Hands on a Hard Body (2/2)
SATURDAY - 5:52 PM
HOUR NINE
They were the only two left on car number four.
It had been almost three hours since Nino had discovered Sakurai Sho’s oddly impressive Super Touch 2015 strategy: annoy your opponent into taking his hand off the car.
Nino’s strategy, which was simply to conserve energy and to do everything in his power to make Aiba lose first, was not going to help him defeat Sakurai. Because it was increasingly impossible to keep himself in check with Sakurai beside him, twisting the knife and finding endless things to blather on about.
Four seasons of Prison Break. X Japan lyrics (that Sakurai seemed to deliberately mess up in order to piss Nino off further). The titles and authors of every book he’d read since high school.
During the last break, Nino had somehow convinced Aiba to talk to Sakurai’s sister in exchange for getting his lip cream back. He’d discovered that the sister’s name was Mai and she was a school teacher. Now that Sakurai was busy trying to teach Nino a few phrases in Urdu that he’d learned to better communicate with his business contacts in Karachi, Nino thought it was a good time to fight back.
“So is your sister single?”
Sakurai paused, scratching his neck. “I’m sorry?”
“Your sister,” Nino repeated, gesturing with his head behind them to the Relax Tent. “She’s the one keeping you alive today, yeah?”
Sakurai chuckled, although there was a rather scary emptiness to his eyes in that moment. “I’m afraid she has a boyfriend, Ninomiya-san.”
“Oh, I wasn’t asking for me,” Nino said, waving his hand dismissively. “It’s my friend, the guy on car 3.”
When Sakurai looked over, Aiba waved cheerfully, obliviously. Nino hadn’t exactly told his friend that he was planning to throw him under the bus, but in this way he might kill two birds with one stone. He could eliminate the asshole beside him and also rub his continued participation in Aiba’s face once Sakurai got angry and slugged him out of the competition.
“Yeah,” Nino continued, “he was in the tent telling me how hot she is. You know what cup size she is?”
There was murder in Sakurai’s smile then. “I know what you’re trying to do.”
“Hmm?” Nino asked, humming a little. “Don’t know what you mean. I don’t really have an eye for these things, but my buddy over there, he’s convinced that she’s a D cup at least.”
“You do not want to do this,” Sakurai said, his face turning red with the seeming pressure of keeping a friendly tone to his voice. “You’re making an unwise choice, my friend.”
“I listened to you mangle lyrics for an hour, my friend,” he snapped. “Now that I’ve got something to say, we’ve got a problem here?”
Sakurai took a deep breath. “You think you’re the only one here that wants to sell that stupid sports car for 30 million?”
Nino narrowed his eyes, waiting for Sakurai to explain himself.
“Because while you were having your friend harass my sister, she was doing some recon of her own. Your friend Ohno-san has loose lips, told her with very little prompting exactly what you’re here to do.” Sakurai grinned again. “I’m not a Ferrari guy, Ninomiya-san, but 30 million yen goes a long way.”
Nino wasn’t entirely sure what he was feeling in that moment. Irritation, sure. Rage, definitely. But somehow, despite it all, he was getting turned on. And it wasn’t just because of Sakurai’s Adam’s apple this time.
“I’m going to beat you,” Nino vowed, pushing his hand onto the sticker so hard he thought he’d dent the car. “If I have to spend the next twelve hours talking about your sister’s tits, I’ll do it.”
Sakurai took a step toward Nino, but stopped when they heard Matsumoto’s megaphone go off, announcing their next five minute break.
-
SATURDAY - 9:06 PM
HOUR THIRTEEN
At the hour twelve break, the fifteen minute one, Matsumoto Jun had announced that SupaLux had catered in dinner for everyone - ramen and sushi and a crate of energy drinks. Nino had turned it all down, watching Aiba waste his fifteen minutes with a giant bowl of ramen. Instead he had taken a quick nap, Ohno fanning him for twelve blissful minutes before he visited the port-o-potty and popped a few of his Pilot Pals.
By hour thirteen, night had long since fallen and Matsumoto’s team had set up some lights to illuminate the cars and the remaining competitors. The lights were really damn bright, which didn’t bode well for Nino’s plan to spend most of the night leaning against the car, dozing in and out. Matsumoto himself was on a break now, apparently napping peacefully in the Relax Tent, megaphone clutched against his designer suit jacket while his subordinates kept circling the cars like vultures, waiting for the next person to drop out.
There were still fourteen people left: two people on car #1, three at car #2, an astonishing five including Aiba on #3, Nino and Sakurai at #4, and two on car #5. While car #4 was the scene of an escalating war, car #3 had all become fast friends. Aiba had told Nino at the break that he’d exchanged email addresses with some of his new buddies, that they’d decided if any of them won that they’d drive the others around in the Ferrari.
“Well too bad none of you will win,” Nino had said, earning a cuff on the head from his increasingly exhausted friend, who kept refusing the Pilot Pals in favor of sugary treats from the bakery. He was probably sugar crashing every hour at this rate, and Nino wondered if Aiba would make it to sunrise. Maybe he’d have Ohno crunch up a few of the Pilot Pals into Aiba’s water, just to keep things interesting. If anyone had to come runner up to Nino, he wanted it to be Aiba, not Satan’s disciple standing beside him.
As the hours passed and Sakurai knew that Nino was on to his master plan, he started to escalate the situation. By hour eleven, though, Sakurai’s voice had started to give out midway through reading the iTunes terms and conditions aloud from his iPhone. Instead of droning on and on about intellectual property and liability limitations, he’d seemingly figured out that Nino liked what he saw when he looked at him.
Because why else had he just returned from their latest five-minute break without his tank top on, taking extra time to stretch and show off the curve of his shoulders, the waistband of his underwear poking out the top of his ugly cargo shorts. Sakurai saw right through him, saw that even though Nino kind of hated his guts, he still couldn’t help being attracted to him.
“I hope a bug swoops in and bites you,” Nino grumbled.
Under the lights, Sakurai had long since given up on his Ray-Bans, running a hand through his sweaty hair and laughing. “So petty.”
“Says the topless man hoping for the ladies on car five to swoon over his pecs and drop out.”
Sakurai turned, seeing the two women who were still at car five and who were, in fact, checking him out. It was hard not to, and Nino couldn’t blame them. “Ah, you think I’m doing this for their benefit, huh?”
Nino shrugged. “It doesn’t benefit them if they lose. You’ve got a strategy tailored for everyone still in this, don’t you?”
“Maybe, but I don’t think any of them are really competing at this level,” Sakurai smiled, thumping their car with his knuckles. “You’re the only one who’s going all the way with me, Ninomiya-san.”
Nino scrunched his nose, not liking Sakurai’s innuendo very much at all. Well, he did like it, which was why he knew he shouldn’t like it. God, his brain was not functioning at full power any longer, twelve minute nap notwithstanding. Still only halfway back mentally from said nap, his eyes burning a little even with his Pilot Pals, he hated the images his brain was using to try and mess with him.
Sakurai with his tank top. Sakurai without his tank top. Sakurai bending him over car #4’s hood and having his way with him while Matsumoto blared through his megaphone about there still being “children in attendance.” Winning the Ferrari and taking his first and last ride in it while Sakurai went down on him, then selling the car and throwing a few thousand yen in Sakurai’s face. It was all quite filthy and distracting, and he wondered if Sakurai could sense that he was weakening.
“You know, they did a BMW contest in China that was kind of like this.”
“Eighty-seven hours,” Nino said, shaking his head.
“Ah, you’ve read about it then?”
Nino clucked his tongue. “Sakurai, I’ve done my research. And that poor sap in China didn’t even get to keep the car, you know. He won the privilege to drive it for five years and then he has to give it back.”
“All in all, we’re getting the better deal, huh?”
Nino looked over, seeing a wry grin on Sakurai’s face. “We?”
“I’ll split it. The thirty million, Ninomiya. I’ll split it with you.”
“Bullshit,” Nino scoffed.
“I’m serious,” Sakurai said, scratching an itch just south of his nipple. “We’re not making it 87 hours, not with the way people are dropping. How about it, if it’s just the two of us left standing, why don’t we take our hands off at the same time?”
“That sounds like something that would piss Matsumoto-san off,” Nino said. “That would kind of make me happy…seeing the look on his face if we fucked up his contest.”
Sakurai chuckled. “Well, think about it. We’ve still got plenty of time.”
“I don’t trust you,” Nino said, snickering. “I don’t trust you at all, you know.”
He was rewarded with another deadly smile. “We’ll see how we feel come morning. What time were you planning to doze off? I’d be happy to sing you to sleep with some more X Japan.”
“You can go fuck yourself,” Nino said cheerfully, ignoring the shooting pain rocketing up and down his spine as he kept his hand firmly in place.
Sakurai Sho was downright evil, but after thirteen hours of it, Nino had come to appreciate him for it. At least his motives were clear. He looked over to Car #3, aglow in the lamplight, saw a tired Aiba still chatting with his new group of friends. He had a sinking feeling that things weren’t going to go as the Car #3 crew had planned.
-
SUNDAY - 2:04 AM
HOUR EIGHTEEN
“I’m sorry, Sho-san.”
He heard a yawn to his left. “Huh?”
“I’m sorry for what I said about your sister. It was a dick move.”
“She’s done judo since she was nine, so you should be thanking me for not telling her what you said.”
Nino blinked, struggling to keep his eyes open. By now he and Sho were both sitting on the pavement, hands raised above their heads to stay on their handprints. The human body was not meant to stand in one place for eighteen hours, and Nino was discovering that the human body was not really meant to sit on pavement either. Cushions, however, were against contest rules.
“You’re the mouth and she’s the muscle?”
Sakurai’s chuckle had no malice behind it this time. “That seems pretty accurate, yeah. We have a younger brother too, he’s in college now. Not quite sure where he fits in to your equation.”
“He’s the brains, isn’t he?” Nino said, resting his head against the car. “I mean, he’s obviously the one smart enough to not be here at 2:00 in the morning with his hand against a Ferrari.”
It was a few minutes before Sakurai spoke again. “I’m so fucking tired. I’m too old for this shit.”
“How old are you?”
“33.”
“Ah, senpai,” Nino mumbled into the darkness, nodding his head when one of Matsumoto Jun’s minions came by for another one of their hand checks. “I’m 32.”
“Ninomiya, is 30 million yen worth all this?”
“I’ll let you know when I win and they cut the check.”
Sakurai snorted.
-
SUNDAY - 7:19 AM
HOUR TWENTY-THREE
He looked over, seeing that Sakurai had somehow fallen back asleep after their last five minute break. He’d found a way to train his body not to move, planting his hand firmly on the car but still leaning against it and snoring quietly. Nino admired him for that, wondering if he’d practiced ahead of time.
For now, the sun was up and Matsumoto Jun was back, wearing a different suit and looking like he’d somehow been able to leave the premises to take a shower. Asshole, Nino thought bitterly. Each time he went to the Relax Tent now, Ohno kept shaking his head at the sight of him and Aiba. “You guys smell pretty rough,” he said, offering no real encouragement because he’d spent the last day lying on a bench and being woken every hour on the hour by two increasingly smelly guys who kept pawing at the backpack he was holding for sustenance.
As the night went on, more people had dropped out, most of them falling asleep and unable to keep their hands in place. Nino had been woken for the 5:00 AM break just in time to see two of Aiba’s friends at Car #3 walking off in tears. Aiba, however, was somehow leaning against the car, asleep standing up and completely missing his buddies slipping away. Morale dropped at Car #3 after that, and Nino was fairly certain Aiba was in trouble now that his pals were dropping like flies.
The ladies from Car #5 were gone, there was only one person left at Cars #1 and #2, and then it was just Aiba and two of his email friends at #3. That left 7 people in the fight for the Ferrari, and they hadn’t even hit the twenty-four hour mark yet. It looked like it was going to be another hot day, and Matsumoto had come around to each of them personally to let them know that the fifteen minute break they were getting when they hit 9:00 AM was going to include a quick once-over from some nurses. Though they’d all signed waivers, SupaLux wasn’t in the mood to have anyone keel over and die.
Nino sipped slowly at the bottle of water in his free hand, watching Sakurai sleep. At one of the breaks in the middle of the night he’d changed into a t-shirt. It had gotten a little chilly during the night, and Nino knew he’d been shivering a little. He’d found himself wishing that Sakurai would scoot over, so they could benefit from one another’s body heat. But it hadn’t happened, and Nino doubted the opportunity was going to present itself now that the world was waking up around them.
He thought back to the massage parlor, the pleasurable experience of lying on his belly and feeling the massage therapist’s strong hands pound his flesh into submission. Instead he was now crouched against a fancy sports car, his entire body screaming for relief. All he had to do was take his hand off, to go into the Relax Tent and just sleep until Matsumoto Jun forced him off the premises. It was tempting, just so tempting as the minutes ticked by.
But he felt like he owed it to Sho-san to continue their battle. They’d come this far, so he’d keep going. Besides, he still wanted to see the look on Sakurai Sho’s face when he was completely and utterly defeated. And he’d never see it if he took his hand off the handprint sticker.
He took another sip of water and endured.
-
SUNDAY - 12:46 PM
HOUR TWENTY-EIGHT
Sakurai looked ready to puke beside him, his eyes shut tight as he let out a few quiet moans every minute or so. His hand was still on the car though, and every time Nino managed to get words out, asking him if he was giving up, Sakurai’s reply was simply “you’re not going to win this, Ninomiya.”
Nino suspected it was the udon, the udon Nino had watched Sakurai slurp down in the Relax Tent in two minutes against his sister’s advice because he’d gone through the morning barely coherent on only a muffin and two little bottles of Oronamin C.
He had about fifteen minutes to go before the next five minute break, and Nino was hoping…no, Nino was praying that Sakurai would just lock himself in the port-o-potty and not come back out. It was hot, and unlike the day before, there wasn’t even an occasional breeze floating through Akasaka Sacas. All around them people were shopping, going about their business. A few people poked their heads in at the event area, seeing that some idiots still had their hands stuck to cars, probably telling their kids to not ever do something that stupid or wasteful with their lives.
Nino was just grateful that none of his co-workers from HappyPet.co.jp had dropped by like they’d threatened to do. Even though Nino had put on more deodorant (though he could barely manage to get the top off with his increasingly useless, jelly-like limbs) he still had the sense that he wasn’t smelling too good. He chalked that up to being in the same t-shirt and shorts he’d shown up in the morning before.
As hour twenty-eight came to a close, he saw Aiba stumble a bit as he made his way to the Relax Tent. According to the rules, if they hit forty-eight hours, they wouldn’t have to walk to the Relax Tent. Their helpers would be given permission to stay out by the cars with them, could more quickly get them the water or snacks they needed. The port-o-potties were still a walk, but things would be eased otherwise. Nino doubted forty-eight hours was going to happen, period.
Aiba sat down on the bench, and Nino sat beside him, resting his head on Aiba’s shoulder. “All my friends are gone,” Aiba whined, his voice nothing more than a little squeak, since he’d been talking with his Car #3 friends almost as much as Nino and Sho had been trash talking each other.
“What am I then?”
“My enemy, obviously,” Aiba grumbled. “Still haven’t forgiven you for taking my lip cream.”
“That was ages ago,” Nino shot back, his eyelids heavy as he continued to rest against his friend. “Come on, we should take some Pilot Pals.”
“Those seem like the sort of things that’ll be recalled in a few years because they give people liver failure,” Aiba complained, instead digging around in Ohno’s backpack for some more ibuprofen. Ohno, meanwhile, was sitting in a lawn chair completely knocked out, snoring with a pair of sunglasses on.
Nino knocked back two more of the supplements anyhow. Fuck my liver, he figured, heading for the port-o-potties and a well-earned pee. He found Sakurai Sho leaning against one of the blue potties, groaning. His sister was standing there, arms crossed.
“Let me clean your face, you look awful,” she was saying. It appeared that Sakurai had in fact lost his lunch, if his paler than normal skin was anything to go on.
He ducked into the port-o-potty at the end, and by the time he came out, Sakurai Mai had finally corralled her whining older brother and was wiping his face with the dedication a mother would have for her toddler. By now, Nino wasn’t feeling quite like a grown man either, wishing he had a nice sister to tend to his needs. Okay, Nino did actually have a sister, but he was smart enough not to tell her he was coming here to do this. She’d have put laxatives in his food simply to make him stop participating, killjoy that she was.
Matsumoto had his stupid megaphone again, calling them back, and Nino walked up, patting Sakurai on the shoulder. “Is that it for you then?”
Sakurai just shook his head, psyching himself up by rocking from foot to foot, shaking out his limbs. “Just getting started.”
“You’re both really stupid. I just wanted to take the opportunity to say that,” Sakurai’s sister said, with the same smile of enthusiasm and superiority that her brother had been rocking most of the day yesterday. What a family.
“Thanks. I’m going to get back to kicking your brother’s ass,” Nino said, hoping the Pilot Pals would kick in and get him through the afternoon at least. He doubted he was going to keep down any food, not with the heat settling in, squeezing them all like a boa constrictor.
“Unbelievable,” Sakurai Mai said, giving her brother a half-hearted push in the direction of Car #4.
-
SUNDAY - 3:27 PM
HOUR THIRTY-ONE
Aiba Masaki’s hand fell off the third Ferrari when he fell asleep, his entire body crumbling in a heap on the concrete. “Cut my hand off,” he was deliriously telling Matsumoto Jun minutes later. “Cut my hand off, stick it to the car, okay?”
Nino watched, shaking his head, as Ohno helped an exhausted Aiba limp to the Relax Tent, where he suspected Aiba would be staying for quite some time as he recovered enough to leave and get home without dying. Nino didn’t say anything to his friend as he hobbled by, figuring it would be in poor taste to gloat now.
There were three people left: the twenty-four year old electronics store employee practically sleeping on the hood of car #1, Ninomiya Kazunari, and Sakurai Sho, who was currently keeping himself awake by singing selections from the films of Studio Ghibli. Sho was fumbling his way through the theme from Ponyo in a high-pitched childlike squeal when Nino decided that enough was enough. He had to end this.
“Yo,” Nino said, somehow managing to kick out his foot weakly in Sakurai’s direction. “Yo, I’ve gotta tell you something.”
Sakurai kept singing, though Nino was fairly certain that “I’m going to kick your ass, Ninomiya” was not actually part of the Ponyo lyrics.
“When this is over and I win, how about I take you out to dinner?” He was glad that nobody but Sakurai was liable to hear him, since his voice was pretty much non-existent by now.
Sakurai’s singing slowed considerably but didn’t quite stop.
“Yeah,” Nino slurred, “yeah, we’ll go to dinner and I’ll treat you with my vast winnings from this stupid fucking contest.”
“What’ll we have?” Sho asked, abandoning his Ghibli massacre.
“Hmmmmmmmm.”
“How about…” Sakurai coughed, his flip flops scraping the pavement. “How about when I win, I’ll be the one treating you?”
“You can keep dreaming, you loudmouthed piece of shit.”
Sakurai’s heaving half-sob, half-laugh had Nino breaking down in a giggle fit of his own. “God, I hate you so much,” Sakurai said, and Nino knew it was a lie.
“How about when I win,” Nino started again a few minutes later, “how about when I win, you have to kiss me.”
He could have sworn Sakurai was blushing, but his face had been red for a while on account of him probably being close to heatstroke. “What? No wayyyyyy.”
“Oh yes way. Yes way, if it’ll get you to shut the fuck up.”
“Don’t wanna kiss you.”
“Another lie!” Nino accused him, swatting out with his free hand and connecting with Sakurai’s arm. “You want it bad.” Nino gestured at his sweat-soaked, hunched over, exhausted body. “You want all of this.”
“Not a chance in hell,” Sakurai wheezed. “When I win, you’re going to have to kiss me. You look like the type to just…to just slobber like a dog. All tongue. Fucking disgrace.”
“When I win,” Nino continued, chest aching as he laughed, unable to dodge when Sakurai punched him in the shoulder weakly, “when I win, you’re going to get down on your knees and suck my…”
“Stop hitting each other!” came Matsumoto Jun’s voice through the megaphone. “That’s cheating!”
“Fuck you!” Sho and Nino hollered in response.
-
SUNDAY - 6:50 PM
HOUR THIRTY-FOUR
“You just have to take your hand off,” Sho was mumbling. “Just take your hand off.”
“Make me take my hand off, you tank top wearing shitclown.”
“The hell is a shitclown?” Sho whined, laughing so hard it hurt Nino to watch him.
The two of them were now side by side, sitting on the pavement again with their shoulders touching. Nino had set his free hand down on Sho’s thigh at least thirty minutes ago and had not been asked to move it. His other arm was pretty much numb, his shoulder in so much pain that it had somehow stopped hurting. He felt that at some point in the last few hours he’d left his body a few times, waking from each nap to discover that Sakurai Sho was still beside him, that they still had their hands on the fucking Ferrari, and that this nightmare was still ongoing.
“You. You’re a shitclown. Open a dictionary. You’ll see ‘Sakurai Sho’ and then…and then some shit about Prison Break written beside it.”
“Just take your hand off the car, Ninomiya.”
“I’m going to celebrate my victory by ripping off your clothes. I’m going to buy you with my prize money. I’m going to buy you and you’ll have to do sex things to me. All night long.” Nino had been more eloquent in his life, certainly, but he couldn’t be bothered with such things at present.
Sakurai nudged him with his shoulder. “I’m not for sale. And you know, it would be like, impossible to buy me since the second place finisher doesn’t get shit.”
“God, I want to get in this car and drive over you until you’re as flat as a pancake.”
“Bet you can’t even walk right now.”
“Ugh, I think the first thing I’m driving over is your face, so you’ll shut up!”
“Ninomiya, when the aliens inevitably come to Earth in their alien ship, they’ll look at Japan and see your stupid face and be…be like, assured that there’s no intelligent life on this fucking shitclown planet.”
Nino nudged him in return. “That’s my word. You can’t have it!”
“Take your hand off the fucking car!”
“No!”
“Take your hand off!”
Matsumoto Jun approached in his suit, tapping his toe. “If you gentlemen are finished being stupid, you’re entitled to your five minute break.”
Nino and Sho groaned simultaneously, in pain, agony, and with the stubbornness shared only by two men who had spent the better part of thirty-four hours with their hands on a car.
Matsumoto, probably against his better judgment, held out a hand to help Sakurai up, then Nino. Nino nearly collapsed, but was surprised when Sho got an arm around him. He didn’t quite trust him at first, expecting Sakurai to pull him out of Akasaka Sacas and push him into oncoming traffic, but there wasn’t much Nino could do since he could barely move.
“I got him, I got him,” Sho said, and with remarkable strength, managed to haul Nino all the way to the Relax Tent.
Aiba and Sakurai Mai were waiting for them, both of them looking like they were ready to commit homicide. “One of you has to give up,” Aiba said, having sent Ohno home two hours earlier. “This is ridiculous!”
“No way,” they replied in tandem. Nino was astonished by how they’d manage to sync up after knowing one another for so short a time. Although by now it felt like he’d known Sakurai Sho for eighty years.
“Is this a man thing? An alpha male thing?” Sho’s sister asked, taking one of the Pilot Pals Aiba held out to her.
“Probably,” Nino replied, and Sho simply shrugged.
“Don’t you have to work tomorrow?” Aiba asked.
“Took the day off,” they both said in tandem once again.
“You guys really should date,” Sakurai Mai declared. “You know, we can hear you shouting at each other about wanting to have sex with the loser in the Ferrari out of spite or whatever twisted stuff your sleep-deprived brains are spitting out.”
Nino’s eyes widened. “That’s just…”
“…trash talk,” Sho finished for him.
“Right,” Aiba said, patting Nino on the head. “Your five minutes are just about over, you need a bathroom break?”
“I need a fucking clone of myself to go put his hand back on that car,” Nino declared. “There is very little liquid left in me at present, as I have sweated it all out. I’ll pee in an hour.”
“I want to spray you both with Febreeze,” Mai said, helping her brother to his feet. “If you win this stupid car, you better be giving half to me for all you’ve made me suffer.”
“Thirty seconds!” Matsumoto Jun announced, a completely unnecessary pronouncement as Sho, Nino, and Car #1 guy limped back across the pavement. The sun would set soon, and Nino knew it had to end. It simply had to end. And then he could spend all of his vacation day Monday sleeping like the dead.
He set his hand down on the Ferrari and Sho did the same. He met Sho’s eyes, seeing something different in them than what he’d seen in the previous thirty-four hours.
“What?” he asked, feeling like Sho was staring at his mouth. Really staring.
Sho looked away, shrugging. “Nothing.”
-
SUNDAY - 8:13 PM
HOUR THIRTY-SIX
Sho was midway through his eight hundred and seventh (probably) demand that Nino remove his hand from the car when Nino saw his eyelids flutter, saw the whites of his eyes as he gracefully deflated, his hand slipping off the handprint he’d been touching for the last day and a half.
“Sho-kun!” he shouted, lunging for him, helping to cushion his fall by keeping his head from knocking against the pavement. He held onto him tight, panic sending a rush of adrenaline through him, waking him up in a way he hadn’t been since they’d started. He’d been fine, Nino thought, he’d been okay when they’d had the last break. What was wrong?
Matsumoto’s worker bees came buzzing around, along with a few of the nursing staff who’d been on call since 7:00 PM. Nino was kneeling beside him on the ground, shaking him gently. “Sho-kun, wake up! Wake up, come on!”
One of the nurses asked that he step aside, and Nino’s heart was racing in panic as one of the worker bees dumped half a bottle of water on him. It brought him back to consciousness, the water dribbling down his neck, trickling against his t-shirt.
“He’ll be alright?” Nino asked, shaking one of their shoulders. “Is he going to be alright?”
By now Aiba and Sho’s sister had come hurrying over from the Relax Tent, joining the crowd hovering around him. “He’s trying to say something,” one of the nurses said, leaning down, listening to a weak whisper from Sho that none of them could hear. The woman’s face grew confused, and she looked up at Nino.
“Um, he says…and I’m just quoting him, mind you…but he says ‘Ninomiya, you’re a fucking idiot. You took your hand off.’”
Nino’s eyes widened, and he turned, looking over the other cars to see Matsumoto Jun was patting the guy at Car #1 on the back. Guy at Car #1 who still had his hand on the Ferrari.
Nino looked down at Sakurai, clenching his fists since he could do that with both of them again. “Son of a…”
-
MONDAY - 2:16 PM
HOUR N/A
The hospital had insisted on keeping Sho overnight for observation, and Nino was waiting in the lobby when he came slowly walking over after being discharged.
“You,” Sakurai said, pointing at him.
“You,” Nino said, pointing back.
He felt an embarrassing surge of happiness flow through him when Sakurai wrapped his arms around him, hugging him tight. Nino couldn’t help but hug back, closing his eyes and enjoying it. Sho was a great hugger, which didn’t surprise him. The other people in the hospital did their best to ignore the odd scene taking place in the lobby, as Sho clung to him and laughed.
“I told your sister I’d drive you home,” Nino said, a little shyly, once Sakurai had let him go.
Sho raised an eyebrow at him. “In what kind of vehicle? Because if it’s not a Ferrari…”
“Don’t,” Nino interrupted, holding up his hand. “I don’t want to hear that word or any Italian-sounding words for at least a month. My soul is broken, and if I hear it one more time…”
“Ferrari,” Sho said, taunting him, looking healthy and chipper and as obnoxious as he’d been when they’d first met two ridiculously long days earlier. “Ferrari. Uh, pizza! Spaghetti! Fiat!”
“I am going to put you back in the emergency room, you asshole.”
Sho quieted down, snickering to himself as they headed to the hospital’s underground garage, where Nino had parked his piece of shit 1997 Honda Civic. “Thirty million yen,” Sakurai complained, kicking one of Nino’s tires before getting into the car. “Thirty million.”
“You’d have rather I let you crack your skull open?” Nino asked, keeping his keys in his hand and not turning the car on just yet.
“If you were truly committed to victory, then of course you should have!”
Nino rolled his eyes, laughing. “I’ll remember that next time.” He leaned over, grinning from ear to ear. “But anyhow, I’d like to point out that you took your hand off first. I came in second place, and you came in third. So I did technically defeat you.”
Sho leaned over as well, resting an arm around the back of Nino’s seat. “I don’t think that counts.”
“Didn’t we agree that the loser has to kiss the winner?”
“I don’t remember actually agreeing to that formally,” Sho correctly pointed out.
“Well, what if we did it at the same time?” Nino offered. “Kissed, I mean.”
Sho nodded. “Whenever you’re ready then.”
“No, no, please, whenever you’re ready.”
“I’m going to punch you in the…”
But Nino was already reaching for him, yanking Sho by the t-shirt and pulling him close. As expected, the soft, full lips that had spent thirty-six hours spouting nonsense were perfect, so perfectly kissable, allowing Nino to discover the taste of true victory.