.

"You try too hard."

He knew it - he lived it. Even as he grinned in that awful square grimace he saved for everything they hated most.

"Not at all."

In the world as it should have been, the music would have ended with those words. But it wasn't. Soft piano meandered, ignorant of their world, the one where they were incapable of boring holes into his head, no matter how long they stared in silence. Manami took the next best thing and spun on their heel, directly on his foot, before storming out the dance hall.

They were too familiar with burning vicious curiosity in other moments, sure that he was doing it for a special number - sure it was for the sake of duty - sure it was because it was his last chance, because other people, they had learned, had more than one chance, to fall and fail and fight. Other people would waffle and play away chances because they felt like another would come, until they learned there was nothing left. But he had been earnest, then. Absolutely ridiculous.  Completely understandable.

If it was a truth so obvious that even they'd know the answer, his lies came out as the most mediocre thing about him.

They walked through enough doors for wet night to envelop them, walked far away enough from concrete that grass reached further and further up their legs, until they had lost their dress heels in mud and gladly went barefoot into further darkness. The longer they stayed, the more changing they found. They cut the thought, even as something edged at the back of their mind, asking -

'Would you really call that changing?'

They couldn't decide if the worst part was that he had any power or if it was just that they weren't even scared.  That it was exciting, under all that distaste.

The grass grew colder than what summer usually lent itself to, until they began tiptoeing over it, each step like a fresh batch of razors slashing their heels.  They paused to lean at the first signpost they encountered. A jacket guarded their skin, thin as it was, from metal frozen enough to turn their skin to ice.

A snowflake tickled their ear, their cheek, their nose, until they sneezed into their hands. One heavy duty mitten on the right, and a bike glove on the left. At closer glance, after wiping their nose, they could see the starry pattern that formed the hand-knit mitten, and hear more than wind whistling upon the ice.

"Don't just dump your bike on me and leave!"

Each step he took was another crunch through the snow, and light bouncing, sending their shadow dancing down the sheet-white untouched street. Their heart almost jumped out of their mouth at the sight.

"Oi. Manami."

They didn't turn back as he crossed the last distance between them, and it took almost losing their balance for them to realize he had bounced a tire against the back of their leg at their neglect. As they lost purchase on the ground, they pushed themself around off the sign, managing to turn and lean back against it casually enough for a glare to warp the shadowed annoyance on his face.

"Oh! What a surprise!" The mitten wouldn't allow them to push their hand into their pocket, leaving them only half as chilly as they wanted. They couldn't think of why the two of them could have been out like this, beginning to feel a strange heat rising to their face. "I thought that ... I warned you to not to come, Teshima."

He shook his head, stepping closer, and shining his flashlight in their eyes. Their breaths turned shallow, fogging the lens, until they shut their mouth. They were wrong, and having to be aware themself was worse than how clear it was he knew.

"You've forgotten already?" They winced - he didn't miss it. "You ran off and left me with both our flat bikes. You're the one who decided it was a good idea to come out this far right after an ice storm." He tapped their head. "And here you were acting like you would have come back for me."

They smiled, teeth still clamped shut, and only took a gasp of air once he turned away to lean down to his Cannondale.

"It's so sad that you don't trust me!" The same words he used flitted to the surface, leaving a bitter taste in their mouth. "Returning with help wouldn't be a problem! I'm great with the wilderness." It wasn't enough - something had been here before, even if they hadn't, so for the sake of that they said, "It's just that ... if I could make it out alone, you'd probably say it was rude for me to think that you couldn't do the same. I'm nothing if not thoughtful."

When they swung their foot to match their tone, they saw their normal cleats, and the ice that edged into the straps, melting down into their socks. It would impact their cycling if they didn't take care of that sooner than later. There were too many problems and rules that came with the dangers of winter and it made the fever beginning to burn in their chest all the worse, to think that Teshima could have made them jump to this point, let alone found them again. They were supposed to stay alive - just as much as they could - cut away from anything after a moment was over, when they couldn't help but indulge in single events.

"Nah, I trust you plenty. Enough to know not to leave you to your own devices." He kicked their bike and leaned against the frame. "Besides, I'd have to keep this expensive heap of metal if I didn't force you to take it back. Then where would I be?"

The same questions flitted to their mind - being unstuck wasn't so peculiar - but this was. Chances only come around once. That was the way things were for Manami. That was as it was supposed to be.

They tapped their cheek with a finger, brushing away their curiosity. "You'd be in a field of snow freezing to death!" They laughed. "Probably." Their forced wide-eyes were a mismatch with the weak curve of their mouth. "I suppose if you insist on coming along, we can do so together."

He nodded emphatically, for their matching play, and the moment was as it should be. "As long as you go out first."

There were few streetlamps on the lengthy stretch of road ahead of them, but it was better than what they saw when they looked back, into an inky nothingness only lit by the unnatural glitter of snow that had still been untouched. If it had been better than flatland, they may have been interested. But every ounce of focus was carried in the way Teshima would shiver and slip against their shoulder, the way they'd bat him away when he got even a step ahead of him. Walking between their bikes, even in the way the soundless night made the unshakable pressure of cold all the worse, was warmer than they were used to.

Manami stared straight ahead, wondering just where the two of them had traveled to, between the poorly kept fences that lined some parts of what was meant to be road, and flickering yellow lamp posts that played spotlight to empty solitude. It took six times, six times of bashing against their hip, their arm, before they gave up and looked at Teshima, craning his neck to the sky.

"Subaru looks even brighter, here ..." When he spoke, they realized he may have been talking even before, and they glanced upwards with him. It all looked about the same to them. Just more ornaments hanging above them, bright and untouchable. He added, "That's a cluster of stars, you probably don't even know. Some countries call it Pleiades." And speaking too quickly, "Or something like that, it's just something I heard around somewhere, people talk a lot about this sorta thing." His voice was too sure, too happy to share that fact, though he tried to mask it in passing indifference. "You can usually only see some of them ..." They looked back to him, when he snorted. Manami couldn't tell the difference between stars to begin with. "But there's another up there. Even if we can't see her. ...Not every star shines so bright, but they're always there." It was only at that his gaze dropped, tapping his fingers against the gear shift on his bike, even his whisper setting an echo across the emptiness. "But people know about her anyway."

They considered pretending they hadn't listened. "Seems kind of unnecessary."

Teshima barked laughter, attempted to, before he threw an incredulous gaze their way.

"You sure you have any right to say that kind of thing?"

"The specifics don't really matter, when it's that far away." They thought about the summit and everything they couldn't reach as a child.  It hadn't changed much, since then.  Just enough to survive.  Teshima loved to think things would go on changing. "If it's impossible to ever touch it, then it's a waste to care."

He thumped his foot against theirs. "And I'm saying you've got it wrong." He fell into a sharp silence, leaving them to focus on how lifting their feet to try to skid over the snow instead, for a time. "It's about knowing it's there. And that it's not just going to stop existing. Kinda like trusting someone is right behind you, even when you won't look back to check. Being sure someone is up in front of me, and if I keep running, then it's them who has to give in first."

"You mean me."

That was an absolute, but he could deny it. He could lie and they would win. They wore their placid smile as Teshima rolled his bike in front of theirs, bringing them both to a halt - under a lamp, no less, center stage to a show only they were here to see. "Yeah." The right answer - it echoed, for a moment, they thought.  The right answer - it shouldn't have made them feel as though they were choking on their own heart. More than just his bike, he was standing in their way, a half-smile drawn across his face. "Sometimes."

Manami was supposed to have more than pedals, grinding their teeth through a tight smile, supposed feet to walk, and leave.  He was quick to impede, jamming a tire into their leg. They sighed. Give and take - their lips were dry - pressing them together felt like velcro, and iron, and they could hardly note the way Teshima weighted his frame across their feet. Being so aware of their heart beat, standing still in front of him, outside of the practiced route of gears and wheels, made their blood boil in a way they could never remember feeling on a bike.

"It's not the same. You'll never reach the stars." The words didn't mean anything, but they were floundering, unable to keep their mind from racing, unable to stop grinning, and they hated it, because no one believed it meant the right thing outside a competition.

"It's supposed to be a metaphor." But what mattered - maybe he did. "Besides, there's no one who can manage the impossible like I can."

Impossibles were absolutes. They dug their heels into the snow and barreled forward with their bike, shocking Teshima enough for him to trip back over his own, leaving them running forward, half-gliding leaning against the frame of their bike, down the gentle slope of the street, laughing the whole way. It was only his cursing behind them that made them sure he was quick to follow. No matter where they went.

"You know!" Their voice echoed back to them with quiet chimes, as though the ice was playing along with them.  Though their wheels would not turn as they were meant to, pushing through like a sled while being pursued still made their heart soar above the ground. "I really don't have a clue where I'm going!"

"Haven't you ..." Teshima was panting, and they didn't want to look back to see how he was coming, because that wasn't what mattered. "Haven't you ever heard ... it's the journey that counts?" He fell over his own words, likely realizing just what he was saying. "What do you mean you don't know?!"

Their grin widening, they felt their lips crack, dimly felt their teeth digging into the inside of their cheek. Manami couldn't manage to fill their lungs enough to laugh, every gasp coming as frantic giggling, and their mind was not right, their time was not right, but they felt like they were there - they felt present - they felt alive. "That might be true!"

A long light, much stronger than a flashlight, came to life behind them, and they came to a dead stop. Their heart still beat, but the sound felt sick in their ears. A car turned, just down the road, headlights shockingly bright along the dimly lit street.

"Lucky!" Teshima sounded excited and it made them feel as though they were sinking into the ground, like their blood was settling into mud, shifting to make them tremor and hang their head. "Looks like we could get a ride."

They tried to turn to look. The light hit their eyes dead-on and they winced, already too aware of the sweat at the back of their neck, pressing their fingers over their face. It hurt in a way that didn't mean anything, and they couldn't stop themself from asking.

"Don't you think that's too easy?"

If it was supposed to be a journey, if they had to live here, they knew they could never leave so simply. He had to know that - even if the two of them were frozen to the bone from with icy weariness, after everything he always said, he had to understand.

"If it's so easy, go find somewhere else to sit."

Closing their lids was always easy. Opening them again, as the fever made them feel as though they were floating away, proved to be just as difficult as they were used to. Swollen eyes were hard to see through, but they focused on the scenery, to take in abandoned gas tanks ahead, metal glistening bloody gold from rust and sun.  A distant molten river of tar snaking far into the horizon.  Dried trees, dried bushes, specks of dust and birds and ornaments crashing to the ground.  The way the light danced didn't fade as their vision began to sharpen. Inconvenient, unreliable, but they had more than just eyes for this, if they could remember. It was warm discomfort that told them their legs were pressed to their chest, and it was their hand landing in a mess of curls that said they had moved - that said they hadn't really moved at all.

Without response, Manami stretched out their legs and sat more soundly on his back, as narrowly as Teshima laid in what little shade remained of the broken-down station. They let themself lean against the wall, nodding with grim satisfaction at his miserable groan when they slammed their knuckles into his spine as they pushed themself upright. He never bruised as easily as they did, so a single moment was the best they could get out of him. The fleeting thought made them drop their head, wrong, reminding themself of what they were supposed to be. Moments were not made to last. All that mattered was that here, it was too hot to keep snowing.

Not another word of complaint left his mouth, brought as low by leftovers of a moment they couldn't remember. A race - a fight - a weary challenge of walking to an endless no-man's land - left to the purgatory of nothing but each other's company. Manami could ask him what had happened, here, if it wouldn't skip back or forth, could ask again, grim hypotheticals in lackadaisical tones. He wouldn't take it seriously even if they did ask. It didn't seem right. That couldn't be why they kept moving. They had no curiosity about why it was happening, if there even was a reason. There was probably a reason they kept moving. Remnants of absolution hung at the corners of their life, a sort of motivation somewhere that they only felt in moments the dead did not live in. Anywhere but here.

"Hot day, huh."

They could still feel the chill marrow deep, even with sun threatening to melt them into nothingness.

"Don't remind me."

He sounded angry, and they huffed in the attempt to laugh, only just realizing how dry their mouth was. There was no response, and they imagined vultures could come down and pick apart all the rotten bits between them. It wouldn't move, and he wasn't moving, and they shouldn't have been able to push something with no energy into being. Miyahara said something about - laws of motion, conservation of energy, they had never studied right, but she'd compare it, perhaps. The same way Teshima did stars.

They stared at their hands, covered in sand. They never knew what they had done, what they were doing, what they would do. "You fight every single time, don't you ..."

Their voice sizzled and dropped low, in heat enough to make skin cook on asphalt, until it wasn't a question anymore. It was easy to forget, in the tides of atmosphere and mournful bird song, who they were talking to, if the words had made it anywhere outside of their own head. They didn't have many absolutes. For some reason, even with his sarcasm and weakness, they couldn't stop themself from imagining Teshima could have been one of them.

"Well, yeah."  His voice broke through as an incredulous muffle against the ground.  "Why do you?"

When he asked, reminded them that anything was happening, Manami leaned down until their chin was weighted at his ear, the note of discomfort echoing between their silence. They could have fallen asleep for a moment, but that was the question always waiting, the one with the easiest answer and the most difficult reasons to find. They propped their elbow at his shoulder, their chin at their hand, hiding their mouth in their palm.

"I have to."

He struggled to roll over and they made no move to help, rising and falling again against his gut as he stretched.

"There you go, then. It's the same for me."

Manami stared, and he said nothing more, not even anymore complaints about crushing him, as though that was an acceptable answer from someone like him. As though it was an acceptable answer for someone who was okay with being so weak. As though he was allowed their own.

They closed their eyes and slammed the back of their head against the wall.

Something collided, just next to their ear, and they were standing again. There was already a grin on their face when their eyes shot open, wired with electricity running between them. When he pulled his fist back, they could see the blood on his knuckles. The second they allowed themself to look at the wall, they knew enough, from remnants of red just next to their head. Just enough time to get wound up again, and they allowed him hit them, this time, they thought. Before being hit - after being hit - there was a gap however long in-between, but their mouth was dripping, and their teeth vibrated in their jaw, and his hand was bleeding, more, again.

"Did you actually manage to hit the target that time?" Words spun out and around them constantly, but that one was an actual question. Their knee moved before either of them realized, Teshima buckled over into them, and their head rang like a bell - their arms were useless in a real fight, but they couldn't stop laughing, even through grit teeth. He was just as worn. Or maybe not - probably not endless energetic moments weary like they were - probably not lost and impermanent in the same way. "How many times does it take?" Their arms refused to drag him off themself, so they were left with his head still pressured beneath their chin, from a pointless jab back. Acting required something they didn't have, right then, something that floated away the instant they let go to cling to something else, just like every possible reason the two of them could have been fighting.  If there was nothing to do, they'd leave.  If there was a question to ask, they'd have to go somewhere else to find the answer themself.

There wasn't a reason to stay, but for some reason, they didn't move.

This time, he was still right there, and their eyes were still open, aching from a punch that they could measure in minutes and dull swelling. They opened their mouth, and closed it. Blood ran lazily past their chin and down their neck, and it went on, and on, unable to leave even if they had wanted to.

"Don't you think," he asked, with an unwilling edge, "that this is a bit off?"

Between metal and blood and envy that definitely had nothing to do with bicycles - across pointless fights and petty sneers and bitterness that had none of the drive of a real race - beneath disconnect and death and boredom that should not have been survivable in any life - Manami had been aware for quite some time, that this game with Teshima was off any semblance of rails it ever could have had.

"Not really."

Yet for how confusing every moment was - for how they didn't have any clue how to make it stop - not even a clue on how to make any of it last - giving it up was unthinkable.

"You're lying."

He didn't say that much. It was rare that they even gave him the opportunity to catch them in a lie. That they remembered - they didn't know the last time they had lied so blatantly.

"Maybe." Their voice sounded dead - honest. His bloodshot eyes remained just below them, and they refused to blink, half out of habit and half out of what could happen in a second.

The pressure he kept at their chest slowly drew away.  If they'd had any more energy, they would have laughed at how careful he was.  As though they had any space left for even the slightest trick - as though they ever planned out anything when it came to him.

He still seemed to notice their contempt.  "I'm not fighting you to ruin your life." He took a step back, shook his hands until blood splattered across the floor. "Or mine," but he laughed, "Least, I'm not supposed to."

That was weak. He reveled in it, at times like this. Manami kept standing, more due to being so used to dozing on their feet, but when he stepped back and said things like that - instead of pushing until they both predictably broke - they remembered they were too.

"Come on," jamming his voice into their thoughts again, "Did you think I wouldn't notice?"  His laugh was irritatingly full, and open, and friendly.  "You really think only you'd be that perceptive?"

It wasn't always unpleasant, even if they did want to prove it wrong.

"That's a bad question," they answered, flat. They were hesitant. It would be simple if he doubted them, but he'd take them seriously, he'd be fair, and they were suspicious for a thousand reasons that burned to admit. Even with a bruise blossoming at his eye, he kept his cocky smile, until they rolled their eyes and gave up on waiting him out. "Let's say that maybe some silly thing where we're just doing this ... a bunch of times, happened. But you never notice because," Because he wanted to destroy them as much as they always did themself, given those single moments of anger and rivalry, "...It doesn't matter. And I don't say anything because ..."

He picked up at that one, interrupting as though it was the funniest joke in the world. "Because you don't care."

They rubbed their temple. Shutting him down was the easiest thing in their world sometimes, but other moments he was getting back for every time they pulled ahead.  "It doesn't matter. The point is, it won't stop, and it's all ... a waste." Every match Manami had was singular, with people who wouldn't race them again, with people who refused to do so, with people who they didn't want to race again. It was never supposed to happen, but perhaps nothing could ever so simple as that in their life.

"That's it?  You just can't let it go?"

"No."  They forgot, for a mere moment, how well his words applied straight back to him - it was never about just one of them, when he said something, some mess of all their complexes.  They could still feel the cold running under their skin, memories ago, because that had been right.  "It shouldn't be so easy."

"If that's all..."  Sarcastic, overplayed, he had a talent for too many voices, his only talent, "Let me tell you about a hobby of mine, then. I love making everything harder for myself, even when everyone's telling me it's fine."  He leaned back against the wall with them, and the colors shifted, sparkling up and away in their vision alone.  "Even when everyone says it's enough as is, even if I thought it wasn't.  ... There's something to be said for putting too much energy into the moment, cause then you can't even enjoy anything that comes after.  I lost time and time again, even when I believed in miracles ... but when it was over."  He knocked a hand against their side.  "You're the one who made that mean more, aren't you?"

Manami grit their teeth.  "If you took it so seriously."  He wasn't wrong.  

"If it seems so easy, it's because you're narrow minded.  Every journey's got an end. And there's enough endings for all those thousands of chances you'll have.  But it's hard to let things end. It seems easier to run or pretend it didn't matter in the first place." He spun around a finger, the room circling around the two of them in their head until the edges at the walls dulled into some endless line.  "Then you never have to worry about the fallout, right? Problem is, then you're jumping out of every other possibility. Every chance is different than the last. But those don't stand for much of anything unless you get some kind of closure. ...And a place where the whole mess of you've won and lost means something." Teshima's smile fell, just enough, into something more wistful, obvious, earnest, infuriating. It wasn't helped by the way he pushed himself back to a smirk and held up his hands in a pained shrug. "No matter how nice it is in the moment to punch a jackass like you in the face."

They pursed their lips. "You can't be sure of something like that. Not unless you have more steel than you always say you have."

"Sure I can. You've done your part to prove it before for me, haven't you?" He slapped a hand on their shoulder, mockingly jovial, and they lost. "Everything lasts. Good or bad.  And the hardest thing is to let it happen."  Laughing, he asked, "Maybe we should stop for a little teabreak?  If you're so weary."

A thousand reasons to say no and it was all they could do to stop themself from jumping at the chance. Wanting was such a crime - all the more reason to hate him.  They held it back until it was a sigh, the quietest note that he would smile at with all the understanding in the world. Walking away, the door opened easily. There'd be other opportunities. The only unfortunate excuse they had ever needed not to give up - the one they had been able to avoid for so long. They let it end and the door slammed shut.

The jolt exploded through their blood like a cannon.

Fireworks never stopped making them leap out of their skin.

Festivals were all the same, that they remembered, and they never remembered many. There were colors that warped the land around, games and fish and paper, food that left little taste beyond heat and burns. But the people - those were always changing, from helpful to sweet to passive to distant to unhelpful and pushy and competitive.

"I never pegged you for the jumpy type."

At the summit of the stairs, near toppling into them when they took a mere moment to pause in their own world, Teshima caught up. He always did.

They groaned. "It doesn't matter."

Shaking with laughter, he ground his knuckles against their bare shoulder, until they slapped his hand away. They moved to stand and slipped along the grass again at the next boom overhead. At least the sound felt real enough, even if it gave him an upper hand. It was always a push-pull game.

The explosions interspersed with stars, even when they blotted them out with technicolor lights. As a child, they'd thought such a show was the stars themselves deigning to visit and fizzle - it seemed like a good reason to have a gathering - rather than anything manmade. Manami felt as though they had come a strangely long way for the sake of something they couldn't actually touch.

"You know much about stars, Manami?"

They pressed their palms against their stomach, laying down there on the grassy slope, skin crawling with bugs and dew. There was a fish floating around in a small bag next to their head.  Teshima sat just opposite their new pet.  Hardly an arm's length away.

"Mmm ... I've heard a bit. I didn't really care, so I don't remember."

"I figured." He sounded infuriatingly smug. And just a little disappointed.

"But I know about stars that exist in bunches and outshine each other. And that no one can reach them. ...And a little about stars we don't see every day."

"Really?"

"Yup! Did you know?"  The question felt so meaningless on its own, but there were so many memories that sparked in the single instant it left their mouth. "Those are the easiest ones to catch." They would have smirked at just how quickly he snapped his head around at that, but it was much more than the result of any one moment, now. "Just because they want it so much."