One. Two. Three.
Crowd roars, Subconscious blasts on the speakers. Shinsuke Nakamura stands, gets his arm raised, hops on the mic for two seconds, YEAOHs everyone, then bows to them all, grateful they can appreciate how awesome he is. He's sweaty and stinky and out of breath. He needs a smoke.
He walks to the back and speaks without thinking in the post match interview because amazing things comes out of his mouth by nature. The moment he's done with the interview, he stops panting heavily. The act of dying ceases. He begins to whistle as he skips a shower entirely. He digs through his bag, tosses on an ugly jacket, stares at his phone for a minute, then walks out the back door.
It's chilly, dark and quiet outside. It is a moonless night. In no time he has that cigarette lit.
"Yeaoh, it's me, I'm the King of Smoke Style." Shinsuke says aloud to himself, and roundhouse kicks his own puff of smoke. He looks around, as if to see if anyone witnessed this impressive move and his eyes meet those of Kazuchika Okada, who is leaning up against the building, staring, alone and awkward, with his phone in his hand.
They look at each other for an uncomfortable amount of time, saying nothing.
"Did you see that?" Shinsuke asks, taking a drag.
"See what?" Kazuchika asks.
"My kick." Shinsuke says.
"Oh. Uh. Yeah. I mean, I was standing right here when you did it." Kazuchika replies.
"Pretty good, right?" Shinsuke smiles, smoke escaping through his nostrils.
"Sure." Kazuchika says.
The rest of the cigarette is smoked in silence. Kazuchika looks down at his phone, without expression. Shinsuke looks up at the stars in the sky. When the cigarette is done, he flicks it across the gravel. Kazuchika shuts off his phone, puts it in the pocket of his leather jacket, and walks away from Shinsuke, around the side of the building. Shinsuke closes his eyes, takes a deep breath. After a moment, he casually follows.
It's dark. There are no lights on this side of the premises. Shinsuke hears Kazuchika's footsteps just ahead of him, and then hears them stop.
"Okada." Shinsuke whispers.
Their mouths are suddenly met. Kazuchika cold like precious metal, Shinsuke hot like red fire, tasting of sweat and ash. They embrace like they're trying to absorb one another. Warm breath mingles together in the frigid air, a single ghost escapes out two bodies. Careful fingers entwine, a subtle test of strength. One skilled tongue greets cherub lips. This is an exciting match for just the two of them. They hear their own heartbeats pounding in their ears and a distant crowd cheering in their hearts. They hear a rollercoaster climbing, an ocean stirring. They hear footsteps nearby, and everything stops. Their eyes meet again, up close, mild panic and danger.
"Nakamura? Okada? Is that you guys?" Gedo peeps around the corner.
"Yessir." Nakamura pivots around, smiling at the unwanted guest. Okada waves. Slowly they emerge from their hideout.
"What were you two doing back there in the dark?"
"Nothing. No need for worries." Nakamura says. As they step into the light, it's clear Okada's face is completely flushed.
Gedo's expression becomes gravely serious. He stares at Nakamura and Okada with suspicion and mild disgust. "Don't lie to me, you dicks."
Okada laughs a little.
"I'm not joking." Gedo says, and Okada's moist lips form a small 'o'. Looking up at Nakamura, Gedo lets him have it. "You better not be letting him smoke. I don't care if you want to poison your own lungs, but don't get him started, too!"
"I wasn't..." Nakamura and Okada in unison.
"BULLSHIT." Gedo says, spitting brown liquid on the pavement.
Okada hops backwards, like attacked by a bee. "Hey, watch the shoes." he says. He is wearing the most hideous red sneakers money can buy.
"I can smell it on your breath." Gedo, pointing at Okada. Okada shakes his head.
"It's cold." Okada whines, rubbing his arms for effect. "Can we go, please?" He flashes a nervous, full toothed smile, and follows Gedo inside, ignoring the continuing verbal onslaught. He finds a chair, pulls out his phone, and stares down at it.
Nakamura remains outside alone, lights another cigarette, and stares up at the sky. His phone buzzes in his jacket pocket, and he pulls it out to check the text.
The message is only an emoticon of a cat making a blushing kissy face.