Ruki knows she should be paying attention, she really does. Whatever these men are yammering on about is probably… no, definitely important. The numbers on the screen prove that, if nothing else. Twitter is abuzz— and there's that Vanity Fair article, of course. If she does her job well, the projected IPO won't just be met— it'll be exceeded, many times over. That's what they flew her out for, anyway.
The meeting runs long, and by the time Ruki is released the sun has started to set. She sits on a bench outside the company campus, watches as a sea of tech workers in t-shirt-and-hoodie uniform load onto company busses, company bikes, into their parked luxury cars. She feels, somehow, both over dressed and under dressed at the same time. Still, Silicon Valley isn't so bad. At least she's not the only Japanese person here like in— what was it— Michigan? That solar cell manufacturer? Or, god forbid, the fashion house in Madrid…
She pulls out her phone, scrolls through her email briefly before punching the restaurant name into the Maps app. It isn't far, fifteen minutes by ride share— she'll get a private one, charge to the client— but there's still a half hour before she said she'd be there. Ruki sighs, leans back on the bench and closes her eyes. If the meeting had let out when it was supposed to she'd have had time to go back to the hotel, check out that jacuzzi-thing in the bathroom, maybe take a nap…
But the meeting did go long, and now she sits here and tugs at her shirt sleeves, wonders if she should have brought a sweater or— even better— a change of shoes. She wonders, in passing, if she put on deodorant that morning. It's easy to forget how hot California can get during the day.
Tech workers continue to stream by and she closes her eyes, just for a moment— she'll call the ride share soon. Tuning out the commotion around her, Ruki sends mental feelers out to Renamon and is hit by a wave of drowsiness, because of course her partner is sleeping— it's the middle of the night back home.
Her phone buzzes: a local area code, maybe the hotel. "Hello, this is Ruki."
"Hi! I'm here!" A man's voice, distorted through the speaker.
She frowns. "I think you have the wrong number."
"Huh? Wait—"
Click.
RING RING. RING RING.
Same number. She sighs, presses 'accept'. "Please stop calling me, you have the wrong number."
"Wait, wait—" the man's voice says, followed by a scuffling sound. "HEY! OVER HERE!" This time the voice is coming from the parking lot, and when she looks up and squints she sees Jenrya there, waving frantically.
"I thought you had my number," he says when Ruki gets closer. She did, of course—he texted her the restaurant address— but she never put his contact information into the work phone. No point in it— its not like she'll see him again after tonight, they're just old friends grabbing dinner after all. When they're close enough, Jenrya offers his arms for a hug. She focuses on the first unappealing thing that pops into her head (the guy who kept picking his nose during the meeting) and accepts the hug.
Jenrya's car stands out in the parking lot— it's got to be at least two decades old and the faded green paint is scratched in places a car has no business being scratched. She sees him moving for the passenger door to open it for her, but she beats him to it and leaves him standing there.
"Where's the rabbit?" she asks as Jenrya starts the ignition. The car's a stick shift— and not the cool kind. The engine sputters a few times before sputtering awake. Ruki's pretty sure cars aren't supposed to sputter.j
Jenrya is looking over his shoulder, backing out slowly. Carefully. "Rabbit's got stuff to do at home. Says he's almost at 'Mythic' level."
She smirks, just slightly. Something crunches at her feet and she realizes there's a pile of candy wrappers on the car floor. "Please tell me this isn't yours."
He keeps his eyes on the road, sitting up nice and tall like they teach you in driving school. Ruki can't tell if he's blushing, or if it's just the red of the traffic light. Before he can answer, she switches on the car radio. It's local news.
Jenrya shuts his mouth, glances at her, back at the road. The light turns green and the car accelerates. "We'll be there soon."
The restaurant he chose is downtown, trendy-but-not-too-trendy. The kind of place you pay a little too much for a bunch of tiny plates. Tapas?
"It's a tapas restaurant," Jenrya says, and Ruki is mildly impressed with herself that she remembered the English word. It's getting dark now, and in the absence of the sun a distinct chill is setting in. They're standing behind a boisterous group of tech workers and an older guy with his arm around a much younger woman. There's a Rolex on his wrist, and she's drowning in what is clearly his jacket.
Ruki shivers involuntarily and tries to turn it into a sneeze. Jenrya frowns at her. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine. Allergies." She takes out her phone and pretends to be very interested in an email. It's just her luck that Juri picks that exact minute to text her: 'Well? ;)'
Ruki curses herself again for telling Juri and clicks off the screen; luckily, they're nearly at the front of the line. The older guy and his date are seated and the tech workers move to the bar to wait for their table. To Ruki's surprise, Jenrya's name is on the reservation list. They're seated at a two person table off to the side with the other two person tables, away from the main room full of tech workers at various stages of intoxication. Rolex guy is two tables to down, emphatically reading off the wine menu to his disinterested date.
The menu is elaborate and full of English terms that she's not familiar with. Jenrya seems to have a plan so she makes him order. Her phone buzzes again and she glares, hastily types a response to Juri. And then the waiter has come and gone and the menus have vanished and she's not gonna be that asshole that spends dinner on their phone.
Jenrya breaks the silence first. "So how was the flight?"
"Long."
"I can imagine." He takes off his glasses, cleans them on his shirt. "They put you in first class, right?"
"Mmm. Yep." Ruki considers making a joke about the airplane food, but decides against it.
"That's cool. I usually fly economy for conferences," Jenrya smiles. "It's a little awkward, actually, cause Robert— Professor McCoy— he's always up in business class."
"So you're a professor now too, huh?" she cuts in. "How's that?"
He blushes, just a little. "It's cool. I'm actually up for tenure this year."
"Aren't you kind of young for that?"
Before he can respond, the waiter returns with drinks. He grabs his, downs half in a single gulp. "Yeah, but after I won that academic award they fast tracked me."
"Wait, award!?" She sips her drink— it's a gin and tonic with two slices of lemon. It also happens to be her favorite drink, and she reminds herself to never tell Juri anything, ever again. "Since when did you win an award?"
"Umm, back in June… I emailed you guys the press release, remember?"
She did remember, in fact— how she clicked on the link and his photo was there, front and center, and how she closed the browser window a split second later. How his name in her inbox made her feel. "Dang, I'm sorry Jen, I must have missed it." Ruki takes another sip and gets a mouthful of ice.
"Hey, it's fine, I'm sure you get a lot of emails. Did you want another…" he gestures at her empty glass and she nods firmly. "Great." He gestures to the waiter.
It's only when the second round of drinks come that she notices his order. It's some pink concoction, served in an open rimmed glass with a dollop of whipped cream and a cherry. Jen goes straight for the cherry, popping it in his mouth with practiced intensity. When he notices her smirking, the stem is hanging out of his mouth. "What?"
"That's your order?" She says. He looks ridiculous, she tells herself. Not in a cute way, in a stupid way.
Jen shrugs, places the stem on his napkin. "I'm confident in my choice of cocktail. A certain someone turned me on to them, anyway." He pushes the glass towards her. "Want to try?"
She's trying to stare at the cherry stem (it has spit on it, spit is gross) but his stupidly earnest expression gets the better of her. The drink is incredibly sweet and reminds her of a very specific hangover that she'd rather forget. "These things are dangerous," Ruki says, sliding the glass back to him. "They're always way stronger than you think."
"Trust me, I know. Learned that the hard way." He sips, then switches to Japanese. "Did you know Terriermon's a heavyweight?"
She tries to keep a straight face, but the mental image of Jenrya's partner doing a keg stand gets the better of her. "You're kidding me. You let that thing drink?" The words come easier now, back in her native tongue— though the alcohol is probably helping.
Jenrya's voice sounds more familiar, now, as he gesticulates his way through a story about Terriermon's budding interest in bartending and 'mixology'. There isn't really a Japanese word for mixology, but rather than pronounce the katakana (mikusorojii) he says it in perfect English. The whole thing sounds so ridiculous that Ruki snorts out a laugh halfway through a sip of water. And then water and snot is dripping from her nose, and Jen is trying his best not to laugh and is failing miserably. It's not FUNNY, she says to herself, and then laughs again.
The food arrives, along with another round of drinks, and Ruki doesn't realize how hungry she is until the little plates are overflowing their table. The food is salty and rich, an odd Central American/Vietnamese fusion cuisine that doesn't seem like it should work but somehow does. Between mouthfuls, Jen tells her about his research in the McCoy Lab, and about the classes he's teaching— "These kids don't even care about AI, they just want to drop out and be the next Steve Jobs or whatever."
Lame, she says to herself. Lame, lame, everything's lame. Not cool. But the words are drowned out by a louder, gigglier part of her that wants to describe how her client wears black turtlenecks every single day and doesn't see the irony in it. And that's what she tells Jen, of course; halfway through a colorfully-worded anecdote it occurs to her that she probably shouldn't be loudly badmouthing her client in public. Thank god they switched to Japanese. "I mean, what'm I supposed to tell him?" she says. "That his product is doomed and maybe he shouldn't have spent a quarter billion dollars on foosball tables!?"
Jen grips the table and leans in with mock seriousness, barely missing an empty cocktail glass— Ruki can't tell whose. "Wait. Are you telling me thatRuki Makino, a professional, lies to her clients?"
She meets him with equal intensity and then some. "Says the professor who pretends he doesn't have a sentient digital lifeform mixing drinks at home. Do you ever talk about Terriermon in your classes, huh Jen?" They lock eyes, trying not to laugh, and of course Jen breaks first and tells her to "moumentai". She hates how well he pulls off that stupid stubbly half-beard look.
Even before the check comes it's obvious Jen will try to pay, so Ruki gets out of her chair and hands her company card to the waitress before she even reaches the table. They move towards the door and the world sways, just slightly. His arm reaches out for balance and she grabs it. It's not until they're outside the restaurant and the Friday nightlife is in full swing that Ruki realizes how late it is. The air is refreshing on her flushed skin; she closes her eyes and breathes deeply.
When she opens them, Jen is laughing and talking with a couple of guys, one of them wearing a university hoodie. He waves her over and rambles through some introductions, but he's back to English now and Ruki's having a hard time catching up. She puts on her nice consultant face and smiles, pretends to be listening to the dialogue. Pretends not to be entirely focused on Jenrya and his charming smile; or that his academic shabbiness is, in fact, incredibly put together; or that, even in a swarm of young people and nightlife, he's one of the most attractive guys in sight.
There's even a group of grad students in a corner who keep on glancing at him and whispering; Ruki really wants to give them her signature death glare, but she holds back. They aren't doing anything wrong, after all. And you know what? Good for him. He's really built a life here. His life. Not hers.
Jenrya's with his friends now, in his element, and under the neon lights he seems so different. His movements are looser, body held less straight, more fluid. Ruki knew he was fluent in English, but hearing the language flow out of him so naturally is still odd. He's handsy, too— he touches his friends' arms, shoulders. It's a form of social communication that looks so out of place when attached to Jen that he almost seems like a different person.
"Hey, you good?"
She blinks— Jen is looking at her and his friends have moved away to talk to someone else. His posture is stiff again. "Yeah. Nice friends." Ruki's not actually sure if they're nice but it seems like a good enough guess.
"They're cool." He glances at the ground. "So what're you thinking? I probably shouldn't drive right now, but I can call you a ride back, or we could find a bar or go for a walk or…"
It's the question that Ruki's been avoiding. The responsible thing to do is go back to the hotel, chug some electrolytes, and pray that tomorrow's hangover isn't that bad so she can still work on the stupid shareholder presentation for Monday. But then again, Ruki isn't always the most responsible person. Back when they were kids that was always Jen's job. But now he's drunk, and she's also drunk.
It also occurs to her, in that moment, that going to a bar with Jenrya, or taking a walk with Jenrya, or doing just about anything with only Jenrya will almost certainly end in the thing she's afraid of. Even she has her limits. Luckily, a third option presents it in the form of one of Jen's friends stumbling over. There's a brief exchange that Ruki doesn't even try to follow but from what she can gather, there's a party happening in the city. Which city? Ruki's not sure— but she is entirely down.
It turns out that the city in question is a famous one, known for its fog and inappropriately named bridge, and is a fifty minute drive north. They cram into a too-small rideshare with Jen's friends from earlier, and all three guys insist Ruki take the front. By the time she's done being weirded out that the driver is on the left, not the right, Jen is in deep conversation with one of his friends about an algorithm.
"So you guys went to high school together or something?" the third guy (Vikram?) says. He's leaning forward, eyes slightly glazed.
"Yep." They hadn't, but what else can she say? Her phone buzzes but she ignores it— drinking and motion sickness are a dangerous combination.
"You have to tell me what he was like back then." Vikram jabs a thumb in Jenrya's direction and narrows his eyes. "I've known Lee for years and he's still a complete mystery." Ruki nods to show she's listening (even if her eyes are trained on the furthest visible horizon).
Vikram leans forward even more, as if letting her in on a secret. "Did you know that Lee doesn't let anyone see his apartment? Like, ANYONE. Always gives some excuse that it's messy or something, but come on. This guy's desk is, like, completely spotless." He motions for her to come closer and now she can't help but be interested. Who doesn't like a little gossip, after all?
"Look." His words are slurred. "I love Lee and all, but was he, like, in a cult or something? Cause no one knows jack-shit about his past— like, he tells us stuff but he's obviously leaving something out. That's my guess. Either that or he's growing pot."
Vikram isn't totally off the mark, of course. Not that Jenrya was actually in a cult, or that his apartment is actually some cannabis nursery (though it does seem like something Terriermon would do)— but there's certainly a chunk of his life that must seem pretty mysterious to the people around him. Ruki knows the truth, of course, more than anyone else in Jen's new life. Under the hum of the engine, the fact feels almost intimate; something stirs inside of her and she wants more.
"So what else?" She puts on her most convincing consultant smile. "What do you want to know?"
"Okay, this is gonna sound bad, but… how did he get so much game?"
Ruki chokes on her own spit but Vikram is too drunk to notice. "Like, this guy can get literally anyone— he talks for like two minutes to the hottest person in the room and then they disappear for a while and when I see him again he's just casually like, 'It was a threesome.' Umm, excuse me!? I don't get a single Tinder match for two goddamn months—"
Vikram continues like that for a while, and Ruki's in such a state of shock that she can't do anything about it. He's obviously very drunk and his slurred speech makes it hard to understand, but she unfortunately picks up on a colorful array of words and phrases that include 'bisexual sex god' and 'at least twenty inches'. By no means sober herself, she's having a very hard time reconciling the new information.
"Have you ever seen American Psycho?" Vikram says as the car pulls to the curb, hazards flashing. "That's what Lee's like. He's great, but he also might be the American Psycho guy."
"V!" Jenrya smacks his friend, having finally noticed their (entirely one-sided) conversation. "What is it with you and Patrick Bateman?"
They climb out of the car and onto an unreasonably steep street. "Watch your step," Jenrya says when she approaches the curb. It's much colder here and fog dances through the air; in the streetlight's glare (and under her alcohol blanket), she can almost convince herself a Wild One is about to appear. Jenrya is a Tamer, she reminds herself. No one else here knows that. Not stupid Vikram, not the other guy, not any random hook-up— and then the phrase ' bisexual sex god' barges into her mind again and she flinches.
"Hey, are you okay?" Jenrya tilts his head, expression hidden in shadow. Before she can answer someone opens the building gate and one of the guys calls out to them. Jen manages to grab the gate right before it closes and he holds it open for Ruki to step through. His friends are climbing the stairs already but he pauses. "Ruki?"
"I'm fine," she snaps. The venom surprises her, but only a little
The apartment is loud with voices and music; there are thirty, maybe forty people standing around, packed onto the couch, relaxing on the floor. As soon as they open the door someone squeals and tackles Jen in a hug: it's a caucasian woman about their age with hair that flows in loose yet impeccable waves. Jen puts a hand on Ruki's shoulder as if he's about to introduce her, but then the woman yanks on his wrist and they both disappear into the crowd. Ruki has never felt more alone, so she does the only reasonable thing: finds the booze.
There's a dark-skinned guy with tight curly hair by the alcohol counter and he smiles when she approaches. "Cool hair."
Ruki grunts a thanks and grabs the closest handle of booze, which turns out to be vodka. "Cup?"
The guy chuckles and hands her a plastic cup. "Don't think I recognize your face. You here with someone?"
For some reason, she can't get herself to say his name; instead, she stands on her toes and scans the sea of heads. Jen is in the corner by the fireplace, his blue-black hair unmistakable. "Over there."
"Who, Lee?" Curly-hair looks her up and down. "Didn't know he was into redheads." Apparently Ruki is flashing her signature death glare, because the guy raises his hands in a peace offering. "Hey, don't get me wrong, you're totally gorgeous— just don't get too attached, okay? Way too many of us learned that the hard way. Do you know how hard it is to work in a lab with your ex?"
"Ruki!" Jenrya pushes his way between a group behind her. "Found you!"
Curly-hair growls and makes a drink, slides it over to Jen. "If you weren't so god damn pretty, I swear to god…"
Jen just smiles innocently, his cheeks rosy. "Good to see you too."
Ruki follows Jen back into the crowd where he introduces her to person after person. Most are graduate students, some are researchers or young professors like him. It's clear, with each passing conversation, that Jenrya truly has a life here. He has a network, best friends, casual friends, colleagues. People he's kissed, people he's slept with. And what about Ruki? What part of Jenrya does she have?
Jen's leaning against the wall now, red faced, hair ruffled. His sweater is gone and Ruki tries her hardest to not look at the upside-down triangle of skin where he's unbuttoned his collar. Gross. Lame, gross, stinky. Rotting flesh. Boogers. Puss.
"Do you want to talk?"
Ruki hisses and forces (attempts to force) the death glare back down. "'Bout what?" she says in the most casual voice she can muster.
Jen has a very familiar expression on his face now, the same one he wore countless times during their childhood. "Maybe some fresh air? We can go outside, or— if you want some space or something, I could stay up here? You have your phone, right?"
And suddenly it's just Jenrya again, same as he's always been. Ruki has already established that solo walk-with-Jen is a terrible idea, but is it so wrong that she wants it?
The night is as cold as ever, maybe even colder. Jen hands her his jacket as soon as they reach the gate and she accepts it somewhat reluctantly. "You're not cold?"
"Nah." He pulls his sweater back on and the neck gets temporarily stuck on his head. They're speaking in Japanese again, now that it's just them. "Terriermon is pretty comfy right now. I think he's drinking something hot." Jen furrows his brow. "Crap. It's chocolate."
"What's wrong with hot chocolate?" Ruki remarks, rubbing her hands together. All she's getting from Renamon is a strong desire to nap.
"Not hot chocolate, chocolate. Like, melted chocolate." Jen turns towards the hilled sidewalk and starts up it with long strides. "We're gonna have the worst headache tomorrow."
At the top, the city sprawls below them in hills and thick patches of green. It's hard to see much in the dark, but Ruki smells the distinct scent of eucalyptus trees. "You can see the top of the bridge," he says and points into the darkness. When she doesn't see it he steps closer, his chest mere inches from her. GROSS LAME BLOOD PUSS, she screams in her head— as if it isn't a lost cause.
Jen's arm brushes her shoulder, or maybe her shoulder brushes his arm— either way, she flinches involuntarily and he recoils. "Umm, are you—"
"I'M FINE," she says (shouts), trying her best to visualize the time that Jenrya puked all over himself at graduation rehearsal. He borrowed some stain remover from her but it didn't work and he had to wear the same shirt, puke stain and all, at the ceremony the next day. Except now she's just remembering how he was too sick to go out and celebrate and they just talked on the phone all evening, and then the evening after that, and the evening after that.
He takes another step back and crosses his arms. "What're you smiling about?"
Dammit! "Umm. Your high school graduation?"
"Huh." Jen lets out a breath and it blossoms in the air like smoke. "Good times."
"Jen, you had food poisoning. Like, projectile vomit food poisoning."
"Oh yeah, that part really sucked. But then you insisted on keeping me company instead of going out with Takato and everyone else, and we talked on the phone 'til, like, 5 a.m.. God, I remember feeling so nauseous and trying really hard to hide it."
"Wait, you were still sick?"
Jenrya grins. "You know how Terriermon kept on randomly interrupting and, like, singing really loudly into the phone? It's cause I was vomiting into the trash can."
It sounds absolutely awful— and yet Ruki is starting to smile too. "Then why the hell did you stay up all night?"
"Same reason you did." Jenrya sits on a stone ledge, elbows resting on his knees. When he looks up at her, his eyes are deep and gray. Ruki sits next to him without thinking, her knee pressing against his thigh. The contact itself is enough to make her head buzz. He turns towards her and now her heart is pounding, because she knows that if she turns too they're going to kiss, and she'll never kiss anyone else, ever again.
Either way, she doesn't have time to make a choice. There's an earsplitting crack and, as the lights of the city blink out, darkness envelops them like a wave.