A/N: Okay, so I'll admit it. I pretty much forgot about this fic until about a month ago. That is totally on me, and you have full right to be mad at me. But I told myself this would be a priority until I finished this chapter. I know both chapters are short as the first chapter was kinda the prologue, but as for this chapter, I really didn't have much planned for this one (aka, I didn't have anything planned).
But worry not! I worked hard at this one to give it some sustenance and significance. I hope its satisfying enough. I even watched some episodes of Dinosaur King to refresh my memory about the characters (I couldn't even remember what Rex's voice sounded like *shot*), so that should give me a little redemption there.
R&R pleasez! :3
—Chapter Two: Our Complications
"Shoot, you freaking moron! Shoooot!"
Yup, that was typical me when caught up in the middle of the soccer field, screaming for no certain forward in particular—aka, Max—to stop showing off his skills and get the ball into the stupid net already. It was often that I found myself standing somewhere around the midline, my sweaty hands cupped around my mouth, practically swearing at the arrogant idiot that was busy doing two-footed flick-ups, around the worlds, rabonas, and whatever else he felt like showing off with.
Sure, this was just a scrimmage game, a friendly match between divided neighbor kids of all ages with a kitchen timer counting down the halves, but somehow by some dumb pang of luck, always I ended up on his team. It was like Fate had it in for me sometimes. Most occasions it was more than generous, but when it came to soccer, it decided it'd make up for my excessive good luck. It made me realize I just might not have been as good at life as I thought I was. Dang that reality…
"I'm going! Geez!" Max yelled back, turning back to glare at me in the midst of an opposing player going in for a tackle. Somehow he managed to detect the player, despite his distraction, and maneuvered off in a tight squeeze, breaking for the goal. Just as the timer run, a single kick that seemed a little too showy for me to call it a good attempt sent the ball reeling off a little high of the goal, hit the top bar of the net, ricocheted off, was sent flying back, and scored a direct blow to Max's head.
He was instantly felled and the ball innocently bounced away. Wow.
I abandoned my position to go over and tower over Max, giving him a 'are you whack?' look. "What the heck was that?" He opened up his mouth to respond, but I kept going. "I've seen toddlers shoot better than you!"
When he got to his feet, I had to tilt my head upward to keep eye contact. Wasn't my fault he hit a growth spurt. "If you think it's so easy, why don't you play forward next time?" He gave me a smart-alecky 'what now, toots?' look that I only met with an identical one.
"You say that every time, but you never let me play forward!" I began to poke his sternum with my finger. "Besides, I wouldn't wanna play forward anyway. I might catch the disease you have where your head inflates and you can't fit through the door!" I stuck my tongue out at him immaturely (what can I say? I spend time with him; I picked up his childishness) before heading off to the sideline and wiping my face on my previously-abandoned sweatshirt.
Max and I had a special relationship of sorts. We usually got along like chummy little buds, but on the soccer field, it was a different story entirely. We got our competitive mixed up with it all and could—and would—argue about anything and everything. Once off the field, however, we were back to kinship mode as if none of the previous bickering hadn't ever taken place. That was probably because once off the field, we could become subject to Zoe's seemingly endless demands and needed each other for moral support.
I picked up my water bottle and took a sip before unscrewing the cap and dumping the rest over my head, cooling my whole body at the single contact. Instantly I heard some of the older guys' who had apparently seen this. "Don't look now, Rex, you're girlfriend's gettin' it on!"
My face deepened in completion into a dark red. I hadn't ever gotten used to attention the neighborhood guys openly gave me, as I almost considered myself one of the guys. I had seen Max dump his water over himself countless times after a game, so I thought it wouldn't be any different. Well, apparently I was wrong.
Max took this as a good cue to walk over with a certain swagger in tow, looking overly pleased with himself. He threw his arm over my shoulder casually, like he did it often (which he really didn't), causing me to just turn my head and give him a funny expression that questioned his self-concocted motives. His voice came out sounding like he knew exactly what he was talking about, "Yuuup. Take it from me, Riles, it's tough to be the sex symbol…"
It takes a life trapped within the confines of a small island laboratory to really appreciate the little things. There were so many things that every day when setting my eyes on them, I would smile and thank Fate for throwing me at my current place. One of my favorite parts of the civilized world was the great masterpiece of the ice cream cone. It reminded me in a way of creamy milk held in a thin cookie, as I used to dunk cookies into my cup of milk in my younger days, but never before had it been quite like this.
Attached to this new-found delicacy came a tradition. Every Saturday after a long, strenuous soccer match, Rex and I would walk to a cute, nearby café and we'd each buy a double-scoop cone. We'd sit outside at one of the little tables with an umbrella over. We had gone there frequently enough that the majority of the employees knew us by name and could estimate the time of which we'd come by, practically having the ice cream of our favorite flavors already scooped before we even come through the door.
This particular Saturday was no different. Small chatter relating to nothing of real importance filling the air between us kept us company during our walk to the little coffee shop. Several times, like what usually occurred on these occasions, his fingers would touch the back of my hand and then quickly retreat back to his side. I'd look at him with a sense of innocent confusion, despite that I knew his reason even before gazing at his expression. He never seemed completely at ease with holding my hand in public, always a rosy color taking over his cheeks before he could overcome his nerves. I could understand this aspect of him; he quite shy, which wasn't very hard to see, so I never made a big deal about the cute little things I secretly hoped he'd do.
Honestly, he took enough crap from all of his friends with even getting involved with a girl. They'd take time out of their pathetic lives to tease the poor boy, make him flustered beyond belief, and then slap him on the back as some makeshift apology that was supposed to make him forgive them about it. Some days I wasn't sure I understood their reasoning as to why this would be the case in any universe. Somewhere, I believed a little wire in their heads got chewed on by a mouse.
That was why on our little ice cream trips I tried to be as nice as possible, since on the soccer field was when most of this taunting took place, and so I tried to make up for whatever ripping he got since it was kinda my fault for it and I really didn't think a simple "oops" would make up for it.
"It's such a nice day!" I exclaimed, leaning back on my chair and licking off a few of the colorful sprinkles that dotted the top of my ice cream. I threw my head back to take in the warm rays of the sun and put on a smile. "I love summer; it's perfect for staying outside just like this." My reason for this was my excessive time primarily studying indoors while growing up. Now that I was free to do as I pleased, I couldn't get enough of the weather and the outside world that never ceased to lift my spirits.
Rex merely smiled back at me in agreement. He knew I loved that sweet, genuine smile and how I knew it was as good as any response he could've given with words. On occasion I'd receive a full open-mouth smile where his eyes would disappear, maybe a laugh with it, but this one had meaning all its own. The one he gave with compliance, when words just weren't needed, was just so him. It brought out his quiet, gentle self that was evident with his pale skin that was the result of time spent alone with his beloved violin and his tender blue eyes that always had room for boundless emotions.
I felt the cold of ice cream dripping onto my shirt, and didn't hesitate to wipe it off with my finger and put it past my lips. "I think you're getting better with playing goalie, Rex," I remarked with a laugh. I knew how much he hated playing goalie and how often he was stuck playing it because his teammates always thrust the position on him, but to be blunt, that didn't make him automatically good at it. "Either that, or Max is getting worse with his aim."
He laughed lightly before responding, "Based on today's match, I think Max's cockiness is outweighing his accuracy."
I joined in on his short chuckling, tucking my bangs behind my ear. He was just so modest and humble. "C'mon, I'm sure you're improving. You'll go pro in no time." I grinned before biting a chunk off of the cone and managing to get liquid ice cream on the tip of my nose. I wiped it off with my index finger and stuck it into my mouth. Ice cream had a tendency to get all over me, the occurrence taking place usually several times per café trip. I liked to take my time with eating it, too much time than the current summer temperature would allow. But I didn't mind. There was something about liquid ice cream that I really enjoyed in a different way than when it was…uh, normal. "Rex Owen: Star goalie for Japan's national soccer team!"
He gave me a look that showed half-amusement, half of other things I just could never be sure of. "You're just getting more and more strange. Modern society must be imprinting itself on your brain."
My lips pursed and curved upwards, my shoulders trembling at my effort to suppress laughter. It was true. No matter how much I thought I wasn't, I was really becoming adjusted to life in Japan. I wasn't certain that I could use the word 'normal' on myself yet, but it was a stepping stone process. Keep my balance and I'd get there eventually. I was picking things up as I went, little quirks that I didn't ever think that I'd adapt, since most things when taking a look at the world all around me struck me as quite peculiar. And now here I was, gathering them up like attractive little shells on the beach when in the past I would've just ran past them, kicking them up with the sand on my route to the water.
During our conversations, never I paid any mind to those who came and went. Usually most of the people that went here were regulars, names known not by me, but mostly by the employees. Sometimes while getting our routine order, I'd catch ear of a customer chatting it up with one of the waitresses using first names like they were good acquaintances beyond work. The majority of those who worked here were naturals at striking conversations of all sorts, so much that it made me wonder that with enough exposure to the culture here, I'd become like that. Outside the circle of the D-Team and a few others beyond that, I was rather uncomfortable with being myself outwardly. Shyness would take over my being and I'd go through meaningless, unimpressionable motions.
That's why it brought me into confusion when one of the waitresses came out of the café and walked over to our table. I couldn't recall her name, but I knew her appearance. She had a soft face with her deep, auburn hair always pulled back into a messy bun, her bangs curled to bounce around with each step by her cheeks. A light blue eye shadow made her crystalline eyes of an almost-matching hue a brilliant intensity and accented the brightness of her innocent, cheery smile. She had a confident swing of her hips with each step, one nail-painted hand holding a notepad to write orders. But this time, instead of the usual notepad, she was carrying an envelope.
"Riley, right?" she questioned lightly with a matching, gentle smile as she came to the table, the clicking of her heels stopping. She produced the envelope, holding it out to me. I noticed her nails were painted a light purple today to match an amethyst ring she was wearing on her right hand. "I was told to give this to you."
My eyes flew about, looking for a familiar face on the premises, but seeing no one. I took the envelope and it took my patience to hold onto it without opening it until I had shown my gratitude. "Oh. Uh, thank you." As soon as her back was turned toward me, I turned the little white envelope in my hands, looking for a return address or anything, but seeing it was blank. "Hmm, that's strange." I proceeded to open it and look at the contents.
Rex's gaze bounced up and down between me and my message. "What is it?"
The instant my mind connected the meaning of the letters scribbled in a recognizable penmanship, I almost dropped the paper out of my fingers. It felt as though I was sitting on needles. I rose from my chair, but almost fell back down again due to my legs shaking uncontrollably. Rex came around the table to steady me and peered at the five words that were written on the page.
Don't think you're so safe.