Chapter Text
The day had gone wrong from the very start — what a mystery. Kevin stares at the scoreboard with disgust — they're clearly losing. It was a shutout loss, and that's already an insult. Living people can't play that badly; there were two explanations. Either half of his team were zombies, or he himself had died long ago and become a ghost. The second option seemed more plausible — how else to explain why his own team seemed neither to see nor hear him? Since when had the captain's words come to mean so little? The first option wasn't bad either, it seemed no one on the field had any brains left. And so they run and run mindlessly, searching for which hole to throw the ball into. They haven't found one yet.
Back in the locker room, everyone had managed to discuss whose girl had bigger breasts, which team stood no chance against them on the field. They guffawed over year-old jokes for about ten minutes, split one sandwich between three, admired new sneakers bought with team funds. Swore to the coach they'd take gold in the upcoming championship.
"Everybody clear on the strategy?"
"Come on, dude, don't get so worked up! When haven't we?"
They swore, though, not on their pinkies.
No arguing with that — luck was clearly on their side: they'd made it to the quarterfinals. The self-assured, pompous idiots got so excited they completely relaxed and, instead of morning practice, were placing bets on this one, that one, and the other losing. Kevin should have put a couple thousand on his own team's failure too — if only he'd known he was playing with bastards.
Kevin grinds his teeth, feeling his muscles ache with the urge to trip someone or send the ball into a face, switching one game for another, basketball for soccer. He notices in time the judge's equally vicious glare — an upperclassman from his department — and deftly redirects the trajectory of his throw from his teammate's face toward the opponent's hoop. He also hears the shouts of "I'm open!" from his own teammates, but reads them as the hum of wind outside. He was the only one left on the team, wasn't he?
The ball, naturally, doesn't reach the hoop. The throw was strong — too strong, even — just crooked. He'd just fucked up their last chance at a single goal. Their two-meter center is coming at Kevin — a foreign student like himself. The American one. Kevin spits on the parquet, glances at Mei in the stands. The American had been spending too much time lately with the girl Kevin had liked since his first year. Inviting her to discussion meetings, something to do with science, to places where people like his unique Mei gathered. Kevin had always been bad at science — he'd enrolled at the university out of fear of disappearing as an athlete; athletes are all idiots anyway. He was no exception, he'd flunked yet another anatomy colloquium the other day.
The American was different, supposedly special, a straight-A student, and on top of that, he'd been playing basketball since childhood and all that; he'd joined them recently and was constantly getting on Kevin's nerves with his blatant arrogance. He often complained to his friends that the university had no decent teams, that he's playing with any random nobody, and that this exchange program wasn't doing it for him at all. He'd even tried to take the captain's role away from Kevin, and though the coach respected his skills, as a person he didn't care much for the American.
The most revolting thing about him was that he — the American — gave Kevin's Mei flowers and dark chocolate.
" What's wrong with you, contused bastartd?!"
Kevin closes his eyes, realizing that even now Mei isn't looking at him. Neither is his best friend. No — they're busy with each other, smiling, laughing at something, and Su gives Mei one of his most sincere and engaged smiles. Touches her shoulder, whispers something he'd say to Kevin without a second thought on the way home. Even for them, he'd become a ghost. And he'd barely talked them into coming — kept repeating how important it was to him that they just sit somewhere here, that they see his victory, and afterward the three of them would walk to the dorm together, drop off their things, and wander around until morning. Lately, they'd been spending far less time together. All because Kevin wasn't enough for anyone around him.
A sharp, aggressive whistle from the referee tears through his ears, seems someone from the medics is already running toward them. With an ominous smile, Kevin watches the stream of blood flowing from the American's nose, demonstratively kissing his fist, on which — had he tried harder — the outline of his "comrade's" features might have remained like a stencil. For this, he's immediately thrown to the floor; Kevin cries out involuntarily from the sharp pain that shot from his lower back to his neck, ran like electricity through his whole spine, leaving terrible dizziness and nausea behind. He doesn't even want to think about why he can`t feel his right arm anymore, there's no strength left to think anyway. His vision begins to darken while the judge shoves a red card in his face — funny, it looked like there was blood on it too. A pity he can't see the emotions in Mei's and Su's eyes right now. He can't really see anything anymore.
Thus began his season of unbearable heat.