Chapter Text
The whole thing bored Charles; all the twinkling lights, in that full-on disco style, were starting to get sickening, a far cry from the charming look they had at first. It seemed like the Japanese soccer boys had never seen a disco party or anything club-like before, since most of them had this look of pure wonder on their faces. Charles, on the other hand, had experienced so many of them back when he lived in Lorient, especially in the Larmor-Plage region, with all those late-night casinos and the habit of drinking to socialize—and that crowd of college kids with their "laid-back" vibe made things pretty simple. Nothing was exactly new or particularly attractive to him. In fact, it was even a bit duller than Lorient, a bit of a "square" scene; it lacked the smoking circles on the beach, even if the drinking circles were present.
It was fun to see some Japanese guys turn red, flushing after drinking some trivial crap. But the entertainment didn't last more than twenty minutes; the boredom returned. And Charles, once bored, sought entertainment fast, which led him, most of the time, to Shidou. He figured that, one way or another, if Charles was annoyed by the whole situation, Shidou had to be tortured too. So, he headed out, dancing through the people—at times pretending he was on the pitch, dribbling past each one of those players—until he found Shidou, sitting on some random sofa in a corner of the room.
"Shidou! Hey!" he shouted amidst all the noise. He moved closer; Ryusei gave a carefree smile—it was always a blast dealing with Charles. "Didn't know you were the type of guy to sit around at a party."
The air smelled like human beings the same way a barn smells like cows and horses; even though Charles had never been in one, the comparison felt fair, because sometimes he’d pass in front of a random one and the smell was always so strong it made him want to take a look. Besides the smell of the animals themselves, there was also the food, the waste... Human waste, a curious thing. The scent of booze was subtle there, contrasting with Lorient where it was always very strong, plus the smell of weed—even if it was against the law, it wasn't exactly hard to see a guy or two smoking on a bench. All these impressions passed in a fraction of time, these ill-processed impressions, while Charles sat down next to Shidou.
"It’s not my style, Char-boy." Ryusei stretched, snuggling closer to Chevalier, a simple attempt to ignore the loud sound that made the floor, as well as his body and organs, vibrate non-stop. Surely it wasn't courtesy of the event, but the mischief of some of the boys from Germany. "It’s just that this place is a bore right now. No interesting conversation. Maybe I’m just in a bad mood."
They stared at the crowded bodies, the sparse smiles, the nauseated faces, the annoyed ones, the drunks. They said nothing, as if collectively analyzing the benefits of staying in that environment. Though Charles, in reality, was more interested in the suggestion Shidou would surely give after his little period of silence. It had to be something fun, for sure.
"There’s this little spot nearby, Cadet, that gives me the chills just thinking about checking it out..." Shidou inhaled, thinking with his head slightly raised.
Ryusei had phases and phases, and now he was in one of those phases, Charles realized, where being near him feels like a movie that—mind you—isn’t necessarily boring, but requires a certain state of mind to tolerate. "Cadet," for example, was a French nickname he’d picked up somewhere between the end of the last games against Barcha; it means "youngest."
"What place?" Charles leaned in; his arm itched. Being in these overcrowded places makes him itch to do something; suddenly, he feels like his legs are too still and he needs to move, like his bones need it... His muscles, you know? He starts to get restless.
"It’s like a futuristic track, the Shuto Expressway. Or, for those in the know, Shutoko." He pulled his phone from his pocket, typing something—a message, from what Charles could see. "It’s got some cool lights and, at this hour, it should be pretty empty, aside from the heavy trucks. We can race a bit and pay the fines later."
Charles laughed at the idea, excited like a child on Christmas Day before reaching the tree stuffed with gifts or whatever: the excitement made him want to shake, though he also felt a hint of fear; he didn’t care much. It’s that kind of premonition we all have but ultimately discard, because we never imagine that an inconceivable tragedy could strike us. Fatalistic thoughts that need to be ignored if you like the concept of sanity. His stomach was cold while the sound of the party became muffled and the strong late-night wind rushed in gusts past his ears, ruffling his hair. A great sense of lightness, of youth, overcame him. Does Shidou feel the same way? He thought for a minute.
They crouched on the edge of the sidewalk; Charles pressed his jacket against his chest while shielding himself from the gale.
"A guy owes me some money I lent him once; since he’s staying nearby, he’s gonna lend us a car." Shidou commented. He didn't look cold. He looked strong.
Shidou gave Charles an impression of masculinity that didn't displease him; he wasn't like those guys who keep squeezing you or pressing you to prove they aren't fags or anything like that. Ryusei is simply strong, calm at the right moments, but brutal every now and then, it’s true. But despite first impressions, he’s quite smart and authentic. Every little detail made Chevalier realize this: the way he didn't shrink from the cold, his indifference to exhaustion and shame. And these little parts of his life: lending money, calling in favors, getting things. It was just so admirable!
"Will it take long? The car?" Charles murmured, wanting to tilt his head to the side.
The streets there were so clean, not even a little scrap of paper blowing around to make noise. It’s good, sure, that there’s no pollution and all that. But there was a certain loneliness without all the mirrored posters, ads for plays, or any of that nonsense. It made Charles’s heart feel a bit dull, though the lights made up for it a little.
"Not at all. He’ll be here in a bit. You cold?" He made a move to take off the thin jacket around his waist but thought better of it and said nothing, and since Charles didn't ask for it either, they stayed as they were.
Until, to Shidou’s amusement, a figure in a black jacket and turtleneck—Itoshi Rin’s uniform whenever he ends up having to go out—appeared between the open metal doors and the slightly peeling stairs. A disgusted expression on his face; he looked even more tired, if that were possible with his whole anti-social attitude. He stopped on the last step of the stairs, looking bewildered at Shidou, standing there like a stone statue, and Charles, huddling into himself.
"Hey, Eyelashes Junior," Shidou uttered in a strangely respectful, almost reverent way. Maybe he wasn't in as bad a mood as he said.
"Shidou," he greeted back. And then, after a pause: "Are you guys leaving?"
There was a wave of fun rising, and Charles could feel it. The wind suddenly didn't seem so freezing—maybe it was the excitement—but Chevalier tried not to think too much about it; maybe if he thought too much he’d feel the cold again. He would stay in that emotional balance that gave him a certain warmth.
"We’re leaving as soon as my car gets here. Want a ride? We’re just stopping somewhere first," Shidou said, a polite smile on his face. How nice! They don't even seem like... Itoshi and Ryusei. Although, Charles had noticed for a while now, parties do that to people. Sometimes one guy hates the other, but they’re at total peace when they meet at a bash.
"If there’s no other way," Rin sighed.
And now, they are three fugitives crouching in front of the door, though in truth, Rin sat directly on the ground, and Charles thinks that if he were sleepy, he would have laid down right there.
Shidou’s so-called acquaintance arrived about seven minutes later; the car was a sports model. The only type of car Charles knew how to identify were sports cars—there’s always something about them that screams: "Sports car!", a unique essence, really. The guy actually looked much older than them, but they found out he was only 22 when Ryusei chattered away as they got into the car. The fellow was staying at a nearby hotel, on a date with his girlfriend and all that; he gave Shidou a pat on the shoulder, called Ryusei lucky, while joking that if he spent all his luck on things like this, he’d end up with none left when he actually needed it. Rin rolled his eyes when the man said that—he really was an anti-social prick. Chevalier had no way of knowing that, in truth, that was a phrase Sae used to say, back before everything went south.
Inside, the car had a musty smell; it gave the impression that there was filth, maybe food crumbs, even in the deepest recesses of those carpets. And they must have smoked for hours, days upon days, with the windows rolled up. So, the first thing Shidou did, despite the wind, was roll the windows all the way down.
"Where exactly do you guys want to stop, huh?" Rin muttered, leaning back in the rear seat, since Charles had called shotgun the moment he had the chance. "Is it on the way to Kamakura?"
Despite the cold outside, the open windows didn't bother Charles; he liked the thrill of the heavy wind through his hair, brushing the back of his neck in an infinite quiver, as well as his face, which was getting cold and dry. He rested an arm over the curve of the window and let his face hang out. Shidou was the driver—even though no one actually trusted that he had a license, they knew he must at least have a handle on how to drive. He stretched his arm forward, pointing in some random direction.
"We’re taking the Shutoko; we can get to Kamakura if we head toward Yokohama." Shidou laughed mischievously. "Will Sae be there?" He began shifting gears, accelerating.
Rin bit his lip, leaning back in the seat, and poked his head halfway out the window.
"Your loss, he’s never there," he replied, a certain stubbornness in his voice. "But if you’re just going to piss me off, you’ll end up running into him anyway." It was clear that the subject irritated him, though Charles wasn't quite sure which subjects didn't irritate Rin. They should frankly recommend therapy for his training.
And then, the tires dragged against the asphalt, and in an instant, the wind turned savage against the great force of metal cutting through it. Hair began to rustle like tree leaves in the middle of a storm; the sound of movement, that raw thing, passed through Charles’s stomach like ice. He stole a glance at Rin in the back seat and found it curious how his face had suddenly relaxed, peacefully observing the road outside. Shidou seemed at peace too, one hand firm on the wheel, his face illuminated by various little lights. Charles focused on the sensation beneath his feet—a thin layer of metal separating him from the harsh, painful ground; he could feel the vibrations of the metal. For a moment, he closed his eyes and lifted his feet, knees tucked to his chest while letting only the sound of the gale surround his ears, pretending he was in the middle of a typhoon. In that moment, he must have dozed off, even if just for a second, because when he woke up, they were on the track. His memory couldn't tell if he’d slept or not—after all, it was more of the same: buildings and lights everywhere. But now, they were almost on top of the buildings! What a trip—it was as if the road had jumped up and never came back down!
"You like it, Char-boy?" Shidou said, looking side to side; he definitely shouldn't be doing that while driving. "You know the best part? You can floor it like a dream! There are several tolls, but we’ve got those automatic chips."
The streets were extremely narrow, but in return, they stayed perfectly straight for long stretches—it was great for speeding—but after a while, there are many curves, like a giant snake breaking through the city. The engine roared; Shidou stepped on the gas. Charles hesitated before putting his feet back on the floor, but smiled to himself before doing so. He glanced at Rin in the mirror again; he remained peaceful, amused even, almost fascinated by the high speed. The speedometer needle trembled, passing the numbers slowly, as if they meant nothing at all—first 70, the needle stayed there shaking. Charles felt his heart beat with some force in his chest; slowly, the tremor swallowed the seven and the zero and moved to 80. That was the highway limit, but the red needle, harmless, kept trembling, as if it wanted to swallow the eight the same way it swallowed the zero.
"Can we go this fast?" It took him a few moments to ask. He didn't know what bothered him more: asking or staying silent, as if the high speed were just a matter of a warning, in a scenario where Shidou had simply forgotten he couldn't race on this track.
"Scared, Char-boy? Want me to slow down?" And then, the needle stopped trembling forward; it began to retreat.
Charles laughed, relieved.
"Not at all, you asshole!" Damn, he really was laughing. Now, all his fear suddenly seemed hilarious.
And, in truth, it wasn't the speed that hit them in that instant. It was just that small moment when Shidou, slowing down to 70 km/h, went to mess up Charles’s hair with one hand—and there was a car, someone else who simply wanted to see the lights, stopped in the middle of the highway. No one said a word when they hit; maybe they realized it at the very last second. And, surely, they said nothing afterward.
Sae Itoshi was not a particularly religious man, nor even superstitious; however, after some time on the pitch, there is something in his intuition that leaves him in a certain awakened state the moment he opens his eyes, like a premonition that something is about to happen. If he were to see a psychologist, he’d receive a diagnosis of anxiety or something of the sort; but of all the ways Sae could be described, an anxious man is not one of them. And yet, for some reason, he opened his eyes with a sudden awakening that day, a certain dull urgency that didn’t reach his physique, but rather the concept of it. Perhaps his brain had assimilated some connection during the night, some irregularity that betrayed the irregularity to him.
Regardless of whatever was capable of awakening Sae’s attention—a bit beyond his indifference and daily perception—it had to be related to Rin; it was always related to Rin. After all, Sae considered his own life quite uninteresting in its main events; nothing could go wrong enough to make him desperate, with the exception, evidently, of his impulsive younger brother, a fellow irresponsible to the core. But despite that certain urgent ache hammering at his head, he composed himself. He rose with the same delicacy as every other day, boiled his usual kombu-cha, and observed, as he did every day, the steaming smoke against the fresh chill of a Tokyo morning. Only then did he pick up his phone and check his messages, ignoring the slight fluttering in his heart that afflicted him discreetly, as if he were keeping a secret from himself.
His mother hadn’t called once, but she had left a message explaining, in a sober and coherent manner, that his brother had been in a car accident. Apparently, there were no concerns regarding permanent sequels, but he would need to recover from some sort of fracture or something of the sort—after all, his mother waited until the diagnosis arrived to let him know the whole thing had happened. Sae understood, but the subtext of the situation left him a bit perturbed, like a soft ripple over a lake the moment a leaf lands; a serene undulation, but one that still implies movement.
As it turned out, there were three people in the car, his mother explained; two young men from the same team as Rin. They didn't yet know if the driver was intoxicated; he was unconscious but, apparently, without any injury that required immediate attention. "They are waiting for him to wake up while they examine his cranium." The other young man is a foreigner, the youngest of the group; it seems he was the most injured as well. Not many details were heard about him, but his mother gently commented on how those shards of glass stuck in his arm, which she caught a glimpse of, looked terrible. And then, she informed him of the address of the hospital where they all three ended up, and where they must spend the next week before, later and under happier circumstances, going home to recover. The car they hit was the only victim on the other side; the people inside only got a few scratches and were likely, at that moment, filing a police report. And of course, she ended with an earnest plea because, unfortunately—truly unfortunately—she and his father could not remain in the city for long. Therefore, it would be great if Sae could check on Rin.
Sae didn't sigh; he squinted slightly, like a small bird staring at some random worm, thinking. He took the tea cup, its body warm, between his palms, feeling the gentle burn it imparted to his skin. He would finish sipping his tea and, afterward, he would need to find the house keys in the residential area of Kamakura, to walk across the great bridge there again and look at the sea with a certain sentimental melancholy, and take care of his brother in a cast. Good grief, just imagine—if the boy’s mood has been naturally hostile while he’s well, think of how it will be with a physical limitation. This time, Sae sighs.