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Genya almost went back for his inhaler.
He stood in the hallway after fourth period with his hand on his classroom door and thought, *desk, then locker, then club.* Then somebody asked if problem six on Himejima’s worksheet was an opinionated question based on research or concrete, and by the time Genya looked at the clock, he was already late.
He told himself it was fine. He told himself that a lot lately.
The range behind the gym looked huge in the freezing cold. The dirt had somewhat frozen in ridges. Everybody’s breath showed. Somebody’s mitten clip kept tapping a bench leg in the wind.
Coach Soyama walked the line with a clipboard.
“Gloves off on the line. I need to see your hands when you press on the trigger. Wind’s from the left today. Shinazugawa, you’re after Kaede.”
Genya shoved his bag under the bench. The side pocket wasn’t even zipped all the way. He didn’t care enough to look.
Kaede finished her line of shooting, missing a couple of the targets, and stepped off, shaking out her fingers and removing her ear protection. Genya took her spot.
Feet. Shotgun. Cheek down.
His hair caught the wind like it always did.
First shot was good. Second was better. Third sat right on top of them.
“Nice job as always, Shinazugawa,” Coach said. “Don’t get cocky. Wait for that gust to blow off.”
He waited with his finger tapping on the cold metal of his gun. The gust rattled the targets and quit. He shot again.
This was the part of the day he liked.
Out here, he wasn’t the dumb guy who couldn’t do math to save his life. Nor was he the kid from three months ago whose brother ripped up a certificate in front of half the school and yelled that trophies didn’t matter if you couldn’t do your math.
Out here, his hands just worked the humiliation away.
The sky got lower. The wind stopped coming in little pushes and just stayed.
That tight feeling showed up high in his chest, the old one, the one that meant the air had less room than it should.
He decided it was just dry out.
*Two more lines. Then I’ll sit. Then I’ll go get it.*
Soyama stopped behind him with a look of concern that didn’t sit right with his stern face.
“You look stiff. You cold?”
“I’m fine, Coach.”
“Don’t lock your knees. One more pair. The weather’s beginning to turn.”
Genya nodded and lifted the shotgun.
The next gust didn’t wait.
It hit him in the mouth, cold and dirty, tasting like metal. The air went down his throat and then it just… stopped. Like it had to squeeze through something too small.
He got half a breath.
The next one whistled coming out. The one after that barely happened.
His chest didn’t hurt exactly. It felt short. Too small. He couldn’t get a full one in or a full one out.
His fingers went pins-and-needles on the rifle. The target at the end of the range went a little blurry.
He put the rifle on the rest instead of dropping it. That felt important for some reason.
“Shinazugawa?”
He shook his head.
Sweat popped up along his hairline, cold and fast. He got off the line and started walking.
Then he was moving quicker than walking.
*If I can just get to the desk. If I apologize first, he won’t make it a whole thing. Probably.*
He thought it as he lied to himself, fully knowing that Sanemi would lecture him like a baby, making him feel humiliated and dumb once again.
The side doors. The stairs.
The stairwell smelled like wet concrete. Every step wanted air he didn’t have.
He grabbed the railing and pulled himself up anyway.
Third floor.
Sanemi’s door was half shut. The light was on.
Genya didn’t bother to knock and barged in.
Sanemi was at his desk with his collar wide open and a red pen and a messy stack of tests, looking like the tests had personally insulted his entire bloodline.
He glanced up.
“THE HELL YOU—Genya?”
The anger melted off his face all at once and was replaced with urgency.
“’Nemi—”
Genya caught a desk as he gasped the words out with a rasp in his throat. His shoulders had hiked up by themselves. The air going in sounded thin. The air going out whistled inconsistently.
“Sorry. I left it. Desk, I just—”
That was all he managed to gasp out before Sanemi shut him up.
“Stop talking.”
Sanemi was already around the desk.
The pen hit the floor.
He suddenly grabbed his backpack so hard the chair jumped, ripped the front pocket open, and pulled out the spare inhaler he kept in there.
Worn label. Cap that never stayed on right.
He kept it because Genya could occasionally be careless.
But everyone knew he would keep a spare even if his baby brother was the most responsible person in all of Japan.
“Okay, calm down and sit on the floor.”
Genya sat.
Sanemi went down with him, shook the inhaler quickly, and stuck the mouthpiece between Genya’s teeth.
It tasted of cold, bitter metal.
“Deep breath in. Don’t waste it.”
He pressed.
The spritz was freezing and bitter. It hit the back of Genya’s tongue and made his eyes water.
He tried to pull it down into that stuck place in his chest. For a second, nothing happened.
Then a little more air got through.
Sanemi didn’t look at his face.
He looked at his chest.
“Okay, just hold out. One more time and out.”
Second press.
The whistle broke up a little.
The clock over the board ticked. Tomorrow’s warm-up problems were already written in Sanemi’s sharp handwriting.
“One more. Come on. I’ve got it. I’ve got you.”
That last part came out rougher than the rest, like he hadn’t meant to say it like that.
Third press.
Genya dragged it in as far as it would go. His shoulders were shaking. His shirt was stuck to his back.
Then the tight feeling let go a little.
Not all the way.
Enough that the next breath went out, and the one after that actually came back in.
Sanemi let out a breath of his own, sharp, like he’d been holding it too.
Genya managed a thumbs-up.
“How you feeling, Gen?”
Genya’s head tipped and landed on Sanemi’s leg.
He was sweating and cold at the same time. His mouth still tasted like medicine. His hair was flattened on one side.
“Fine,” Genya mumbled into the pant fabric, feeling the adrenaline die down and leave him clammy and fatigued.
Sanemi clicked his tongue.
Then he put his hand on Genya’s head anyway and pushed his front hair back into place, kind of annoyed about it.
His hand just stayed there for a second as he combed his hair soothingly.
“You left it in the desk,” he said. “You went out there in this wind with no jacket and no inhaler, and then you ran up here so you could apologize, like that’s what I needed from you.
“Next time your chest gets like that, you get off the line right away. You come get me or you go to Ms. Tamayo. I’ll mark you here. I can yell after. After is fine.
“You passing out behind the gym is not fine.”
Genya just breathed.
Four in.
Four out.
Sanemi looked at the tests.
Looked at Genya.
Looked at the tests again.
“I’m finishing those at home. Club’s over. If Soyama has something to say, he can say it to me.”
He rubbed his mouth with the back of his hand.
Quieter, like it bothered him to be decent out loud:
“You were shooting well before the wind turned. I’m not throwing that out with the rest of it.”
He got Genya up by the elbow.
No yanking.
Genya’s legs took a second to remember the job.
Sanemi grabbed both bags, pulled his own jacket off, and put it on Genya as if he were mad at the jacket.
It was still warm inside.
The sleeves covered Genya’s hands.
Sanemi zipped it up to his chin and fixed the collar.
“Arms in. That’s enough stupid for one day.”
He locked the classroom and checked the knob twice, because of course he did.
They took the stairs slower this time.
In the front hall, Sanemi ended up on the windy side of him without saying anything about it.
At the car, he opened the passenger door and waited.
He didn’t tell Genya to hurry.
He waited until Genya was in, belt on, head back.
Then he shut the door.
He started the car and turned the heat up before he even put it in drive.
Then he just sat there for a minute with his hands on the wheel, listening.
“You must wear a jacket from here on out when it’s cold out,” he said, looking at the windshield. “I mean it. I can’t have you passing out on me or worse.”
Genya nodded inside the white jacket.
“I hear you, Aniki.”
Sanemi’s mouth moved, not quite a smile.
He reached over and tugged the jacket tighter, clumsy about it.
“Couch when we get home. Tea. Don’t say you’re fine. You say you’re fine and I’m getting the logarithm problems out.”
He pulled out of the lot.
He didn’t yell on the way home.
The tests sat in the bag, half unmarked.
At a red light, he looked over, checked that Genya was breathing like a person again, and looked back at the road like he’d only been watching the light.
The wind shoved at the windows.
Sanemi left the heat too high the whole way, and didn’t touch it.