Chapter Text
Blackstar curled his hands into fists in his pockets. The air was too warm where he breathed into his scarf, but he knew if he took it off the air would be too cold on his face. Condensation gathered on his lip like sweat and his hands felt sticky in his pockets. A small grocery bag hung from his elbow and bounced against his hip as he walked.
Cars were scarce on the road at this hour. The blacktop had been cleared of snow and ice. One car drove by, and as it disappeared the night grew silent again for a while. Then Blackstar heard something, it sounded like a wooden board being dragged along pavement, and it was growing ever closer behind him. Blackstar recognized the sound, but thought it must be something else until someone on a skateboard whooshed by on the road.
Blackstar watched him curve into a cleared parking lot and disappear behind one of the buildings. He wondered if they made winter wheels for skateboards, and forgot about it by the time he reached his bench. He sat under a gazebo. The park light barely made it past the pillars, and that which did splashed the concrete ground on the opposite side.
He took the plastic container out of the bag and ate the half day old sandwich inside. He found a patch of ice with his toe and slipped his shoe across it back and forth as he ate. His phone was almost dead otherwise he’d be listening to music.
He was lost in his thoughts, but was broken out of them by a familiar noise in the distance. He watched the black clad figure skateboard down the road across the field. His lower half wasn’t visible behind the piles of plowed snow. It looked like they were half a body floating down the road. Blackstar watched until they were out of sight again, and the wheels of the skateboard faded away.
He finished his sandwich, stuffed the bag in his coat pocket, and threw the container away in the trash. He replaced his hands in his pockets and started the long journey home.
Blackstar started sweating through his coat the moment he got inside, but he didn’t take it off. He closed the door with care, keeping the knob turned so the latch wouldn’t click. He shuffled to his room, avoiding the creaks in the carpeted floor. The TV was off, all the doors in the hallway were closed. Blackstar reached his own, and used just as much care.
He took the plastic bag out of his pocket and stuffed it in a bag full of plastic bags in the closet. He took off his warm clothes and immediately felt cool. The coat he hung in the back of his door, the rest he threw in the hamper. He fell into bed wearing only his boxers and laid there staring at the ceiling for a while.
The old radio clock on the dresser blinked the wrong time. Blackstar watched the numbers until he fell asleep.
It barely felt like a moment had passed when he was awake again. It didn't even feel like he'd fallen asleep. But the sun was up, slitting through his blinds like bright little knives. So Blackstar was awake.
An ache echoed across his shoulders and back as he climbed out of bed. He grabbed some clothes and pressed his ear to the door. Either the house was empty or his dad was still asleep. Blackstar crossed the hall to the bathroom and locked himself inside.
He stood under a cold spay with his eyes closed. That was all there was. Cold water and the hiss of the shower head. The drops dripped past his nose, pelted his eyes, slipped between the crease of his lips and trickled across his body like thin freezing fingers; vanishing the aches and pains deep inset his tired muscles.
Then it ended.
“You're using all the hot water!” White Star called through the door. “It's been ten fucking minutes!”
Blackstar opened his eyes and suddenly he was home again. The water no longer felt so cold. He turned off the faucet and grabbed his towel and he climbed from the tub. The banging had stopped.
He was quick to dress, and brushed past Whitestar standing right outside the door.
“What’d I tell you about taking long showers?”
“It was cold water,” Blackstar answered flatly.
“What?”
“Cold. I only take cold showers.”
“Is that more of your health bullshit?”
Blackstar ignored the question and went right to the kitchen to find some breakfast. Whitestar left him alone.
Blackstar made six eggs and drank a protein shake. He sat at the kitchen table and picked at a fleck of plastic coming off the old worn down table cloth. All the flowers had faded to mud, and the plastic had a thin layer of grease all over top of it.
Whitestar emerged from the bathroom in his pants and no shirt. “Goin out today,” he said. “Won’t be back till tomorrow.”
Blackstar stared at one of the little white flowers in the table cloth and responded only with a nod.
“And I got a fight for you,” Whitestar continued. “Couple weeks from now. Worked my ass off to get you in.”
Blackstar looked at him then, but it was a lingering glance.
Whitestar turned around and walked back down the hall. “Better make me some fucking money this time!” He called behind him. “Worked my ass off to get you in this fight.”
Blackstar rose from the table and took his dishes with him. He washed everything he used and immediately put it away. He got his coat from the bedroom and left the house before Whitestar came out.
Blackstar counted the change in his hand. He held a few dollars in the opposite fist and pointed at each coin as he counted it.
“Five…fifteen….sixteen, seventeen eighteen…eighteen. Uhhhh.” He stopped at the quarter, and tried to do the math. “Twenty-five, thirty-five….forty. five. Six seven eight. Three. Forty three. Hm.” He uncurled his fist and looked at his dollars.
Blackstar stuffed it all back in his pocket and approached the cafe. The dog was out front. He wasn’t tied to anything and always had a full water bowl sitting next to the bench he laid down on top of. He didn’t have a collar, but he was always there. In build and face he was similar to a husky, but had the hair of a golden retriever and was black like a void. His ears perked forward when Blackstar approached the door.
The smell of coffee made his nose itch. The cafe wasn't much to look at. The walls were white but the counters and front end were brown. There was a scarce selection of baked goods in a small display case, and the menu was printed on plastic boards in a font that was too small to read. There were two people working and one person in line and nobody sitting in any of the chairs.
When it was Blackstar’s turn he took the money out of his pocket and placed it all on the counter. The girl wasn't paying attention. She was cleaning something on the opposite counter.
“Hey,” Blackstar said. “Girl.”
The woman stopped and turned around. She went to the register and typed something in, then pulled her name tag off and put it in Blackstar’s face.
“Maka,” she said. “Mak-uh.” She pinned the name tag back in her apron.
Blackstar shoved his change and dollar forward. “What can I get?”
Maka counted the dollars and change. “Do you want food or drink?” She asked.
“Either.”
Maka shrugged. “You can get a coffee.”
Blackstar humphed. “Kay.”
The lady typed it into the register. “Blackstar, right?” She typed in the name. “It’ll be out in a second, right over on that side.”
Blackstar shuffled to the opposite side of the counter. He untucked his scarf and unzipped his coat. A man with black hair, black clothes and a white apron watched a machine fill a cup of coffee, and put a lid on it when it was done. He left it there, went to the small display case of goodies, threw a muffin in a bag, and placed it and the coffee on the counter together.
“Blackstar!” The lady at the cash register announced.
Blackstar grabbed the coffee but not the muffin and turned to leave.
“Hey!” The lady called after him. She held up the bag. “You can have this if you want it. We're gonna throw ‘em out soon anyway.”
“I don't want your trash.” Blackstar shoved out the door. The moment he was back in the cold again he stiffened up. His fist clenched in his pocket for warmth, the other was burned by a coffee cup.
The sky was grey. Not even a beat of sunlight breached the clouds. Blackstar laid on his back on a bench with his half empty coffee cup sitting on his chest. The tree branches obstructed his view. They made it look like the sky had cracks in it.
It was hard to tell what time of day it was without a sun. His phone had been vibrating in his pocket and he had been ignoring it.
A figure clad in black suddenly skateboarded by, following the cleared path in the park all the way to the empty parking lot.
He rolled smoothly across the plowed pavement and did a kick flip over one of the yellow lines. He stopped and did a few standing trucks on his back wheels, then an olly. Blackstar sat up and watched the guy for a while.
His phone started to vibrate. This time he answered it.
Whitestar yelled in his ear. “Where the hell are you!? I've been trying to call you for a fucking hour!”
Blackstar lowered the phone to his lap, and listened to the rant as he watched the skateboard guy roll away.
Sweat dripped down the tip of his nose. He stared at the cracked concrete beneath the swinging bag and couldn’t hear his own breath.
“Hey!”
Blackstar took a steady breath and glanced at his father behind the bag. Whitestar was glancing between his son and his phone.
“Just got a message from the big man. Look alive.”
Blackstar’s fingertips fiddled against his palm. There were eight red blotches on his white wraps. There was a thin layer of sweat over his entire body.
Whitestar put his phone away and slapped the bag. “Come on! We’re not done yet!”
Blackstar hit the bag so hard the shockwave almost knocked his dad off his feet.
“There it is! Come on!” White star encouraged. “Kill him!”
The door of the garage rattled open and a cold heavy breeze flowed inside. A trio of black clad figures stood like silhouettes in the entryway.
“Training hard?” A cartoonishly shipper voice echoed through the massive garage. “I sure hope so!”
Lord Death sauntered into the garage. He ducked to avoid hitting his head on the door. Beside him Liz and Patty wore knee length black jackets to match their boss. Lord Death was in a black suit with a hat to match, and smiled under his sunglasses.
“He’s got him this time,” Whitestar said.
“Good. Good. Great. That’s great, Whitestar.” Lord Death stopped in front of the fighters. “You sound just as sure of yourself as the last time.”
“He almost had him, then.”
“Almost.” Lord Death turned his smile to Blackstar. “How are you, Blackstar? Working hard?”
Blackstar backed off the bag and took a deep breath. He answered with a stiff nod.
“Good stuff.” Lord Death turned his attention to Whitestar. “Let’s chat,” he said in a tone that suggested he was not asking.
Whitestar came out from behind the bag and followed Lord Death outside. Blackstar watched them round the corner. The girls stayed behind and stood in front of him. The bag was still swinging, the movement made the rig creak. He stared at the floor instead of the girls and traced the cracks in the concrete.
Lord Death and Whitestar returned. Whitestar walked with a clenched jaw and fists and brushed past the girls.
Lord Death was still smiling. “Come on girls.” He turned on a heel. “I’ve finished my business.” He stopped in the doorway and smirked over his shoulder. “Looking forward to the fight.”
He and his posse took their leave. Patty slammed the garage door on the way out. Whitestar’s face went red. He screamed at the ceiling and hit the bag over and over as hard as he could with his right hand.
Blackstar stood there until he was grabbed by the back of the neck and shoved against the bag.
“I didn’t fucking tell you to stop!” Whitestar screamed. “You’re gonna hit that bag until you die on this floor!”
Blackstar got back into stance. He hit the bag until his wraps turned red.