Chapter Text
It’s the roaring that you hide in.
The thick vibrations through your body that bleed into your soul. Its unending, rhythmic stability in the face of your inner storm. It gets faster, louder and you cling to it—grip too taught to tremble. Louder still—enveloping, swallowing, drowning and-
“—WAY too much!” You jump as Maizono’s complaint cuts through your performance—your hand pressing against the vibrating strings to silence the remaining hum, leaving only the irksomely empty buzz of the speakers. Your brows furrow intensely; a glare she’s grown used to. She doesn’t even avert her gaze anymore, eyes the color of new denim instead trained directly back at you under bemused thin brows.
“Whaddaya mean, ‘too much’??” You snip, flopping against the wall in a frustrated huff.
“I mean it will overpower half of your audience.” Sayaka continues, patiently ignoring the beginnings of your fit. You’d only had two or three sessions with her since the development of your new passion and already she was used to the conventions.
Knowing her for a few years prior also likely helped.
You grin mischievously back at her in an attempt to curb your annoyance. “Only half?”
“The half that doesn’t go deaf.” Your grin falls quickly and Maizono rolls her eyes. “You’re still learning, Leon. If my criticism upsets you so easily, I don’t know why you even ask me to teach you in the first place!”
You click your tongue piercing against your teeth as the young idol leans back in the chair across from you. On anyone else, you’d expect to see frustration tugging at their features—but there’s even a small smile already training on her lips again. Good old Sayaka—you had no idea where she managed to pull the patience. Though your temper spiked easily with just about everyone on occasion, Maizono was one of the best at pulling you back down. It helped that, by now, she is effectively immune to your childish intensity.
“Try it again just one more time.” She coaxes, sitting up a bit straighter and sprouting a supportive grin. Her optimism is contagious, and you feel compelled to straighten up as well. You lift the electric guitar back into your lap from where it lie at your side. As you strum the first chord the resounding thrum—
--makes your head spin. Your body feels numb—as if you’ve been riding for days. The wind whips around you and the sky has melted into a single grey mass above. You feel cars passing you, but you take no notice of them—allowing instinct to weave you in and out of traffic.
Instinct. Because instinct has served you so well so far.
It’s because of your instinct that--
You clench your teeth and let out a snarl dwarfed by the cacophony of the engine and the blaring horns of the people you cut off. The thought has made you more cognizant—you didn’t need to be cognizant. Cognizant meant you could think about it. Think about how D--
The noise that erupts from your throat would have embarrassed you could anyone have possibly heard it. Think of something else.
Something else.
Anything else.
Suddenly there’s a small, cold splash against your cheek. You barely blink before the bottom falls out. It pelts you unforgivingly, but it’s a wanted sort of onslaught. The wind whipped up then, spraying harshly into your face and--
--loudly against the window pane, causing you to stop mid-note and glance up. “Jesus.” You comment, guitar lowering in your lap a bit. Your attention clips back to Maizono, who appears just as surprised.
“You hear anything about a storm comin’ in?”
“Nothing this bad.” She responds, denim gaze snapping back to him suddenly with an urgency that spooked him. “Leon—did you remember to—“
Oh, oh fuck.
“--Mom is going to actually murder me--!” You bark as you leap from the bed and dart down stairs. You round the corner and--
--the resulting skid is too close for comfort. Water, already a decent film on the street, splashed onto your coat and loose pants. All of you is cold. It keeps you present enough to be cautious, but distracts enough from—that. You won’t even think it. You can’t or you won’t stop. But it itches at the back of your brain every time you graze the subject even slightly. You rev the engine faster as if you hope to physically escape it, but you can--
--feel Maizono on your heels as you dart to the back door, grabbing the raincoat on the nearest hook. “Fuck-Fuck-Fuck—Everything’s probably already soaked—“ You squeak, wrenching the back door open. The resulting gust almost knocks you off your feet and you feel Sayaka’s lithe hands grab your shoulders to keep you steady.
“Careful!” She chirps in surprise.
“This weather’s insane!” You bark back with a glance over your shoulder, increasing your volume to be heard over the roar outside as you slide your arms into the loose coat. “Wait for me, I’ll be right back.”
But Sayaka was already slipping into one of the other coats—your father’s, from the look of how she disappears into it. “Sayaka, seriously—“
“I’m not scared of a little rain, Leon.” She teases back with a casual wink. “We can grab twice as much this way.”
You can’t help but smile at her determination. “Alright. Just try not to get blown away.” She sticks her tongue out at you teasingly and you turn back to the storm. From where you stand at the door, the laundry can be seen thrashing on the line. Miraculously, nothing seems to be missing yet. With one more glance to Sayaka, you dart out into the breach. Running against the unforgiving winds is—
--like swimming up rapids. No matter how hard you grip the ignition you never seem to get any faster.
And it’s catching you.
You swerve and dart and twist in and out of traffic hoping to lose it. But it’s as fast as you. As skilled as you.
It’s catching you.
It’s catching you like only he could.
Suddenly you’re aware that the water on your face isn’t all from the rain. You lean forward and tighten yourself but you can’t grip the handlebars any harder. Your legs are soaked from--
--the puddles you dart through, arms full of dripping, once-clean clothes. Dumping them on the tile, you turn back to see Maizono--
--following you. It’s still following you. Left, right, forward, forward, following you. Still following you.
It will always follow you.
And now it’s--
--right next to you. You almost miss it, the grey of the garment blending in with the grey of the storm. You lean over--
--and drift into the oncoming lane.
You’ve passed it. You’re sure—but only momentarily. There’s suddenly a noise from somewhere distant—loud, abrasive, threatening. A horn. You know that horn.
And in that second it has caught you. You see it all.
His wrecked bike, the smoke, the blood—god there’s just so much.
His smile.
He’s smiling at you.
What the fuck did he have to smile about?!
You hear the blare again—
--it’s longer this time. Halfway to the door you hear it, and you find yourself compelled to stop if only for a moment. The truck horn howls again and you glance over at what little bit of the road in front of your house you can see from your position. You also manage to make out...a motorcycle? You’d seen that cyclists could occasionally be dickish on the road, but what could possibly be going on to make the truck driver keep laying on his horn? Surely once would be enough? From behind the cacophony of horns and wind you think you hear—
--a voice. Small but growing. Getting closer. It and the horn.
But just as the horn is almost deafening you start to make out—
--the words, growing louder as the voice gets closer and envelopes the horn—
“You-“
“-need-“
“-to-“
“—MOVE!”
You’re blinded by the headlights.
You can’t control the bike anymore.
The wind slams into your side--
SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEE--
If it weren’t for the blaring horn and screeching tires, you might have thought it was thunder.
“What was that??” You were suddenly aware of Maizono at your side, hand grasping your wrist where she had been trying to pull you indoors and startled blue eyes trained on the visible patch of road.
“I think somebody crashed.” You state simply, regaining awareness of the last wet bundle of clothes in your arms. You start to move back towards the door, but are quickly cut off as Sayaka bolts in front of you.
“I’m going to the front to check!” She exclaims, disappearing back into the house before you can effectively voice an argument. Instead you pick up your pace, hoping—likely in vain—to catch her before she darts out the front door and back into the storm.
The storm that, you admit, already seems to be dying down—if only a bit.
“Sayaka, hang on!” You toss the remaining wet clothes onto the floor and take off after the young idol, who was already opening the front door. “Just wait a second—it’s still pretty bad out there!”
“Not as bad as it was.” She calls back simply as she exits, “Someone might be really hurt—come on!”
‘What does that have to do with us’ flashes across your brain and you find yourself momentarily ashamed. The horn had definitely belonged to a truck—and you heard the roar of a motorcycle engine, albeit faintly. Maybe the truck hadn’t hit the motorcycle, but if it had…
You cringe instinctively and find opening the door a mite harder than it had been before considering the possibly gory aftermath.
But, luckily—and at least at first glance—there seems to be nothing of that sort.
Outside, you see a rather standard 18 wheeler pulled hastily onto the grass in front of—
Taka’s house?
You glance over at your neighbor’s modest home. The front door is closed—as are all the windows. Besides yourself, Maizono, and the truck driver—no one else seems to be outside.
So, a possible tragedy has happened in his literal front yard—and he’s too buried in his studies to even notice.
The pathetic part is that you can’t say it isn’t typical Taka.
Sayaka is talking to a man you can only presume is the driver of the truck. As you get closer you notice her furrowed brows and worried frown framed by drenched, navy bangs—but the driver seems slightly inconvenienced at best in the face of the whole thing. The rain has started to slow to a more bearable pace.
“Bastard wouldn’t slow down.” He drawls, giving you a once over as you approach but neglecting to verbally greet you, “Matter of fact—he practically sped up. Came this close—“ He pinches the air with his fingers emphatically, “—Damn near thought I hit him, but-“ He shrugs and gestures to his truck with his head, “—Not a scratch on it. Kid just disappeared.”
“Disappeared…” Sayaka echoes. She subtly casts a quick glance over her shoulder—towards the ditch on the other side of the road, before looking back at him. “…You think?” She continues, tone a bit coarse and her mouth hardening into a straight line.
This guy probably has a feeling what happened—he just can’t be assed to care. As evidenced by the fact that he’s already starting to inch back towards the driver’s-side of the truck.
“Well I got stops to make. Be careful out here.” He calls out in a bored manner before climbing into the behemoth vehicle.
Sayaka watches him start off and shakes her head before turning to the ditch. “He’s in there—he’s got to be.” She states, starting off.
“Hey—hang on--” You respond, keeping pace with her as she reaches the ditch. There’s a clear hole in the undergrowth made by something considerable—and upon closer inspection, you notice a long skid in the mud all the way down the bank. She was right—he’s definitely in there.
Whoever ‘he’ even is.
For now you’re more concerned with the fact that Sayaka is trying to climb down the treacherous slope.
“Woah-woah!” You snag her shoulder a bit more roughly than intended, but it does stop her.
“What are you doing?!” She snips irritably, pulling away from you.
“Me?! What about you?!”
“He’s probably hurt!” She exclaims, turning back to the ditch and prompting you to grip her arm again—a bit more pointedly and carefully this time.
“He’s probably dead!” You bark, promptly choking on your perfectly placed foot as Sayaka gapes at you in horror.
“Leon!” She pulls out of your grasp again, “We can’t just leave him down there! I’m going to check on him whether you’re coming or not!” You realize in the brief moment after her outburst that she gives you a very similar look to the one she gave the truck driver.
Great.
“-Alright—alright, just, hang on--!” You shoulder in front of her to keep her from sliding down first. “Let me lead. I’ll catch you in case you slip, ok?”
Sayaka bats her eyes dramatically and clasps her hands to her chest. “My hero~.” She false-swoons, prompting you to roll your eyes. She does give you her hand, though, and you start to descend together.
You make it most of the way with surprisingly little incident considering it’s still drizzling a considerable amount. Right near the end of the slope, however, your foot catches a particularly slick bit of the mud and it sends you stumbling forward—with you letting go of Sayaka in the process.
-THNK-!!
“SHIT--!”
Pain sprouts from your left foot all the way up your leg and you’re sent reeling backwards.
“Leon!” You heard Sayaka behind you and feel her hands grasp your shoulders. Twice today she’s had to stop you falling over.
So much for ‘her hero’.
“Are you ok?” Her concern is comforting. You attempt to regain your balance and find that you have to slightly limp, if only for a bit.
“Y-yeah.” You respond shakily, taking a few practice steps forward. The pain is moderate, but bearable. In front of you, lying on its side in a tangle of bush and branches it seems to have taken with it on its journey down the slope, is a motorcycle. Sleek and black—at least, you can imagine it was at one time. Now it’s a bleak sight—all crunched on one side, handlebars turned considerably further than you imagine it was made to do. But the most concerning part is what you can’t see.
‘Well, here’s the bike…’
“-So where’s the driver…?”
You start, shooting a look over at your companion as her voice cuts through your thoughts. She catches your eye and giggles. “Psychic, remember?” She teases, moving to step over the wrecked bike. You can never quite get used to that.
You follow behind her, stepping over the bike with your good foot and awkwardly hopping after landing with the other. As you move forward, you see more of the trashed undergrowth. So the bike swerved off the road, and he rolled with it? The mess beyond where the bike had stopped seems to imply such a thing--
“Leon--!!” Maizono’s yelp pulls you out of your contemplation and you quicken your pace. Finally, you see him.
From what you can make out between the mud, bushes and blood—he’s the textbook image of a biker. The most striking and iconic thing about him is his hair—a perfect orange corncob Pomp on his head that somehow remains perfectly intact, give a fly-away or branch here and there. It’s prominent enough to be seen rather clearly despite his face being angled away from you. He’s broad, tall and tan-skinned with impressive pecs showing just above the neck of his now-blood-stained white A-shirt. He’s also wearing a long, black coat adorned in impressive and detailed orange embroidery. You notice Sayaka leaning down next to his head, gently turning him so that his face could be more easily seen. His face, all straight lines and hard edges, manages to give off a latent sort of intensity that actually manages to intimidate you despite how obviously unconscious he was.
If, of course, that was all he was.
Sayaka appeared to be on that same train of thought, as she was now crouched down at his side and leaning into his chest. As she does so and your gaze hovers on the unconscious biker’s revealed face, you feel a sudden pang of unease. Of familiarity.
You don’t know any bikers—why does this guy ring a bell?
“He’s breathing.” Maizono snaps you out of it. “But it sounds off. He’s hurt pretty bad.” She stands and reaches into her pocket—hand disappearing under the massive raincoat and retrieving her cellphone. “I’m going to call this in—but we should probably move him.”
“—Move him?!” You do several panicked once-overs of the biker’s massive form. “Can’t the paramedics do that?!” Sayaka shoots you a stern look. Already you can tell this isn’t going to turn to your favor easily—if it does at all.
“I have no idea how long it’s going to take them to get here. Besides we can’t just—“ She gestures to his form, “—leave him like this!” Admittedly when she says it that way it’s hard to refute. But beyond that is the bigger issue of his size, your strength, and the slope. There’s no feasible way you’re getting the biker up that hill by yourself—it may have been possible without the added headache of the rain, but even without it you still have a big man and a throbbing foot.
“I can’t carry him up there by myself, Sayaka.” You finally voice, turning back to her. You find that she’s already managed to connect to 911, and the young idol holds up an impatient finger towards you as she speaks briskly into the receiver. As she finishes speaking, she quickly angles the phone away and regards you sternly.
“Go get Taka.” She instructs under her breath, nodding up to the house directly across the street.
Your face screws up at the prospect. “How the hell am I supposed to get—“ Sayaka waves you off as she turns back to the phone, leaving you to your task.
One that, as it’s becoming increasingly more obvious, you aren’t getting out of.