Air Gear: Moment of Inertia

Inertia is a powerful force for the status quo.

Inertia is the tendency of a body to oppose any attempt to put it in motion, the property of a thing to remain at rest until it meets with some force. In other words, inertia is an object’s tendency to resist change. Inertia is indisposition to motion or exertion.

Inertia is a bigger problem than extremism.

Inertia is at work.

Inertia is gravity.

He has to blink furiously to expel the thick raindrops coating his eyelids and lashes before he can identify the figure leaning against the wall beside his door, arms crossed, head angled slightly back. The polished black loafers, neatly-ironed pants and black coat should be a familiar sight to him by now, yet the reality of Sano’s presence still doesn’t register until his gaze meets the narrow eyes behind the thick-rimmed, angular spectacles.

His mind triggers an instant replay of the memories of the conditions under which they last met. Adachi’s angry cry, the cut on the side of Sano’s face, the immobilizing fear squeezing all the air out of his chest… His fingers tremble ever so slightly as one hand clutches the plastic bag of groceries, the other reaching to fish the house key out of his jacket pocket automatically.

“What are you doing here?” Kazu asks softly.

His voice doesn’t waver. He doesn’t sound like a girl. Bonus points for him.

“Waiting for you.” Like that wasn’t obvious. Bastard.

The boy shrugs as he moves to unlock the door. A month ago, he’d have thought twice about letting homo-bastards into his house, but now, resistance seems futile. Besides, he’s already soaking wet; he doesn’t care to carry out a conversation in the rain. And maybe he feels a little bad about Sano having to wait for him in such weather. —Not that he’d ever admit it, of course.

The tall college student follows him inside wordlessly, neatly placing his shoes by the door and then moving about Kazu’s apartment like he owns the damn place. He finds the coat rack before needing to be shown where it is, shedding his wet outer garments in one fluid motion before heading off toward the kitchen area. In the time it takes Kazu to struggle out of his own soaked-through coat and hat, Sano’s filled a tea kettle with water, placed it on the stove, and seated himself on the small sofa. Kazu just follows it all with empty eyes, eventually pulling up a chair opposite the couch.

“So,” he mumbles, “who’s our next target?”

Sano shakes his head. “That’s not why I’m here.”

“Oh.” Kazu blinks, swallows. “Then…?”

Sano eyes him intently, making a careful study if his face as he explains, “I came to pick you up after school today, but Adachi told me you weren’t there. She said you hadn’t shown up at all yesterday, either.”

Kazu doesn’t flinch at the accusatory undertone in Sano’s voice. “She’s right. I didn’t come. I. I didn’t want to…”

“…face them after what happened?” Sano guesses, both smug satisfaction and a hint of anger evident in his expression. “For better or for worse, you’re their leader right now. You abandoned your team.”

Kazu lets out a bitter chuckle. “Leader? None of them will accept me as leader now. I couldn’t even… couldn’t…”

His voice trails off as he chokes on the words, as though he’s still partly in denial about his failure. In his mind, all he sees is himself, tiny, powerless in the face of the monstrous strength of Gabishi. Adachi’s screams—whether real or imagined, he can’t even remember now—still ring in his ears.

“Protect them?” Sano is leaning forward in his seat, and Kazu almost jumps when he snaps back to reality and sees the other’s face so close to his own.

“But that wasn’t your job,” the college student continues. “It wasn’t your battle to fight, not an enemy you were meant to face. Gabishi’s skills matched, perhaps surpassed, even my own. You saw it yourself.” Sano brushes the hair away from the side of his face to reveal a thin scar that was left from the time when Gabishi had tried to cut away his skin. “No one was expecting you to protect yourself and the entire team from a foe such as this one.”

Sano lightly rests the tips of his fingers on the back of Kazu’s hand, and Kazu lets him. “You’re still just a boy. Nobody’s asking you to risk your life for Air Treck.”

“B-but Ikki… Ikki would’ve…” Despite the sense of despair his words emit, Kazu’s eyes are still empty, his expression blank, something highly unusual for a boy on whose face the flames of anger or passion normally would so easily ignite.

“Ikki, Ikki, Ikki. Why is it always Ikki-kun with you?” Sano ruffles Kazu’s hair a bit as he rises and walks to the kitchen to get the tea ready.

When Sano returns, he not only brings two steaming mugs of hot green tea but also a towel draped over his arm. Kazu no longer bothers questioning how he knew where to find one, though he can’t help but wonder what exactly Sano intends to do with it.

“It’s still very hot. Don’t drink it yet, or you’ll burn your tongue,” Sano cautions as he presses one mug into Kazu’s hands.

He then sets his own down on the coffee table and stands back up again, now grasping the towel. Positioning himself behind Kazu, the boy can’t help but give a little gasp of surprise when, without warning, Sano begins to dry his hair.

“What are you doing?” Kazu yelps, even though the answer is fairly obvious by now.

Sano simply states, “You’ve been dripping all over your shirt.”

Kazu tentatively touches the area around his neck and shoulders with one hand, and sure enough, the fabric there is plastered to his skin. While in mid-motion, Sano’s hand accidentally brushes against his own, the older boy’s fingers warm and steady. Kazu gasps again and pulls his hand away, sitting very still while he endures the odd sensation of having someone else towel off his hair. It makes him feel even smaller, like a little kid whose mom is drying him off after a bath because he’s too young to do it properly himself.

“Did you mean it?” he asks quietly.

Sano looks up but doesn’t stop his motions. “Mean what?”

Kazu gulps and closes his eyes. “What you said to Gabishi. That I’m a weakling.”

This time, Sano does stop toweling, combing Kazu’s hair with his fingers as he speaks. “I could tell you that I said that mainly in the hope that Gabishi would consider you too inconsequential to be worth the effort, and that he’d leave you alone, which is the truth, but is that what you really want to hear? Would you rather that I lie and tell you that I believe you’re the rider with the most talent and promise I have ever met during all my years of A-T?”

Kazu frowns. He didn’t have to put it THAT way. But he shakes his head in the end because he knows that lies eventually hurt you worse than the truth. Anyway, he knows better than to delude himself with the thought that the Iron Clock would bother to pay him a late-night visit just for the purpose of inflating his wounded ego.

When he opens his eyes again, Sano is kneeling in front of him. “Here’s what I do believe. I don’t think you’re weak. I think you have great potential. I think what you’re suffering from is this belief that you always need to walk in Ikki’s shadow. Ikki’s Wing Road is not for you. What you don’t seem to realize is that you have the strength to ride your own road.”

Sano seems to be waiting for a response, but Kazu doesn’t know what to say. He takes a few tentative sips of his tea to buy himself time while he processes the other’s words in his mind. He’d like to believe them, but he’s not even sure what it all means. Having always been so busy just to try to keep up with the rest of the team, he’s never understood all this talk about “roads” and the ramifications of what it truly means to ride one. He just follows behind Ikki because, well, because it’s the easy thing to do.

When he looks back up, Sano is standing up, draping the wet towel over the back of a chair to let it dry as he sends a forceful gaze in Kazu’s direction. Kazu knows he must be trying to judge his reaction, but what is there for him to say? He takes another sip of tea.

Sano is the one to finally break the silence. “It’s easy to give in to inertia and to stop functioning when we meet with hardships we did not expect. I know. I think we’ve all been there at one time or another. But even I cannot truly stop time. In the end, my powers are all an illusion, a mind-trick. Time stops for no man. The only thing you can do is keep moving.”

“But why?” Kazu finally sighs, his eyes exuding hopelessness, an ironic half-smile on his lips. “What reason do I have to keep moving when I’m too weak and powerless to do anything for anybody else?”

“We all forget our reasons at times,” Sano explains as he walks over. “But you need to keep moving anyway, because the longer you wait, the harder it will be to start moving again.”

Taking the boy’s half-empty mug and setting it on the table, Sano places his hands on Kazu’s narrow shoulders. “Just keep moving, and then you will remember your reasons—your impetus.”

And then Sano’s lips are on his, and Kazu’s so surprised, he doesn’t even remember to close his eyes right away. His defensive instincts shut down long ago, his normal instinct to punch Sano in the gut if that bastard tries anything all but a memory. It’s just that Sano’s lips are warm, and he wants to say yes and no at the same time, but all his thoughts are garbled because nothing makes any sense right now. Warm lips. Hot breath. Stop. Don’t stop. Stop!

Surprisingly, it’s Sano who pulls away first. Kazu looks up at him, confused and vaguely disoriented. It isn’t like the homo-bastard to stop after just one kiss. Yet the other is already at the door, pulling on his coat and bending over to tie his shoes.

When Sano straightens himself and meets Kazu’s puzzled stare, he briefly flashes a sad half-smile, then reverts back to his usual smug and slightly mischievous expression. “It’s no fun if you don’t try to resist me even a little. I’ll return when you’ve got your fighting spirit back.”

He walks over to Kazu one more time to lightly stroke the boy’s blonde locks. “Go to school tomorrow.”

And then he’s walking through the door, and Kazu finds himself watching the tall college student leave, leaning against the open door long after the retreating figure has been swallowed up by the gray, gray world outside. There are no children at play today. Adults hurry toward their destinations, their faces hidden by their dark umbrellas, shrouding them in anonymity. The streets have transformed into shallow rivers. The air smells like approaching thunderstorms.

His attention is caught by an ant scurrying about in front of his feet, trying to struggle to safety by crawling up the small ledge of his doorstep. But before the tiny creature can manage to seek refuge where it’s dry, a thick raindrop descends from the sky, carrying the ant with it on its way toward the ground. Kazu can still see the ant’s legs flailing as the globule of water carries it to a small stream headed for the gutter.

Sickened at the sight, he goes back inside and shuts the door behind him, then collapses on the floor and stares off into space for what feels like hours. When he finally gets up again, he sighs one last time, shrugs, and starts to pack his bag for school.