I

"You comin' or what?" called Shirazu from the corner.

His friend, weary looking and red cheeked, looked first at him then at the beer bottle in his hands. He shook the bottle a few times, unsatisfied with the sound and drank the last drops of cheap alcohol. He hit the bottom of the bottle, hoping to bring out more beer.

"Oi, you've had enough. Let's go already!" yelled Shirazu, hitting the engines of his motorcycle and tapping his feet impatiently. "They ain't gonna wait long, ya know!"

"They gotta wait," said his friends, looking at the bottle before breaking the glass on the wall next to him. He grinned at the sharp edges of broken glass, pointing it towards Shirazu. "They gotta wait, can't start if we're not there."

"Yeah, sure," Shirazu growled at him. He got on his motorcycle and started the engines. His friend kicked the bottle away before mimicking him. "We goin' the short way?"

"Nah, I don't want the police at my tail, dude," said his friend, cringing at the thought. "Don't care if we're late, I don't wanna go to jail."

Shirazu rolled his eyes. "Like we ever got caught," he muttered under his breath.

"Whatcha said?"

"Nothin'," Shirazu called. "Let's go." He started driving, constantly checking on his side mirror to make sure his friend followed him. When he saw the red bike following him, he focused on the road and drove fast.

The night was cold. The wind kept hitting his uncovered face, freezing his muscles. He hated the cold on his face; it made his eyes dry and mouth hurt when he got off the motorcycle. But he couldn't be a hooligan if he wore a helmet and gloves. It wasn't healthy, but he had to keep the image up.

They chose the narrow alleys and abandoned roads to get to their destination. That way, they could avoid getting caught by the police – if there were no patrols, that is. You could never be sure. Those bastards would use any excuse to get their hands on people like Shirazu and his pack.

Shirazu let his eyes leave the road for a few seconds, looking at the train that passed them quickly. He never used the train lately; he didn't really miss it. It was cramped, smelly and full of people looking at him with dark judgement on their faces. Shirazu hated seeing those rich fat ladies shaking their heads and telling their granddaughters to stay away from people like him. He had a sister – he knew how to treat a girl.

He noticed the construction just before he turned his head away. All he could hear was the roaring of the wind in his ears as his friend went past him, his laughter following trail. He wasn't looking where he was going; his hands were held up, waving around and Shirazu was sure he had gotten drunk. He shouldn't have let his friend use his bike. But what did it matter to him? He was four years older than him; he should be able to take care of himself.

He glanced at his left again. Did he see a man standing on top of that construction? He blinked, adjusting his bike and checking his friend before he checked again. The man was gone, but there was a thick smoke rising from the ground. He thought he saw the lights of an ambulance nearby.

He was probably a little drunk too. A man with a clown mask standing on top of a construction in the middle of the night? He shook his head and looked away.

His friend had gotten pretty far. He maneuvered around the parked cars in the narrow alley to reach his friend, but he was quickly getting out of his sight. He didn't dare going faster than he already was and when his friend completely disappeared from his view, he thought if he should just give up. They were already too late; they would probably yell at them and remind them the rules again. He didn't want to be scolded by a bunch of teenagers pretending to be Yakuza.

He drove to a nearly empty street and stopped the engines.

There was a café at the corner of the street, right next to the lamppost. He got off the motorcycle and tried to see if it was still open, but couldn't tell. The sign was hidden in the dark; there was no way of telling even the name of the shop. He sighed.

"What a luck," he growled, kicking the side of his motorcycle. He put his hands in the pockets of his worn out jacket and sat on the cold sidewalk, leaning against his motorcycle. "I could use somethin' warm now."

His breath was fogging in the air. It was so cold and his ears already felt frozen. He rubbed his ears in his palms and tried to warm them. His nose was cold too.

"Shit," he kicked the road. "Shouldn't've gone out tonight." He looked around. It wasn't a familiar place. "Hope sis doesn't get too worried," he muttered.

After getting up and walking around to warm himself up – which miserably failed – he returned to his bike. He got on it, rubbed his hand loving on the side of it and smiled. "Let's go big girl," he said. "Let's go home."