(no subject)

[pez]

It shouldn't be this cold.

Rain fell, drowning all that was in sight. It was as if the weather had forgotten it was July, not January, or simply didn't care, because as Sanada walked down the deserted streets, he felt chilled to the bone. Every brisk, heavy step sent water splashing and soaking into his socks. His basball cap provided little protection. The rainwater dripping down its brim was obscuring his vision so he took it off and pushed it into one of the side compartments of his tennis bag, his steps never slowing.

Whn he arrived at the hospital, the towel was first used to wipe his bag, before he dried himself enough just so that he wouldn't drip water onto the tiled floor. And then he stared at the directory panel. Black writing on grey aluminium told him the operating theatres were on the third floor, whereas the recovery wards were on the sixth.

And the morgue was in the basement.

Where should he go?

He had failed the team. He had broken his promise of taking the Kantou trophy home. He wasn't even there when Yukimura fought for his life, and now how was he going to -

"...ichirou. Genichirou."

Sanada blinked, and saw Yanagi standing within arm's reach from him. The friend held out the yellow jersey which he had asked Jackal to take with him. Stepping aside, Sanada stripped off his soaked polo shirt and put the jersey on, zipping it up.

"Seiichi operation is still going on." Yanagi said as he walked towards the elevators. Then he paused, and turned, as if he knew Sanada was still standing, not having moved an inch. "Genichirou, we both made the promise, and I should have taken the trophy in Singles 3. If you must find someone to blame, let that be me."