References to Ash, Tori Amos, The Shins & Beck. Last part is reference to the first chapter. Thanks to Castor&Pollux for the reviews as well as the others. Standard disclaimers apply; flames/reviews welcome, as always.
CARNIVAL TOWN Version 4
In which the Seer Returns with a Vengeance & the Story Ends
Time ached with a breakneck swerve down the minds of the youngsters and they got an almost infallible norm for themselves, these routinely manners by which they express their so-called liaison. Days turn into busied minutes, nights become languid hours of touching bodies; encounters are spoken within the limits of the body, feelings're described by the finitude of words rolling between their tongues. Weekends become fleeting phone conversations and workdays are empty exchanges of concerns. In the afternoon Sendoh and Kogure would love to hate each other; and by midnight both of them would love to love each other.
Rukawa was quite lost in this vicious circle of a relationship, articulating a vernacular of silence which meant to question the intentions of keeping this foolishness in the first place. For Kiminobu and Akira knew they were living a fairytale of compromise; boredom become vicious gestures, and Kogure would take the spike-haired back and let him lick his wounds. And what was it really that made him wince? Jealousy is almost innate; and his own allusions towards Kogure are becoming more unsexy than ever. As the burning orb between the vertical of clouds glares at his narrowed eyes, he walks nonchalantly for rooftop; a pedestal he'd like to own, a leviathan of a place which made him relinquish any privilege for pretense. It was lunch break, and warm air is twinge like pricked needles on his back; unfriendly, and yet it was the only place which consoles him.
It occurs for the fox now that; lonely people are all the same.
He looks below, touching the fence and it makes a clanging echo. Ants are the students leisurely walking at the grounds; he can feel them far-eyed, these moving automatons differentiated only by the colors of their uniforms. A girl seems to look at him, smiling, and the fox raises an eyebrow for a grimace. He then sprawls himself by the shades the water tank provides, taking his notepad to cover his sight. His breath against the paper is moist, and his fingers suddenly touch his lips as he harks back that day, that bewildering day, the day in which he spoke the longest string of words possible.
He crosses the vacation off his time's list. In one month's time he'd be a sophomore and he'd win that MVP award. In four weeks time he'd finally see the class' end, and after thirty days he would no longer be able to stumble upon this foolish senior (on a daily basis), this host of individual maturities and serenities. Rukawa likes to think of himself as a safeguard to this seemingly feeble existence that is Kiminobu Kogure, feeling his own sense of obligation; but with more than enough sessions bordering on nightly lectures and casual kisses, with more than enough time to know him better, he was actually far superior than him. Not to basketball that is, but Rukawa admits a sense of submissiveness which abounds even at the far-flung apparition of the brown-haired.
Does he really like this senior? Yes, but what if his loneliness's just want some company? Why does he hate Haruko that much? Why can't this Sendoh just die?
The sun begins to move and the clouds disperse when a strong waft of hot breeze started to cringe Rukawa, and so he suddenly sits. He leans by the fences, shifting his weight so that he was opposite of the water tank as it protected him from sunburn. Time begins its pace, slowly at that as he thinks of all these predicaments, these visions of the russet-eyed, the intimidating glory of the basketball team, the lameness of Sendoh; for Kogure however, time was quick enough to slip past the Shohoku ace, unnoticed, trying to find a better angle to tap the other's shoulder.
"You're here," he says with closed eyes, gathering all courage.
He smiled. "Yeah. Got ye'r message at my locker. Went earlier than the scheduled time, ne?"
So the freshman stood up, and his hands were dusting off his uniform; he unfastens one button for some fresh air, but he was still perspiring like he would in a tournament. What was it really that made him wince?
"So what's up?"
"I... I don't want you to tutor me."
Kogure raised an eyebrow, and his face form a smile afterwards. "Yeah okay."
"Don't want to stalk you 'nymore."
"Uh... okay."
"No more stares."
"Okay, sure. Hey," Kogure says, almost afraid to strike any more intimidation for he's been one thought ahead of him. "What d'ya really wanna say Rukawa?"
"Break with him."
"Who made it your–"
"I want you to break with him," he says again, loud enough for Kogure to sense an urgency lay hidden with those words, reminded yet again of the ace's so-called sentiment rousing in the tip of his terse words. And yet these clipped sighs meant too much that it was beginning to be a puzzle piece. For several months now this pale youngster before him has become more or less compensation after the wearisome (but blissful at the same time) moments with Sendoh; and thinking about this, a feeling of culpability begin to flourish with his sympathy. His silence was met with a quizzical look, and no sooner did he realize himself motioning the freshman to sit, and a long fall of silences soon devours them.
"Rukawa," he sighs, not smiling at all.
Earshot begins to awaken.
"I... uhm... y'know I always think of this and it earns merit," says the russet-eyed while Rukawa nods. "And I could always pretend he still likes me... that way I won't be afraid of spending the night with him,"
"I could curse him, but I've lost my innocence to this mess, too," he continues.
With the senior's silence, he begins to speak. "He only wants you naked."
This begets a scathing smile. "Maybe, maybe not."
"He only likes himself,"
"And that makes him... frail. Y'know I've often hated myself for this stupid altruism in me."
This emotional tremor before him has only furthered Rukawa's inferiority as he immerses himself into this void of stillness and took them dreamy-eyed, delving deeper, wishing for themselves something almost impossible. This nausea against the power of spike hairs, cobalt eyes and pale body; this bout that was too open-ended for a dispute that Rukawa can only muster a breath for answer. "Y'know relationships are choices, y'know, like basketball," says the russet-eyed suddenly.
"And choosing can only be in a matter of seconds. Many many choices you got no time to rationalize, and by the time you do you'd regret it outright. Excruciating ne?"
"What do you choose now?"
And yet the question meant more than a choice, it was a genesis of insinuations rousing Kogure to fascination, while the pale fox, for the lack of appropriate state of mind, threw an inquiring stare. He never really knew the motivating dynamics by which this raven-haired before him endured all these foolishness, and he would still like to think that Rukawa was only skirting between fascination and being comical. Yet surely, there's an odd magnetism to this humor; it's not a promise to a relationship but it's much better than Sendoh making no commitments at all. The senior laughs in lightness, and afflicting this sickness to him, Rukawa too smirks.
"Much better smiling," the fox finally whispers. His right hand flex with the dexterity of his fingers, brushing up those brown locks from the senior's forehead. "Much better without specs," was the roaring sound in Kogure's audition, hesitating yet again. Rukawa takes the glasses off.
"What do you choose?"
Several kilometers away from Shohoku High School, a certain Sendoh Akira made his way through the hurried faceless crowd, and deciding to park himself at a local coffee shop, he began to dial an all-too-familiar number; he touches the phone with his ear next. The sun stood energetically, almost scorching him, and he shifted his weight to move his chair so the shade can reach him. He hears the other line ringing.
"Hello?"
"It's me. Let's meet tonight. Please?"
He hears a sigh. "I can't right now. Schoolwork's exhausting."
"The carnival's set up for tonight, you haven't seen them last time yes?"
"I didn't."
"I'll pick you up then."
"Would you?"
He falters. "Six. That okay with you?"
"I don't mind."
"See ya then," he says, and he stares at the beaming Shinichi Maki whose facial expression more or less signified amusement.
"What?"
He sips his coffee as the blue-eyed looks down to see the former Kainan captain's bags drooping beside his ankle. He knew too well that Shinichi liked basketball more than anything else, and he also knew that America was more than obliged to welcome him and exploit his talents; something Shinichi knows of course. "The plane leaves in three hours, gotta make this quick."
"I told you I don't need a psychiatrist anymore."
"The more you need me then," he beams yet again, and sarcasm emanated to them both.
"We're fine,"
"So you say,"
"I said we're fine."
"And you? Talking in we is different yes?"
"I'm still me... I guess."
"Of course. You've always wanted to make things boring Akira, you and your boredom."
"Do you even remember you're the one who taught me this forsaken tenet of vanity? That you're a pious man worshipping a religion, this fucked-up beauty thing,"
Tensions rise.
"Hey, I never took change off my list. And you?"
He's silent.
"I can almost pity you right now Akira."
"You always pity me. Even those times–"
"You blame me for everything. And y'know that."
"Why... you changed so much,"
Shinichi Maki knew him too well; the words he spoke have become too repetitive it's become innate to deliberate this. The shade has stretched onto both of them and the sun receded to the amassed whiteness of the clouds, and the stillness of it all has somehow soothed this Ryonan youngster, whilst Maki presumes he's done rationalizing. It's been certain now that the rules of the game were created by the ingenuity of Maki's previous way of life; and actually even the game was an oeuvre in itself. But this art will soon have to decay, it will soon become a past self, it will have to see its golden days so that it can crumble; and new rules will be made.
"Everybody's gotta learn sometimes."
And so when all lessons are learned Sendoh accompanied him to the airport. He comes back with a seemingly relieved sense of lightness that he drove himself to the carnival even if it's still four-thirty; Kogure was used waiting for him every time he's scheduled an encounter, premeditations molded with contradictions of excitement and remorse. He parks his car and took his strides, touring the carnival. Few people came this early, and he was more than happy with this ambience; so much space, and even the dusty winds are soothing him. Several men work themselves to set up the tarpaulin, and an engineer is directing his men as they position the light bulbs. The tents are slowly mounting; and thinking about Kogure's reaction at the mood the carnival should be able to render them both, he smiles with excitement.
The orange hue of the afternoon sun did not foster playfulness within the carnival but it did flourish with a new view for him. Yes, Kogure was right; memories are beautiful but only those you want to live with. He thinks of the seer as the carousel's pre-recorded theme resounded throughout the place, and he can remember himself and the prophet of fib, his skepticism, the animated children whispering through his earshot, the chauvinistic boisterousness, Haruko's femininity and everything else in between.
His sight takes a good look at the gypsy-colored tent, recalling a sense of disapproval. So he walks towards it, ready to divulge everything and ready to prove the seer wrong. He takes some bills out, and he enters the marquee. There were no candles inside, and the room smelt of an all-too-familiar aroma – dust, and the humid, freshly cut grass. He expected her more than anything else.
"Hello?"
A slight rustle, a step backwards; and trying to sidestep the uneasiness.
"You," she says, and she doesn't motion him to sit.
"Uhm... a reading?"
"I already gave you one."
He smiles. "That what last year,"
"Though I'd like to prove you wrong," he continues, admitting a sense of triumph over her.
She stares at him. "You don't learn."
"I did learn about your prediction,"
"Akira Sendoh... you're not perfect but you're excellent at what you do,"
He shifts his left hand, putting it in his pocket. He looks at her. "I think you've already told me that."
"And so will I say it again because you didn't learn."
"Huh?"
"I tell you, everyone you know is perfect. You're the one who's not, yet you're good at what you do,"
"I don't under–"
"Don't you see boy? Even Kogure's too human for you."
"Hey how–"
"They're all perfectly human, and you," she walks slowly towards him, "You're just trying to be one. Learn from now on."
So he walks out of the tent with vagueness and antipathy drowning him to no end. The dusty plains are now oceans, too deep for a swim at that; and more than this was the realization of those all-too-human words which haunted him like a mantra. Hands on his pockets and his pace increases. All these for the remote concern for being condescending; and yet he felt that he was the seer who was proved wrong. Whatever emotional safety he earns makes him the prophet of fib; for he has always been lonely.
Truth was a stench, and one needs courage to have it. Yet surely; he's too excellent at what he does to give it all up just now. Short but cosmic minutes pass and he kept walking, the memory occupying the blue-eyed youngster of distant coolness and self-buoyancy. The carnival man of cobalt eyes stared hazily at the retreating sun and the orange clouds, smiling at himself; and as the broken disc music plays throughout the plains he now understands that Kiminobu Kogure would not be meeting him tonight.
fin.