Yumichika got dressed and packed in record time. Ikkaku only barely fell asleep waiting. He snapped back to wakefulness as Yumichika re-emerged from the house with an enormous duffle bag, hair gleaming perhaps slightly less than usual. Yumichika was passing him to lead the way toward the garage when he stopped and turned back to stare critically at Ikkaku.
"Why are you not wearing a shirt?"
Ikkaku raised a brow in confusion. "Why would I wear a shirt at night?"
"It won't be night in a few hours. How much of a head start did she get on that bike?"
"I've got my wallet. It's not like I'm not prepared."
"If you wear the same pants for more than three days in a row, I'm throwing you out of the car." Yumichika's face screwed up at the thought and decided to stay that way. "Actually, if you wear the same pants for more than three days AT ALL I'm throwing you out of the car." He returned to his mission, but stopped at the garage door. He placed his hand on the knob. He stared hard at the door, not turning the knob.
"Open the door already, Yumi. It's just a jeep!"
"We've been over this. It's not." Sighing, he turned the knob and pushed open the door. He briefly contemplated leaving the light off, but remembered that he hadn't cleaned in there for over a year and thought better of it. The idea was to NOT die, after all.
He switched on the light. There it was. As far as he was concerned (which is about as far as is necessary for anyone to be concerned, ever), there was a really, really good reason why wisteria is an uncommon color for a jeep. Wonderful, outstanding, tasteful, human decency-related reason. His mother had even bought the model with off-road tires. His mother had never driven off-road in her entire life. She had used it to sell Tupperware. His resolve wilted and he started to back out, pulling the door closed.
Ikkaku had other plans. He grabbed Yumichika, who yelped, and his duffel, one under each arm, and stepped up to the monster. He deposited Yumichika at the driver's side door, tossed the duffel into the back (the top was down, conveniently), and then opened the door and transferred Yumichika to the seat.
Yumichika, who hadn't had time to respond with anything other than the initial yelp, realized how much dust he was sitting in and gave up. He was done, much like white girls who like to consume Starbucks coffee-type beverages are done. So done. Just done. He resigned himself to the fact that taste and human decency were dead, and he would be dead as well if he didn't drive that ugly jeep out of that dirty garage and follow the Hellbeast on that stupid, oversized motorcycle all the way to who-knows-where.
Ikkaku was in the passenger seat by that point. He helpfully reached over and poked the button for the garage door on the old, disused keychain. The door creaked to life, scattering more dust and an old bird's nest into the jeep. Yumichika continued to be done (and had a sudden, strong desire to buy and wear yoga pants) as he prodded the wisteria monstrosity to life and switched on the headlights. They rolled out onto the driveway with the powers of off-road tires and four-wheel drive. The garage door rumbled shut, scattering more dust. The garage light was forgotten as they continued out onto the dark country road.