POV Takao
When the phone rang at the normal time for our call, I handed it over to Kaori, because I wasn't ready to talk to him about what happened last night. She smiled and tittered, but after a few moments she frowned and handed the phone back to me.
"He doesn't want to talk to me," she said, giving me a glare. "I think he's having a panic attack. You're better at handling him in that state."
I looked at the phone for two or three seconds and when I didn't take it, she dropped it on the counter.
"Takao?" I heard Shin-chan's voice from the speaker.
"Hi," I said, putting the phone to my ear. "What's wrong? Kaori said you were having a panic attack." I opened the refrigerator door; there were no more cans of red bean soup and I wanted one.
He said nothing for almost thirty seconds. I knew those long pauses; I was familiar with that soundless discomfort as he tried to gather words. If I were there with him, it wouldn't have been necessary, I would have seen it, plainly, as if the words were written across his face. But I wasn't there, and I wasn't sure if I was angry with him, disappointed, or if what I felt was some sort of twisted humor at the whole situation.
"If I was with you," he said, his thoughts paralleling mine, "I'd kneel at your feet and beg for your forgiveness."
I checked my pockets and found I had enough yen to buy a can of soup, but I wasn't sure I wanted to go back out again tonight.
"Why?" I asked. "Because you were drunk? It's not like you intended to –"
"Intentions are worthless with a betrayal of such magnitude. When I learned about your father, and what his drinking did to you, I promised myself that I would never drink alcohol. We aren't apart more than five weeks, and I've already failed miserably."
I grabbed my house keys and went outside. There was a vending machine not too far away that always seemed to have fresh stock of red bean soup, and I began walking to it.
"You don't need to make vows, Shin-chan, you're not my father. It's not like you're going to get drunk and hit me, right?" I asked, my voice very small and quiet. Up on the corner was the vending machine, but I couldn't move. I had to sit down on the curb. I pulled my hoddie over my head and sort of… curled in on myself.
"Kazunari," he said, my name was a sure and tender word on his lips. "The only time my hand will touch your face is when I am caressing it. That's more than a promise; it's a commitment."
Something inside me, relaxed at that thought, almost as if Shin-chan were kneeling beside me, his left hand touching me, calluses and all, as they lightly trailed down my cheek. The image was enough to get me on my feet and propel me the three more meters to the vending machine.
"Are you on your way to practice?" I asked, counting out my coins again.
"No, I'm at Quentin's apartment. Practice won't be until after lunch today, probably because of the excessive drinking the entire party did last night."
"You're not going to let it go, are you?" I asked, putting the coins into the slot and pushing the button.
"I woke up twice this morning," he said. "The first time, I couldn't find my glasses and I didn't care, so I went back to sleep. The second time, I bolted straight up and realized what I'd done…"
"Being hung over sucks, doesn't it,"
"You've witnessed it enough times, I –"
"I've been hung over, twice," I said, popping the top of the can, and taking the first sip of the chilled soup.
"What? But you don't drink?"
"Not anymore," I admitted around a mouthful of soup. "I've been drunk twice, that's double the amount of times you've been drunk, so let's just drop this whole thing, and promise each other to do better in the future, ok?"
"Tell me," he insisted. "What could have compelled you, a child of an alcoholic, to do it?"
There was a nice park a little farther up the road, one with a basketball court, so I walked that way, hoping to at least watch a good game, if I couldn't play.
"The first time I was nine years old, Yukina was four or five, I can't remember exactly what time of year it was, but we were playing tea party and father was home. For a change he was in a good mood. We didn't understand what was wrong with him at that point, we were just kids after all, but he was happy, and we would do anything to keep him that way. He joined us for the 'tea party,' but he put real liquid in our cups."
I found a bench and watched two elementary school kids throw a basketball at the hoop like it had personally insulted them.
"Yukina passed out after one cup, but I was so happy to be with 'daddy' that I kept drinking what he gave me, even as he praised me, and I started to feel sick. Our grandmother came by and saw what happened and she took me to the hospital. They pumped my stomach and that was the first time my father was arrested."
"So, it was unintentional," Shin-chan answered.
"Yes, like you, like last night. You drank what you were given."
"If only my English were better –"
"Yeah, well, if only I hadn't wanted to make my drunk old man happy. If wishes were yen, we'd be rich, and I'd be in New York with you right now."
"And the second time?" he pestered.
"It was after a particularly spectacular loss against this team of monsters who beat the pulp out of us. I was despondent and when I got home, I found my father, passed out on the couch with a half a bottle of vodka. I figured he always forgot how much of a loser he was when he drank, so I took the bottle and I finished it."
"Teiko."
"I'm pretty sure he beat the hell out of me the next morning, but I was so hung over it didn't really matter. When I finally felt human again, I decided that I wasn't going to be a loser, that I was going to get stronger and defeat you, instead of letting alcohol defeat me as well."
"I'm so sorry, Takao, we were monsters, you're right."
"You were middle schoolers, all middle schoolers are monsters, and none of that matters now, because look where we've come to now. That's all that matters: not getting drunk by mistake, not panic attacks and guilt trips. You're sorry for what you did, I understand that, but I want you to hear me now Shintarō," I said, using his full name to make sure I had his attention, "I trust you."
POV Midorima
Quentin's teasing as I lumber through practice is easier to take than the voices in my head which still maintain that I have betrayed Takao. Even with our conversation this morning, I have more questions and doubts. After Takao says he trusts me, he would not speak about the situation anymore, and I have to simply trust him.
Practice is awful; too many stupid mistakes combined with the lingering effects of too much alcohol causes even the best players in the camp to shoot like… well drunks. I confine myself to making three-pointers and ignore the mess around me of sweating, smelly men who can barely hold the ball, much less move with it. Quentin laughs at me, when I insist that I am not hung over. He doesn't understand that my behavior now, and the panic attack I had this morning, have nothing to do with the physical effects of the cider from last night; but it has everything to do with the efficiency of my medications.
When the whistle blows, for a change, I am the first one off the court. I am sure I smell just as bad as some of my colleagues, so I get in the first available shower.
"Where's Shintarō?" A voice calls out while I am still under the spray.
"He's in the shower, Coach," Quentin answers for me.
"Tell him to come see me once he's done."
"Hey Coach," Quentin hesitates. "It's not my place to say, but I know for a fact that he's never gonna correct you, but everybody's been saying his name wrong this whole time."
I am instantly embarrassed, but it is a relief that he is trying to right this for me.
"What's his name then?"
"In Japan, they'd call him Midorima." He says my name correctly.
"I'll keep that in mind."
My hair is wet, my fingers are bare, and I sit in a chair that is actually proportional to my size. The head coach sits across from me.
"Midorima, how are you liking basketball in New York?" He uses my family name for the first time, even if the pronunciation isn't good. I hardly notice, though, as I concentrate hard on his words.
"I love this basketball," I say, hoping that it is a good answer. I adjust my wet shirt so I can feel my necklace without being obvious.
"Good, that's good," he says. He is nervous, perhaps because he is talking to someone who is so clueless. "We're considering expanding our roster for the coming year, and I think we have a place for you on the bench – second-string of course – if you are interested. How would you feel about being a New York Knick?"
I know many of the words: second-string, bench, but is he really asking me to play for him.
"Me? A Knick?" I have to ask for clarification.
"Yes, I'm offering a one-year contract. Pre-season begins next month. That should give you time to settle in."
"Second-string." I exhale. "That's good."
"Yes, um no guarantees you'll play in regular season play, but the experience will be important."
My head swims and I can hear all matter of voices in my head. There are the nagging voices that tell me that I am worth nothing, but they aren't able to drown out Takao cheering for me and our future.
"I've got a contract for you, in Japanese, give it a look over and give me your answer by week's end, alright?" He hands me a folder with the Knick's logo emblazoned of the front. It is an unreal feeling as I hold it in my hand. I seems to weigh 100 kilograms.
I stand, feeling unsteady, and bow before I leave the office.
Quentin is waiting for me, just outside.
"There's rumors going 'round that you'll be on the bench in September, and if that look on your face is any indication, I think it's true. So?"
"I have to call Takao." He notices my hands shaking and grins.
"Yeah, man you totally do!" He slaps me on the shoulder and leaves.
My hands are shaking harder still as I pull the cellphone from my locker. Our last call wasn't pleasant and I am afraid he will be annoyed with me.
"I'm so glad you called," Takao answers even though it is 7 in the morning in Japan. "I was just dreaming about you. Want me to tell you about it?"
"I've got… strange news. I need your opinion."
I have the contract open on my lap and it is amazing. Besides the salary, there is a housing-allowance, and a small relocation assistance bonus.
"I'm listening," he says, and I can feel his smirk as I fail to speak.
"I've been offered a position on next season's team. I'm holding a contract right now, and I am unbalanced. I don't how what to do, or think."
"Say yes," is his automatic answer. "You'll be a professional player, this is your dream. What's to hesitate about?"
"For the last five weeks, even though this has been a fantastic experience, all I did was count the days until I could come home to you."
"Silly, Shin-chan, I've been working and saving up money between classes. We can use the money from modeling gig for airfare instead of buying a car. I knew, I believed, that this would only be the beginning for you. As soon as I have enough money and the semester is finished, I'll join you there."
"You wouldn't mind putting off school for a year to move to New York for me?"
"I miss you so much. Home is wherever you are, Shin-chan. Tell them you'll do it, and then tell me what I can do to help make it happen."
Author's notes:
I'm kinda bummed that Partners is nearing its end. I am hoping you have enjoyed the journey same as I have. Remember, reviews are like water to us writers. I'm so grateful to everyone who has dropped a comment, even if it was only a word or two. I am gearing up for a sequel that would make Partners 2 a sequel to both Partners and its companion story, Priorities, but I'm not sure if it is a worthy idea or not. I really respect your opinions so I am asking you again if you think I should continue the journey in a sequel! I'd really appreciate the feedback. You, as a reader, are so important to me. Thanks for all your help so far!