File_06 : Roadrunner.zip

(ty for reading ! you all really make my day with your comments and votes and love, so for that, i want to say i am forever thankful and luv u all. these chapters r likely slowly getting more and more solemn in some sense, haha, so, bear with me. i shall save the rest of the sappiness for the epilogue, so for now, the little star waves you hello and is happy to see u here :3 )

(EDITED)

(Note to readers: Some chapters ahead may not be in line with the new edits.)

C5H8NO4Na

Monosodium glutamate

A food additive and flavor enhancer. White, crystalline powder. Often used in restaurant foods, canned vegetables, and deli meats. Induces umami flavor, increases salivation, and can cause irreversible metabolic, nerve, and reproductive damage. Subtle flavor. Highly addictive.

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___________________

The first round of Red Diamond was in none other than sunny Seattle, Washington. Because the Lord thought Himself funny, we were to fly there.

"You two went all around Korea, and you still only need a duffel?" Zahir said, frowning at me.

I frowned back. "It's not a catwalk to Seattle."

"Yes it is," Diego said, sliding up beside me. He brushed himself off, gesturing at his jacket. "As the kids say these days, peep the drip."

"I'm nauseous," Rosalie said behind him, not looking up from her phone. "I'm physically ill."

"Because I'm so sick?"

"If Hell had a tenth circle, it'd be you using modern slang," Rosalie snapped.

"Ok, boomer."

"I'm younger than you."

"Sounds like cap, my guy. I'm the real GOAT. W. High-key, you a real G. Stan forever."

Rosalie hunched over. "I'm gonna throw up my own liver."

"Me first," Zahir said, giving Diego a look that crossed somewhere between disappointment and disgust.

Diego glanced at me. "Cobayo gets me. Sheesh!"

"I don't know you," I said, turning around.

"Sheeee—"

"Stop it," Zahir and Rosalie snapped.

I headed for Wynter and Zoe, who were sitting at the gate's black benches, half-asleep and slumped against each other's shoulders. I sat down beside them. Zoe perked up.

She glanced at my bag. "All that running around Korea and you still use that duffel?"

"What do you people have against duffels?" I sighed.

"I thought King got you a suitcase?" Wynter asked, stretching out her muscles high above her head. "Kitty White herself?"

"His cousin did," I corrected. "And we're just going away for a few days. Doesn't matter."

Zoe hummed. She said, "How's your...face? What'd Ramos say?"

Corvus perked up at the mention. Damn lycan ears.

I resisted the urge to touch my fingers to my lip. I hadn't seen Ramos like Kane had ordered, half-because I figured the injuries were not worth eliciting her attention, and half-because he wasn't the boss of me. I said so.

"Fine, I said. "Ramos didn't say anything. Kane's not the boss of me."

"He is your captain," Wynter added.

"Tracker," Zahir added.

"Two years your senior," Meredith said.

"Periodt," Diego said, and Rosalie smacked him on the back of the neck.

I waved it off. "It's a few cuts. I'm not bleeding out here."

"Not yet," Kenzo said.

"Are you ever helpful?" I snapped.

"Stop chatting." We looked over to see Kane approaching us, clad in a hoodie and sweats, jutting his thumb towards the gate entrance where a line was readily forming. "We're boarding, let's go."

Wynter gave me a dry look. "Your boss is calling."

Kane glared at both of us at that. Wynter held up her hands like that was a worthy defense. Kane glanced at me.

I said, "Where are you sitting?"

Kenzo called, "Next to you, wherever you are."

"What?"

"King lost a bet," Diego explained.

"What bet?" Kane and I both asked.

Diego shrugged, and headed after Zahir.

Kane pushed his hand through his hair. He headed for the gate. I hurried after him, my duffel over my shoulder, Seattle waiting three hours ahead.

"Whoa, hold on," Rosalie said, pausing as we shuffled into the line. "Is this...coach?"

"You're all pampered poodles," Coach snapped, sending a wave of offended gasps across the team. "It's a three hour flight—barely. I'm not blowing our budget on business class for that."

"Coach," Rosalie hissed. "There aren't seat warmers. Not even a complimentary cruelty-free meal. What gives?"

"Calm down, Rosie," Diego assured. "We can survive. They still have water coolers."

"No, they don't," Kenzo said.

Zahir frowned. "What about horderves?"

"Peanuts."

"They come with sleeping masks, though," Meredith assured.

"No, they don't."

"What?" she gasped.

Wynter frowned. "What about blankets?

Zoe said, "Pillows?"

"A nice reading light for the nook," Meredith tried.

"Dude," I said.

"I'm gonna throw myself into the fucking rotors," Rosalie groaned.

"It's three hours," Coach snapped, giving them all mildly horrified looks, along with a few unfortunate strangers who had to overhear the lament. "Good God, you all are spoiled rotten. From here on out, we're taking coach only."

"I am terminating my contract indefinitely," Rosalie said, wholeheartedly serious.

Diego cleared his throat. "'Terminating' is indefinite, so you don't really need to add 'indefinitely'—"

"Diego, shut the fuck up, there are no fucking seat warmers on this fucking plane." Rosalie slumped against Meredith. "I can't handle this stress."

"You know, I think Rosie should have to stay in coach, and we can all upgrade," Diego said pointedly.

"Not even one pillow?" Zoe asked, then made a square. "Not even a little one?"

"I think Diego should be flushed into the sky," Rosalie snapped.

"I'm allergic to peanuts," Zahir said with a frown.

"Suffer," Kenzo replied blandly.

"I think Rosalie should be smuggled to Africa like that cartoon zebra," Diego retorted.

"I think Diego should be smuggled to a black hole."

"I think Rosie is a petty jackass."

"You're a petty jackass."

"You're a coach petty jackass."

"We're all in coach, dumbass."

"I thought you were terminating your contract indefinitely which is repetitive, by the way."

"I'm gonna terminate your face."

"I'm gonna terminate your face."

"Well I—"

"I will tear off every one of this team's limbs starting with your idiotic, grating, unceasing mouths if you don't shut the fuck up for the love of God and just get on the fucking plane," Kane snarled, and pointed ahead at the stewardesses waiting awkwardly for us to board.

Corvus huffed their conversations to a stop at that order, turning around with a grimace. They reluctantly scanned their passes and headed through the tunnel into the plane.

Zahir and Wynter sat leftmost, leaving Rosalie and Zoe across from them in the center, King and I at the right, and Meredith and Diego behind us. Kenzo and Coach, however, were nowhere to be found.

I spotted them sliding past us as I shoved my duffel bag into the overhead. I frowned. Coach held a finger up to her lips.

"Like hell I'm riding coach with you all," she murmured to me, and waved a first class ticket. "Come find me if you want some premium peanuts."

Kenzo shoved his first-class ticket into his pocket. I gaped. He shrugged. "I don't fuck with the lower class," he said, and brushed past me.

I sat beside Kane. Economy was not kind to the long-limbed, so Kane had one leg propped up on the seat and the rest of his body curled into the corner against the window, his head slumped against the wall and his eyes already ready to close. Shadows had hollowed his eyes, his cheeks, dimmed the color of his skin, raised the veins on his body. In the recent days, when you looked close enough, strands of pale white were creeping out from his scalp, burning the black off his bangs.

I forced my eyes away and said, "Are you okay?"

Kane opened his eyes. He said, "Yes."

"You look tired."

"It's Red," he sighed. "Always a bit tiring."

"You should sleep."

"I'm all right, Echo." He tilted his head back. The black scar wrapped around his Adam's apple. "Don't worry about it."

I pursed my lips. I reached into my small, HELLO KITTY backpack, rifling through the contents I'd stuffed inside of it, before withdrawing a plastic package. A honey cookie glistened inside.

"Want to share?" I asked him.

Kane opened his eyes. He blinked at the cookie. When a ghost of a smile grazed his lips, it felt like a dying lightbulb had sputtered awake one more time.

"Sure," he said.

I split it in two, handing him the other half. Kane leaned against me, his cheek resting on the crown of my head. He said, "It's your first Red." He took a bite of the cookie, and I felt the movement of his mandible against my temple. "First of many, at least."

I scoffed. "You're the hopeful kind."

He shrugged. "Maybe for you."

It was tender, breakable. "Well, you'll be there anyway."

Kane paused for a long moment. Then, he reached down to rest his fingers on my palm. They were still sticky from the honey.

"Maybe," he murmured.

There was no "maybe" in racing, in living. There was no "almost". You either did, or you didn't.

I didn't want to think about which side he would fall on.

____________________

Ramos held up a hand at me, my feet inches from the threshold of the Redhawks' guest locker room. She said, "Echo Yun. What happened to your face now?"

"I slipped," I promised.

"You slipped?"

"Bad slip."

"You will be the death of me," she said with a sigh. She turned on Kane. "What happened?"

Kane called, "Change out. We'll start drills in ten."

"Ahem."

"He slipped."

"Kane King."

"He won't tell us." Kane sighed, heading for a corner and setting his bag down on the bench. "He won't tell us and that's all I've got for you. He can race. Let's move."

Ramos gaped at him. I shrugged at her. "I can race," I clarified.

Ramos looked to Coach. She said. "He can race."

"You're all terrible," she huffed.

I headed inside. Diego was busying himself with grumbling how much his back hurt from the seats, and how much his head hurt hearing Rosalie's voice, while Zahir nodded dutifully along. Kenzo had already changed and was lacing up his cleats. Kane had paused to discuss something with Ramos, something involving medicine and sun and time and eyes. I thought about the contents of my bag.

Kane waved something off that she said before heading to the corner, leaving her mid-sentence. She frowned after him, then turned to me.

"I want you to keep an eye on him," she told me. "If he starts to look like he's wavering, say something. We'll pull him off the track."

"Is he okay?"

Ramos paused. "Just let me know if he starts wavering."

She left me with that. I took a deep breath.

"Twenty to start!" Coach yelled.

I spotted Kane's hands as they shook around the straps of his helmet. Silvery white threaded through the strands hanging over his eyes. A thick black dread began to spread into my veins, began to infest my hopes. First of many.

I grabbed his arm guards, pulled his hands toward me. Kane frowned. "What're you—"

"Calm down," I muttered, securing the straps around his trembling hands. "Did you eat?"

"Yeah," he said quickly.

"C'mon, man."

"It's all right." Kane pulled his arms away. "Go change."

"I have a protein bar."

"Go change, Echo."

"Eat."

"Stop."

"You can eat, Kane."

He turned around to put his back to me, his shin guards in his hands. "Go change," he snapped. "Now."

I didn't push. I headed towards my corner, grabbing my gear to change out, but not before unearthing the bar and setting it beside him.

Silence riddled the locker room, and Red began with a whisper.

The Seattle University Redhawks were ninth in the NCAA, their lineup consisting of seven starters and seven subs, a fourth-year electrical engineering captain, a former-IPRA legend coach, and some amount of money that was far too much for any team to be earning without merit in their total time. They'd won four Reds, and countless Greens, and I would know the rest of the logistics too, had I been paying attention.

The stadium was a bloodbath, red banners and red ribbons adorning the walls, every screen framed in dazzling crimson, the track's edges lined with scarlet. Fans lifted diamond-shaped signs, some boasting a red hawk and others boasting a black crow. Great big gems had been constructed with sponsors' logos to adorn the stadium like a crown.

Red Diamond had begun.

"What is this, a goddamn practice track?" Coach snapped into her mic. "King! Get your head in the game, that's the third strike you've taken in the last ten minutes! You're racing like an amateur! And Cruz! Are you there for decor, let's pick it up! Christ, I'd think you all have never been to a Red in your life!"

"Come on, crows, we got this!" Meredith tried. "We've still got a four point gap."

"That's ten points too little," Rosalie snapped. "Zahir, start weaving, get Suwan to follow you and stop blocking King!"

Zahir took that order wordlessly, zooming up ahead with a crank of his handlebar. He scraped his wheel against Suwan's and sent her struggling in her once-straight line. She glowered up ahead and shoved her accelerator to the floor in an effort to catch up.

King took the chance and veered for the ramps. He flew through the crisp, September air, before landing in a smoky, sparking gust and swerving right into the pole series. He came out the other side with seven more points for Corvus, a trail of fire in his wake. The audience rumbled like a seismic earthquake.

"Hell yes!" Zoe cheered.

I sagged a little with some relief. I watched Zahir snag Suwan with a twist of his leg, his cleat catching on the innards of her bike. He yanked his bike sideways until the nose smashed into hers, his cleat popping free, and his bike spinning in a clean 180 until she was spinning into a pillar, and he was taking the tunnels with a whooping cheer.

"Now this is Red!" he yelled. "How's the score?"

"Damn pretty," Rosalie replied. "Fifteen point gap. Ten to halftime!"

Corvus cheered. I smiled.

Ramos came up beside me, resting a hand on my shoulder. I glanced at her.

"How is it?" she asked. "Witnessing it in person."

I considered that. "A dream, maybe."

She laughed. "First of many to come true." She imitated dazzling stars with her hands and laughed.

I blinked. "Ramos."

She said, "Yes?"

"Never change."

Ramos patted my back. "I promise."

Meredith crushed Jacksons against the concrete, sending an echo of sympathy across the crowd. Sparks raged between their scraping metal. Meredith let him swing his fist clear for her gut, before yanking the bike back and letting his knuckles land on the cold leather of her seat. She swung her leg up and down. Metal spikes seared into his back wheel. He panicked, faltering badly enough to go zipping towards a tunnel. When he smashed into the wall of it, Corvus cheered.

"God bless you, Mer," Rosalie said. "Where's Bates?"

Tae Bates, the Redhawks captain and front port, standing at six foot flat and 200 imperial pounds of former-football muscle, was likely to be Corvus's main issue at hand for the match. The man wasn't nearly as violent as the rest of his team, but he was certainly skilled, and therefore, a lot worse of a threat.

Wynter pointed at him as he headed straight for the bridge. "Where's he going now?"

"Nowhere good," I muttered. "Where's Diego?"

Diego had busied himself in helping Kenzo keep the Redhawks' front starboard and centerback from breaking through, although it had become increasingly difficult considering their rambunctious attacks were only increasing. It took Diego nearly losing an eye to a low-hanger for him to snap, "Anyone have a plan to get rid of the vultures?"

King swerved around a pillar and beneath a low-hanger. "Get them in the tunnel," he said. "Lasso them, it'll be easier in a closed space."

Diego and Kenzo headed for the first tunnel they could spot, revving towards it with a ferocity as if the timer was ticking down to seconds. Rivera and Harada followed them without question, the noses of their bikes biting at their back wheels.

Kenzo split, swerving around the tunnel just as the three others went inside. Within the walls, Diego spun up and around the cylinder, right up until Rivera and Harada went after him. Diego took the opening, yanking his bike back into reverse, his wheels skidding on the stone in sparks. He sank back behind them, and before the two could rearrange, did a full loop sideways, before bringing his front wheel to smash into Rivera's. He sped out the tunnel the other way, as Rivera and Harada went smashing into each other head-first. Neither got back up.

Diego raised his fist in triumph. He met Kenzo at the pillar. "Hell yeah, that's all cuervo, baby!"

"Not all," Kenzo said. "Bates."

We swiveled our heads up, towards the bridge.

Bates had slid all the way up until he was directly above Kane, his wheels singing along the stone. Kane either didn't see or didn't care enough to regard him, his bike too busy racking up points on the obstacles below.

Coach said, "King, up, on your right."

Kane said, "I know."

"You got a plan?"

"I'm working on that."

"Well, work faster, that kid looks like he's already got one."

He did.

Bates slammed his foot on the accelerator, swinging his bike up and down. He drove off the bridge, sailing through the air, until he landed with an echoic crash beside Kane. Two front ports, two champions-in-the-making, parallel on the track.

Kane hauled his bike left around the sharp corner. He headed for the log piles. Bates surged ahead, wheel diagonal to Kane's, his hand on the brake.

I said, "He's trying to flip you."

Kane paused. He said, "All right."

Bates waited less than a few seconds from the log pile. He clamped his hand on the brake. I said, "Kane—"

Bates braked like his life depended on it, his front wheel colliding with Kane's.

Kane had somehow discovered his plan between now and five seconds ago, because he gave not even slight hesitation as he shifted gears without a blink. His bike went screaming backwards, straight, a turn, a swerve. He shifted again and braked himself into a tight circle, yanking his bike nose-end in around Bates. He shifted one last time, finished the circle in a clean sweep. He sailed around and forward, in a perfect figure-eight, and left Bates in his smoke.

"Hell yeah!" Wynter roared.

"Hell yeah," I agreed, smiling.

Kane headed for the tunnel. Headed for the pole series, cleared it without issue. Ducked under the low-hangers, hopped over the log piles. When he hit the ramp, he flew like a black crow in the sky, and landed on the finish line with the tsunami of a roaring crowd around him.

Halftime buzzed us into cheers. Twenty five points separated us and the Redhawks. It looked like a dream, coming into fruition.

Zoe and Wynter wrestled my shoulders. "So awesome," they breathed.

I grinned.

Corvus swarmed the canopy, tearing off their helmets and gloves, chattering away to each other with sweaty temples and beaming faces. Diego jumped Kane, wrestling him under his arm.

"That's what I'm talking about, capitán," he said with a cackle.

Rosalie smiled. "I've never seen that trick before. It was impressive."

"Impressive, she says! That was fucking hot."

"All right, you're done," Zahir said, dragging him off Kane. "Although, it was pretty hot."

Zoe nudged me. "Wasn't it?"

"There were sparks," I admitted.

"Not that kind of hot, cobayo. Bless your oblivious heart."

Ramos said, "How are you holding up, Kane?"

All eyes turned to him. He didn't say anything at first, his helmet still over his face, his body still. He walked over towards the bench and sat down. He reached up and tore off his helmet to place it beside him.

No racer ever looked too great after being trapped under several layers of leather and fibreglass while racing for their life at speeds upward of 110 miles per hour, but that being said, Kane looked entirely too not-great for that to be the only reason. He let his hands hang from his knees, and I saw them shake with an increasing ferocity. His skin was pale, thin over the bones of his face, marred by a large gash and several scrapes on his forehead. I looked at his eyes. A single vein in the corner of his sclera had gone a perfect black.

Ramos knelt beside him. She felt his forehead. She said something quiet and unintelligible to him. Kane pursed his lips, clenched his jaw tight. He shook his head. He gestured at the track, at his eyes. He said something, then frowned at her response, brows stitched. She took his hands to turn them over, but he snagged them from her grip and snapped something that made her frown back.

Ramos turned to Coach. "I don't think he should race for the next half."

Kane stood up. "I'm all right."

Coach looked him up and down. Kane took a step towards her, face taut with a desperate determination. "I can race. Let me race."

Coach shook her head. "I heed Ramos first. You're out."

"I just got us another eleven points ahead and you're gonna bench me?" he snapped. "Let me race."

"You have a sub for a reason, and he's proven he can handle himself out there without you. It wasn't an invite. It's an order. Sit down."

Kane's face twisted. "That's not fair," he said. "I'm not injured. I race fine. Let me back on the track."

"Your nurse has determined—"

"I don't care what she determined, she's just being paranoid over nothing. She doesn't know what she's talking about," he burst. "This is Red, why the hell are you cutting a racer out of the track now?"

Coach gave him a sharp look. "You better check your attitude. You might be captain, but we're overseeing you. Don't talk like that to someone who's trying to keep you safe," she snarled, gesturing at Ramos. "And I'm your coach. What I say goes. Do not question me again. Get your head on straight, and take your gear off, because you're out for the night."

"That's not fair," he hissed.

Edwards stabbed a finger at his face. "Ask me if I care what you feel is 'fair'," she bit back. He curled his fists, but didn't answer. She pointed to the door. "You're done."

She turned her back to him without another word. Kane bit his lip, his eyes blazing with something almost as desperate as it was indignant.

Ramos reached for him. "Kane—"

He shoved past Ramos's hand and grabbed his helmet. Without another word, he descended the stairs, and let the door slam shut behind him, leaving Corvus in silence.

Coach rubbed her temples. She clapped her hands together. "All right. Let's talk the next half's strategy. We're doing well so far against their offense, but we need to keep focus on their defense, too. Our best bet is go up against them around the ramps."

Ramos handed me my helmet. She said, "Are you okay to race?"

I stared at her, at the helmet. I said, "Who else will?"

A spiderweb crack began to form in the corner of my world, and I watched a single shard fall out of place, down down down below into the darkness.

_____________________

"How long does he have?"

We were seated in the guys' room at Elizabeth K Hotel, the decor derived from a single shade of horrid olive green, only varying in hues across the entire room. The beds white and green. The pillows dark green. The floors darkest green. The roof spotlighted in faintly green hues of fainter green sconces. I felt the sting of it in my eyes as I sat on the plush olive carpet, Washington growing colder by the millisecond outside, rain a constant, swollen threat in the cloudy skies, the sun fleeing like a woman being chased for her life down the equator. Kane hadn't shown since halftime. Not even when we had won the first round of Red, 193 to 180, Corvus's favor.

"Where is King to celebrate?" a reporter had asked Meredith after the match ended.

Meredith had given her a sad smile. "Resting," she said. "Next question?"

We sat quietly now, waiting like there was a bomb ready to go off any second, our breaths held and our minds in mania. I had tried calling Kane to no avail, and Coach hadn't heard anything back from her messages. Corvus themselves were left on delivered. It was difficult to determine now who the ghost was at this point. But no one dared to fight against it. Who fought a dying man?

Ramos stood against the pale green dresser, her figure toeing the line between exhaustion and defeat. She considered us thoughtfully. "I don't know."

"C'mon, Ramos," Rosalie said witheringly. "We know you know. Just tell us. Please, don't lie."

Ramos drummed her fingers against her legs. "I'd give it until the end of January."

"Jesus Christ," Diego said, holding his head in his hands.

"Before his window for the 607 closes, that is, she said.

"If it does?" Meredith asked.

A pause. "A year or so, before it..."

"Before it's over," Kenzo said.

Ramos closed her eyes. "Before it's over."

Corvus descended into a silent chaos, but my mind was somewhere else entirely at the confession of that deadline. January.

I dug my nails into my knees. "If he gets the 607 before January," I asked, "do you think he'll recover?"

Ramos cocked her head to the side. "The percentage is slim he will make a full recovery, but it is possible. He's an Alpha, so his chances are higher, too. That being said, it's likely at this rate, his vision will never fully recover. The silver has likely made it to his nerves. If those are damaged, there is no repairing them. I won't lie to you. The body is never the same after silver poisoning."

Corvus looked on the verge of being sick, the conflict so potent it could break the light fixtures in the room with its density. Kenzo was the only other one that looked remotely composed, which might've been the only reason he dared to ask what he did.

He glanced at Ramos and said, "Could he ever race again?"

It was the question everyone wanted to know, and no one wanted to ask. Ramos took a long moment, either to think of the answer, or to think how to say it.

"I don't know," she admitted. "I don't know."

It was too real, too fast. A bullet train. A throwing knife. A kiss. A truth. Too real, too big, too fast.

I got to my feet. Zoe frowned. "Where are you off to?" she asked.

"I have to take care of something," I said.

"Right now," Rosalie scoffed. "Of course."

"I'm sorry," I said.

"Stop doing that," she snapped. "I'm so sick of 'sorry'. I didn't ask you to be sorry. No one asked anyone to be sorry." She got off the bed and pushed past me. "All I ever wanted was the truth."

She slammed the door shut.

"Do you know where he is?" Zahir asked me.

I paused. "No," I admitted. "But I might be able to find him."

"Then let us come with you." When I was quiet, he let out a sigh. "Or not."

"I'm sorry."

"Stop." Zahir turned his back to me. "Just stop, man."

Zoe and Wynter got to their feet. Wynter faced me, almost confused, almost frustrated. Neither of us spoke.

Wynter shook her head. "Don't do anything you'll regret, Yun."

A tall order for a man with nothing but regrets to start with.

I grabbed my duffel and fled the room with one more added on my list.

9:59 PM - echo (echo)

where r you?

I found Kane in the place I least expected. That is, right in front of me.

He had resigned himself to the outskirt of the hotel, where the pool glistened green and the chairs were empty considering the below-temperate weather freezing over the edges of the stone and tweed-wire benches. Kane sat at the very edge of the deep end, cross-legged, a cigarette between his lips, right below the black scars in his neck.

I stood at the gate. Kane didn't lift his eyes from the water, but did say, "Congrats on the match."

I cocked my head. "Would've been nice to hear that an hour ago."

"Sorry," he said.

I came to sit beside him on the stone cold concrete. I pulled the Carhartt jacket tighter over my arms. Kane glanced at it. I gestured at it. "Thanks for this, by the way. Good for Seattle."

"I got you that?" he murmured.

"Probably. Three-fourths of my closet is probably from you," I said. "What're you doing out here?"

Kane shrugged. "Dunno. Didn't wanna go back in." He sighed out smoke.

"They're just looking out for you," I said.

"I know."

"They're worried."

"I know."

"You can miss a half."

"And then what?" he bit out. And what else could I do? First, a half. Then, a match. Then, January. Then.

I sighed. I said, "They just want you to be okay."

Kane rubbed his eyes. "I know," he murmured. "I know."

We watched the waters ripple, shake, and dance. I reached over to pluck the cigarette out and snuff it into nothing on the stone. He frowned. I said, "You shouldn't smoke."

"Hypocrite," he replied.

"Yeah," I admitted. "But it's you."

"So?"

"So—" I took his pack of cigarettes and his cartoon crow lighter. I shoved them both into my pockets. "—call it caring."

Kane pressed his mouth into a thin line. He said, "Why'd you come to find me?"

I shrugged. "First rule." I patted my duffel. "And I thought I'd give you something."

He tilted his head at that. I fished around in a pocket before unearthing a black box. I presented it to him.

Kane raised a brow. "Hair dye?" he said.

"I figured, if you didn't want people asking," I explained. "Just for the time being."

Kane pushed fingers through his silver-streaked hair. He brushed his rings over the cardboard. The mint green pool made his skin glow, made his eyes turn to patina copper. For a moment, I could pretend it was all only a trick of the light.

Until the end of January.

I wanted time to stop, to pause, to stop going and stop leaving me behind. I was sick of being a shadow and a haze, a phantom and a chance. I wanted a choice. I wanted a choice I deserved to make. I wanted a choice I could make and not regret.

I wanted and wanted and wanted.

"Can you help me?" he asked me.

But it was all in vain.

I nodded. "Okay."

We waited until everyone was asleep before we did the deed.

"Stop fucking moving," I muttered. "I'm gonna do it wrong if you keep at it."

"I can feel you're putting it in the wrong spot," he snapped. "Let me hold it."

"Why do you get to hold it?"

"It's on my body!"

"So dramatic. Then turn and I can see it better and do it better."

"Let me do it. You have to go deep."

"Yeah, I got that part. Who here has done this before?"

"You keep moving it all around, I can feel it dripping down. At least fucking hold it steady."

"For someone who's on the receiving end of this, you're complaining a shit ton about it." I lifted the bottle of dye up and nudged his leg. "All right, lift your head, let me run it through the rest of your hair or it'll look uneven."

Kane lifted his head. "Did you get the roots?"

"I'm the one who's been dying his hair since God-knows-when," I snapped. "I know what I'm doing. Hold still."

Kane frowned at the black dye staining his once-blue T-shirt. He let me pull the dye through his hair with practiced fingers. Kane said, "How long have you dyed your hair for?"

"Five years," I said. "I used to be orange. At some point, I was completely purple."

"Yeesh," he said.

I elbowed him. "Hey. It was a look."

"Of Halloween?" he replied, and scoffed. "You got black dye? Not even dark brown?"

"You're so picky, I swear you have a preference for what kind of dust molecules are under your bed," I snapped. "Black is cooler anyway. You'll look as emo on the outside as you are on the inside. Ow."

Kane glared. I shrugged. He said, "Why do you dye your hair anyway?"

I hesitated. I grabbed the bottle, squeezing some of the last drops of black ink into his scalp. I had to stand on a precarious stack of hotel magazines, menus, and the Bible in order to make myself tall enough to reach his head, so my range of motion was limited to grabbing the bottle and yanking his head left and right.

"Made life more interesting," I lied. "It was a nice distraction sometimes."

Kane hummed at that. "What's your next color?"

I shrugged. "Maybe green?"

"Please don't."

I laughed. "All right."

I grabbed the plastic takeout bag and tied it around his head. He looked wholly unamused at the process. I snickered at the sight. "You look very regal," I said.

"Fuck you," he snapped. "I look like a wet Chihuahua."

"You usually look like that."

"I'll push you off that Bible. You'll see really see God then."

I waved him off. "Whatever you say, man. I'm unmovable."

Kane made a move to push me off and I clung onto his shoulders. He snickered into his sleeve. I glowered, but it was half-hearted in the face of his laughter.

After a few beats of quiet, he turned to face me, leaning against the countertop. "I'm sorry about today," he said, eyes now solemn. "I shouldn't have gotten so angry."

"Probably not," I admitted. "But I think you owe Ramos and Coach that apology more."

Kane nodded. "Probably."

I considered him. "I know things are on edge right now, though."

Kane took that with a bit of a pang. "Ah, maybe," he muttered quietly. "The semester starts soon, so that's also stressful." He nudged my leg with his foot. "You're no longer the new kid. How's it feel being a second year?"

"How's it feel being a fourth year?" I replied. "You're older than old now."

He laughed low. "Maybe."

"Kenzo graduates after this semester, right?" I said.

He nodded. "We'll have to do something for him."

"What're you gonna do without a center tail?"

"I'm working with that," he replied. "Why? You gonna miss Kenzo?"

"Kenzo sure as shit won't be missing me," I scoffed. "You'll miss him?"

Kane shrugged. "I guess so," he murmured. "But I like that he's onto better things."

"Better than Corvus?"

"There's lots better than Corvus."

"Hard to believe."

"You sound like you like it here."

"I like you," I admitted. "I like them." I shrugged. "I don't really know what's better."

Kane tilted his head. He smiled at me, something tired but warm. He ruffled my hair. I felt it like sunlight over my bones.

"Yeah," he murmured. "I guess you all are all right."

I laughed quietly at that, the cold of Seattle washing away from me, the discord of Red fleeing from my head. I tried to bask in it, soak it into my marrow; the rare intimacy of a small hotel bathroom, the rarer realization that you were not so alone after all.

We let the minutes pass before I said, "Come on. Let's wash it out."

I let the bath water run and took the shower head to his scalp to let the ink bleed out of his now-pitch-black hair, some parts of it so dark it was nearly indigo. When he was done, I wrapped a towel around his neck and we sat side by side against the tub. The hazy lights flickered to the beat of my heart.

"Thanks," Kane said. "For this."

I rested my hand against his on his knee. My one ring clinked against his dozens.

"Don't thank me," I promised.

Kane turned his head down. His lips ghosted over my temple, the bridge of my nose, the bow of my lip. Our foreheads pressed together, and he left his mouth a millimeter from mine, a kiss stuck in limbo. Delicate like a scar. Tender like a wound.

I chased him like a racer running down the road, accelerator to the concrete, heading for the finish line.

(are these chapters getting...shorter? i'm doing better guys :D haha. thank you for reading, i very much appreciate it, you all keep me motivated for this crazy story, and for that, i am eternally grateful! the little star bows its head goodbye until next chapter)