Chapter Text
The smartphone began to stir on the nightstand, vibrating faintly and playing something from the Need for Speed soundtrack. Sasuke groaned through his sleep and slapped at it with his hand. The torment ceased, and blessed silence fell.
Sleep reluctantly released its hold on his body, replaced by dizziness and muscle heaviness. The room was dark, his mouth was dry. He didn't want to wake up, but to do so would have meant rewinding time and smashing the wretched glass and metal box yesterday evening.
Then the phone rang again.
"Mmmph!" Sasuke rasped, covering his head with a pillow.
He groped for the cold glass on the nightstand, poked it with his finger, and brought it to his ear.
"Hey, Sasuke, how's the hangover?" a cheerful voice buzzed like a chainsaw on the other end. "We're checkpointing on the outskirts today, wanna join us?"
"Don't want to," Sasuke mumbled into the pillow.
Don't want anything. Except a glass of water and aspirin.
"Huh? What'd you say? Can't heeear you!" the voice boomed even louder through the speaker.
Sasuke pulled the pillow from his face and sighed. A long beam of light cut through the twilight, refracting in the glass door of the terrace. Judging by the scarlet streaks and blue clouds beyond the loosely drawn curtains, it was approaching sunset. As he regained control over his body with each passing second, a thought drilled into his head: there was nothing else to do anyway.
"Who's going to be there?" Sasuke asked into the phone.
"Oh, the same gang as last time. Maybe a couple of newcomers, and Juugo might show up. But he's been scarce lately. We're meeting at eleven."
"Fine. I'll be there."
"That's grea..."
His finger met the red icon, returning Sasuke to the magical world of silence and pleasant twilight. Was Suigetsu always this loud, or just today? And how many times, damn it, must he repeat - don't call. Messengers exist for a reason.
He lay there for a while, listening to the house's sounds, but silence enveloped him, dragging him back into a doze. Slowly sinking into the sheets, merging with the bed. Not thinking about anything. Not deciding anything. Being no one. Falling asleep and sleeping forever, dreaming or - not dreaming. That was good too.
His fingers brushed the cool belly of the pillow. Maybe he shouldn't open his eyes yet? Not here, not now. Not in this house. Not in this century.
Sasuke lay, suspended between past and future, between reality and dream, between the present and illusion. Like Schrödinger's cat - alive and dead simultaneously at this nonexistent moment.
What awaits him out there to get out of this bed? To drag his tired body...
No, that won't do. He must go. He must get out of bed. He must reassemble himself into a human being. And find a reason to wake up in the mornings.
And something to eat.
Sasuke abruptly sat up and swung his legs off the bed, not allowing himself to change his mind. His heel struck something cold and metallic. It clinked softly. He felt around and found the round top of an open can of energy drink and downed it. A few bitter-sweet drops fell on his tongue, igniting his thirst like gasoline on a fire. The other two cans nearby were equally empty.
And something to drink.
"Siri, turn on the lights," Sasuke commanded in the tone of a shogun summoning his servants.
He immediately squinted at the bright yellow light, seemingly searing his nerve endings and burning his eyes.
Had he set it up like this? And what was he on, besides energy drinks?
Yesterday, it seemed like nothing. But that's not certain.
"Siri, set light brightness to three, color to five."
It felt as if he'd been pulled from under a blowtorch and dipped into a pool of cool water.
That's better.
Sasuke poked at the smartphone screen to make sure he still had a couple of hours. He promptly headed to the shower, hoping cold water could solve most of his life's problems. The hope proved false, but after half an hour, as he towel-dried his wet hair, his body no longer ached, and his mind had cleared.
Memories slowly started to piece themselves together, but they came in fragments, as if someone had initiated a hard drive defragmentation and now the lost bits of files were finding their way back through the darkness and delirium of consciousness.
Who was he with yesterday? It seemed like Suigetsu, Sakura, and Ino. Or was it Karin? How could he confuse Ino with Karin? They were definitely at the club, and there was some drinking. Was there LSD with them? Judging by his condition, quite possibly. But considering the energy drinks on the floor - probably not.
Sasuke shook his head side to side, letting his hair stick to his forehead and temples.
From the reflection in the mirror, his own face stared back, the expression of disgruntled confusion on it was disgusting.
Memory gaps are bad. It’s a clear sign he should quit psychotropics. Not that he really started. It’s just been a few times. But not remembering last night properly - that's too much.
He would have erased another part of his memory, but there's no such setting.
Siri, erase memories.
Sliding into worn jeans and a black T-shirt with faded red AC/DC letters, Sasuke picked up his backpack from the floor and turned it over above the bed. A wallet, an empty pack of mint gum, a short receipt from a gas station, a sealed pack of cigarettes, loose change, and several blister packs of hangover pills fell onto the bedspread. No keys.
Frowning and feeling a sudden but painful burst of irritation, Sasuke shook the backpack next to his ear. Something metallic clinked inside. A key ring with a red Chevrolet fob was found in one of the side pockets. Satisfied, he tossed it along with the rest of his stuff into the main compartment, slung the backpack over his shoulder, and left his room, intending to visit the kitchen and see what was left from dinner.
He already felt better, really better, almost normal. But the entire balance, held together by a cold shower and the promise of a night out, shattered at the sight of Itachi emerging from his room.
Just as rusty icebreakers crash into icebergs tougher than them and slowly, dramatically sink, so did Sasuke. But he was not experience a breakdown. He was already at the bottom.
"Good evening, Sasuke, going somewhere?"
His soft half-smile said one thing, but his sad dark eyes said something entirely different.
As if they were friends.
As if you could just walk out of your old room and pretend that everything between us is still the same. That we'll go have breakfast, elbowing each other at the table and getting scolded by Dad for it, then go to school. That we're still on speaking terms.
Itachi was wearing simple black jeans and an ivory short-sleeved shirt. Terrible. Some people should be legally prohibited from wearing anything other than black and red. He looked either like a salaryman or a mailman.
But certainly not like a friend.
"None of your business," Sasuke muttered and, gripping the backpack strap, ran down the stairs without looking back.
Silence struck him in the back.
In the kitchen, life was still in full swing - two Filipino maids were cleaning up dishes and stashing food in the refrigerators. Apparently, his parents had just dined.
Sasuke didn't notice Obito leaning against the serving counter right away. He was animatedly recounting something, waving his hands, and one of the dark-skinned maids was giggling at his story. Beneath his black suit jacket, the usual Colt holster peeked out, but in this house, no one cared. People would be more surprised if the head of security, Fugaku, walked around without a weapon.
"Oh, look who's up! Good morning, sunshine," Obito waved, breaking away from the blushing maid. "Hungry?"
"A little," Sasuke said.
And the kitchen gods immediately took pity on him, granting him a whole pile of plates heaped with delicacies likely no different from those served earlier. Except that he didn't have to eat them under the heavy gazes of his father, mother, and Itachi.
Now he had three overseers. And the necessity to choose how to live next. As if that influenced anything. A choice without a choice.
Breaking a crispy bun in half and spreading it with hot sauce, Sasuke thought that if Obito decided to attach himself, getting rid of him would be problematic. Not impossible, but difficult.
In fact, Obito was technically his bodyguard, but due to the lack of a body to guard most of the time in Japan and the absence of any visible danger to Sasuke, he usually dealt with his father's affairs. They had enough bodyguards for him and mom, but Obito managed tricky situations excellently and quickly rose to a leadership position with all the accompanying perks of power, money, respect, and the ability to push his nephew into the clan.
By the way, where was he? His guarded body was almost ready for the spotlight.
Sasuke gritted his teeth, pressed the knife too hard, and cut the bun to the very crust. He hastily bit into it and began chewing thoroughly, trying to suppress the sharpness of emotions with the sharpness of chili. The rice and meat lay untouched before him because thinking about Obito's nephew killed his appetite.
He was distracted from this when a black shadow slid quickly to the table.
"Heading to town? Need a ride?"
Obito settled on the other side of the table, resting his head on his gloved hand, while spinning a keychain on the finger of his other hand. He never took off that glove; they said he had some gruesome scars there. Probably even more gruesome than the ones on his face — the entire right cheek, temple, and part of Obito's forehead were covered with a web of deep grooves that could only have been left by a very painful and tragic event. Such wounds heal slowly and leave deep marks. Nevertheless, Obito had never shown any discomfort about it. Sasuke had subconsciously admired this since childhood.
Chewing the last bit of his bun slowly and phlegmatically, he said:
"Got it. No need. I’ll get there myself. I’ll be with friends."
He had learned this short report back when he was in school in Japan, and Obito used to drive him there and pick him up every day.
A lot had changed since then. But not the question that always followed.
"What friends?" came the syrupy inquiry from the other side of the table.
"They’re my own."
My own. From our kind. Dad knows them.
In various forms, but each time accurately and unequivocally, it was always necessary to indicate that these were the offspring of similarly respected people. With whom Sasuke, of course, would be engaged in very respectable activities.
In reality, they were the brats of drug, weapons, and smuggling dealers. With whom they would be drinking, testing their parents’ merchandise for quality, and playing bingo by breaking all possible international laws.
This bottomless pit Sasuke had circled for so long like a beast sensing danger. Until after returning to Japan, he unexpectedly for himself, plunged into it, as if he had always been waiting for this moment. Or it had been waiting for him.
But the head of security didn’t need to know that.
"You’re stubborn, Sasuke." Obito sighed theatrically. "Oh, you’ll get into trouble someday, remember my words. But what can we do — you’re almost of age now."
He spread his hands dramatically in his usual manner and slipped the keys into the breast pocket of his jacket, which immediately bulged out.
Pretending that none of this concerned him in any way, Sasuke switched to apple juice. Outside the kitchen windows, impenetrable darkness reigned — now his best friend and ally. The smartphone lying to his right on the table showed that he had about an hour left.
"Good night, Obito" said Sasuke, making it clear that the guard’s services were not needed tonight.
He was given a sly grin over a tiny white espresso cup, handed by one of the flattered cooks. Probably unaware that Obito paid just as much attention to the other cooks.
"Have a nice date, Sasuke."
He felt like smoking. Snorting, he walked out into the corridor where his backpack had been left on the floor. And Itachi.
But of course, Itachi wasn’t waiting for him. He was just looking at himself in the mirror, apparently trying to spot imperfections in his perfect mask. Absent-mindedly, he ran his hand over the low ponytail at the back of his head and turned at the sound of footsteps. In that moment, so many emotions flashed in his eyes, though his face remained indifferent. Without saying anything, Itachi turned away.
Suppressing the slippery anger in his soul, Sasuke ducked into the small cloakroom by the entrance, where they always left outerwear for the season.
"Siri, turn on the light."
The summer season was the poorest for outerwear. He quickly found his bomber among Itachi’s trench coats and mom’s capes, then returned to the corridor mirror, positioning himself at the maximum distance from his brother.
Siri, punch Itachi.
The bomber was black, made of some dense material, with an angry purple cobra on the back and a large "SUPREME" inscription on the chest. He had brought it back from the States.
He had also brought back a high school diploma, the skill of pronouncing "l" correctly, and a 2018 carmine-red Chevrolet Camaro with custom tuning. Among these, the Chevrolet was the most precious to him; everything else Sasuke considered accompanying circ*mstances.
The accompanying circ*mstances had ended a couple of weeks ago, along with Miami beaches on weekends, Florida’s alligators on holidays, school lessons, baseball seasons, flights home for summer and Christmas vacations in business class, "Itachi, why couldn't we take a jet?", "Itachi, the booze here sucks", "Itachi, are you still screwing your bodyguard?"
Sasuke exhaled noisily through his nose and smoothed his suddenly sweaty palm over his spiky hair.
And now the only question in his life was - Princeton or Yale? Columbia had a good sports program. Brown had a good social life. No restrictions, complete freedom of choice. Within the Ivy League, of course.
Or maybe Harvard? Be like your big brother — a lawyer. Because Italy and Japan are good, but the US is a big market and needs to expand. And nothing is more beneficial for the expansion of criminal empires than having your own lawyer with your own connections in the family.
Be like your big brother?
A fa*g.
Sasuke glanced at him in the mirror.
Doctor of Juridical Science, Master of Case Law, Archmage of Justice, who in just a year would have to launder the father’s gold from blood, let his hair down, combed it, and, holding a comb in his teeth, re-tied his ponytail.
What a jerk.
Snorting, Sasuke put on his black bomber, buttoning it up with clicks.
"Are you up to your old tricks again?"
The voice from the other side of the mirror came so unexpectedly that Sasuke barely had time to brace himself to deflect the attack.
"And you?"
A heavy sigh and again, softly and worriedly:
"Why are you going there again?"
This conversation was getting really annoying; it was time to employ radical methods to solve the problem.
"For the same reason you’re going out now — to burn some rubber."
"Sasuke."
Itachi quickly glanced towards the kitchen and in three large strides was next to him. He smelled of Armani perfume, mint gum, and betrayal.
"Joke if you want, I don't mind, it doesn’t bother me. But do it quietly, please."
He leaned down a bit and spoke in a loud whisper. Sasuke wanted to take a step back, to get out of the cloud of attractive charisma and repulsive hypocrisy, but instead he stubbornly met the dark eyes.
"Don’t put us in danger, I’m asking you. Just three more months, no matter how much you hate me, wait — I’ll move to America for work and you’ll never see me again."
Everything inside tightened with hurt and anger.
You would like that. Never see me again.
"Then stay out of my life!" Sasuke growled. "And I won’t interfere in yours."
You started it - he wanted to say.
You started all of this.
You’re to blame. You’re to blame for everything.
"I’m not interfering", Itachi closed his eyes tiredly, seemingly calming down, and added: "But what you’re doing is dangerous. I’m just worried."
"Oh, don’t be" Sasuke felt his jaw clench. "You used to do this too."
"That’s exactly why I know."
"You don’t know sh*t!"
The level of hurt and anger reached critical, the needle on the internal barometer in the red zone. Sasuke grabbed the backpack from the floor, slung it over his shoulder, and hurried to leave the scene before he was chased. But when he looked back before closing the front door behind him, Itachi was still standing in the middle of the corridor, not having moved and staring at the floor.
His perfectly straight silhouette was illuminated by the lights of the large chandelier under the glass dome of the ceiling, and in this diffused light, Itachi seemed so pale and thin, like an overly dramatic actor on a theater stage.
He was Hamlet, he was Dante, he was every line that came from the pen of the classics.
He was good at acting.
What a jerk!
Sasuke slammed the door hard, shoved his hands into his pockets, and quickly crossed the covered terrace. Anger squeezed his chest, and a single thought battered in his head like a caged animal — how could you?
How could you?
The last four years of school had perfectly saved him from it. But as soon as the holidays at home began, everything started over.
Itachi had once been the most important person in his life. Itachi knew everything better than anyone. Itachi had practically raised him when their father was too busy with business and their mother couldn’t keep up with spending the money he earned, entertaining herself in high society.
Itachi had been everything to him.
He wanted to be like his older brother in everything, diligently learning his lessons. They were a team.
When Shisui appeared — some kind of grand-nephew of a friend of Obito’s sister’s husband — they were still a team. Now a trio, but it was even more fun that way. Shisui often came with Obito and was allowed to play with them since his uncle had been accepted into the clan — a reward for the head of security for faithful service. Like his nephew, he was not originally a Uchiha. One could only join the "family" through blood or by proving their worth to the clan. Obito, with his loyalty, ubiquity, and silly jokes, had saved lives and asses more than once, thus paving the way not only for himself.
Itachi and Shisui instantly became friends, and Sasuke followed them around like a shadow. In the dojo, in the garage, at family gatherings, and on trips — they were always together.
When Shisui turned eighteen, Itachi's longtime bodyguard retired with a bullet in his head, not surviving some scuffle during another redistribution of flows, which their father dragged his brother into to teach him business. Shisui officially took the position of Itachi's guard. His paladin in shining armor. His brave squire who wasn’t afraid of how the previous guardian of this body had ended. Obito trained him personally, vouched for him, and there was no one more reliable in their circle to whom Itachi’s life could be entrusted. The brother grew distant, and that was impossible to accept. But not as impossible as what happened later.
Four years ago, school was canceled due to a tsunami threat, and Sasuke came home early and alone. He saw the slightly open door to his brother's room and peeked inside before remembering the need to knock. He found Itachi on the bed, straddling Shisui's hips. Fortunately, they were still half-dressed, otherwise, Sasuke would have undoubtedly vomited.
It was like a nightmare. Itachi turned slowly, as if in slow motion. Fear flashed in his eyes. Reality shattered. Those were the worst three seconds of Sasuke’s life. Then he dashed out of the room so quickly that his brother managed to catch him only a few hours later.
Itachi sat on the floor by Sasuke's door, fully dressed. And fully broken. He wanted to explain. To talk. But it was too late. Something inside Sasuke snapped at that moment when he saw Itachi. He didn't understand what, but something important.
The tsunami never happened that day. Except for the one that hit his life, shattering it to pieces, deafening and covering it with a layer of dirty water.
He didn’t have many close people, and after one of them took his brother from him, and his brother took his friend, their number tended towards zero. Now everything was clear — Itachi's distance, how much time he and Shisui spent together, how little time remained for him and his brother.
He was crossed off the to-do list. Canceled. Erased. Why need a brother when there is a lover? After all, time could be spent much more interestingly with him.
You are no longer needed.
And Sasuke hated them both. The traitor and his new main person in life.
The underground garage greeted him with the white light of artificial lamps. It accepted him into its eternal dry coolness with a dull hum. The code lock beeped twice, swallowing the password, and the corrugated sheet of metal slowly crept up. The smell hit his nose — familiar and dear — of gasoline, oils, and rubber. Sasuke took a deep breath, inhaling this aroma, filling his lungs with it. His head spun slightly, goosebumps ran down his skin, and the mood gauge’s needle twitched towards the plus side.
To hell with Itachi. And everyone.
They had already taken too much from him. No one would take this from him. This was his world. His temple. His life. His favorite place on Earth.
The light in the compartment flickered and flared up. On both sides of the entrance, iron horses lay hidden — open, covered, sleeping, and silent. There were only four of them. Even his father had more, although he found no particular joy in cars.
Sasuke found no particular joy in anything else.
But until he turned eighteen, a platinum card over the terminal on this side of the Pacific had to be held by an adult hand. His father agreed twice under one condition — Sasuke would drive with a driver. Which didn’t suit him at all and which he regularly violated. The third was a gift from Itachi. Right before leaving to study in the States. Sasuke had long wanted a sports car. Itachi knew that. Sasuke never once sat in it.
Was it a bribe for silence? An apology? He never found the desire to ask.
But the fourth and most important one stood at the end.
The first one was only his. Because, God bless America. He just had to get used to the stupid left-hand drive and get a license. For everything else, there was MasterCard.
The sound of sneakers on concrete echoed off the walls, returning as a quiet sound. Sasuke pressed a button on the key fob, and a welcoming beep came from the end of the garage. Here was the only place where he was awaited.
The red Chevy with the license plate "GARUDA" had made a long journey on a ship from a garage in Miami to the shores of Japan before ending up here after tedious re-registration, which added a year to his age.
He could never leave it there.
Sasuke gently ran his hand, fingers tracing the silhouette of the large black hawk, frozen in shadow with outspread wings on the red hood. It was all red and black — just as he wanted. Black hawk. Red body. Black flames on the wing. Red neon under the chassis. Black "Garuda" in katakana along the window. Red chrome wheels.
Everything had a purpose and nothing was accidental. The rebirth of that very first car. Which, probably, no longer existed.
Opening the door, Sasuke collapsed into the driver’s seat and dropped his backpack onto the passenger seat. He sat like that for a while, inhaling the scent of leather upholstery and gasoline. He didn’t use air fresheners. Just didn’t like them. Several metal kunai and shuriken hung from short straps on the rearview mirror. Quite real. They delighted his American not-friends and not-girlfriends, who, although not allowed inside the car, found it hard to resist peeking through the windows. In their eyes, Sasuke was a real ninja. The lack of a crease on the upper eyelid and the inability to pronounce "L" correctly were also sufficient for that effect.
The clock on the onboard computer showed it was time to go. And Sasuke turned the ignition key. He liked it when there was a key. He liked when there was something alive and real, tangible, flesh and bone in the car. The newer the model, the more interaction with the metal was limited to pressing buttons or a screen. There was something sacrilegious about it.
The engine growled low and guttural, like an angry big cat, and Sasuke smirked. He had rebuilt it three times and changed the internals to achieve the right configuration. He customized everything he could reach and understand.
Everything Itachi had taught him.
Before he betrayed him. And the garage. He betrayed the garage too.
Sasuke stomped on the pedal, his hand habitually on the shifter, and the Chevy rolled out of the underground parking.
Enough of traitors for today.
As always, it was lazy to get out of bed, but as soon as the silence was replaced by the sound of the engine, everything seemed not so hopeless. At least he had Garuda. And this night.
Sasuke scrolled through new messages from Suigetsu and entered the geolocation into the navigator. It was quite far to drive, but there was no need to rush. They wouldn't start without him.
They better not try.
The lights of night Tokyo flashed past, the sounds of the big city and exhaust gases flew in through the open window. But he didn’t want to close it. The car rolled smoothly, the speed erased in an even course and relaxed him. Sasuke bypassed the crowded central streets in a wide arc, carefully avoiding traffic jams. Now and then, interested faces of passersby and delighted faces of children caught his eye. He got used to it in the States. Garuda attracted attention. When you choose such a car and even more so — tune it, this is expected. He had to come to terms with phone flashes as an inevitable evil.
When the navigator announced that he was at the place, he already saw it himself. Along the wide highway, a dozen cars of various shades and brands lined up. Yellow and white high beams cut the darkness into slices, unevenly lying on the asphalt and pulling long shadows of people and trees from the starless night. Bitter smoke swirled, engines rumbled out of sync, red turn signals blinked.
"Welcome home," Sasuke whispered, running his thumb over the steering wheel.
He braked a couple of meters from the purple Lamborghini, on the side of which the grinning shark holding a katana in its teeth was unmistakably recognized in the light of the headlights. The owner of both the Lamborghini and the shark was already heading his way. All as purple as ever — from T-shirt and jeans to wide wristbands and a reusable plastic cup in hand.
"And here's our Sasuke arriving!" Suigetsu shouted to someone in the crowd. Then he informed him, "We'll wait for Karin and then start. You're racing, not just watching, right?"
"I don't come to watch."
The repressed urge to smoke, dulled by the hurried escape from home, flared up again. Sasuke pulled a half-empty pack of cigarettes from the glove compartment and a lighter from his backpack pocket before getting out of the car. Leaning against Garuda's hood, he clenched a cigarette between his teeth and flipped open the lid of his old Zippo with the proud inscription "Made in USA" on the bottom. He had had the lighter for four years and didn't want to replace it. He liked the feel of the textured snakeskin wrapped around the steel rectangle of its body. Its history had faded into the first year of studying in the States, along with the beginning of his smoking habit.
An orange glow lit up in the dark, and Sasuke finally took a drag, feeling the rising tension inside him ease.
"You said it would only be our friends."
Suigetsu glanced at him disapprovingly and noisily sipped his inexplicably nutritious smoothie through a straw from a plastic cup.
"Well, let's say some of our friends brought a couple of their friends."
Sasuke muttered something, drawing the warm smoke back into his throat. Music was playing in one of the cars, the heavy beat pounding against his temples, breaking the magic of the night and the music of the engines.
A bit more of the incredibly useful smoothie went into Suigetsu before he answered the unasked question.
"Only six people are racing today - you, me, Sakura, Karin, and two newcomers whose names you won't care about anyway."
Sasuke didn't care about the rest either. At the finish line, he didn't expect to see any of them.
Another drag, and he licked his dry lips, indifferently scanning the car rooftops. More cars were arriving, splashing the dull gray canvas of the roadside wasteland with bright colors. They froze by the shore, behind Suigetsu's Aventador, while ahead, a sea of lights, sounds, and life splashed. Multicolored neon flowed onto the asphalt along the edges of the cars and settled in puddles of deep light. The rows of streetlights along the track surrendered to the numerous sparks of taillights and the ghostly glow of fog lamps. The crisscrossing beams of photons carved out black shadows of the spectators, who slid between the cars like restless spirits. The smell of gasoline, exhaust, and other people's cigarettes filled the air. Someone was laughing, someone was cursing, some were already drinking, and others were still about to.
His gaze caught familiar faces - Sakura in a pink jumpsuit, tight enough that it looked like it would burst at any moment. She sat cross-legged on the hood of her pink bubblegum Supra and laughed at Ino, waving a neon yellow-green flag. The flag's reflectors caught the headlights, scattering colorful highlights across the car bodies. Ino tugged at the hem of her nearly non-existent purple skirt, and Sakura deftly dodged the flag's pole threatening to hit her shoulder. Laughter echoed again.
Suigetsu pulled his phone out of his jeans pocket, tapped the glowing screen, and sighed with the expression of the White Rabbit from "Alice in Wonderland."
"She's late."
Sasuke clicked the lighter's lid a couple of times before throwing it into his bomber jacket pocket.
"Shall we start without her?"
"Oh no! You don't have to deal with her afterward... Ah, there she is."
A bright green Nissan with red stripes pulled off the adjoining road, flashing its headlights, and Suigetsu waved towards the tinted windows.
"Okay, we'll start soon."
Sasuke circled the car, unhooking the license plates and tossing them onto the passenger seat before Suigetsu vanished with his very healthy smoothie. He started the engine and slowly rolled along the cars, which were moving aside to clear space for the race. Metal clinked, bottles rattled, engines hummed, and someone's drone buzzed up into the night sky, promising a good view for the spectators and control over the circ*mstances for Suigetsu.
The circ*mstances usually came closer to the end, with sirens, loudspeakers, and batons. Hence, license plates were unnecessary here. They were an unnecessary formality and a subsequent need to explain things to his father, which was far more than Sasuke could calmly endure.
Choosing the best spot before the pedestrian crossing, he stopped Garuda, and the onboard computer immediately pinged, demanding he take a call. The display showed "Lamba69," and Suigetsu's voice came through the speakers above.
"Ladies and gentlemen, we are pleased to welcome you..."
Oh no, not this. If this idiot got into the role of a guide for lost souls on these roads, it would take a while. Well, of course. Newbies. The full program tonight.
That's why Sasuke didn't like racing with strangers.
Tuning out the chatter from the speakers, he propped his head on his hand and leaned on the open window. Tires rustled to his left, and the pink fender, decorated with cherry blossom branches, froze beside him.
Sasuke sighed and closed the window, catching a disappointed glance from green eyes. His quota of meaningless conversations was exhausted for the night.
Movement appeared to his right, and a green hood with red stripes stopped outside the window. It was almost a surround, but he planned to shake them off at the first turn. Colorful roofs began lining up behind him, filling the free space of the night outside the window.
Suigetsu was getting to the point.
"Today, we're racing through checkpoints, and there will be three in total. I've sent you the points already. It doesn't matter how you get there; it matters in what order. No rules. You can use any roads and any magic dust in your gas tank. If you have something that will let you fly - go ahead. And... see you at the finish!"
In the headlights ahead, Ino appeared. She wasn't wearing much, which seemed rather lousy on such a cool evening. The flag on her shoulder caught the wind, throwing long blonde hair from her ponytail across the fabric. One second - Ino froze, raising the neon cloth above her head and thrusting her index finger up with her free hand. Suigetsu's voice howled through the speakers.
"Warm-up!"
Sasuke slapped the pedals, placing his right sneaker on both and pressing them to the floor. Garuda jerked, bucked, and the asphalt hissed under the new tires. The night exploded with the rumble and roar of iron beasts. Engines revved up, gray smoke trailed. The seat vibrated finely, sending electric-like pulses through his body. His heart pounded harder in excitement. Biting his lip in anticipation, Sasuke performed a burnout, wearing out the treads and clearing his head. Smoke enveloped everything around, consuming the pink bubblegum Supra on the left and the swampy green Nissan on the right. The rearview mirror showed only a solid fog. The cabin filled with the smell of burnt rubber.
The smoky bitterness settled on his tongue and nose, tickling his nerves, intertwining with his body in ecstatic tremors from the roaring engines. Sasuke inhaled it like the most pleasant scent in the world, soaking in it, enjoying the promise of imminent release.
"On your mark!" the speakers thundered.
Hands gripped the red leather steering wheel, and his lips twitched, stretching into a smile.
Ino's flag twisted in the air and swooped down like a predatory bird, separating past from future, fantasies from reality, weakness from strength.
Gear shift, clutch, leap forward - a familiar combination of actions on autopilot, most of which he wouldn't remember consciously.
Garuda shot off, pressing him into the snug embrace of the driver's seat. Engines roared nearby, sending the other cars onto the track. Sasuke bolted from the start, accelerating to a hundred and clicking through the gears.
Quickly gaining speed and shaking off the tail - Karin's green Nissan was already moving into the lead. Sakura wouldn't be so easy. All her pink nonsense was just for distraction. The Toyota playfully winked its rear lights at him and moved ahead, taking the lead.
The key was not to fall for it. Competing with the Supra at the start wasn't an option.
This track was unfamiliar to him. Rows of streetlights and billboards stretched along the road, industrial buildings in the distance. Some industrial zone.
He needed a strategy.
Steering with one hand, Sasuke tapped the white envelope on the onboard computer screen with the other, pulling up the navigator. The pins for the checkpoints appeared on the map's blue line. A quick glance was enough to understand the general layout. Three sections of the track, one straight, two with obstacles. And the straight one was almost over.
A purple Aventador whizzed by, but he slowed down to make the turn and lost his advantage. The track began to wind.
The first checkpoint was passed. Ahead awaited a serpentine winding between parking lots at a factory. Heavy machinery worked nearby. The dull clang of metal on metal marked the seconds like a metronome.
Sasuke spun the wheel, gritting his teeth and sliding into a drift. Tires squealed, leaving black marks on the asphalt.
Left, right, sharp turn, brake, accelerate, turn.
All the muscles in his body were tensed to the limit. The kunai and shuriken hanging from the rearview mirror clinked as their steel blades collided. The parking lot was left behind, and he, Suigetsu, and Sakura were navigating the turns ahead. He squinted, calculating the trajectory.
About three seconds. This is a good moment.
A sharp turn of the wheel, and Garuda lunged forward, veering diagonally toward the Lamborghini. His sneaker pressed the gas pedal, sending the car cutting across the purple monster. Sasuke drifted, the tires screeching in protest. Another second, and the Aventador would collide with his left wing. But he flicked a switch, injecting nitrous oxide into the engine and adrenaline into his veins.
A jolt to his back, a loud pop, and a howl in his ears as the speedometer needle leapt past 260. The pink body kit flashed dangerously close. But the nitro propelled him into the lead, leaving the others behind.
Second checkpoint cleared.
"You bastard!" Suigetsu's voice roared enthusiastically through the speakers.
"CherryPunch" flashed on the screen, and Sakura's angry, velvet voice filled the cabin.
"Are you trying to kill yourself, Sasuke-kun?"
She always added that "kun" to his name, which he had quickly grown unaccustomed to in America, and it irritated him now more than ever. Sasuke remained silent, shifting gears and monitoring the engine's pressure and nitrous tank levels. This wasn't a new tank, and it would need replacing after the race, but it had enough for a few more bursts.
And he forgot about the navigator.
The smooth stretch of road suddenly changed into a ninety-degree turn. This part of the track had almost no lights, and the headlights picked it out from the darkness at the last moment. Sasuke jerked the wheel, hastily reducing speed; it was too late to brake — he was heading straight for a pyramid of rusty barrels by the factory wall. His heart pounded, thudding against his ribs, as he growled, wrestling with the motor, and turning the wheel. He could already read the labels on the barrels — motor oil, high quality, Tokyo, 1984 — when he managed to regain control and straighten Garuda.
With an almost animal instinct, he caught the moment between the skid and the slowdown, pressing the gas pedal with his sneaker and shooting forward. The speed recovered instantly; the headlights of the Lamborghini and the Toyota glowed not far behind, followed by the rest. He pushed forward with all his might, not wanting to give up a second to anyone.
The third checkpoint was already visible ahead.
His heart pounded loudly against his ribs, and there was a ringing in his ears. He covered the last few meters at 350, pushing Garuda’s engine and speed to their limits. A flick of the switch, and the nitro gave another burst, taking him beyond sanity and the speed of light. Streetlights, advertisem*nts, the barred windows of factories—all blurred into a solid gray veil as Sasuke merged in ecstasy with his car, digging his nails into the leather of the steering wheel, pressing his foot against the pedal, and hurtling into the abyss. The roar of the engine, the pounding of his heart, and the hot blood running through his veins. He was alive. Breathing, seeing, hearing, and the world crashed into his body through the steering wheel and the seat upholstery. His breath held taut as a string as the finish line approached.
A lurch, a release, a stomp on the brakes.
Checkpoint cleared, the navigator played a victory tune, and Suigetsu’s voice yelled through the speakers:
“Sasuke, the fourth time, damn it! I’m not inviting you to any more races. How do you do it, you son of a bitch?!”
Sasuke smirked, gradually slowing down, coasting for a few meters before leaning back in his seat, breathing heavily.
"HellCat" appeared on the computer display, and Karin’s voice chuckled through the speaker:
“That’s called luck, Suigetsu.”
“That’s called skill,” Sasuke couldn’t resist correcting.
"GARUDA" flashed on the corner of the screen, only to be immediately interrupted by "HellCat":
“Oh no, Sasuke-kun, I didn’t mean it like that. You drive excellently!”
Rolling his eyes, Sasuke reached into his pocket for a lighter. He wanted a smoke again. The metal rectangle felt pleasantly cool against his fingers. His face was burning with heat, it was impossibly hot.
It’s like sex, only better, because the emotions are stronger.
Sasuke pushed the door open, his white Nikes stepping onto the ash-covered asphalt, scarred with black streaks of burnt rubber. He leaned against the seat and took a drag of the bitter smoke.
The night was blooming with colors, sounds, and smells.
It’s like LSD, only better, because there are no memory lapses.
Cars were braking from all sides, shouts rang out. Some were congratulating him, others hurling insults. Sasuke didn’t care about either. He smoked, slowly exhaling the bluish smoke into the night. For the first time in days, he felt alive.
Suigetsu appeared on the horizon first, his army boots pounding the asphalt. No more useless smoothies, but a predatory grin instead.
“If I hadn’t been riding with you all these years, I’d say you’re a damn kamikaze and that tin can has a jet engine.”
Sasuke shrugged, casting an indifferent glance at the thin purple shadow with folded arms. The tight knot inside him loosened after the finish, making it easier to breathe. With this feeling and a cigarette clamped between his lips, he was calm and serene almost like a Buddhist monk.
“Awesome race, Sasuke-kun!”
Sakura leaned against the roof of her pink Supra, beaming.
I know. But you’re still not getting it.
Sasuke quickly turned away from her, preferring the relatively safer Suigetsu.
“Get ready to claim your prize!” Suigetsu announced.
“Another two hundred bucks and a mint gum?” Sasuke felt his eyebrow twitch.
They didn’t race for the prize. It was hard to put something desirable on the line when competing with people who had everything.
They had nothing left to wish for.
But it wasn’t interesting without a prize either. When he used to come back for the holidays and still drove his old car, they bet money, guns, drugs. But everyone had plenty of that at home. And it quickly got boring.
Now they bet different trivialities from the category “what’s in our pockets,” “the largest bill in the wallet,” or “what you have with you and don’t want to give away.”
“Well, you guessed wrong,” Suigetsu said with satisfaction, pulling a wallet from his pocket like a magician. “Today’s bet was foreign currency. Note, only the hard kind.”
A handful of coins of different colors and sizes — American cents, British pence, Brazilian centavos, Swiss centimes, and several others Sasuke couldn’t identify — poured into his palm. It was so unexpected that he even smirked, sifting through the coins.
“So, no gum for today,” Suigetsu concluded.
More people were gathering around, some laughing at the prize fund, some praising his car, some asking about the engine configuration. Custom or stock? Ordered or built himself?
Ino approached, leaning against Garuda’s roof and holding out a pink pack.
“Well, why no gum? I have a fruity one.”
Sasuke was about to refuse, but after dropping the cigarette butt on the asphalt and crushing it with his sneaker, he pulled a white strip from the pink pack under Sakura and Karin’s indignant gazes. He nodded to Ino and placed the gum on his tongue. His mouth filled with the sweet taste of artificial sweeteners, which had nothing to do with any fruit in any generation.
Ino brushed her long hair off her shoulder and smirked triumphantly. The indignation on Sakura and Karin’s carefully controlled faces reached a critical level.
Someone banged on his car, and Sasuke was ready to throw a punch, but it turned out to be Suigetsu calling his crew to order.
“Well, that’s it for today! I won’t keep you any longer. Thanks to everyone, you’re free to go. I’ll announce the next race.”
The crowd dispersed quickly, washing over them like the sea over rocks, leaving only the “crew” behind. When the crowd thinned, Suigetsu turned to the remaining and announced:
“To the club, everyone! Who’s with me?”
Sasuke muttered noncommittally, swallowing the sweet saliva. His response was drowned out by loud “I am!” and “Everyone!” from different directions.
“And you, Sasuke? Coming with us?” Karin asked, batting her eyelashes behind her glasses.
“Of course, he’s coming with us. He’s the first one with us,” Suigetsu declared before Sasuke could open his mouth.
He should probably go, yesterday evening and this morning flashed in his mind. But returning home was even less appealing than the night before. The euphoria from the race would fade, leaving a heaviness in his chest and thoughts in his head. Sasuke didn’t want either.
“Just no LSD,” he said, getting back into the car.
Suigetsu’s lips twitched into a predatory grin.
“What, Sasuke-kun, a bad trip? But today’s Friday anyway. No psychedelics on Fridays. Just drinks and relaxation.”
Slamming the door in his face, Sasuke tapped the steering wheel. Getting drunk didn’t seem like such a bad end to the evening.
"Shall we go to our usual place?" the speakers suggested in Sakura's voice.
"Sounds good," "Lamba69" agreed.
There were no objections, and soon their five customized tin cans, each roughly worth half an airplane, pulled up to the neon-lit club.
The wide two-story club building was squeezed between two faceless apartment blocks, whose residents could only be pitied. It wasn’t in the center, but it boasted two advantages and a secret.
The first advantage was its convenient location, accessible from almost anywhere while avoiding the monstrous traffic jams around Shibuya and Ginza, as well as the busy roads. The second advantage was that Sakura’s parents owned it, which meant they could do anything. Or almost anything. This advantage led to the secret: beneath the two floors lay a third, accessible only to insiders with a password that changed weekly. The monthly revenue of the underground floor was roughly equivalent to the annual turnover of the above-ground floors.
Sakura's parents owned a chain of restaurants and clubs across the country. But these colorful and cozy establishments were just as much of a masquerade as the delicate pink flowers on their heir’s Toyota. The gambling business — casinos, blackjack, roulette, slot machines — offered everything the soul could desire, but only after the password. Sasuke had even been to one of these establishments when his father took him to a meeting with Sakura's parents.
“Our children study together, isn’t it wonderful? You have such a lovely daughter; who knows, maybe our families will unite in the future.”
Sakura fluttered her fake eyelashes and sighed. Sasuke felt like a piece of meat. He wasn’t given any whiskey. He lost all his pocket money at the green table.
“Fifty on black.”
Garuda softly rolled into the club’s parking lot. Neon lights blinked, straining their eyes. The glowing numbers on the computer screen showed midnight. Sasuke spit out his now flavorless gum out the window, patted his pocket to ensure the comforting bulge of the cigarette pack and lighter, then pulled out the keys and stepped into the night.
They were let in without being asked for documents or names. Sakura stepped forward and looked at the approaching guard with the displeasure of a Chinese empress, after which he, like a chastised slave, bowed his head and scurried to the side.
The club was quite crowded despite its less central location. They immediately found a table in the VIP corner, separated from the rest of the hall by heavy curtains and a wall of colorful glass. Obtrusive fast music played not too loudly here, always leaving room for conversation.
“Drinks on Sasuke?” Suigetsu beamed, flopping onto the blue velvet couch.
“Sure,” Sasuke said, placing a coin on the table. “But you’ll be paying.”
He chose a strategically favorable spot, to the right of Suigetsu and to the left of the curtain. The couch’s edge and the short seat allowed him to sprawl out without worrying that someone might decide to sit next to him.
Everyone started with co*cktails, but Sasuke didn’t like co*cktails and started with Chivas Regal. Despite the ice in his glass, he quickly became hot, and the bomber jacket landed on the back of the couch, leaving Sasuke in his t-shirt. From time to time, he caught glances and sighs from Sakura and Karin. To be fair, there was absolutely nothing to sigh about. He had forgotten the way to the gym as soon as the baseball bat moved to Garuda's trunk after the end of last season and the beginning of the feud with the idiots from the neighboring campus. And he hadn’t been to the home dojo since returning.
So the sighs were at least strange. At most, he felt like a piece of meat again.
Ino, to her credit, paid much more attention to her Cuba Libre. And that’s why you could always borrow gum from her.
Suigetsu set the tone for the conversation, jumping from new Subaru releases, which were worse than those from the year before last, to his father and his girlfriend’s trip to the Emirates — what a joy, they finally left, and now he could drink anywhere, not just in his part of the house. Once summer ends, he wouldn’t set foot in that place again.
Suigetsu’s father was a big shark in the Tokyo aquarium. Probably just like Uchiha. He didn’t have a clan, but he had partners. And one most important and valuable partner named Fugaku. With such a partner, who needed a clan?
Like Sakura and Ino, Suigetsu had been in the same class as Sasuke. At first, he shared his candy with him, and Sasuke helped him with his studies. But then the candy wasn’t the same anymore. Suigetsu brought LSD to school and handed it out generously during brakes, as if Santa and the Tooth Fairy had joined forces. The teachers couldn't do anything. Suigetsu's father would give him a dressing down for hacking into his desk drawer, then throw up his hands — where does he even get these?
Sasuke tried LSD for the first time at thirteen. It was very strange and scary; he was almost strangled by a large black snake with glowing eyes, only to find out he had just gotten tangled in a scarf from the closet. After that, the study of trips was canceled, before reality began to suffocate him more than the big black snake did.
Drug trafficking. Father of Suigetsu sat on all the Tokyo streams and solved import and export issues of the capital's ports. Of course, in between establishing new relationships and buying sports cars for his son, during moments of heightened remorse over his lost childhood.
With such a family history, how Suigetsu managed to reach adulthood without becoming a total failure in Sasuke's eyes remained a mystery.
With Ino, their connection was much less significant. Until not so long ago.
Dens. Ino's father owned a dozen establishments where they indulged in all forms of flat amusem*nts in all-inclusive format. Love hotels, strip clubs, hourly motels with full staff ready to offer their straightforward — and for extra money, rather cunning — services. Yoshivara couldn't even dream of it. Women and men of all ages, skin tones, and eye shapes — a choice for every taste.
But the most beautiful flower in this garden was Ino. She grew up very early and so stunningly that all her classmates jerked off not with Playboy, but with the school album. Ino herself looked at Sasuke with the same look that her best friend Sakura did, and immediately you wanted to become invisible. Half of the classmates hated him for this look, and a couple of times even tried to beat him up, but after receiving a worthy response, they never repeated that mistake again.
Already at fifteen there were various rumors about her - that she was on heroin, that all the boys at school passed through her bed, that she danced in a strip club. It was difficult to know for sure about the first. The second was an obvious lie because Sasuke knew for a fact that at least he hadn't slept with her. And the third turned out to be true.
During one of the summer vacations, when he flew from the States to Japan, his father dragged him and Itachi to very important negotiations concerning directly their future as heirs of the Uchiha empire and their future business partners.
And in general - you are not kids anymore, Sasuke, you have to work with these people, wipe that expression off your face immediately. No, Itachi, there was no other place to appoint, I didn't choose the location. So what, Sasuke is almost an adult.
Sasuke was quite surprised when he saw that the show program included his former classmate in a purple peignoir and black high-heeled sandals that could be classified as bladed weapons. Ino saw him too.
And about ten minutes later, Sasuke was cornered in the dark as tightly as all his classmates had dreamed, but with an entirely different purpose. She begged him not to tell anyone. Silver glitter fell from her false eyelashes, and thankfully, the mascara seemed waterproof because he had never seen Ino so frightened and upset before.
How she managed to hide this from her parents, Sasuke didn't know and didn't want to know. He promised not to tell anyone, although he didn't understand why he would tell anyone about it in the first place, if not for the promise. Thus, Ino and Sasuke acquired a shared secret, and soon a bonus emerged – Sasuke stopped catching that look from her that made some classmates want to break a few of his ribs at school.
Ino was magnificent – everyone agreed on that.
Ino was broken – to Sasuke, it was as obvious as the fact that her father's business was a dumpster fire. And he didn't understand why others couldn't see it.
They were all broken here. To varying degrees, patched together somehow, held together by glue and pure doping. Everything they had, every memory of childhood, every expensive gift from dear daddy, every overheard conversation at home – all carefully considered, divided by a blade and drawn into the lungs until an attack of an irrepressible desire to die, be born again and become someone else.
A cottage in Hokkaido for winter holidays, a beachfront villa in California for summer, large parties on yachts in the Pacific Ocean, skiing in the Swiss Alps, dune buggies in the Emirates. Italian partners, American colleagues. Subaru or Ferrari? Chrysler or Mitsubishi? Absolut or Cristal?
From Suigetsu's Lamborghini Aventador to Ino's LV buckle bag, from Sakura's iPhone to Karin's blue co*cktail in hand. Everything here, from big to small, was bought with money tainted by a very dark past and questionable scent.
Even his whisky.
He was just like them. No better. No cleaner.
When you first realize that someone may have died for your phone, and someone else got hurt over a sandwich, you feel fear.
The second time, seeing guns on the kitchen table and people in black suits in your home, it turns to disgust.
The third time, overhearing conversations about how many kilograms of heroin are in the latest batch, you want to strip off all the expensive clothes they've dressed you in your whole life and walk around only in ragged jeans and second-hand t-shirts.
The fourth time, when your father sits you down with his business partners, all drinking whisky and now knowing your name and that you're next, you want to peel off your own skin.
Next time you lose count, you take a bright pill with a smiley face, close your eyes, and forget the name that know all of your father's partners.
You can't escape yourself. Your family. Who you were born as, how you grew up, what your bones, muscles, and memories are made of, and what you didn't choose and didn't agree to.
But you still try.
And then you think that, actually, some of your father's colleagues are real bastards who wanted to wipe you all out and deserved a bullet in the head. And everyone who got fall for drugs did it entirely by their own choice and lack of willpower.
And it becomes easier to breathe. For a while.
Sasuke knocked back the remnants of his Chivas and swirled the ice cubes in his glass, examining the bright reflections on their surfaces. Waitresses in tight, short dresses flitted between tables in the VIP corner, avoiding them for now, but the time to reorder was inexorably approaching.
"They want to stuff me into Oxford," Suigetsu grimaced, tapping his fingers on the sofa back. "Can you imagine me at Oxford? Damn, Dad just likes the name! I wonder how quickly you can get kicked out for smoking weed in the library?"
"Don't you just not care?" Karin shrugged. "You still don't know what you want."
"I want them to f*ck off from me!"
The perpetually predatory smirk on his lips faltered briefly but immediately flared up again.
"Well, or at least let me go to a country with decent cars."
He sipped his weakly alcoholic co*cktail of indistinct beige color, which looked nothing like a healthy smoothie, and Sasuke thought that, of those present, he had drunk the most so far, yet his mind remained remarkably clear. The whisky numbed his legs, softened his body, and compelled him to seek support from the dark blue velvet of the sofa, but his mind was surprisingly lucid.
"And you, Sasuke-kun? Where are you planning to apply?"
Sasuke realized the question was directed at him only when he caught the gaze of bright green eyes. Sakura, propping her cheek on her hand and twirling an empty glass in her hands, clearly awaited an answer.
An answer he didn't have.
"To America."
He stared absently at the distant dance floor where figures of people jerked and leaped, funny and disjointed, like puppets on strings.
"More specifically? Which university?"
Sakura persisted in her sincere curiosity, and Sasuke felt the noose tightening around his neck. The adrenaline rush quickly dissipated, and the alcoholic haze stubbornly did not come, leaving too many thoughts swirling in the void between them.
You can't run away from yourself.
Unexpectedly, Suigetsu saved the situation by slapping Sasuke on the shoulder and saying,
"Oh, come on, enough about this stupid studying. Let's relax instead."
In his hands gleamed a small box, and with a click, he flipped open the metal lid to show its contents to everyone present.
The box had a bright pink Hello Kitty sticker on it. Inside was white powder.
“You’re an idiot,” Sasuke declared loudly. “If acid doesn’t make you a bigger psycho than you already are, then this sh*t will just kill you in no time.”
He sat back on the sofa, losing interest in the box.
"Noooo, you don’t understand!"
A hand with a purple wristband landed on his shoulder and Sasuke jerked, throwing it off.
"This, Sasuke, is not just cocaine. This is very good cocaine. Not laundry detergent with flour, which is sold on every corner in this America of yours. Clean. You can't buy one like this off the street. Only by acquaintance."
"And let me guess, you are our acquaintance?" Karin smirked.
"Exactly! But you're incredibly lucky - friends get everything for free. So, drop your moralizing and join in on what could cost me my head tomorrow, thanks to Dad."
"Stole it?" Ino frowned.
“Of course,” Suigetsu declared proudly. "New batch, today in Tokyo, tomorrow in New York. Come on, ladies, can you borrow me a mirror?"
The lock of the purse clicked, and the pink mirror lay on the black tabletop cover. A neat line of white powder stretched across its surface, catching the glints of light above their heads.
"Who's joining me?"
"Hell with it," Ino waved her hand.
She reached for the mirror first, greeted by Suigetsu's approving cheer. Sakura followed suit, never one to lag behind her friend. Karin merely snorted.
"Well, I'll stay your caretaker. Someone has to keep things in order and call an ambulance when you guys have a heart attack."
“I think I know who will become a nurse when they grow up,” Suigetsu muttered, leveling a new dose with a golden map. "Sasuke?"
Thoughts in his head momentarily froze, merging into a thick syrup. He should have said no. He should have ordered more whisky. He should have just punched Suigetsu in the face to keep him from bringing this crap into their circle.
But... Harvard or Yale, Sasuke? Who will you be tomorrow?
Itachi's voice echoed in his mind once more, warning him that what he was involved in was dangerous. And Sasuke completely agreed. They lived in a dangerous world. People die in here.
"Just this time."
Sakura's mirror turned out to be metal and heavy. The powder turned out to be tasteless and light. His nose itched and felt numb, as if he had inhaled frosty air. But there was no cold.
Instantly, it hit him. It pinned him down, flattened him, then threw him into the air, making him weightless. The world around burst into colors, expanded, deepened, every movement became distinct. It was as if someone had maxed out his vision and zeroed out his senses. No neon mushrooms or black snakes. He was himself, calm.
Absolute certainty, absolute strength. He saw everything around him remarkably sharp and his thoughts remarkably clear.
Sasuke touched the tip of his nose. There were remnants of white powder on his fingers; he rubbed them into his skin, absorbing it.
It felt so good. For the first time — so good.
And he felt he could handle everything in life. And really, everything was fine.
Suigetsu's voice caught up with him from somewhere to the left.
"But better not drink with this."
The glass with ice disappeared from his hand. Sasuke frowned, closed his eyes, and tilted his head back against the velvet of the sofa. The velvet pleasantly tickled his scalp. Some old Chemical Brothers club music played. The world momentarily trembled, then became even better.
Opening his eyes cautiously, he waited for glitches, illusions, visions. But reality remained reality, only faster and brighter, as if he had lived his whole life in a spacesuit and had suddenly taken it off for the first time.
"Wow," Sakura said. And then: "I want to dance! Come on!"
Sasuke closed his eyes again, pretending wisely that the trip had knocked him out. He listened as she dragged a reluctant Ino onto the dance floor. Did their voices always sound this beautiful? No?
When everything settled down and he looked at the world again, it was still just as normal. Suigetsu and Karin were chatting nearby. Sasuke muted them now that he could, and heard only the music and his own thoughts.
He understood what needed to be done. He understood perfectly, clearer than ever — he just needed to run away from home. Grab some money, enough for a while, flee to the States, and never return. He'd find a job, live however he wanted, a regular, normal life.
Of course, he'd take Garuda with him. After all, he could always make a living racing and fixing cars. No more parents, no more Itachi. Just him and what he liked.
Sasuke smiled to himself. Cocaine smiled to him from the inside, spreading through his body, breaking the shackles of flesh and constraints, pride swelled within him. It all seemed so simple, why hadn't he thought of this before? Everything appeared elementary, achievable. All it took was a snap of his fingers — and he could have a new life.
Then it released him.
The world collapsed anew, constricted, needles jabbing into his body so sharply and painfully that Sasuke exhaled heavily. He was dropped, flattened, and squashed like a car in a junkyard. Colors melted away, swirling like ice cream under the midday sun, turning into a faded puddle on the ground. His throat ached and scratched, his heart strangely thudding loudly.
So fast. Why so fast?
He pulled out his phone and glanced at the screen — it was nearing three in the morning. How long had he been sitting here?
"Hey, Sasuke, Earth to Sasuke!"
Suigetsu's fingers flickered in front of his face, and Sasuke jerked, sitting upright.
"What?" he growled.
"Karin wants an American car. I'm clueless about those. Any suggestions?"
Sasuke blinked, coming to his senses. They interrupted him for this? These two dragged him out of the wonderful world where he felt so good?
No, out of the wonderful himself, being which felt so good.
"I'm going to the bar."
He stood up to Karin's disappointed exclamation, who seemed to have anticipated a personal briefing, and slipped out behind the curtains. His head buzzed, his heartbeat making it hard to breathe. It felt as crappy as it did a few minutes ago as good. Everyone else looked normal. Was there something wrong with him?
Sasuke leaned against the wall, blending into the shadow, and closed his eyes. His heart stopped pounding against his chest. His head hurt. He wanted a drink.
He mentioned the bar randomly because it was the first thing that came to mind. But now the idea didn't seem so bad after all.
Sasuke skirted around the dance floor in a wide arc, avoiding Sakura and Ino's eyes, before heading straight to the island of light and glass in the far corner of the hall. Perching on a tall stool, he sighed deeply, trying to come completely back to himself. His fingers tingled, as if they too were numb and slowly regaining sensitivity.
Besides him, there were three other guests — two giggling women, clearly friends, and a meticulously suited man steadily getting "Absolutes".
"Whiskey with ice. Double," muttered Sasuke to the approaching bartender, staring at the cracks in the marble counter.
He could have done without the ice, but his throat craved coolness, and he also wanted to freeze everything in his mouth and preferably in his nose to prevent it from burning so much.
"Can I see your ID, please?"
The question caught Sasuke off guard, and he looked up at the suicide moron who dared to say it.
At Haruno's club. To him.
Behind the counter stood a very young bartender in the traditional black buttoned vest and white shirt. A European, always welcomed to work where they could serve people and their fantasies. Light hair, yellowish in the white light of neon lamps, a sprinkling of playful freckles on the face, tan skin, and surprisingly deep blue eyes.
"New here, huh?" Sasuke squinted.
The bartender nodded uncertainly and added, "I'm sorry, but you look very young."
Instantly, rage boiled within him, as if it had been waiting for just an excuse. He gritted his teeth.
"Just like you!"
Astonishment flickered across the bartender's tanned face, and Sasuke grabbed onto it like a fighting dog — with a dead grip. Even his headache stopped. He spread into a carefully controlled snarl, feeling the rage burning in his chest.
"So that's how it is. Mr. Haruno's establishments only serve alcohol to those twenty-one and older, but pouring it — sure thing, right?"
Blue eyes flashed with anger too, brows furrowing towards the bridge of the nose, and Sasuke even briefly thought that another moment and his face would meet the marble counter. But the bartender quickly regained composure. Obvious twitches of conscience and jerking corners of the lips became a perfect complement to this picture titled "subdued piety".
Sasuke slapped the counter with his palm.
"Whiskey on the rocks. Double. Now."
He was given another full gaze of hidden disdain, and a second later, a short glass appeared in front of him with amber liquid and shimmering ice cubes.
"That's better."
Sasuke clicked his tongue and enjoyed a large gulp, watching the back of the bartender in the black vest. His throat burned with cold fire. It felt so disgusting that it was actually pleasant. And he repeated the trick, tipping alcohol into himself again.
The bartender settled at the other end of his workplace and started making margaritas for the giggling girlfriends, obviously not wanting to test fate again. He smiled so brightly at the guests that it even seemed sincere. To Sasuke he didn't smile like that.
The new shot of whiskey burned his tongue, cold cubes of ice hit his lips, chillingly pleasantly freezing all his senses and nerve endings. Sasuke took one out of the glass and put it on his tongue, enjoying the coolness in his mouth. The cube quickly melted, the thirst subsided. The world was just as bleak, only the bright bartender flickered with some kind of shining light on this dull-gray background.
Sasuke was surprised to catch himself still watching him. And immediately stared down at his glass.
The brilliant idea of escaping from home turned into nonsense and shriveled like a tin can under a heavy boot.
You can't run away from yourself.
The ice cube melted in his mouth. Sasuke stared at his reflection in the whiskey, feeling like a mosquito trapped in amber for millions of years. He swallowed the cool bitterness eagerly, finishing it in one go. The remaining cubes in the glass clinked plaintively as the glass bottom rested on the bar counter.
A clap on the shoulder tore him from his thoughts.
"Hey, Sasuke, Sakura's already falling asleep on her feet," Suigetsu said. "Looks like we'll have to leave her car under the club; she'll pick it up tomorrow. I'll give her a ride, we're going the same way. How about you? Staying?"
Sasuke shook his head, stepping down from the high stool.
"I've had enough for today."
He pulled out a hundred-dollar bill from his wallet and dropped it onto the marble counter. Franklin looked at him disapprovingly when Sasuke tossed it to the approaching bartender:
"For being observant."
And without looking back, he followed Suigetsu, weaving through the pulsating semi-darkness between people.
