Swim-Bike-Run Ch 23 - (Bya/Ren)
New chapter! It was worth the wait, I hope... I can't tell if stuff is any good anymore. My beta and I took some time off due to RL events (Congratulations on graduating, Tylashke! And thank you for being an intrepid editor who is not thwarted by international travel, iffy internet connections, and so on :-)
In a way of background, I wrote this chapter one day after my June 10th triathlon, while enjoying Brego Whitecloud's hospitality. She got to the finish first, ran in with me, and fussed over me once I crossed the finish line; she is a good friend, a great training buddy, and an all-around inspiration! I meant to do last weekend's tri here in Pittsburgh, but I'm glad I didn't. There were massive sewer overflows after the storms we had before the race, and the river was contaminated with fecal matter. About one third of the participants got sick. Yuck...sometimes, lazy is lucky. Well anyway...ENJOY! One more chapter after this and we'll be all done, perhaps thinking about a sequel.
Disclaimer: Bleach characters belong to Tite Kubo
Swim-Bike-Run 23
Six weeks zoomed by with the speed and the force of a freight train. The series of ram-up workouts so diligently designed by Yoruichi were summarily ignored in favor of regular sleep, semi-regular meals, and at least one workout a day. Byakuya, who had undergone strenuous training regimens before, enforced a Wednesday rest day. No running, no hard biking, no swimming and certainly no landscaping: all they were allowed to do was a sedate ride to work and back. The weekends were reserved for brick workouts, where a hard bike ride was but a precursor to a serious run. Take-out food was frequent, but healthy.
“If training for just a sprint tri is this expensive and this time-consuming, what do the Ironman guys do?” Renji wondered, posing the question at work while he and his coworkers commiserated about their trials and tribulations. They were, after all, training together.
“Kenny said that when he trained for his first Ironman, he worked just part-time,” Ikkaku volunteered. “Apparently he ate more, and slept more, and spent more on gear and supplements and clothing and travel, and there was the cost of trainers, too. He said, around twenty thousand, and he was being frugal. Plus, figure you have to enter other races to practice for the environment, right? So…yeah. Imagine logging ten hours a week of training in the off-season, and thirty in the on-season.”
“That’s…wow. That’s crazy,” Renji said. “And what are the distances again?”
“Two point four mile swim, one hundred and twelve mile bike ride, and a marathon at the end. Interested, Abarai?” Kenpachi drawled right behind Renji’s shoulder. Renji spun around.
“Well…it would be a huge accomplishment, sure, but…how about any relationships in your life?”
“Didn’t have any, kid.” Kenpachi’s jaw tightened. “I was on a bit of a rebound at the time. When your boyfriend and I parted ways, I needed to do something big enough to fill the void, y’know? And this was it! Of course, once I got the custody of my daughter two years ago, I had to stop. You can’t be a single parent and run a business and train like that.” He cleared his throat. “No regrets, though. You could do that someday. If you’ll want it bad enough.”
“Well, if Byakuya ever dumps me, I’ll know what to do,” Renji said. He meant it as a joke, but it didn’t come out that way. Kenpachi raised an eyebrow, but didn’t say anything and the rest of the crew began to stir and make a quiet getaway. Kenpachi’s revelations had left Renji with unpleasant thoughts of alternatives and coping mechanisms. Two more days until race day.
Renji woke up fifteen minutes before their 4:30 alarm, wide awake and thrumming with nervous energy. He was amazed to find how alert he was, considering he didn’t fall asleep until one o’clock. Byakuya, no stranger to races, had just closed his eyes when they had turned the lights off at ten the night before, but all Renji could do was lie on his back and count his breaths. The meditation exercise felt familiar by now and brought him comfort despite intruding thoughts of the day ahead. There was so much to do.
Now, staring at the ceiling in the dark, he found himself going down the same old checklist all over again.
Bikes are tuned and tagged with numbers. Spare inner tubes and tools - in the bike bag. Helmets - tagged with numbers. Transition backpacks - packed. Wetsuit, goggles, running shoes, socks, towel, a race belt with a sheet-like number bib, an anklet with a timing chip, an ID bracelet. Four bottles of electrolyte mix in the fridge. Banana nut butter sandwiches are made, cut up and packed.
Not wanting to wake Byakuya up, Renji resumed his breathing exercises, waiting for the alarm to go off.
“Renji. Relax. We will do great.” The quiet baritone startled him.
“You’re awake?”
“Yes. I have been awake for an hour now.”
“Oh.” Renji turned to Byakuya and put his head on the pale shoulder, running his fingers over the lean chest in nervous circles. “Yeah. I just keep wondering what we’re forgetting. There is something and I can’t think of what it is.”
“We’ll be fine.” They embraced, listening to each other’s heartbeat until the radio came on, the soft jazz growing louder and louder.
Renji killed the alarm. “OK, princess. Showtime!”
They slipped into their racing singlets: the garment was a zip-up, body compression unitard with short legs, sleek enough for swimming and with a small bit of padding in the crotch for biking. Byakuya pulled his socks on and once he had brushed his teeth and tied his hair into a ponytail, he ambled into the kitchen and pulled a cup of pre-measured fruit and vegetables out of the refrigerator. He added a bit of cooked seaweed, water, ice, a packet of electrolyte mix, and blended everything into a dark, gooey mess.
Renji eyed the coffee maker with wistful eyes. “I wish…”
“Don’t.”
“I know. No coffee, unless I want to head for the bushes during the run. Although - I hope you didn’t load the smoothie with kale again?”
Byakuya flashed him an indignant look. “It’s just a low-fiber cucumber today. Have some faith in my sense of judgment, Renji.” He reached into the refrigerator and pulled out their peanut butter, banana and honey sandwiches on whole-wheat bread. They ate in silence, sipping electrolyte mix instead of water or coffee or tea.
“Want a pickle?” Renji asked, pulling a kosher dill out of the jar. Byakuya shook his head, revulsion written on his face.
“We have been consuming extra salt for the last two days. I…I think that will suffice.”
Less than fifteen minutes later they were on their bikes, shouldering their backpacks and navigating the empty streets. Byakuya felt even less talkative than usual; his old swim-racing days had taught him to center and focus well before the event itself. Biking the four miles to the river was faster than driving and then fighting for a parking space, and it had the added benefit of letting their bodies warm up before the swim. Soon the traffic thickened; several roads were blocked off to accommodate the triathlon, but they were able to squeeze between the barricades and enter the race area with several other athletes.
Byakuya halted, Renji stopping right behind him. They looked around, trying to get themselves oriented. The familiar grassy area by the river had been entirely transformed. There was a fence around rows upon rows of bicycle racks, there were orange traffic cones and signs and temporary orange fences to steer traffic in the proper direction. Almost immediately, a volunteer approached them.
“Hi! What’s your wave number?”
“Six,” Byakuya replied.
“Eleven,” Renji chimed in.
“Six is down this row; eleven is on the other side, two rows over.” Byakuya nodded and thanked the man, ready to walk his bike over when he felt a hand on his shoulder.
“Ah…Byakuya? I thought we could set up next to one another…” He turned at the sound of Renji’s voice. Auburn eyes looked at him, all forlorn and disoriented and, just for a second, he felt Renji pull him out of his bubble of internal calm. It tugged on his heartstrings, that lonesome look, and he wished he could make it go away.
“We cannot. We are in different waves, according to age groups. We have plenty of time, though. Go find a place at your wave’s rack, and once I set up I will come join you.” He watched the redhead nod, turn around, and trudge away to his doom.
Once again, the dreaded to-do list replayed itself through Renji’s mind. His bike was racked, his towel was spread on the ground to the right of it, and his things were laid out in a logical order in which he would use them. The bike shoes rested on the front of the towel, the helmet on top of them, the sunglasses inside the helmet. His race belt with his bib number was carefully placed on top of this pyramid so he could put everything on in the most efficient way once his swim was done. Beyond the bike pile were his running shoes and a white headband with a visor. The shoes had socks inside them, even though he had read that many triathletes did not bother wasting time putting them on. Renji’s gel-padded, fingerless gloves were attached to the handlebars of the bike by their own dry-zip closure. One bottle of electrolyte mix was nestled in his bike cage, the other sat next to the running pile. His backpack, now empty, was rolled up and stashed at the farthest end.
Renji had his wetsuit draped over the bike rack, the blue swim cap indicating his wave number; his goggles sat on the bike seat. He surveyed the scene, then remembered to pull the remaining two quarters of his breakfast sandwich out of his backpack and stage it next to his bike things. Some people used various energy gels, but they were expensive and tasted gross. Renji opted for real food instead.
Byakuya came over, cutting a fine figure in his white and grey racing singlet, its shoulders decorated with a branch bearing pink sakura blossoms.
“I can’t believe you’re wearing that thing,” Renji said in lieu of greeting, fighting not to roll his eyes.
“Yumichika did a fine job with the fabric paint. I am rather fond of it, actually. Do you not think, Renji, that it makes a joke out of Kenpachi’s jest of giving me a ‘Princess’ bicycle?”
Renji only growled, eliciting a hint of a smile on the older man’s lips. “No need to be jealous.”
“I can’t help it. He’s just so good at everything.” Renji tugged at the red and black singlet that he found online on clearance. It would serve.
“So are you.” Byakuya took a step closer and stroked Renji’s shoulder. “How about we use the restroom before we get our wetsuits on. If we hurry, we can do a little practice swim.”
By the time Renji returned to his station, the racks were more than half-full with bicycles and the air was buzzing with conversation. He hurried along, glad that he had braided his hair at home as he reached for his swim cap.
“Hey, Renji!” Ikkaku hollered at him from the other end of his rack. “We’re in the same wave!”
“Cool.” Renji retrieved his BodyGlide stick and spread the smooth substance on his legs, arms, and around his neck.
“You’ll be cool, don’t worry. It’s just a big workout - with friends!” Ikkaku’s comment was a welcome change of perspective. Renji felt like he had to go pee again, he felt like he was thirsty even though he had been hydrating for the last two days and his stomach sloshed with liquid, and mostly he wondered how he could get out of the whole affair.
Yet, he could not.
His job depended on it, and quitting wasn’t part of his character regardless of his partner’s much-improved financial situation.
“Yeah.” The monosyllabic responses drew a look from the shaved man, but he didn’t comment further, and Renji was glad for the silence as he turned the top of his wetsuit down and inserted his left foot. He teased the delicate Neoprene material almost all the way up his leg before he stepped in with the other, mindful of his balance. Once his legs were in, he let the body and the sleeves flop down from his waist as he positioned his goggles over his swim cap, and affixed his timing chip to his left ankle. Neoprene captured heat; there was no need to get all hot and bothered before it was necessary.
Byakuya came over, sporting the refurbished wetsuit he had found online. Unlike Renji’s all-black one, his had silver-colored panels running from the shoulder to the wrist. It matched his eyes…and the price was right.
“You zipped up already?” Renji asked.
“I did. Shall we get in?”
Renji didn’t reply. His eyes were fixed on the formerly plain, silver panels of Byakuya’s wetsuit.
“Did you…did you draw my tattoos on the arms of your wetsuit?” He asked, his voice a bit choked.
Byakuya shrugged in an effort to conceal his embarrassment. “I was feeling restless…and I wanted to have a piece of you with me.”
Renji grabbed his hands and pulled him in, planting a kiss on the cheek regardless of their audience.
“I love you.”
And I love you.
The words almost came out, choked back by the vestigial awkwardness that Byakuya still felt at Renji’s reaction to him defacing his wetsuit with a permanent marker. Why, if Renji wanted to, Byakuya would have been happy to paint cherry blossoms on Renji’s wetsuit in return…but it was too late now.
“Let’s go swim. Let me zip you in.” Byakuya held the two sides of Renji’s zipper together, while Renji used a long lanyard to pull the zipper up.
They had but two minutes to get wet and stroke back and forth before the announcer called the end to the swim warm-up.
“The water isn’t really that cold anymore,” Renji commented.
“Yes, but we have them. We trained in them. A wetsuit can improve your time by up to fifteen percent.”
Renji looked around, and sure enough, almost everyone was clad in smooth, black neoprene.
“It will start soon. We should line up and find our wave. They will let us into the water two minutes apart. You know what to do.”
Renji responded to Byakuya’s stern tone. “Yeah. Relax, enjoy the swim, keep rotating from side to side, don’t fight the wetsuit. Sight my destination every few strokes.”
“Don’t forget to relax your neck as you plunge in. Feel the water wash over you. It will feel so good. The water is your friend.”
Renji gave Byakuya a lopsided grin. “I know. I know. And I will count my strokes, and I will relax so I can breathe on both sides, and I won’t drown ‘cause I have my wetsuit.”
“You would be fine even without it, Renji. You are trained. You are ready.” The announcer interrupted Byakuya’s pep-talk; they clasped hands and Renji watched his partner walk up to other men in white swim caps. They would be followed by women in yellow swim caps. The age groups started in subsequent waves, men first, then women. The elite swimmers were in the first wave; ten men and ten women swam together, leading the race. To Renji’s shock, he recognized the tall, broad-shouldered physique of his boss among the elite group. He had known that Kenpachi was good, but he had no idea he was that good - especially not at his age. Respect mingled with envy as he watched Zaraki Kenpachi don his goggles and dip in the water again, assuming his position before the horn launched the first wave of the race.
The swimmers were off with very little noise, which didn’t surprise Byakuya whatsoever. Good swim technique didn’t waste time on splashing around. He looked across the river, planning ahead. He would swim on a diagonal toward a buoy, then downstream toward another one, then back. There was a slight upstream component to the first leg of the swim, and sighting the target buoy was essential to prevent wasteful zigzagging in the water. He watched the second wave go in, then the third. Focused on his target upstream, Byakuya filtered out the voices of his fellow participants. He was in his bubble of calm, focused only on the here-and-now.
When swimming, swim.
When biking, bike.
When running, run.
He paid mindful attention to his breath entering his body and leaving it; his throat opened and closed like a doorway to the universe and he could already feel the rhythm of his stroking arms, the rotation of his sleek body that was soon to come. He could already hear the raucous bubbles of his exhale as he anticipated cutting his way through the water, efficient and strong. He was born for this and the water was his friend. It felt solid under his hands; his strong arms dug in to crawl through, powerful and tireless and, sometimes, his stroke was so even and smooth, he almost forgot to breathe. He felt his breath quicken with eager anticipation and forced his mind to settle once again, feeling his center, the air easing in and out of his lungs in a rhythm that was now second nature to him.
He waded in with his wave.
The horn sounded.
He was off.
Renji stood on the elevated bank. Kenpachi’s wave was already close to shore. He watched the silhouettes of men and women swim in and stand up against the morning sun, stumbling on the rocks and slipping on the grass as they coaxed their bodies to transition from one mode of transportation to another. Renji noticed the way they ripped open their wetsuit tab and pulled on their lanyard to unzip their wetsuit as they jogged up the slippery grass. Kenpachi was there somewhere - there he was, getting out of the water and out of his wetsuit, letting it hang off his hips as he ran back to the transition zone. He ripped his goggles off, and his swim cap, his ponytail spilling out and sticking to his wet shoulders. Kenpachi raced in nothing but padded shorts, showing off his ripped physique.
And now it was time to line up with wave eleven. Standing in a sea of almost two hundred blue swim caps, Renji didn’t see the starting line and thus he had missed Byakuya’s perfect immersion, silent and peaceful. He fretted over him. He hoped Byakuya would do well. Swimming was his sport, and they were now accustomed to their wetsuits - Byakuya never panicked, he never stalled when another body bumped into him or when he gained on another swimmer and was blocked from passing by a wall of kicking feet. Renji had wanted to see it, but instead he stood there on the grass, listening to the inexorable flow of wave announcements and the sound of the air horn going off. He felt like he was going under the guillotine.
This is just another swim.
I have swum twice this distance without a problem.
A relaxing, peaceful, enjoyable swim.
He kept repeating his mantra, until a fellow competitor piped up.
“Shit man. This river’s wider than I thought.” Without even thinking about it, Renji raised his voice.
“This is just another swim. You have done twice this distance without any problem. Just relax. The water will feel so good. Relax your neck as you go in.”
The other man eyed him with some curiosity. “You must be really experienced.”
“This is my first,” Renji said. “I learned to swim this January. Still though…this should be fun, right? We are here to have fun. The water isn’t too cold. It will feel so good…just relax.”
“Way to go, brother!” Ikkaku sounded off from the front of the blue-cap pack, giving Renji a thumbs-up. “Just do what you always do.”
They exchanged feral grins; an announcement sounded, they were herded into chest-deep water. When the air-horn went off, Renji looked towards the buoy on the other side of the river.
This here will be fun.
The river’s my friend.
I enjoy swimmin’.
He felt his legs push off as his arms extended forward and his head bent down, his neck relaxed. His right arm stroked as his left leg kicked; then on the left, then on the right and breathe. And again, and again, and again.
Renji’s languid stroke propelled him forward, not too fast, but even and smooth.
Relax.
Extend.
Roll the body.
A foot kicked his face - he had caught up with the pack. Stride broken, he flipped onto his back to readjust his goggles and calm his sudden adrenaline spike. Then he set off again, this time taking a quick peek every third breath he took, making sure his way was clear. He headed further upstream in an effort to pass the group of swimmers to his right, and managed to draw abreast with them.
When swimming, swim.
Don’t care about passing or being passed.
Damn why’s he passin’ me?
Renji forced his mind into a familiar rhythm. Byakuya was adamant that he pace himself. He might be passed early on, but many of those swimmers would tire and fall to the rear, giving Renji a clear passage ahead.
He sighted, already noting one man on his back, sucking in wild, panicked breaths.
Renji considered stopping to ask if he was alright, then reminded himself that the river was full of police boats and kayak volunteers. His fellow competitor would be fine.
The big, orange buoy appeared ahead of him and he turned, going downstream to another water-borne pumpkin.
Downstream was so much easier.
His heart lifted at the knowledge that he had crossed the river - for the first time in his life - and had not drowned. There was hope. He noticed his kick speeding up and forced himself to slow down.
Save those legs for the bike.
Before he knew it, Renji was headed for the home shore. He welcomed the caress of the green water, no longer caring that he couldn’t see the muddy bottom. He was swimming on the surface and such concerns were of no substance any longer.
Byakuya’s on the bike already...
Stay in the moment!
Relax, count your breath, stroke after stroke.
Something scraped Renji’s fingertips and he realized that the sounds of the announcements were loud again. He was on the home shore. The buoy he was supposed to be sighting was a good fifty feet upstream. He scrambled up the shore and jogged to his intended exit location, trying to open his wetsuit like he had seen other athletes do. He ran up to the timing mats, making sure he crossed them, and almost ripped the zipper in his effort to get out of the suddenly inconvenient strait jacket as he headed for the transition zone.
His bladder felt a bit full again.
Piss while you’re in the water.
Piss while biking.
Piss while running.
That’s what the pros do.
He was loath to defile his expensive wetsuit, and despite all the water and salt he had consumed in the last two days, the urge wasn’t so bad that he would have to yield to it. On the bike, then, while his tri suit was still wet. He extricated himself from the wet suit and tossed it over the bike rack, making sure his timing chip was still on his ankle. He wiped his wet, grassy feet on the towel and slipped into his biking shoes, not bothering with socks.
Sunglasses.
Helmet.
Race belt with number.
Sandwich.
He chewed and chewed, the sticky almond butter unwilling to slide down his throat. Renji washed it down with a bit of electrolyte mix, knowing that the half-sandwich would digest while he was on the bike, providing him with just enough energy for his run.
He took his bike and jogged it outside the transition zone, several contestants both before and behind him. A volunteer pointed at the red line on the pavement, where he was allowed to mount.
He did that, falling into the familiar rhythm. Cycling felt surprisingly easy after all the hustle to get out the water and remove his wetsuit. Now he was on the bike, in his own element. He upshifted and leaned into the pedals, maintaining cadence as a sense of relaxation washed over him. There was a slight incline in the road, but not enough to shift for. He was fine.
Renji smiled. At this rate, he might even overtake Byakuya on the bike course, and after that, their bet was a sealed deal.
Byakuya was in the zone. The mild, repetitive hills of the race course kept his mind on using his gears, shifting properly to maintain cadence. He gunned the downhills in top gear, shooting for time. The course wound along highways and through suburban neighborhood streets, consisting of two loops. He had passed over the timing matt twice already, knowing that soon he would make a left turn, leading him back to the transition area.
When biking, bike.
Maintain cadence.
Breathe.
Byakuya used a flat stretch to stop pedaling and reached for his bottle, taking a few more swallows of the warm electrolyte mix. The sun had been bearing down on him and he was grateful for the ridiculous, silver-framed sunglasses that Renji insisted he wear. Hydrating on the bike did not come naturally to his newfound sense of balance, and his lips tightened when he heard another cyclist call out behind him.
“On your left!”
Byakuya slowed down, allowing the woman to file in front of him as he fumbled to slip his bottle back into its cage. Non-drafting regulations forced the passed cyclist to make space for the passing one, and drop back three bike lengths; passing turned out to be a high-energy event. Vexed and eager to resume a competitive pace, he let go of his bottle too fast. It flew out of his hand; he heard it bounce on the pavement behind him. He swallowed a curse, grabbing the handlebars again and leaning into the pedals. He was so close. The turnoff to the transition zone was only four miles away.
A sudden vibration shook his handlebars and his bicycle slowed down; an odd hissing sound emerged right beneath him.
Flop, flop, flop, flop, flop…
Uncertain of what had occurred, he slowed down, only to see his front tire limp on the rim of the wheel. There was no help for it - Byakuya clipped out of his pedals and pulled to the side of the road, settling down by the orange cones that divided the two streams of bicycle traffic.
He knew what to do. Renji had showed him. Carefully, Byakuya turned the bike upside down and balanced it on its seat and handlebars. Then he looked for the quick-release lever of the front wheel. He had a faint recollection of what it looked like - there. Now all he had to do was turn it.
He pushed and he pulled, but the lever did not loosen. He heard the whoosh of other bikers passing him, and felt his internal frustration mount. It couldn’t have been that hard. He had seen Renji do it when he was putting their racing tires on. He just never took the time to do it by himself, and now he had nothing but derogatory expletives for his own negligence. A team of bike techs was roaming the course, but it could be a long time before they made it his way.
He kept trying to turn his locked quick release lever, cursing under his breath.
Renji was floating a cloud of happiness - he had survived the swim, even though he had lost a lot of time due to navigation errors. That was okay - he would make up lost time on the bike. He didn’t drown and the bike was, after all, his strongest discipline. He knew from the very beginning that you can always push your bike if you get tired, or you can slow down to a walk if the run becomes too much, but in the water, you just have to keep going, and that had been a thought devoid of comfort. It was over now. He was alive, well, refreshed in his still-wet singlet, and the breeze he created by his passing cooled him off. He smiled his lop-sided grin as he leaned into an aero position, gunning down the hill in top gear. Life was good. He would use his momentum going up the next, milder incline.
A familiar figure caught his eye as he zoomed through the flat area between the hills. A gray and white top with just a flash of pink scattered across the shoulders, bent over an upside-down bike.
Byakuya.
Renji pulled over and ground to a skidding halt; he got off and jogged his bike back to his partner.
“Hey…what happened?”
“A flat. Renji, ride on. A tech crew will catch up with me eventually.” Renji heard the seething frustration in Byakuya’s voice.
“Here, lemme see. Hold my bike.”
“No,” Byakuya said, catching Renji’s bicycle as it was virtually tossed his way. Renji unlocked the quick-release lever and turned it, loosened the brakes and removing the wheel. He gave the tire a good look.
“The tire’s okay. You just picked up something small.”
Byakuya writhed in discomfort. Not only had he forgotten that he needed to unlock the lever before turning it loose, now he was costing his partner valuable time. “Renji, I insist you continue the race.”
“I will - as soon as I see you off, my love.” Renji leaned Byakuya’s wheel against a divider cone and bent toward the front wheel of his own bicycle, flipping a small lever that released the brakes and loosening his own quick-release mechanism. Before Byakuya had the chance to formulate his word of protest, Renji’s front wheel was on his bike, fastened in place and ready to go.
“If you do this, Renji, you will never catch up with my time. You will lose our bet.”
“Okay.” Renji was focused on making sure Byakuya’s brakes sat on the wheel rim just right.
“I refuse to win in such a dishonorable manner.”
Renji walked over and grabbed the handlebars of his hobbled bicycle with one hand, wrapping his greasy hand around Byakuya’s sweaty neck. He pulled him for a quick kiss.
“I don’t care about the stupid bet anymore. You’re doing fuckin’ great and I want you to give it your best. Will you do that for me?”
Stubborn grey eyes met the mulish russet ones.
“Byakuya. Please. Those people have no business passing you.”
Something within Byakuya gave. He tilted his head, pressing a wild kiss onto Renji’s mouth as even wilder words escaped him.
“I love you, Renji!”
Propelled by the fear that those words kindled in his heart, he turned his back and grabbed his bike, and made his escape.
His speedy start warmed Renji’s heart.
The words, though.
Byakuya had never uttered those words before. As Renji sat by the roadside, removing the damaged inner tube and replacing it with his spare, the speed of his repair was hindered by blurred vision. He wanted to blame the sunscreen that his salty sweat had brought into his eyes, but his movements felt slow. He had an odd, squishy feeling in the pit of his stomach, replaying the memory. He pulled the CO2 cartridge and his adapter out of the emergency pouch and used it to fill his tire - Byakuya’s tire - before he installed it back and checked the brakes. Then he put his tools away and took a good drink of electrolyte mix out of his bike bottle, got on, and started climbing the hill.
Byakuya’s words resounded in his mind.
Renji shifted down, making the climb easier. He could have climbed the hill by standing in his pedals, but that would burn his legs out faster, and he’d need to save at least some endurance for his run. The trick was to maintain the same cadence regardless of road conditions. He had a refrain that helped him do that, and he repeated it in his mind over and over as he crested the hill and shifted to top gear, making up for lost time on the steep downhill.
Main-tain-ca-dence
Main-tain-ca-dence
His legs moved in perfect circles, pushing down at just the right angle with his back inclined just so, his whole body supporting his effort. His elbows were tucked in, offering the least resistance to the wind that refreshed his face. The thoughts of Byakuya, however, would not leave his mind, and the squishy feeling was soon transformed into a sensation of warmth in his chest. The rhythm of his refrain had changed, although his cadence remained the same.
I-love-you
I-love-you
I-love-you
He tackled the hills with a goofy grin, his spirits buoyed and his limbs infused with extra strength. Soon he was closing the first loop, having passed the same competitor who was the first to pass him as he stopped to aid his partner. His lover. His friend.
That’s when he realized that the whole rescue operation must have had taken less than four minutes.
Byakuya screeched into the slow-down zone in top gear, his feet already clicked out of his pedals. Feeling beholden, his resolve was fueled by his determination not to waste Renji’s sacrifice. He ran his bike to his rack and kicked out of his shoes. As he bent over to retrieve his running shoes, he felt an overwhelming urge to empty his bladder. There was a row of chemical toilets on the other side of the parking lot, but he just could not allow five whole minutes of wasted time. The image of Renji, stranded by the side of the highway, repairing a flat tire, would not allow him to delay. That certain ruthless feeling, the one that he used to experience during both swim races and business negotiations, welled in his chest. His lips pressed into a thinner line as his eyes, half-hooded by smooth eyelids, hardened in resolve.
What suffices for the dog shall suffice for the Princess.
He grabbed his running shoes, not bothering with socks, and sat on the grass under one of the trees that divided the lawn into individual strips. He’d tie his shoes fast - as fast as his body would allow.
His running shoes on and his bladder relieved, he spilled his extra bottle of electrolyte mix down his back, hoping to achieve the desired effect of excess sweat as he took off for the “RUN OUT” sign to his left. The river path trail was familiar and he pushed all thoughts of appearances out of his mind. Now was the time to count his breath and settle into his pace. Renji’s sacrifice would not be in vain.
Renji felt his thighs burn as he wheeled his bike to his wave-eleven rack. He kicked off his shoes and, as he bent to retrieve his running shoes, he felt his full bladder compress. His memory flicked to the countless bottles of water and electrolyte mix that he managed to swallow over the last two days. What goes in must come out, and not all of it will be just innocent sweat.
But that would lose him time.
He debated the situation as he slipped on his socks and his shoes and ripped off his biking gloves, fully mindful that his body would cry out for water during the run, and that he would want to accept both water and electrolyte drinks at the aid stations along the run course. Shoes on, helmet off and sunglasses still in place, Renji jogged over to the blue chemical toilets. It would cost him time. He’d just have to run faster. A few sacrificial minutes later, he crossed the timing matt, hearing the sensor beep as his timing chip marked his crossing to the run course.
Breathe.
Relax.
I love to run.
His mind filled with positive images in an effort to banish the heated fatigue in his thighs and the tightness in his feet. He had never experienced his feet being sore from working that hard on the bike; now he had to pound the crushed gravel path with them.
I feel no pain.
I smell the river; the soothing river.
I love to run.
Renji counted his breath as he ran, just the way he usually counted his strokes in the water as he breathed. He felt his hips loosen and his feet regain their spring; he remembered to relax his shoulders and allow his arms to swing free. Running, just as cycling, had its cadence. Byakuya was on the run course ahead of him; he would see him run past with the stream of returning athletes. Several runners were already close to the finish line. In not too long, he glimpsed Kenpachi run past, his eyes glazed in his maniacal, focused trance. A few more people emerged, all running at an easy lope. Renji pressed on, his breathing pattern changing as the mantra in his mind slipped back to the time when he had to work the hardest, going from a standstill to the top of the hill.
I-love-you-uuu
I-love-you-uuu
I-love-you-uuu
A hint of a grin bloomed on his focused face as he pressed ahead, passing a walker and two slower runners. The field began to stretch and several more participants slowed down, taking their strategic walking breaks. He passed a very fat man, his determined grimace covered in sweat, who was focused on putting one foot ahead of the other. His age marking was much higher than Renji’s, indicating that he started out a lot earlier than he had.
“Hey, nice going!” Renji called out to him, knowing that had it not been for Kenpachi’s challenge, that body might have been his a few years down the road. The man nodded and took a swig from his water bottle, plodding on.
Renji passed many others: a woman with a knee brace who punctuated her walking with short periods of easy run; a man who ran fast, but Renji ran faster. He approached an aid station and accepted a water cup, slowing down only to take a quick sip and pouring the rest on his overheated head. Dust began to rise from the crushed gravel path, irritating his nose. When he reached the turn-around, he realized that he had failed to look out for Byakuya.
Their bet came to mind, and he was relieved to find that he no longer cared. Even suggesting a bet on something that important, that intimate, had been a bad idea. He saw Byakuya’s discomfort at the thought of having an unfair advantage, and grinned as his feet pounded the path. There was no guarantee that Byakuya would win. Renji had not given up yet.
The path rose up to Byakuya’s feet, and the wind was in his back. He had no recollection of ever having run that fast for that long. Thoughts of Renji propelled him forward, giving him strength.
Your sacrifice shall not be wasted.
The words that had slipped his mouth earlier, conveniently suppressed until now, began to surface as heat and fatigue set in.
Halfway down the return path, he saw Renji in his red and black singlet, pushing ahead with single-minded determination. His red ponytail stuck up from his visor headband on an angle somewhat reminiscent of pineapple leaves, but the redhead’s eyes were on the path ahead. Byakuya’s spirits lifted at the sight; heartened by the knowledge that his partner didn’t throw the race on the account of his flat tire, he pushed harder. The cadence of his strides increased and his breath shortened into three syllables, followed by an amazed pause.
I-love-you…
I-love-you…
I-love-you…
In the depth of his heart he was convinced that drawing Renji’s tattoos on his wetsuit helped him swim faster; riding with Renji’s tire helped him cycle stronger; keeping a vision of Renji’s focused expression in his mind helped him run swifter.
The crowd by the side of the path thickened and the traffic cones led him onto the grass on the riverbank; only in his peripheral vision did he register the cheering multitudes with their homemade signs, spurring the runners on to a strong finish. He felt his whole being absorb the energy that vibrated the air itself. His feet moved faster. His fists pumped harder. Air tore in and out of his lungs with every step.
Ren-ji!
Ren-ji!
Ren-ji!
Byakuya flew through the inflatable gate and across the timing pad that signified the finish line, the corner of his eye registering a disappointing 1:28:16 on the race clock as the air was split by the amplified voice of the announcer:
“Byakuya Kuchiki crossing the finish line…”
He was steered to the side by a race volunteer; a pair of hands steadied his shoulders as another person knelt in the grass, removing the timing chip off his ankle. Somebody handed him a participation medal on a colorful ribbon; a bottle of chilled electrolyte drink appeared in his hand.
“Are you alright?” Somebody asked. He shook himself off.
“I am.” He stumbled off, disoriented, looking around for a familiar face. A pair of steadying hands grasped his shoulders.
“Nice going, Princess!”
He looked up, dazed. “Kenny?”
“Yeah.” A scarred grin met his confused face. “Come sit over there. Here, have a towel…” Kenpachi took an ice-cold, wet towel from a volunteer and draped it around Byakuya’s neck. “You did good. Once you settle down we’ll go get your times.”
“How did you do?” Byakuya asked, drinking up and wiping the sweat off his face.
His former partner grimaced. “Not well. I’ll have to redeem myself later in the season if I want to keep my ranking. Still, it felt good to be out there. Hey…let’s check on your Renji!”
They walked over to a tent where a man sat behind a computer. Byakuya got a printout of his own times, then a preliminary report on Renji’s time. Kenpachi looked over his shoulder.
“Not bad for his first time,” he said. “He should be coming in within minutes. Wanna run in with him?”
Byakuya considered. “No. I’d rather see him cross on his own.”
And hand him his drink and his towel, and take care of him…
“I’ll run in with him, then,” Kenpachi said, jogging back to the trail.
The crushed gravel started to feel hard under Renji’s feet ages ago. He knew Byakuya must have finished already; he was sucking air, drawn by the lure of the finish line. He felt hot in his face and a bit queasy to his stomach, and began to feel curious, cold prickles on his arms and shoulders, as though the breeze off the river became chill. Something told him to slow down and walk. He sipped a bit of water, then squirted the rest into his face, quenching the red heat he felt there.
A strategic walk break.
I’ll be fine.
Just…keep moving. Step by step.
“Keep going! You’re almost there!” The runner passing him called out. From the number on his calf, Renji saw that the man was forty-three years of age, much older than himself. The sight gave him hope. If some old guy could run to the finish, so could he. He took thirty more walking steps, feeling his respiration rate settle into a more acceptable range. Then he resumed running. It felt okay…not fresh, but functional.
The crowd grew thick. People shouted and reached out for him to slap hands with him, and he did, finding their presence a welcome distraction. He tried to find his running stride once more, pushing through the cold prickles that had now extended to his torso, and the feeling that he would soon throw up.
“Hey, kid!” He recognized Kenpachi’s voice and nodded in his direction. “I’ll run in with you. You’re so close! It’s just around the bend!”
The gravel path gave way to a grassy lawn by the river, now unrecognizable with tents and shades all around. Renji saw none of that. There was just the big, black inflatable gate with a race clock above his head, showing a time, and there was Kenpachi by his side, humming encouragements.
“Alright! Push! Smile, you’re on camera!”
Renji smiled - he saw Byakuya on the other side of the gate. His feet crossed the black timing mat with one last burst of speed before he stumbled in, nauseous and exhausted. He was steered to the side to have his timing chip removed.
“Renji!” He looked over his shoulder and thought he was hallucinating, because Byakuya was smiling at him. It was a full-wattage, happy, relieved smile, one that he had never seen before.
“Here, drink this.”
“I’ll throw up if I do,” Renji said.
“It’s just water with electrolytes. Here’s a cold towel.” They walked over to the food station, where Renji eyed the brownies with strawberries and bananas and oranges, suddenly finding that he was a lot hungrier than he had thought.
“Okay,” he mumbled, allowing Byakuya to fuss over him. They settled in the shade next to Kenpachi’s group. Half of 11th Hour Security was already there, comparing their time splits.
“I shall go and get your time.” Renji was grateful for Byakuya’s willingness, for he couldn’t have bothered. He just lay down in the shade, breathing, feeling the cool grass beneath him sap his excess heat.
“How’re you feeling?” Yumichika asked him in a quiet voice.
“I still have those cold prickles all over, but I don’t think I’ll throw up anymore,” Renji replied, glad that Byakuya was out of earshot.
“Your electrolytes are out of whack and you’re overheated,” Ikkaku chimed in. “Just rest and drink. You’ll want to nap when you get home. That’s totally normal.”
“But you’re staying for the awards ceremony, right?” Kenpachi asked, his tone expectant.
“Why?” Renji groaned. “Who won?”
“It’s a surprise. He doesn’t know yet, so tell Byakuya you really want to keep hanging out with us. They will start within an hour or so. We still have a lot of people on the course.”
Byakuya sat, leaning against the trunk of a maple, trying not to frown. He was dying for some real food, and a good shower, and a nap and instead, Renji insisted that they stay to see what would happen next. “The whole company’s staying, Byakuya,” Renji had said, his cinnamon eyes soft. “Please?”
Kenpachi and Ikkaku uncovered a keg of beer in a garbage can full of ice; Yumichika and Neliel revealed a cooler packed with cold barbecue chicken, corn bread, and coleslaw. Brownies appeared, and cookies, and a tray full of bamboo skewers filled with cut-up fruit.
Byakuya’s eyes closed in silent resignation at the sight of Renji, accepting a cup of cold beer from Ikkaku. The stubborn redhead had revived considerably in the last half hour and Byakuya didn’t want to spoil his fun by a display of self-righteous disapproval.
A cold cup was pressed into his hand. He opened his eyes; Renji was on his knees next to him, his beer-cold hand squeezing his shoulder.
“You okay?”
“Better than you’ll be if you drink that, Renji.” He just couldn’t help himself.
“That’s what I’d thought, too,” Renji said, flashing him his lopsided grin. “Ikkaku talked me into trying it, and it feels surprisingly refreshing.” Byakuya watched Renji’s lip touch the plastic rim, taking a healthy sip.
“It’s essentially just water and carbs, you know. Not much alcohol. And it’s home-brewed, so it has extra vitamin B.”
Byakuya’s interest piqued at the information and he took a small sip. It was cold, and smooth, not too bitter, with citrusy top-notes…he sipped again.
“See?”
“Whose work is this?” Byakuya murmured.
“Neliel’s. She always does the brewing for our parties. She says the commercial stuff is mostly pisswater. You should try her hard cider…she has several flavors. One is hopped like beer. It’s amazing.”
“I can’t believe you talked me into drinking right after a race,” Byakuya commented between sips.
“Lemme get you some food. You can’t drink on an empty stomach. Remember, we are biking home from here.” Renji bounced to his feet, happy to be of service.
By the time they had eaten their chicken and coleslaw and fruit, the rest of the stragglers had come in amid great cheering, and the race was officially over. The announcer got up on the podium and commenced the award ceremony. Byakuya didn’t pay much attention; the elite athletes had their first and second winners, but the overall third for the whole race was some other guy who won his own age group. Byakuya looked into his half-empty beer cup. There was a time when he had expected to take his place up on the podium, accept his medal, and listen to the national anthem while he relished his victory, but that was a long time ago. Those days were over. Now he was a pariah of his famous and influential family, a man who kept making public appearances at his old landscaping job as well as dropping into 6th Element two or three times a week, just to help his younger cousin Roger transition into his role as the new CEO. It shocked him to see how close the whole company came to being crushed under an avalanche of boycotts, protests, and online petitions. He was amazed that most of those petitions came not only from the LGBT community, but from ‘regular’ people as well. Ordinary people. Average people who lived in an apartment or a house, had 2.4 children and a cat or a dog, drove 1.4 cars, and who had happened to like the fact that he had kept his ice cream pure. The circumstances of his Ice Cream King Meltdown, the irritating tabloids that had covered his work for Shinji Hirako, the elitist scorn of some of his family members, and most especially the decline in quality of the company’s frozen products, all that added up to an upwelling of popular support. Renji commented that he could run for the Senate and have decent odds.
Ridiculous.
“…Byakuya Kuchiki!” He lifted his head in confusion. Somebody said his name, somebody very loud.
“Can Byakuya Kuchiki come to the podium, please?”
He sat leaning against a tree with a plate full of chicken bones in his lap and his second cup of beer in his hand. Byakuya did not want to be disturbed.
“C’m on, Princess!” Kenpachi hollered as flashbulbs of photographers went off. Renji took his plate and pulled him up by his free hand.
“C’m on, Byakuya. You are wanted up there.” He felt himself being pulled to the podium as the crowd parted before them. Beer in hand, he followed Renji. There were too many people around him all of a sudden and they were too loud. He ascended the three steps that elevated him for everyone to see.
“And now for the winner of the 30-34 year old men’s category, Byakuya Kuchiki!”
Byakuya straightened, looked at the crowd, and smiled. It was a well-worn gesture from the old days, but it came to him naturally. It covered the fact that he was utterly stunned on the inside. There was just no way. Things like that just didn’t happen. The man next to him kept uttering disjointed words.
“…and who also placed as the 3rd overall winner in the race altogether, beating out three other elite competitors from the first wave!”
Byakuya froze as a woman placed another medal around his neck, not even hearing the applause from the crowd.
“So, Byakuya…first-time race entrants generally do not win anything at all. Will you share with us how you did it?”
Byakuya’s mind came to life, and not a moment too soon. He leaned toward the microphone.
“Somebody once said that nobody crosses the finish line on their own. That is especially true for me today. Had it not been for Renji Abarai, I would still be on the bike course, trying to change my tire.”
The race official leaned in with interest. “Another competitor helped you change your tire?”
“Another competitor gave me his whole front wheel, knowing that I don’t know much about…maintenance.”
Byakuya’s eyes slid to Renji, who stood under the podium, beaming with pride. Rukia was standing next to him, and Ichigo, and his cousins Tori and Chris, and further back he saw Roger and his wife and their handful of a three-year-old. Some other words were exchanged, but Byakuya had no recollection of them at all. He had never expected all these people to show up - not just for him. Nobody had ever shown up for his swim races. They were considered an unimportant pastime.
He walked off the podium and straight into Renji’s embrace.
“You are so fucking awesome,” Renji exhaled. “But watch out, old man. Someday, I’ll exceed you!”
“I have no doubt.” Byakuya extricated himself from Renji, only to have recording devices shoved in his face. Reporters shouted questions, interfering with the awards ceremony.
“After the event, please,” he whispered. Then he took his two medals off his neck and eased them over Renji’s head.
“These belong to you, Renji. I would have never made it here without you. I wouldn’t have even entered this race without you.”
He watched in silent satisfaction. Renji was stunned speechless, then he flushed and tried to protest, removing the medals off his neck.
“No,” he stopped him, placing his hand on Renji’s. “Please, Renji. You are my inspiration.”
I love you.
There was no need to repeat the words that had escaped him on the bike course. Instead, he twined his fingers in Renji’s, standing still and watching the rest of the award ceremony in solemn stillness as cameras kept clicking away around them.