Contact Names and Origami Cranes

"Tokyo was an origami city folded over and over until something was made of virtually nothing."
Christopher Barzak, The Love We Share Without Knowing

    Tokyo was, to Lance at least, a place he both loved and loathed. The city at night was a metropolitan sort of peace he never got in London, Harajuku never ceased to amaze, and the food was worth the trip in itself. Yet there had always been something sitting in the back of his mind about the city - a bad omen, almost, or perhaps something following him since the last time he was here a few years ago. Chances are the whole affair had been his fault, but all he really recollected from the trip was waking up in Osaka with his shirt covered in blood, a broken nose, and seventeen missed calls from Nikki three hundred miles away in Tokyo. If he could've remembered the details it was probably certain that his ego had been just as broken as his nasal bones that night, but instead the ominous blank sat there whenever he thought about the country - not of it's own fault, but he knew better than most that bad memories have a way of staying with you the longest. Nikki, of course, had found it absolutely hilarious once she realised he wasn't dead, and Val still scolded him for it to this day. 

    Even if he'd got out of the country alive last time, it was interesting being back; a lot less sightseeing and a lot more paperwork. He hadn't been all that shocked when the letter had came in the mail from the Olympic committee, but it had been a big thing for Hawthorn Hill all the same. Morag cried, Addison mostly vibrated with energy for a few days, Val had hugged him so hard he booked an appointment with a physio, and Maureen had been... mostly quiet. It was stupid of him to expect more out her.

    "How you feeling?" Val asked, doing up Hyde's girth. Lance's attention slid away from the dark clouds momentarily as he met her gaze with a frown.

    "It's going to rain. Heavily. He wasn't good with that in Versailles." He mused.

    Val raised an eyebrow, shrugging softly. "That was two years ago. A lot's changed since then. And you didn't answer my question."

    "Oh? Yeah, sorry. I'm fine. Jetlagged as fuck, really."

    "How many times are we going to have the 'it's alright to be nervous' talk?"

    "It's not that." Lance responded flatly. It was true - it wasn't nerves, per say, it was something sitting intangibly at the back of his mind, and he couldn't put a name on it no matter how hard he tried. 

    "... Alright. If you're sure. He's ready when you are." Val smiles, resting a hand on his shoulder for a moment before reaching down to check Hyde's boots. 

    This was it. What they'd came to Tokyo for. The fucking Olympics. The pinnacle of any rider's career, and here he was grasping at mental straws to find words is therapist would be proud of. He pulled his phone out of his pocket, scrolling through the recent texts. He'd gotten good luck wishes from half his contacts - Nikki, Stina, Alana, Laura, the HHS team back at home. Cas, Fox, old hook-ups he didn't even know still had his number. Killian. His finger hovered over an old conversation from March that hadn't been touched since.

    3:21pm, 30th of March, 2021. "Happy Birthday. Sorry about the time. Dad and I are thinking of you x"

    His birthday was the 29th. Every year. Had been since the nineties. 

    "I'm ready. I was right about the rain, though." He murmured, passing his phone to Val for safekeeping. 

    "You were." Val sighed, flipping the hood over her jacket over her hair and running down Hyde's stirrup as the dark skies opened up above them, rain battering off of the concrete. 

    "Oh, this is not ideal." Addison mused as they approached, Maureen trailing behind them with a frown. 

    "Hyde is shit in the rain sometimes." She stated blankly, oversized raincoat hood pulled over her blonde-grey bob. 

    "That's not what I was talking about. I made this crane and now it's going to get wet." Addison sighed, fishing around in their back to produce a slightly wonky pink paper crane, one wing crumpled. They didn't seem to care though, presenting it with a grin and shielding it from the damp weather with their other hand.

    "It's a good luck charm. The guy from that sushi bar taught me how to make them."

    Lance hesitated, taking the origami bird from them with a small smile, patting his outfit for any a place to put it, ultimately finding the folded crane a home in his jacket pocket. God, this kid deserved the world, even if they weren't quite a kid anymore at twenty two. 

    "Well, cranes are seabirds anyway, it's fitting. Thanks, Addison."

    "You did pay for my flights, it felt fair to give you a gift."

    "It's paper."

    "Money's just paper too. It's paper folded with love." They chastised, pulling Lance into a hug. "You'll do great. Right, guys?"

    "You'll do great." Val reassured, and even Hyde seemed to agree with the sentiment, letting out a small nicker. The small group turned to glance at their last member, who stood as stony-faced as ever. They'd all known her a long time, Addison seven years, Val eighteen, and Lance nineteen - with a good few of those being years where they lived together in HHS while his parents were off gallivanting somewhere on the continent. In all that time, she'd always been a grumpy bastard - her training was brutal, compliments only given for what she saw as near perfection, but it had worked. He'd done everything she'd asked of him, took every complaint and snippy comment and insult and rolled with it, and now he was here with five rings embroidered onto his jacket.

    "It's an easy year. You're competing against a bunch of kids. I'd like to hope you'd do great." 

    And from a soft drizzle, the heavens above opened, and he could finally pinpoint that thought sitting at the back of his mind.

    "Is that all you can fucking say? 'It's an easy year'? It's still the bloody Olympics, Maureen! How hard would it be, just once, for you to ever be proud of me? After two decades? I've done nothing but listen to you fucking complain for twenty goddamn years like it's my fault you had to retire, like I singlehandedly invented the concept of arthritis, like little seven year old me made you take this job. I'm sorry this isn't you competing, I'm sorry your life is shit, and I'm sorry that your daughter fucking hates you! No, actually, I'm not sorry about that last part, because I fully fucking get it. You're an awful parent. I didn't even ask you to be one and you still fucked me up."

    Silence. Val and Addison stood slack-jawed, Hyde's ears swivelling back and forth in uncertainty at the tone. And Maureen? He'd never seen her look so shocked in his life.

    What the fuck did he just say? 

    His hands trembled as he took the reins from a silent Val, mounting up and heading towards the warm up alone, his ears roaring. He wanted to regret what he said, really. Pretend he didn't see the hurt in her eyes at the outburst or the way her fists clenched by her sides. But he didn't, because he was at the fucking Olympics and his own goddamn parents couldn't be bothered texting him the same way they couldn't be bothered living with him for his whole high school career. God, why was he even surprised anymore? Was he stupid enough to expect it? He got a goddamn law degree for his parents, European championships for Maureen, and that hadn't been good enough back then. The Great Britain flag stitched on Hyde's saddle pad wasn't going to change that. 

    Hyde walked tensely towards the warm up, chewing at the bit and sending the very clear message that he didn't enjoy today's vibes between Lance's rigid posture and the rain that had started to properly batter down, and Lance gave him a quiet pat on the neck. 

    Well, at least he had this. If you were to tell him a year ago Hyde would be a comfort, he would've laughed you out the room. Now, the stallion was predictable chaos - Lance knew they'd enter that arena with it's neon and it's jumps, Hyde would perk up, throw a few bucks as they waited for the bell, and then throw himself at the fences with the emboldened passion of a tiny horse with napoleon syndrome and two too many balls. 

    Lance had that, at least. Maybe that was all he had. That, and the paper crane folded neatly in his pocket. Something out of nothing, the first mover, relying on only itself to stay put. At this point, as Hyde trotted around the warm up under the stark bright lights, he really could see himself in the crane. He'd spent a lifetime unfolding and folding himself away, creating crisp sharp edges and points that held their shape through the smallest of pleats, precariously balancing in on each other. He would hold himself together, without string or tape or staples, and hope to god that everything he'd built from that single piece of paper stayed where it should - an art all form in itself. One he hadn't mastered considering how many times everything had fallen apart, but he'd get there.

    He didn't need them. He didn't need a text, or a call, or god forbid Maureen saying anything nice to him. All Lance needed was the stupid little stallion beneath him and an arena with lights so bright you couldn't see the faces of the crowd, jumps built to the maximum height by a demon of a course builder, and a good fucking ride.

    And that was what he was going to get. 

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Ref: This by Leanjo