December 3rd, 2012

The only sound he could hear was his own heavy breathing and the echoing silence of the house. The door to Junji's study appeared to loom over him like the gates to hell—but what was waiting inside terrified him the most.

Who's inside? My father, the greatest lawyer in Japan, or a common philanderer?

Sakusa could not reconcile the two. He simply couldn't.

In the end, he lost his nerve, spinning on his heel and marching to his room. He slammed the door, his gut lurching. Would he vomit? No. He wasn't that weak. He couldn't be weak now, not when his father's debauchery—Debauchery! he thought with horrified amazement—had been laid out for all to see like intestines in an operating theatre.

Junji had not come out from his study since he returned home from the trial. It was like he had known what would happen—had known that the people he had surrounded himself with would betray him.

Why? Why would you let this happen?

Muttering darkly under his breath, he dialed Komori, impatiently flexing his wrists against the floor as he waited for his cousin to pick up.

Hey! said Komori's voicemail. It look's like I'm not in right now. If you wanna leave a message, go right ahead!

Sakusa ended the call.

Dad. Who are you?


February, 2003

There was a distance, Sakusa instinctively knew, between him and his mother. Even though she always orbited him like the earth around the sun, he always kept her at an arm's length, refusing to let her in any closer.

He could not come up with a plausible reason as to why he would do this. Shiko had given birth to him, had raised him and fed him and clothed him and loved him—so why? Why was he like this?

An incident from two years ago flashed through his mind. It was a blur, but he remembered enough.

"Why did you leave me, mama?"

"I'm sorry, Kiyoomi, I'm sorry. Please forgive me, please."

"I hate you, mama! Hate you, hate you, hate you!"

"I know, darling, I know. I know you hate me. Mama hates herself, too."

Just recalling that night filled him with a childish rage—filled him with the urge to stamp his feet and throw a tantrum. But he was older than back then. Old enough to start asking questions.

What happened that night? Why did mom do what she did?

The gap between was still there, yet to be bridged. Hesitantly, Sakusa reached out to her one February afternoon. He found her in the living room, seated in her favorite armchair with Sun Tzu's The Art of War in one hand, and crawled into her lap. Ever patient, she closed her book and set it aside. "Yes, Kiyoomi?" She brushed his hair with her fingers.

"Mom," Sakusa started, snuggling against her breast. "Do you remember what happened two years ago?"

Shiko tilted her head slightly. "You're going to have to be a little more specific, dear."

"You threw me into my room and locked me inside. You didn't even turn the lights on." He tried not to sound accusatory, but it was hard. A part of him—weak, young, and confused—still hated her for it.

She froze. "I... Did I do that?"

Sakusa nodded.

"Oh," she said, softly, "Oh. I'm so sorry, Kiyoomi. I didn't mean to hurt you."

"Then why did you do it?"

At first, Shiko said nothing. Sakusa was going to demand an answer from her before she finally replied, "I don't know." Calm, unwavering. Just as she always was. Sakusa examined her expression, trying to find something in there that told him she was lying. But he found nothing. He never had been able to read his mother. She was not like other people. It was as if she lied as she breathed, whereas others would sweat and twiddle their thumbs.

Sakusa crumpled. "Oh."

Sighing, Shiko wrapped her arms around him, stroking his back in a comforting motion. "Kiyoomi, whatever happens, remember that I'll always love you. No matter what."

He wanted it to be truth. He wanted so badly for it to be truth.

But, like everything else that came to Shiko, he was unable to tell.

Mom. Who are you?


December 4th, 2012

He shouldn't have been surprised.

Only if something bad happened to them would she ever show up on their doorstep. Sakusa made sure to keep his face neutral as he welcomed her inside, saying, "Hello, Aunt Terano. It's good to see you again." Yeah, right. Why couldn't you just keep staying away? Let my mother take in all the news without having to entertain your mind games as well.

Terano toed her high heels off at the entrance-way, shrugging off her gray blazer. "You've grown, dear nephew." Her eyes were cruel and cutting. "You look more and more like your father each day."

It was terribly easy to pick up on the hidden meaning: As far as I'm concerned, you're a drug addict and a womanizer and a failure of a lawyer.

Sakusa clenched his jaw. "That's how genetics typically work, yes."

"Hah! Yes, you're just like him. And her." Maybe it was a trick of the eye, but Terano became softer, just for a moment. "And her. Where is your mother, Kiyoomi?"

"She's in the living room." She made to go, but he asked, "Not to be rude, auntie, but why are you here?"

"I'm sure you can guess," Terano said, her brow rising. "After what your father pulled, Shiko must be devastated."

"And I'm supposed to just accept that you care?"

"We're sisters."

"I thought you hated her."

Terano hummed, bundling her blazer in her arms. She was wearing a white turtleneck sweater. "Now, where did you get that idea from?" She did not give him the opportunity to reply, instead making a beeline to the living room like she owned the place.

Sakusa knew the story of the three sisters. Shiko, Tomoka, and Terano—whose first name was Maki but preferred to be addressed by her last name. The youngest, Tomoka, had been born out of wedlock, and it was her existence that her ultimately caused Terano to despise her father—Sakusa's maternal grandfather, who had already passed before he was born. He'd heard that they'd been close when they were children, but their relationship soured when Shiko and Tomoka both got married and became housewives and mothers immediately after finishing university. Terano cursed their lack of ambition and what she saw as their compliance to the patriarchal ideals of Japan, and by the time Sakusa was taking his first steps, she had mostly cut off the both of them.

So why is she here now? Sakusa did not for a second believe that Terano was doing this out of the goodness of her heart. The double-doors to the living room were closed, but the walls were thin enough for him to listen in to what they were saying. Or, rather, what Terano was saying. Shiko was either keeping silent or speaking too quietly for him to hear.

"I told you, Shiko. There is no such thing as a faithful man. Men will cheat, lie, and gamble—it is their nature." A heavy sigh. "Why? Why did you marry him? Why did you forsake yourself? Now look what he's done. He's brought shame upon himself and upon you."

No reply.

"Honestly. You could have been great. You graduated from Waseda with honors. Or have you forgotten that? I suppose I can't blame you if you have. It has been a long time."

Once again, there was nothing but silence on Shiko's end.

Terano took it as a sign to continue. "Shiko, I'll help you. Divorce him, and give him Kiyoomi on weekdays so you won't have to burden yourself with him. You can take half of his money, spruce up your resume and start job-searching. It's not too late. There are plenty of jobs on the market that you could get with your degree—"

"Enough."

The coldness in her voice was enough to send chills down Sakusa's spine. His knees were weak. He had never heard Shiko sound like this before. So... angry.

"Get out of my house."

"Shiko. You can't be serious."

"Maki, get out of my house."

"Are you this incapable of admitting your own mistakes?! Even after all that he's put you through, you still refuse to see my point of view?"

"Get out!"

Sakusa backed away from the door. The house was freezing. Had it always been this chilly in here? He needed to turn on the heating, anything that would—

The doors opened with a bang, and Terano stormed out without even giving Sakusa a glance. Shiko appeared a second later, her face contorted into something grotesque with white-hot fury. He thought she would pick up the decorative vase in the hallway and hurl it at her, but she didn't. She simply stood, seething. It was only when Terano disappeared out the door that all the rage seeped out of her, her shoulders sagging and leaving her worn and weary.

Shiko turned to him, eyes wet with tears that never fell.

He swallowed a lump in his throat. "Mom..."

Silent as a ghost, she embraced him. He was so much taller than her now—her face was pressed against his chest. A memory emerged in the forefront of his mind—him snuggling against his mother's warm breast, listening to her heart beat as she read The Art of War, golden afternoon light flooding through the windows and hitting the carpet.

Then he blinked, and he was back to the present, standing in the hallway and his house feeling like a tomb. His mother's hands were cold. His own hands were cold. There was no warmth to be found. Not here, not anywhere.

She let go, standing back, the last shred of warmth vanishing with her. "I'm going to check on your father."

"I'm sure he's fine," Sakusa told her, an edge to his voice. "Mom, sit down. I'll make you tea."

But Shiko insisted. "Kiyoomi, please. I can't leave him alone for too long."

"And why not?"

She opened her mouth to respond, but then closed it.

"Mom."

"I'm sorry, Kiyoomi, I—"

"Stop!" he interrupted, scowling. "What are you hiding from me?"

To his frustration, though, she shrugged off his question, stepping around him and to his father's study. "Not now, Kiyoomi. Maybe later." She turned around the corner, and he heard her call, "Junji? I'm coming in."

Even through his socks, his feet felt like ice.

Sakusa went upstairs to his bedroom, diving into bed with a heavy heart. His phone, charging on his nightstand, pinged with a notification. Several others before that one appeared on his lock-screen, but he ignored them all.

Why are you still so kind to him? How can you possibly forgive him for what he did?

"I hate you, mama! Hate you, hate you, hate you!"

"I know, darling, I know. I know you hate me. Mama hates herself, too."

He closed his eyes.

There was nothing more he wanted to do now than sleep for a long, long time.


October, 2003

After dinner, Junji took Sakusa for an evening stroll while Shiko cleaned up. The sun was nearly set, and the sky was pink and blue and purple. They walked past the local shrine and to the park. It was deserted, and Sakusa quickly claimed a swing for himself, skidding up next to it.

Junji wiped down the swing seat and chains with antibacterial wipes before Sakusa hopped on.

"Push me, dad!" he demanded, legs kicking out. "Really high, okay?"

"Alright, alright." Junji chuckled. "Alley-oop!"

Sakusa shrieked with delight as he swung forward, then back, then forward again. It was like flying. His hair whipped in the evening breeze. Above him, the night was descending upon the earth like a blanket, and the stars and moon were coming out to play.

Here, there was nothing for him to worry about. He didn't need to worry about the other kids accidentally touching him in class, or next week's content quiz or this week's homework. He was free to forget how unkind his math teacher was, and how he needed to hand in his excursion slip by Friday.

But all good and fun things had to end eventually. Junji stopped pushing him, letting him slow to a stop. Sakusa wriggled off, patting his sweater down.

"Time to go home," announced Junji, taking him by the hand and leading him back down the road.

"Today was fun..." Sakusa yawned, sleepy. "Hey, dad?"

"Yes, Kiyoomi?"

"Can we do this again tomorrow?"

"Of course."

"And the day after?"

"We'll do it whenever you want."

A slow, content smile appeared on his lips. "Thanks, dad. But... I know you're busy. You save a lot of people. I wanna do that, too. So you don't have to come out with me all the time."

Junji squeezed his hand. "You've always been clever. And it's true—I am busy. But I'll always make time for you, Kiyoomi."

"Promise?" Stubbornly, Sakusa untangled their fingers and lifted up his littlest finger.

His father entwined their fingers. "Promise."


December 11th, 2012

Sakusa bounced his volleyball on the sidewalk, Komori bobbing his head along with whatever he was listening to through his headphones. Like a total geek, he would occasionally do air-guitars, uncaring of who saw.

Sakusa was glad his face was half-hidden with a mask.

"Do you have to that?" he asked as they walked up the hill that led to his house. Komori's house was further down the road.

"Lighten up, dude," Komori threw back his head and laughed, "It's fun! And mock exams are finally over." They had had to do theirs early due to Youth Camp.

"You're forgetting that we have our real exams coming up in a few weeks."

Komori winced. "Man, don't remind me. Haven't you heard of the saying 'ignorance is bliss'?"

"'Nothing in the world is more dangerous than sincere ignorance and conscientious stupidity'. Ever heard of that one?"

"Nerd."

"Like you have room to talk. I've seen your rock posters. Amy Lee, huh?"

Komori wisely changed the subject. "Hey, you wanna keep walking to my house? Mom's making lemon madeleines."

Sakusa considered it. Tomoka was a devastatingly brilliant cook. Although he wasn't too much of a fan of sweets, he always loved eating whatever Tomoka baked. "Ah," he caved, "Alright, alright. But we're gonna do a thousand receives and a thousand serves to burn off the calories tomorrow at practice."

"Geh!" Komori hung his head. "Me and my big mouth. I should just not tell you things next time. Ignorance really is bliss!"

"You..." Sakusa trailed off, slowing to a stop at the police cars and ambulance in front of his home. Dread filled him, and he dashed the rest of the way up the hill, ignoring Komori's cries.

There was police tape in the front door.

"What's going on?!" Sakusa bellowed at the first officer he saw, yanking his mask down to wrap around the bottom of his chin so he could be properly heard.

The officer eyed him. "You live here?"

"Yes! I'm their son, Kiyoomi. My mother is Sakusa Shiko, and my... my father is Sakusa Junji. He's a lawyer." Just a lawyer. Not Japan's greatest lawyer—just a lawyer. He heard Aunt Terano had been promoted from barrister to a justice of the Supreme Court recently. He didn't like to think about that.

Immediately, the officer wilted, taking off his cap. "I'm sorry, sonny. But... There's no easy way to say this, but your father..." The ambulance drove off. "We're going to do our best to save him."

"What?"

Shiko was escorted out the house, dark eyes wide and faraway. She had a thin blanket wrapped around her, a policewoman murmuring in her ear. When she saw him, she jerked away from the officer, blanket falling from her shoulders as she hugged her son tightly. "Oh, Kiyoomi," she breathed, her voice breaking as she began to cry. "Kiyoomi, Kiyoomi... You're okay. You're okay."

"Mom," Sakusa couldn't keep the panic from his voice, barely noticing Komori sidle up next to him, "Mom, what happened?"

She looked up at him, and her tear-stained face would imprint on his memory forever.

"Your father hung himself."


Eight hours later, Sakusa Junji passed away.

Everything, including the life insurance, was left to Shiko and Sakusa—enough for them to live the rest of their lives in comfort.

Even in death, the papers continued to print.

Drugs.

Adultery.

Love hotels.

Disgrace.

So this is your legacy, dad.

It was a frigid December.


December 20th, 2012

Sakusa had always hated funerals.


January 2nd, 2013

Their new apartment was a downgrade from before, but it was cozier. Boxes were still stacked in the living room, but almost everything else had been set up. Electricity, wifi, gas, water, the phone line...

The old house was sold for 140 million yen.

"I'm home," Sakusa declared, slipping his sneakers off and putting them on the top of the shoe rack. He could smell his mother's cooking from the kitchen, and he dropped his bag beside the couch before ducking inside.

She was stirring a pot of something on the stove, and he skirted around her to pour hot water into a cup.

"Welcome back," Shiko said, smiling ever so slightly. He would have missed it if he blinked.

Smiling. His mother was smiling. Or trying, at any rate.

Yet, he could not bring himself to do the same.

Instead, he just drank.

The Spring Tournament began on the fifth—just three days from now. Itachiyama were stronger than ever, and it was expected by everyone that they would sweep the competition this year. They'd already beaten Inarizaki and won the trophy during the Summer Interhigh. And while that meant nothing to Sakusa now, it did to the fans and some of the other players.

We're counting on you to win again, they seemed to be saying, through their wide grins and eager eyes. But who are we kidding, of course you will!

Their school team had cycled through multiple maxims for the past two years. Currently, it was the simple Effort. Before that, it had been Invincible. And before that—

Memento Mori, Sakusa recited absently, heading down the short corridor to his room. The apartment only had two bedrooms—one for him and one for his mother. The kitchen was joined with the dining room and living room, and there was a single bathroom. Remember that you will die.

"The only certainty in life is death," Midorima had said that day, when he and Noriko had become one. "And that's too morbid for discussion today."

"For any day," Sakusa had agreed.

What a fool he had been.

Death was everywhere. Right now, somebody was dying, and somebody was being born. Avoiding the topic did nothing to stop this. If all it took to disturb one's peace of mind was discussion of death, then it just meant that that peace would've been too fragile to survive anyway.

Sakusa Junji was dead.

His father was dead.

"You broke your promise," Sakusa said to the empty room, impersonal and anonymous.


December 21st, 2012

Midorima's shared apartment with Noriko was in the heart of city. Sakusa couldn't remember the last time had seen each other—the wedding, maybe?—but now here he was, sitting at Midorima's dining table. Drinking hot green tea and not touching any of the fruits Midorima had laid out before him.

He didn't know what had possessed him to take up Midorima's invitation to visit. It had been an invitation extended out of pity, anyway, and Sakusa loathed being on the receiving end of pity.

Nothing sucks worse than someone telling you, "You poor thing."

There were dark circles under his eyes. He had not slept for two days, and the nights he had had in the days leading up to his father's funeral had been fitful.

"I don't know what to say," Midorima rumbled, lifting his own mug of tea to his lips. His glasses fogged up from the steam.

"You don't have to say anything," Sakusa replied. "There's nothing you could possibly say to make this any better, anyway."

"Fair enough. Your tournament's coming up soon, isn't it?"

Distractions were better than pity. Accepting this, Sakusa nodded. "Yeah."

Silence.

"How's your mother?"

"Doing as well as she can be. Yours?"

"I don't know. I haven't visited her in a while."

"Ah."

The glass was hot on his lip. Sakusa held it there.

Midorima turned to glance out the window, one hand tapping a tune on the mahogany table. It was a monochrome world outside. Not even snow or rain to add character to it—just an endless expanse of gray clouds and grayer skyscrapers. "Maybe I should, soon." He paused, thoughtful. "What's happened recently has served to remind me that our parents won't be around forever."

Sakusa dropped his gaze. "You say that like he died of old age."

"Sorry, was that insensitive?"

"I don't know. All I know is that it's how he should've died. Old and gray in the privacy of his own room, not black and white on newspapers."

"Kiyoomi..." Midorima stopped tapping. "How are you feeling?"

Such a simple question, but one Sakusa couldn't answer. "I don't know," he repeated.

He hadn't cried at the funeral, even if his mother had. He'd come close, but the tears had refused to fall. They still weren't falling, and he couldn't find them. They were lost, lost somewhere inside him.

They talked for a little more before Sakusa decided it was finally time to go home.

"Thank you for having me," he said, politely, as he wrapped his scarf around his neck.

"Don't worry about it." He was an adult now, Midorima. He had been an adult for a while now, and Sakusa had certainly registered his before, but it hit him again all of a sudden. It made everything that he had ever felt negatively toward him seem so small and insignificant. What was I even jealous of? Why did I act so stupid in the past? Now look where we are. Now look what we've done, what we've become.

Midorima had fine bone structure. Long, muscular limbs and a tall frame. Not gangling, though. Proportional. His lips were a Cupid's bow. Handsome, certainly, in a classic sort of way.

Midorima was married.

Just for the sake of the past and everything that had been good, Sakusa wanted to kiss him.

But he didn't.

I'm not like my father.


January 4th, 2013

Because they were locals, they didn't need lodging. Not like the rest of the teams coming from Miyagi and Hyogo and Akita and Nagano and who knew where else. So the night before the Spring Tournament officially begun, Komori invited Sakusa for a sleepover. Shiko came, too. Sakusa was far too old to be supervised by his mother, but Shiko would've been too lonely by herself. Tomoka and Shiko shared a room, while Sakusa slept in Komori's bedroom. Poor Uncle Tateo was left to sleep on the couch, but he understood.

Komori switched off his bedroom light and turned on the lamp on his nightstand. A pattern of stars appeared on the ceiling, at which Sakusa blinked in awe. They both sat cross-legged on the floor with blankets wrapped around them, their pajamas consisting of woolly sweaters and long pants.

"Alright!" Komori clapped his hands together. "Time for karuta!"

Sakusa raised a brow at the deck of cards sitting innocently on the carpet between the two of them. "Aren't we a bit too old for this? Besides, New Year's was three days ago."

"Only three days ago," Komori emphasized, grinning. "And so what if we're old? We're young at heart, aren't we?"

"Yeah. Definitely."

"Cut the sarcasm already, and let's start."

Karuta played between two people wasn't as fun as playing with a large group, but they made it work. It was almost one o'clock in the morning by the time Komori put the cards away, and Sakusa squinted, sleepy, at the star-patterned ceiling.

"You like it?" Komori noticed his interest. "Mom bought it for me for Christmas."

"Oh. With the drone?"

"The drone was dad's idea, uhhh..." Komori trailed off, suddenly uncomfortable. Sakusa knew why. "Did you get anything for Christmas?"

"Mom bought me volleyball tape and a book on Japanese law."

No mention of Junji buying him a present, which was only natural.

He hadn't even made it to Christmas.

Sakusa flattened out his futon before crawling into it, while Komori climbed into his bed. He switched the lamp off, and the stars vanished.

"G'night," Komori yawned, "Sleep tight. Don't let the bed bugs bite."

"Please don't talk about bugs."

"Heh, sorry." He dropped his voice to a whisper. "I'll see you in the morning."

"Mm. Goodnight, Komori."


January 8th, 2013

2-1.

Sweat sliding down his face, Sakusa peered up at the scoreboard. The familiar feeling of bitterness twisted like a knot in his stomach and pulsed like a faux heart. Beside him, Komori stared out into the court, crestfallen.

"This," Sakusa uttered, still looking at the scoreboard, "Even though we practiced everything like we were supposed to."

Komori wiped sweat off his brow, and Sakusa could tell that he was feeling the shocked sorrow that permeated the entire arena. Itachiyama's spectators were leaning over the stands, gabbing and muttering in bemusement as they tried to glimpse the sight of Asagami and Gotoda help Iizuna off the court.

A busted ankle. That was all it had taken to undermine their efforts.

"Are you disappointed?" Komori asked, carefully, when they were on their way out of the court.

"Of course I am," Sakusa answered. "But don't get me wrong. I didn't make some kind of promise to my father that I would win or anything. I know that's what you're thinking."

Komori rubbed the back of his head. "Guilty as charged. Sorry about that."

"Don't be. Just remember that this isn't some coming-of-age sports story. It's real life."

"Hah..." Komori gave him a side smile. "Gotta say, though, real life isn't as fun."

"No. No, it isn't."

It was an upset in the court. Sakusa almost felt bad for the winning team, Inubushi Higashi, but he was glad to leave all the noise behind. He didn't want to deal with reporters or journalists right now. His entire body felt like hell, and he was barely keeping himself upright. I need to sleep and eat more, he thought as he shrugged his Itachiyama jacket on. I can't neglect my health any longer. Such a clinical, pragmatic way of thinking, but it was easier to be like this than anything else. I won't be weighed down by weakness anymore.

His father was dead.

If he had wanted to teach Sakusa about death and loss, then consider the lesson learned.

Now, it was time to move on. To learn other lessons for the future.

Iizuna sniffled. Why was he crying, anyway? Being injured in a game was always a possibility, and he knew it. It wasn't his fault, not really. He could only really be blamed if he had neglected himself.

"Sakusa..."

He perked up at the sound of his name. Captain? "Yes."

Iizuna halted, and Asagami and Gotoda beside him. Then he peered over his shoulder, snot dribbling from his nose. Sakusa half-expected him to ask for a tissue. "I know what you're thinking. I bet right now you're like, 'It's always possible to be injured in any game. What are you crying for?' Right?!"

Sakusa did a double-take, blinking. Then he recovered. "I can understand having regrets if you didn't practice enough or prepare properly beforehand. But I know neither was the case with you, Iizuna-san. So I had to wonder."

"Right!" Iizuna exclaimed with so much energy that Gotoda almost fell over. "Neither was the case! And that's why it hurts even more! Duh!"

"Iizuna, what's wrong?" sighed Asagami.

It hurts? "Oh." Of course it hurts. Maybe I just didn't feel it because of... He didn't want to think about it. He was supposed to be strong now. For his team. For his mother. For his future. "I get it. But I don't want to pity you or say, 'It sucks to be you'."

Iizuna goggled at him. "But it does suck to be me right now."

"Oh."

"Still, I'm happy that you were thinking of me!"

"I wasn't. Not particularly."

"Well, okay then!"

To his abject horror, Iizuna begun to cry. Loudly.

"Iizuna-san—"

"It isn't today, but one day I'll play my last game... And you'd better believe I'm gonna finish that one with a smile!"

From the corner of his eye, Sakusa could see Komori's face tightening up, eyes brimming with tears. He stayed silent, lowering his gaze to the ground. He had been lucky—lucky to be playing volleyball for this long. I'm sorry, Iizuna-san. But unlike you, I'm ready to let it go. It made his heart pang just thinking about relinquishing the sport for good, even if he had never really intended to play professionally. He was one of the top three aces in Japan, which was a feat in itself. But it doesn't matter. Because it's not where I'm meant to be.

No.

I'm going to be...

He zipped up his jacket just as Komori broke down, hesitating at the station his train of thought had arrived at.

A lawyer.


Tomoka was waiting outside for her son. Frankly, Sakusa was just amazed that she had managed to find parking. As soon as Komori saw her, he excused himself from the group and ran into her waiting arms, unashamed and unabashed of the public display of affection.

"Oh, you poor dear," she cooed to her son as Sakusa approached them. "I'll cook you your favorite tonight!"

Sakusa bowed to her. "Hello, Aunt Tomoka."

"Kiyoomi-kun!" Tomoka smiled at him. "It's lovely to see you again."

"Are you going to drive Komori home?"

"Since we live so close by, I didn't see why not. It's a further drive to the school than to the arena. Would you like to come along?"

Sakusa shook his head. "Thank you, but it'll be easier for all of us if I took the bus back to school. My apartment is nearer there. Besides," he smirked, "I'm sure Komori wouldn't want me to delay his consolation meal for long."

"Man, screw you." Komori pouted before blowing his nose loudly into a tissue. Gracefully, Sakusa handed him another one, which he snatched from him. "Thanks."

Sakusa turned around to where the others were already getting on the bus. "I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Mmhm." Komori scrunched the tissues up and shoved them into his pocket.

"I'll have an apple pie waiting," promised Tomoka with a twinkle in her eye. "Oh!" She glanced skyward. "Would you look at that? The first snow."

Sakusa followed her gaze. Indeed, the first snowfall of this winter was descending from the sky. He held out a hand, catching a snowflake in his gloved palm. Huh. What do you know. They said it wouldn't snow this year. It was light, but it was still present.

He said goodbye to Komori and Aunt Tomoka one last time before jogging to the bus. The interior of the vehicle was warm, the seats even warmer. He sat in the middle section of the bus. Nobody spoke. Everyone was tired and it was nearly dark due to the season.

Sakusa couldn't keep his eyes open.

As soon as the bus started moving down the highway, he nodded off into peaceful slumber.


Shiko received him with a hug before pulling back. "How did it go?"

"We lost," Sakusa said, simply. He was surprised she had to ask. He would have expected that Tomoka had relayed the news to her by now. "Didn't Aunt Tomoka tell you?"

"That's a shame." Shiko gave him a sad smile before steering him to the dining area. "And no, she hasn't. It's strange, isn't it? She should be home by now. But never mind. I made you teriyaki salmon and rice."

"You're not eating with me?"

"I had dinner earlier."

Sakusa took his plate of food to the living room couch. He turned on the television, where the evening news was just starting to be broadcast. Lifting his plate, he began to eat. His mother's food brought the color back to his cheeks. Objectively, Tomoka was the better chef, but he had grown up eating Shiko's cooking. After losing, a plate of hot food was just what he needed. The next thing he needed was a good night's rest, which he was determined to get tonight.

Fate, however, had other plans.

It always did.

The phone rang.

Shiko picked it up, still wearing her rubber dish-washing gloves. "Hello? This is Sakusa Shiko speaking."

"... Iwaizumi is expected to stay in juvenile prison until he reaches twenty-years old and transferred to a proper prison," concluded the news anchor. "In other news, an accident has occurred this evening on Metropolitan Road 319. A vehicle was rear-ended into an intersection before colliding side-on with a truck. Initial reports from the police cite slippery road conditions as the cause of the accident."

The news helicopter zoomed in on the crash site, and Sakusa's world stopped once more.

"Sadly, the driver and her son died before emergency personnel could retrieve them from the wreckage. Both deaths are suspected to be instantaneous from the severity of the impact."

The phone clattered to the floor, and Shiko fell to her knees.


A/N: Surprise? Damn, nobody can drive in this fic LOL