his hand held out.
“Uh.” Nicholas cleared his throat. “I’m not gonna let you kidnap my teammate in your limo.”
Jesse’s eyebrows almost rose through his golden hairline at the unfamiliar words not gonna let you. Nicholas took a step forward.
Seiji had a sudden feeling of unease. The way Nicholas was staring at Jesse was uncharacteristic. Usually, Nicholas paid more attention to Seiji than anybody else.
Jesse regarded Nicholas suspiciously in return. “Please stay back. I don’t wish to contract mad cow disease.”
Nicholas rolled his eyes. “You’re hilarious.”
“I’m serious—I don’t want to,” said Jesse.
Seiji was direly embarrassed by Nicholas’s presence, not to mention his appearance. He hadn’t wished to see Jesse again. If forced to, he would have preferred to see him while winning Olympic gold. Failing that, Seiji would’ve preferred to see Jesse literally anywhere other than here. In the middle of the woods, in a state of undress, with a companion who had apparently been raised by wolves and then abandoned by the pack for being too scruffy.
There was… another consideration, besides embarrassment.
Sometimes there were people who were obviously not on the winning side, and never would be. Bad at fencing or at words or at life in some crucial way Jesse could always ascertain. Occasionally, Jesse would casually amuse himself at some unfortunate soul’s expense. Seiji wouldn’t laugh because he never actually understood the jokes or why they were funny, but he didn’t care much. It was simply Jesse’s way. Now he recalled with unwelcome vividness how those people’s cheeks would bear sudden swift streaks of red, as though slashed. Or they might slink off with a curious look of defeat, as if a lunch table were a fencing match. Some of them, Seiji had noticed, never came back again.
Seiji didn’t want to see Jesse do that to Nicholas.
Not Nicholas.
The wind whipped around and around the tops of the pine trees, an almost mocking sound—like kids chasing one another around the playground, and singing taunts in thin, cruel voices.
Nicholas Cox was an absurd wreck of a person. But he’d said they would be friends. He’d once congratulated Seiji on his win, in a match that didn’t even matter much—not in the gracious public way other people did, more as if they were congratulating themselves on their own good manners than anything Seiji had done—but sincerely because Nicholas thought Seiji had fenced well and was glad he’d won. Nobody else ever congratulated Seiji like that. Jesse and Seiji hadn’t congratulated each other on their wins against lesser opponents. Victory was assumed.
How was Seiji supposed to stop Jesse from hurting Nicholas? He’d never been able to stop Jesse from doing anything he wanted.
Seiji edged toward Nicholas. He didn’t get in front of him, but he tried to be in the position he would’ve taken on the piste in order to deflect a blow, if one came.
It was something a fencing partner would notice.
Jesse’s eyes went dark.
“I have no idea what’s going on here,” he said, his voice bright as ice, “though it appears to be extremely sad and strange. Does it make you feel better about yourself to hang out with losers, Katayama?”
Nicholas, who apparently hadn’t noticed Seiji’s careful maneuvering, charged right past Seiji as if he wanted to head-butt the limousine. He hit Seiji’s shoulder hard on the way past. Seiji clenched his teeth with annoyance.
“Who are you calling a loser, jerk?” Nicholas demanded.
“You,” said Jesse. “I’m calling you a loser. You were born to be one. That much is obvious.”
He didn’t spare either of them another glance. He yawned and stretched, gold watch gleaming above the cuff of his shirtsleeve in the dying light, then strolled back to the limousine.
“Let me know when you’re tired of sulking, Seiji, and ready to fall in line.” He closed the door.
Seiji watched the retreating red lights of the sleek car, like evil eyes in the shadows.
Fall in line. That was the crux of the matter.
If Seiji was with Jesse, he would be where he belonged. He wouldn’t be awkward or out of place or wake up at night with a knot of misery in his chest.
And if Seiji was with Jesse, they would never be equals. Jesse had always assumed that was understood, but Seiji hadn’t realized it until recently. Once he did, he shocked everyone—even himself—by finding it unbearable.
“That guy,” Nicholas spat at the retreating car, “is—”
“Probably the best fencer of our generation,” observed Seiji. “And everything he said was true.”
Nicholas reared back. Seiji stared him down. For a moment, Nicholas seemed