Sparks crackled through the maddening wail of the downpour, bursting through the darkness in a single brilliant point of light. Wakashimazu touched the match to the tip of the candle and stared at it intently for a long moment, then closed his eyes, watching the flame dance languorously beneath his closed lids.

A rich, heady scent filled the bedroom. It was sweet as liquor, warm and cool, and as he breathed it in more fully he felt his body melt into pure gold. Hundreds of ghostly hands were sweeping towards him, easing his consciousness away in waves of honey-laced nothingness. He made it to his bed somehow and sank so deeply into the mattress he believed it would swallow him whole.

His eyes slipped open ever so lightly and encountered oblivion. He let them fall shut, sighing against the increasing fatigue and turning his head to the side on his pillow.

Who are you?

The voice coursed through his veins. It whispered so closely, so intimately that he shivered, feeling its breath blow against his cheek.

Who are you, who chooses to stand alone, who casts away your comfort and strives toward no end? Who do you wish to be?

I...I... His hand clenched into itself, grasping nothing. I am the one who watches over you. I am the protector who will never let you fall. I am...

Outside the double doors leading to the patio, the rain hissed and spit into the wind. The fire atop the candle blazed blue as it drank in the energy around it, breaking into two, no, three....four separate flames, each bending and waving of their own desire...

I am...a warrior.

I’ll never let you lose. I fight for myself so that we will be strong. I won’t let myself become a part of any other. I am...

Genzo Wakabayashi.

Ken Wakashimazu opened his eyes for the last time, gazing in half-awareness at the streams of whispy-white smoke trailing across the ceiling. Some time before he had choked from the potency of its fragrance, but now his lungs fed off it like much needed oxygen. He was tired, bone weary and tired. It was time to drift away. Who he was...where he was...he would find out, somehow...the flames would tell him, and the smoke would give him new life. Smoke that, as it flowed across the duskiness of the room, swirled to form a shape that looked a lot like Jerry Garcia... So it was, and so it would be forever. He knew no more.

“Damn!” Sorimachi raised his eyes to the ceiling as he and Takeshi turned the corner towards their hotel room. “Is this rain ever going to stop? We’re gonna have to zip over the field with a wet-dry vac before we play tomorrow!”

Takeshi sighed, drawing a key out of his pocket. He tossed a bag of marshmallows over his shoulder. “Hold on to these for a second, okay?”

Sorimachi trapped the bag awkwardly in the crook of his elbow and chortled as the younger player fumbled with the lock. “I still can’t believe we’re going through with this! Man , this is priceless! How are we going to roast these things without setting off a smoke alarm?”

“Well, it’s not like we’re going to light a fire in the middle of the room! We can do it over the stove.”

Sorimachi looked disappointed. “And what makes you think that is going to work?”

Takeshi pushed open the door and turned, smiling mischievously. “I know it will. I have experience.”

Sorimachi raised an eyebrow. “I don’t even want to know what you’re talking about.” Takeshi’s innocent features twisted into a scowl. He flicked on the lights and stomped into the room in a huff, flopping down cross-legged on the kitchenette floor.

“What’s the matter with you?” the brown-haired boy demanded, his voice harsh against the silence.

“Why do you always have to talk to me like that?! You always think I’m doing something wrong. Either I’m acting like a kid, or I’m...” Takeshi’s eyes started to water. “If Hyuga san were here, you wouldn’t dare say a thing to me, but now that he’s gone, you can blab out whatever’s on your mind! Aren’t you lucky!”

His friend was dumbfounded. A faint, sweet scent wafted into the air between them, and he shook his head, unsettled. “Oi...”

Sorimachi knelt by Takeshi’s side, placing his hands tenderly on the boy’s shoulders and drawing him close. “Oi...hey there, don’t cry, Takeshi...I don’t think you’re a baby--I think you’re really cool! I was just wondering if it’d be more fun if we did our thing in a more comfortable setting. The stove is fine with me, really.” He smoothed Takeshi’s spiky hair back with the palm of his hand. “Okay?”

“I have a hot plate under my bed,” Takeshi said suddenly.

Sorimachi pulled back and gaped at him. “Nani? You brought illegal heating equipment? Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“I was afraid we’d set the drapes on fire.” Takeshi’s face went pink with pleasure. “I’m sure it’ll be fine, though. We can put it on the coffee table and pretend we’re out camping.”

“What an awesome idea!” The older boy gleefully squashed his little friend’s head into his chest. “Let’s go, Takeshi!”

“Ano..” Takeshi laughed weakly against Sorimachi’s shoulder. He squirmed, trying to free an arm to steady himself. “...What are you doing to me?”

Sorimachi froze. After a moment of contemplation, he shoved the boy aside, his eyes as wide as saucers. “Sorry!!” he spluttered. “This smell is making me feel really freaky!”

“Go take a cold shower,” Takeshi ordered automatically, then clapped a hand over his mouth. Was he being affected too? “What are you talking about? I don’t smell anything!”

“It’s definitely there. Kind of like candy, actually. It’s not so bad. Forget about it.” Sorimachi stood and rubbed his forehead wearily. “The hot plate is under your bed, right? Let’s grab it and open some windows.”

“With this weather?” Takeshi was skeptical. “Won’t the floor get soaked?”

“Whatever, whatever.” The brown-haired player waved his hand in dismissal and trudged towards the bedroom. It hit him full force as soon as he stepped through the doorway.

“Maaaaaaaaaaaaaannn!” he wheezed, bursting into a coughing fit that sent him to the floor, doubled over in agony. “That stuff is toxic!”

“Are you okay?” Takeshi called from outside.

“Heiki, heiki!” Sorimachi wiped his eyes, giggling. Kaasan...I’m walking on the sky....”So what are we going to do about the sticks?”

“Don’t worry about it!” Takeshi yelled back. “I stole some skewers from last night’s barbecue.”

A pause.

“Are you okay in there?”

No answer.

“Naughty boy, Takeshi,” Sorimachi said to himself in a voice that was not his own. “Won’t you dance with me?” He then proceeded to cackle as if he had just said the funniest thing in the entire world.

“Ne...”

The brown-haired forward ignored him. He stumbled back a few steps, turning his face to the ceiling. “Wow..” he whispered. “I can see the moon...”

It was much too beautiful. If only he could explode into a thousand tiny stars and dance with the moon in the stormy night! Why couldn’t he? He hadn’t even tried yet!

Sorimachi swept his arms into an embracing arc and dipped and spun, all the while humming a wordless tune somewhat reminiscent of an old Rod Stewart song. He leapt into the air, touched the sky, and returned to Earth, promptly tripping over his own two feet and smashing his lower lip into a bedpost.

“Hey!” Takeshi sounded only mildly concerned. “You find it yet?”

“Chikushooooo...” Sorimachi pried himself off the bedpost and swiped at it, enraged. “Watch where you’re going, you moron!”

However, his hand did not strike wood; rather, it connected with something soft, yet slightly resilient. He loomed closer, his nose inches away from the offending object.

“WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!”

Takeshi, who was still seated on the floor like a sulky princeling when he heard the scream, bolted to the door, his eyes wild with fear. “Sorimachi san!” he cried. “Sorimachi san, what is it?!”

“A...h....h.....hhhhh...” Sorimachi slunk into a corner and cowered, burying his face in his arms. “Takeshi...there’s a hand in Wakashimazu’s bed...”

“What are you talking about?” Takeshi asked gently. He touched the boy’s shoulder. “He’s probably just--” He shuddered, feeling the hairs on the back of his neck prickle and rise. The younger player slowly turned and stared at the cause of his friend’s terror. Wakashimazu lay on his bed like a porcelain doll in repose, his dark hair spread out in a velvet shroud around his quiet face. He was asleep? Takeshi’s heart skipped a beat. Something wasn’t right here. Takeshi, with blood roaring in his ears, leaned over the goalkeeper and held a hand close to his face.

A faint trace of warmth touched it. No more. Oh, no...Takeshi thought. Wakashimazu san, what have you done? Not this--not now!

“Wakashimazu san!” Panic flooded Takeshi’s senses, and he seized his friend’s shoulders, trying to haul him upright. The boy fell limply against him, a weak moan eking from his lips.

“Takeshi...” “Come on!” the spiky-haired boy pleaded, sliding his arm around Wakashimazu’s back and lifting him against his shoulder. “Don’t do this to me!”

Wakashimazu didn’t answer. Takeshi shook him gently, spooked by the lack of resistance in his friend’s limbs. Something in that syrupy smoke had reached in and yanked the life right out of him. Takeshi feared the older boy’s soul had already flown free.

This is what you wanted, isn’t it?

“Takeshi.”

This voice was strong. Takeshi shivered as warm breath tickled the back of his neck. A hand firmly gripped his chin, turning his face to the side.

Sorimachi smiled at him, his eyes glittering chestnut coals beneath their veil of lashes. “Takeshi...”

Takeshi’s heart screeched to a halt. The brown-haired forward gave a husky laugh, letting go of his chin only to fling his arms around him a passionate embrace. “I want to be your looooooooove slave!!!”

Takeshi let out an ear-shattering scream, whipping out an arm and backhanding Sorimachi to the floor. “Hyuga saaaaaaaaaaaaaaaan! Tasuketeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!”

He tossed his burden back onto the bed, leapt to his feet, and charged the sliding doors, throwing them open with such force that they nearly shattered on impact. A wet swirl of wind swept into the room, pelting him with icy daggers of rain. Within seconds, the candle fizzled out, and as the demon smoke dissolved in the oncoming breeze, he relished in its scream. It was dead. The nightmare was over.

Takeshi let out an uncharacteristic curse, surveying the aftermath with bleary eyes. It looked as if the room had been struck down by the Grim Reaper himself. Sorimachi sat huddled in a corner, nursing a bruised arm and shaking like instant pudding. Wakashimazu, for all the trouble he caused, was slumbering like an angel where Takeshi dropped him.

“Fuuuuuuuuuuuuu...” The younger boy wiped off his chin. Why hadn’t he fallen under the spell? It had to be because of his pure and righteous heart!

It was surprisingly cold outside, but he couldn’t shut the door--not yet. His friends wouldn’t be putting up much of a fight for awhile, but he wanted to be sure whatever had held them couldn’t endanger them again. He’d take care of them, until his captain returned.

“You moron...” Sorimachi said in a muffled voice as Takeshi tucked a blanket around Wakashimazu’s shoulders. “He’s asleep, isn’t he? He’s had a rough day--what are you bothering him for?”

“He’s not asleep, Sorimachi san.” Takeshi gave him a paternal smile. “At least, not like you think he is.”

The older boy knit his brow and edged closer, settling down near the foot of the bed. “What do you mean?”

“He’s hypnotized himself. It’s a part of this relaxation therapy thing the coach forced him into a few weeks ago. Looks like he’s a natural, huh?”

“Hmph.” Sorimachi craned his neck for a closer look. Wakashimazu was much too still and much too quiet to be asleep. Fear ran an icy finger up the boy’s spine. “Hey, Takeshi, he’s not going to--”

Takeshi laughed. “Don’t be silly! Hypnotism doesn’t really work the way it does in the movies. If we can’t wake him up in the next few minutes, he’ll fall asleep normally. What did you think he was going to do, whip out a gun and blow us both away?”

Sorimachi grinned sheepishly, rubbing his arm. “Relaxation therapy, huh? That sounds so weird...Wakashimazu’s one of the calmest people I know! That’s what makes him so good at what he does. Even when he’s competing with Wakabayashi...even when...”

“Wakashimazu san has trouble letting go. I learned that a while back. He may not show it the way most people would, but I know.” Takeshi stared into his lap, vexed. “It’s tearing him apart. Every day it’s more of the same.”

“Yeah...” Sorimachi sighed. “After all, look what he did to Mikami san’s desk! The league probably wants assurance that he won’t cause any more damage. A cold fighter’s great on the field, but how much furniture does he have to smash to stay that way?” The brown-haired boy exhaled slowly, tucking his arms behind his head and leaning back against the bed. “I’m surprised he hasn’t been charged yet.”

“It wasn’t the desk that got him into therapy. It was the fork.”

Sorimachi blinked. “The fork?” he echoed.

Takeshi nodded, starting to rise. “Yeah. I don’t think the coach would’ve done anything if Wakashimazu san hadn’t stabbed Taki san in the hand with a fork that time. That was the last straw...”

“Heh.” Sorimachi shook his head incredulously. “How could I miss that?”

“Hyuga san told me the day after it happened. If it weren’t for him, I’d still be in the dark.” Takeshi frowned. “Wakashimazu san never tells anybody anything unless they force him to. Hyuga san is the only one who would dare--I just want to hit him sometimes! If Hyuga san had a problem with somebody, he’d take it up with him! He wouldn’t hurt innocent people! He wouldn’t--”

“I’m not so sure about that,” Sorimachi retorted. “Take off the blinders, Takeshi. Our captain may be a genius, but he’s no angel.”

The younger boy fell silent. He bit his lower lip, staring at the wall with wounded eyes.

Sorimachi straightened, letting out a little gasp as pain shot up the length of his arm. What the hell is wrong with me? he wondered. Forget it. I don’t want to know.

Takeshi must have sensed his unrest, because he was on his feet in a matter of seconds, heading for the kitchen. “I’ll get you some ice or something,” he said lamely, popping open the freezer. “Cold first, heat later--is that it?”

“Got me.”

“I’ll never be able to keep the two straight.” Takeshi laughed nervously. He was fading fast. His hands shook as he cracked a few ice cubes onto the counter, slipping three into a Ziploc baggie and tossing the rest into a bowl of water.

“You can move it, right?” Takeshi handed his friend the baggie and sat down on the edge of Wakashimazu’s bed, balancing the bowl on his knees.

“What are you so worried about? I’m not Tsubasa. I’ve never used my arms to play, and I don’t plan on starting now.” Sorimachi tousled the younger boy’s hair, grinning in spite of himself. “So calm down, kid! Calm down already!”

“Arigatou, Sorimachi san...” Takeshi smiled shyly. “On days like these...I don’t know which end’s up.”

“Hmmm...just remember that you walk where you keep your shoes.” Sorimachi winked. “That’s my bit of advice.”

The younger boy giggled. “Arigatou.” He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and dipped it into the bowl, flinching as water ran over the edge onto his leg. He laid the damp cloth across Wakashimazu’s forehead and leaned over, studying his face for any sign of revival.

“You sure you want to do that?”

Takeshi shrugged.

“Well, in that case...” Sorimachi smirked, making a fist and smacking the palm of his other hand.

Snap!

The brown-haired forward shrieked, clutching his arm.

Takeshi leapt to his feet, sloshing ice water all over the front of his shirt. “Sorimachi san! Hold on!”

“Kuso...” Sorimachi hissed between his teeth, squeezing his eyes shut as red waves of agony surged through his body. “What the hell happened to me?!”

“Sorimachi san...” The younger boy reached for him, but froze in midmotion, his eyes wide with fear. He spun on his heel and fled the room, gasping for breath. “I’ll get you some aspirin!”

“Chikusho!” Sorimachi forced open one eye, than the other. Where was this coming from?! He racked his brain for the answer, rocking back and forth against the pain. What was the use? His thoughts were leaking out of his head like water through a sieve. Where would he be in the next few minutes? His gaze shifted to the figure in the bed. Like him? A zombie of his own volition?

“I had nothing to do with this,” Sorimachi muttered. “I haven’t given up. Something was taken from me, too, but I won’t let go until it’s mine again! Do you hear me?!”

Takeshi’s prediction had come true. In the midst of chaos, Wakashimazu had finally drifted off. His breathing deepened, and his face, framed artfully by sleep-tangled locks, was flushed like a child’s. To the outside observer, the scene would’ve been priceless, but...Sorimachi scowled darkly. There was a fever deep inside him, burning up his brain, and it wouldn’t quench itself until he--

Takeshi shrieked in alarm as Sorimachi grabbed a handful of Wakashimazu’s shirt and hauled him upright. “Yameroooouuuuuuuuu!”

Sorimachi, his eyes searing like wildfire, drew back his right hand and clenched it into a fist. “Wake up, you moron!” he screamed. Then he hit him.

The younger player threw his hands over his eyes and let out a deafening wail. Wakashimazu reeled under the blow but was held fast by his attacker, who sighed with relief and let him drop rather unceremoniously onto the bed.

Pure peace at last. Takeshi lowered his hands and turned his sheet-white face to his friend’s. He was trembling, on the verge of tears. “Sorimachi san...why?”

Sorimachi smiled beatifically. “Better, much better! All I needed to do was stretch it a bit. What did I tell you?” He flexed his hand, enjoying the fluidity with which his muscles guided bone to do his will. “Yep, only after a crisis do you realize--”

His words died in his throat. In an instant, Wakashimazu had his hands on the boy’s neck, squeezing it in a death grip. “Kisamaaaaaaaa!”

“What the hell?!” Sorimachi spluttered, flailing in the goalkeeper’s grasp.

“Wakashimazu san!” Takeshi cried. “Let him go, please! End this now!”

Wakashimazu gave him a haughty look out of the corner of his eye, relaxing his grip a tiny bit. “This bastard just hit me,” he said tensely. “He hit me! How would you react if somebody slapped you out of sound sleep? Do you have any idea how traumatic that is?”

“Why are you being such a baby all of sudden?!” Sorimachi demanded, attempting to pry his assailant’s fingers off his throat one at a time. “I tapped you! How could somebody who sprays blood across a soccer field on a regular basis be so traumatized by one little slap? Would you get a grip already? I’m starting to think you’re pathetic!”

“And I’m starting to think you have a really big mouth, Sorimachi san...” Takeshi winced as the long-haired player dropped his victim and massaged his temples a few times. “Let’s forget about this, okay? We have some serious problems right now, and we can’t waste time arguing over stupid things!”

“Ooh, you’re talking big,” Sorimachi scoffed. “Don’t tell me you think this is my fault! How was I supposed to know he was going to be so sensitive?”

Wakashimazu gave him a long, hard look, and raised his right hand, making a fist. “Would you like to see how it feels?” he asked.

“Cut it out!” Takeshi practically screamed. “Wakashimazu san, we’re in big trouble! Hyuga san is still gone, and Wakabayashi san left in the middle of practice--we haven’t seen him since! There’s no way we can win tomorrow--Schneider is going to beat us before we even get a chance to pull ourselves together! There’s no time...” He hung his head, his eyes swimming in misery. “We’re going to lose tomorrow. There’s no way we can compete with those monsters...”

Wakashimazu blinked. He turned to Sorimachi. “Why didn’t you wake me up sooner?”

Sorimachi made a strange sound and collapsed on the bed.

“Wakabayashi...” Wakashimazu shook his head, his angular features twisted with disgust. “How could he do such a thing at time like this?”

“I think he had a fight with Tsubasa san or something,” Takeshi said. “Do you think he’ll come back?”

“Probably.” The long-haired goalkeeper swung his legs over the side of the bed and got to his feet. “Genzo Wakabayashi would never let a petty disagreement endanger his pride. He’s much too--”

Sorimachi and Takeshi watched fearfully as Wakashimazu shuddered, seized by a sudden coughing fit. “You okay?” the brown-haired forward asked, placing a steadying hand on the boy’s back. “You want some water?”

“I’ll get it!” Takeshi piped up, dashing out of the room before he had a chance to respond.

Boy, he’s on overdrive today...Sorimachi blinked a few times to clear his vision. If he doesn’t learn how to deal with pressure, he’s going to grow old before his time...He turned to Wakashimazu, his brows cocked. Unless he was mistaken, there was a faint trace of white floating into the air between them... “Where the hell did that thing come from, anyway?”

Wakashimazu wiped the last of the tears off his face and stared at him. When realization hit him, he flushed deep crimson. “I bought it at a stand in the mall a couple weeks ago. It’s supposed to last for over fifty hours...but I think it’s a little strong for indoor use.”

“A little,” Sorimachi said sardonically. He slid off the bed and picked up the candle, turning it over in his hands. “AromaEcstasy Vanilla Maple Everlasting Candle...is that what you’ve been coked on all this time?”

“Coked?” the goalkeeper echoed, reaching for it . “Coked? I have not been coked. I’ve been relaxing. It’s perfectly safe!”

“Like hell!” Sorimachi retorted. He lifted the offending object high in the air, away from its owner’s range. “This stuff is for pot-heads, I tell you! It’s crack without the commitment! One shot of fresh air and you’re coughing your brains out. Doesn’t that ring any alarm bells?”

“Well...” A troubled look crossed Wakashimazu’s face. “Now that you mention it, I have been feeling a little light-headed lately...”

“You’re lucky we found you when we did!” The brown-haired boy set the candle aside, took his elbow, and guided him back to the bed. Wakashimazu’s impressive six foot plus frame seemed to shrink into itself as he sat down, his limbs as frail as spun glass.

He’s a human broom, Sorimachi thought with a pang of guilt. He’s a kid. How can someone so big still look so small?

“You really think that Wakabayashi is going to make it back in time for the game?” he asked. “Tsubasa didn’t snap out of it for a while after he hit him. Even if he does change his mind, the streets are probably flooded up to the English Channel! How are we going to get through this, Wakashimazu? What are we going to do?”

The goalkeeper leaned forward and rested his chin on his hand, his eyes stormy.

Come on, Sorimachi thought furiously. Take charge! Do something! You were the only one who could pull us out of our slump when our captain left. Why is this any different? Why?

“Wakabayashi is the scheduled goalkeeper for tomorrow’s game, “Wakashimazu said slowly. “He’s been given the chance to compete against Karl Heinz Schneider, the Kaiser of European soccer. He’ll be there. Even if he has to take a rowboat to the stadium, he’ll be there.”

The corner of Sorimachi’s mouth twitched. Was that supposed to be a joke?

“Wakabayashi is the only hope we have against Schneider’s Fire Shot. If we have him protecting our goal, we’ll win for sure. But--”

“So you’re giving up, just like that?” Sorimachi demanded. “You’re going to step aside and let that pompous ass steal your glory? What’s the matter with you?! Don’t you remember what you did during practice today? Don’t you care at all?!!”

“I’m not finished!” Wakashimazu shouted, his voice thunderous against the roar of the tempest outside. He leapt to his feet and took a menacing step toward his teammate, his face dead white with rage. “Don’t you dare pass judgment on me! Don’t you dare tell me who I am and what I think like you know me better than I do ! You have no right!!”

Sorimachi gasped as his friend seized his arm, his grip like tempered steel . This fire...what have I done?! “Wakashimazu....” he faltered, raising his free hand to his mouth as if trying to force the words back inside. “Gomen...”

The goalkeeper stared at him, a flash of fear splintering his madness. He let Sorimachi’s arm drop.

“Wakashimazu?” the brown-haired boy asked timidly.

“Genzo Wakabayashi is the only one who can defeat Schneider,” he said in a strange voice. “If he comes back, the Japan Youth team will win the Transcontinental Soccer Tournament. I’m sure of it. But....” He clenched his jaw into a stubborn line. “I won’t let him. If he wants his position back, he’ll have to deal with me!”

Sorimachi let out a gasp, gazing up at his enigmatic friend with trembling, watery eyes. “So you’re not going to quit after all?”

“Baka!” Wakashimazu, to his surprise, punched him in the arm playfully, giving him a grin not unlike the notorious Super Great Keeper’s. “Who said I was going to quit?” He laughed. “If they want me off that field, they’re going to have to send the magistrates after me!”

“What about Hyuga san?”

The Karate Keeper’s cheerful countenance didn’t waver. “For that, I need you to do me a favor.”

“A favor?” Sorimachi echoed. “What are you--”

“Shh. Not today. It’s much too late to worry about it now.”

“Uhh....okay.” The brown-haired forward smiled uneasily. “Gee, though...Takeshi sure is taking his time, isn’t he?”

“He’s hiding under the sink.” Wakashimazu tiptoed over to the door and peeked outside, amused. “We scared him silly. I say we call the police to haul him out, just to see the expression on his face.”

“Are you nuts?” Sorimachi asked. He couldn’t remember a time when he had seen the Karate Keeper’s stoic exterior breached by any sort of softness, let alone this childishness. Without determination icing over his features, his brow seemed less sharp, his eyes less piercing. Sorimachi couldn’t help but laugh. Gentleness suited him.

“What is that lying over there?” Wakashimazu pointed through the doorway. “I think you dropped something.”

“Oh?” The brown-haired boy peered over his shoulder, baffled. “Why, that’s...”

Them.

“Aaa!” Sorimachi’s jaw dropped. He smacked himself in the forehead, cursing unattractively. “The marshmallows! Oh, jeez, how could I forget? We were going to roast marshmallows!”

“Inside?” Wakashimazu gave him a scrutinizing look. “What are you trying to do, burn the hotel to the ground?”

“It was Takeshi’s idea!” he protested, twin spots of color blooming on his cheeks as he pushed past the goalkeeper and into the living room. “Oiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii!” he called, cupping his hands around his mouth. “Takeshiiiiiiiiiiiii! Come on out! It’s party time!”

“Be quiet!” Wakashimazu hissed. “You’ll wake everyone up!”

“What do you care?” the boy sniffed, sulking until his friend finally brushed him aside and strode into the kitchenette, tapping on the cabinet doors with the back of his hand. “I don’t think he’s in there, Wakashimazu. He probably left to find the others, or Hyuga san, for that matter. Do you want to go?”

“Oh, he’s in here, all right.” The goalkeeper smiled thinly. “He’ll stay in there all night if he has to . He can be a very stubborn kid when he puts his mind to it.”

“No kidding.” Sorimachi blew his bangs out of his eyes and watched them drift back into place. He was annoyed. He shifted his gaze to the digital clock mounted on the wall above the stove, staring at it until the numbers turned bloody--11:45. Eleven forty-five. Quarter to twelve. Quarter to midnight. That idiot! This was no time to be fooling around!

“You’d better calm down.” Wakashimazu gave the door below the sink a final thump and turned to him, his eyes pools of onyx ice in the feeble light. “You’re only hurting yourself by letting this bother you. Get ahold of yourself, Sorimachi.”

For a moment, the brown-haired boy’s temper flared. Who did this guy think he was talking to? A few minutes ago, he could’ve been the posterboy for Prozac. What right did he have to preach the merits of self possession?!

Yet, when he opened his mouth to respond, he found it much too dry to form words. Let it go, a voice inside his head whispered. Why dwell on his inconsistencies? Thank God part of him knows how to give orders.

“Hyuga san screwed us over...” he complained weakly, walking over to the living room area and sinking into the cushions of a pillowy-white sofa. “You and me and Takeshi--it would’ve been bad enough if he had just walked out on the Japan Youth Team. But he walked out on us, Wakashimazu! Everyone’s going to suffer without his help, but we were the ones he deserted, his own teammates! His own...” Sorimachi broke off sharply, covering his face with his hand. When he spoke again, his voice was bitter and raw. “I don’t know why I’m bothering with this. This is your problem, Takeshi’s problem, the team’s problem--when was the last time I ever got to play? When?!” He shot Wakashimazu a poison-dart look as the dark-tressed goalkeeper lowered himself to the floor on the opposite side of the coffee table. “And don’t give me that ‘we’re all a family and we’re in this together’ crap. I’m not buying it any more.”

The goalkeeper stared at the floor, expressionless. “I never said we were a family,” he said quietly.

“Like hell we are!” was the angry retort. Silence answered him. Sorimachi gritted his teeth, his body tensing with frustration, and let out a strangled curse, his free hand tightening clawlike on the couch cushion. Say something, damn you! he thought rabidly. Anything! The pressure on his chest was unbearable.

Wakashimazu’s face read voiceless failure. He cast a sidewise glance at the flimsy wooden doors separating Takeshi from the rest of the word, then returned to the floor, unmoved.

The brown-haired boy gave him a blazing look behind his hand and slumped deeper in his seat. He closed his eyes and let out an agonized breath. To hell with it. To hell with it for now. Let the morning take care of its own problems, because I want out tonight. Let me sleep--dream of time, maybe...endless time, because there aren’t enough minutes left in this day for me to forget this...

It could’ve been a raindrop, the tear that slid down the bridge of his nose and onto the floor below; a touch of wetness at the corners of his eyes, sprung from an emotion as intangible as the storm clouds wreaking havoc on the sky above. He blinked it away, mystified, disconnected--scarcely sensing as an arm crept its way around his shoulders and drew him away from himself.

Sorimachi’s eyes flew open as his head bumped into something solid. He stiffened slightly, heat suffusing through his body as a hand caught a few strands of his hair and smoothed it away from his temple. Wakashimazu...He struggled for only a few seconds before acquiescing, permitting the dispassionate goalkeeper to stroke him against his chest like a wounded kitten.

“No one wants to be a part of this,” Wakashimazu told him. “No one asked to be involved. Even those most righteous, triumphant wars in history are filled with doubt and regret for lifetimes after the final blow is struck. The choice is yours...whether you leave or not concerns only you. No one has the right to take that power away from you. Does that make any sense to you?”

“Yeah...” Sorimachi’s voice, to his abashment, came out as high and fragile as a child’s. “Yeah...I know what you mean. I think I know what you mean, but...” He twisted his neck and gawked at the Karate Keeper. “What is this all about?”

For a split second, Wakashimazu seemed stunned, but then he laughed unaffectedly, tossing his pet aside in a gesture that would’ve been too violent if the couch hadn’t been there to catch him. “You’re not honored? That was as good as anybody gets from me!”

Sorimachi grinned sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Wow, even you’re filled with brotherly love today, Wakashimazu! The team’s going to be thrilled with they hear about this!”

“Ahou!” The goalkeeper pulled a pillow off the corner of the sofa and whacked him with it. “You think I like being a pin-up boy for a bunch of men?!”

“Being guarded has its bad points, ne?” the brown-haired forward teased. “It makes people want to play with you so much more--”

“Chikushou! You’re as bad as the rest of them!”

“Is that a fact?”

“That’s enough!!!” a voice screeched from behind.

A whoosh of air surged into their vacuum. Wakashimazu let go of Sorimachi’s collar, dropping him in a cackling heap onto the carpet. He shivered.

“Oi, Takeshi!” Sorimachi chortled, waving his arms wildly above his head. “Okaeri nasai!”

The younger player stood in the juncture of the living room and the kitchen, his chest heaving, his wide eyes as glassy as clocks. “Stop it right now, before I turn a hose on both of you! You two--you two make me sick! What do I have to do, hire a couple of girls to travel with us so you don’t climb all over each other?! Well?!!” Takeshi clenched his hands into fists, his face red with rage. “Answer me!”

Wakashimazu stood frozen in place with a grin big enough to be seen by satellite. Sorimachi, however, clambered to his feet and patted the younger boy on the cheek affectionately. “Takeshi,” he began in a loud, dramatic voice, “you silly, silly boy. How can you shun our love? After all, nobody knows what goes on between you and your captain behind closed doors!”

Wakashimazu choked. Takeshi slapped his hand away, thoroughly incensed. “The candle did this!” he screamed. “The candle’s to blame!!!”

With a maniacal cry, the boy sprinted into the bedroom, his teammates on his heels. “I’ll take care of this for good!”

“Oi--!” Sorimachi stumbled against the doorframe. Wakashimazu slowed to a halt a few feet away, his hair a righteous mess. “Takeshi!” the brown-haired boy’s eyes widened as his young friend lifted the Vanilla Maple AromaEcstacy Candle high above his head and prepared to launch. “Takeshi! Doooooooon’t!!”

“Stop it!” Wakashimazu yelled. “Do you have any idea how much I paid for that?!”

“Who CARES?!!!!” Takeshi threw his head back and gave a hideous guffaw. “I’ll sacrifice this candle for the integrity of the Japan Youth Team! Sarabada!!”

The decoration of death sailed towards the balcony window like a soccer ball on the rise. As soon as it cleared the sill, it plummeted ten stories down and smashed on the pavement below, probably taking several tourists with it.

“Damn.” Sorimachi winced as the telltale whine of sirens swelled in the distance. “Better call the police, Wakashimazu. Maybe they'll put it on your tab."