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The warmth from the cup seeps into his bones, gloved fingers tightening around the middle. With January fast approaching, winds blow harsher, trees drain of all life, days shorten. Snow clings to bleak branches and dying ferns, steadily melting as the day goes on.
And yet, here he sits in front of the Wonder Stage. Excellence does not wait for the arrival of March or the heat waves of July. A shiver runs up his spine, the chilled metal of the bleachers trickling into his body. Rui wraps the scarf snuggly against his neck, tugging his beanie to cover the tips of his ears.
“That was superb, Nene,” Rui remarks, scribbling convoluted sentences into the margins of his script with a dull-tipped pencil. “Just try to relax more next time. You’re still carrying too much tension in your shoulders.”
His phone buzzes. 15:12.
Three hours. They’ve been here for three hours and nine minutes total. Rui chews on his bottom lip, staring thoughtfully at the blue-light screen. Enough progress has been made. It won’t hurt to rest.
One glimpse at Nene tells him all he needs to know. Shifting her weight from foot to foot, slumped posture, drooping eyes.
“Let’s take a lunch break,” decides Rui. “I brought hot chocolate for all of us to drink.”
Sundays are always slow, energy leached from long school days and hours spent hunkered over his desk, tinkering with wires and copper plates. But they’re performing their next show in less than a week and can’t afford to take the day off—not today, at least.
Emu seems to magically teleport behind him, lifting the lid and dumping a handful of marshmallows in before bringing the drink to her lips. “Thanks so much, Rui! You’re the best!”
Nene hums in agreement before taking a seat beside him. Ears flushed, nose red, she stretches her short limbs and zips her jacket to her collarbones.
“As expected of our stage director!” A familiar voice exclaims as Rui sets his nearly finished beverage down. Loud. So very loud. Loud enough to shatter a wine glass, if not smash windows or burst a poor, unsuspecting person’s eardrums.
Tapping the soles of his shoes against the paved ground, he skims through his notes written in the screenplay. He still needs to finish the last of the thermal technology he’s using for their costumes. These next few nights will be busy with staring at blueprints and so many test trials he’ll never want it to be warm ever again.
“There you are, I was just about to wonder where you were,” Rui states as he flips a page, eyes glued to the paper. “Lovely performance today as per usual, Tsukasa. Just remember to lower your voice a little more towards the end of scene seven of the first act. You’re projecting your voice too much.”
Taking it to heart, Tsukasa pauses, scratching his chin. “Understood!” He gestures grandly, lifting his chin and placing a hand on his chest. “I will make sure to perfect my act!”
Rui finally looks up from the book, stuffed to the brim with poor script and capitalized character names with far too many syllables for the average person to remember. The four of them are in a mini circle now, Tsukasa having sat next to him after he appeared from backstage.
“I have full faith in your abilities.”
He’d have more to say if his attention wasn’t directed towards Tsukasa’s hair. Upclose, it’s quite pretty. Blonde transitioning into a portland-orange. Each strand is impossibly silky. Rui’s curious if it’s natural.
Exhaling, a wisp of fog clouds his vision. “Now, drink your hot chocolate. It’ll get cold.”
With the same factor of boisterousness he always carries, Tsukasa nods, grabbing one and clutching it by the sleeve, guzzling it down in one go.
“Emu,” Rui begins, “Do you mind reviewing the scene where you defeat the dragon with me for just a moment? In the beginning—“
“This barely has anything in it!” Tsukasa blurts out. “Did you do this on purpose?”
Nene jolts. “Quiet down, would you?”
How many times has he yelled already? Twirling the pencil in his hands, Rui glances at him, up and down. “That’s not possible. The three of us have only drunk one, leaving the last for you.” He thinks it’s not, anyway. Unless it was miraculously transported to Sekai, a likelihood he hasn’t considered. He’ll test out if material objects can transfer there without being in contact with a human later.
Tsukasa furrows his brows, tipping his head back as if more hot chocolate will mysteriously spawn if he tries again.
Hush. All eyes on him.
“Nothing!”
Maybe Miku got her hands on it. Or he just forgot to bring a fourth. The latter is more likely.
The edges of Rui’s lips form into a frown. “I apologize—I must have forgotten. I didn’t mean to.” He gets to his feet. “I’ll grab you one from the cafe down the street quickly.” He’ll throw out his own on the way out. It’s already fifteen-thirty but he can make it back within ten minutes if he rushes.
Wildly moving his hands, Tsukasa shakes his head. “You really don’t have to,” Tsukasa insists, “We must focus on practice. Drinks can wait until another time.”
“It’ll only take five minutes—“
Huh? Where did his go?
Snapping his head around, his eyes scan the general area. Left, right, up, down. It’s nowhere to be found. “Nene, have you seen my—“
Emu props her jaw in her open palm, using her free hand to point somewhere past them. “Isn’t it right there?” She squints, moving her finger in unison with her words as she speaks. “I count four! See? One, two, three, and four!”
Raising an eyebrow, Rui does a headcount. One, two, three, four. She’s right. Two sit beside Nene and Emu, likely already finished. One is situated on the bleacher with steam coiling into the air, and the last is in Tsukasa’s hands.
Which means…
Rui leans forward, plucking the cup off of the surface. Heavy, full.
“Ah, Tsukasa. I believe this is yours.” He extends his arm, passing it over. “You had me worried for a minute.”
Eight seconds. Eight seconds is how long the stillness lasts. Birds sing and warble, dead leaves rustle along with a jarring breeze.
Nene covers her ears.
“Hah?!”
The gentle chirps vanish into thin air. He might have to take a trip to the otolaryngologist after this.
“No need to feel ashamed,” Rui reassures. “It was just a simple mistake.”
Perhaps winter gets to Tsukasa more than he thought. Hunching his posture, he half-hides his face with his scarf, fiddling with the hem of his shirt. Rui doesn’t mention how he’s uncharacteristically silent for the rest of the break. Nor does he point out his slightly pink cheeks.