Chapter Text
Saturday, June 8th
21:17
A car horn blares as a vehicle speeds past, and Issei hits the ground at the exact moment the pitch of the sound hits its peak.
Well, no.
The perceived pitch.
He vaguely remembers trying to sleep through a physics lecture in his youth in which the teacher was explaining how this works — something to do with apparent pitch of a noise in relation to your distance from the source — but it was so long ago that he can’t remember what the effect is called.
He kind of doesn’t give a shit, though, given that he’s currently horizontal in a sand dune, watching a horrifyingly bright blue Jeep speed away like a Shinkansen off its leash.
“Thanks, asshole!” he yells after it, pushing himself up onto his feet and brushing the sand off his ass. Weirdly enough, the Jeep doesn’t respond. It disappears over the hill, but Issei keeps watching, even as the red glow from the tail lights fades into the night. The roar of the engine soon follows suit, leaving Issei alone with the sound of the waves crashing on the shore and a barely-there, high-pitched whining in his ear that he can’t seem to shake.
He blinks, takes a deep breath, and starts walking down the road once again.
How he ended up three kilometers from the city in the first place, he doesn’t know, but this whole walking-thirty-minutes-in-a-brand-new-pair-of-boots thing is kind of putting a damper on his first night here. He’d planned on scoping out the whole city tonight — if you can call it a city — just to get a sense of what he’s working with, but now that he’s half an hour down, he might need to re-evaluate his gameplan.
Maybe he should have just commandeered the Jeep.
He chuckles to himself as he steps up onto the sidewalk on the outskirts of town, admiring the red and white barber pole outside of a hair salon. The shop is closed, but a look inside the window reveals six identical, mint green chairs in front of spotless mirrors and granite counters, six sets of scissors and combs set neatly on top. There’s a jukebox in the corner, a fern on the front desk, a neon sign in the window that just says ‘hair,’ and a sign above the door that says ‘Curl Up & Dye’ in tacky, cursive lettering. Issei smiles to himself, appreciating the aesthetic for what it is.
He hadn’t really known what to expect when it came to the vibes of this town, but he’s pleasantly surprised. At least someone here has a sense of humor.
It’s just a little… colorful, for lack of a better word, and he means that literally. There’s neon everywhere, all the buildings are painted in pastels, and even the streetlamps have a sort of too-warm glow to them that feels almost artificial; they look the way outdoor lights often look in the rain — hazy, ethereal — even though it isn’t raining.
He runs a hand along the exteriors of the shops lining the street as he walks, glancing in windows and avoiding his reflection, for now. He’s well-aware of the way he looks, but he doesn’t need the reminder.
A young man in a striped shirt and a bomber jacket runs by him, jostling Issei in his hurry. He shouts an apology behind him with a wave, so Issei waves back. It’s common courtesy, right? That’s still a thing here.
He wonders briefly whether that guy is a tourist, too, but decides it doesn’t matter. He didn’t come to San Junipero to make friends.
Belinda Carlisle’s Heaven Is a Place On Earth trickles out from underneath the door to a dive bar called ‘The Nightcap,’ and Issei smiles. This is what he came for: the novelty of a town built on nostalgia. This place is an escape for some, a delusion for others, and that’s about it, as far as Issei is concerned. It’s like a museum of misguided souls, intent on being young forever, but Issei knows better than anyone that that isn’t how things work.
Death is just a part of life, and he’s okay with that. Comfortable, even. It’s the way it’s always been.
That doesn’t mean he’d give up on the chance to experience a collective fantasy in action when it’s handed to him on a figurative silver platter.
He hums along to the song as he shoves his hands into the pockets of his denim jacket, covered in patches of band logos long forgotten by the public hive mind. He isn’t really a pop guy, but hey, this song is a classic.
The door to the bar is covered in fliers for social events and community clubs alike, neighborhood sports teams, house parties, bake sales, and job opportunities. It seems like a pretty tight-knit community, which is surprising, considering the number of people here, but Issei figures the tourist-to-local ratio must be pretty high. It’s a beach town. A party town. A temporary getaway for those looking to forget about real life for a while.
Unless, of course, it isn’t, and Issei thinks that’s probably why the locals have formed such a close bond: when everyone around you leaves, you’d probably hold onto the ones who don’t for dear life.
He understands.
The hum of voices gets louder as Issei makes his way farther into town, more and more people crossing his path on their way to clubs, diners, or wherever they’re off to for the night. It’s endearing, in a way. Everyone seems so excited to be here. Maybe it’s time Issei gets in the right headspace, too.
There are lots of empty shops around him, all closed for the night — because of the hour or because it’s Saturday, Issei isn’t sure — but he spots a small burger joint down the street, and his stomach rumbles at the idea of a solid meal. His feet are moving before he even makes the decision to go.
If the first bite is heaven, the second bite is whatever comes after heaven. Reincarnation, maybe. It’s been a long time since he’s had something this good.
The sign outside boasts of ‘Food That’s Just to Die For,’ and Issei would be hard-pressed to disagree.
The milkshake is just as good, if not better, and while the french fries are sub-par at best, they’re delightfully authentic. Issei finishes the whole meal in under three minutes, if the clock on the wall is at all correct, and he doesn’t regret it one bit. What’s to regret in a place like this, anyway?
The bell above the door jingles as he exits the building, a detail he hadn’t noticed on his way in, and he smiles again. There’s a certain charm to this town, under all the gaudiness. It has personality in places he’d never think to look.
“Hey,” a voice says from his left, and he turns. A man stands there — somewhere in his twenties, appearance-wise, but you never know — with dark, soft-looking hair, glasses, and a bored look on his face that seems more like the natural set of his features than any indication of his mood. “Do you know where Tucker’s is?”
Issei blinks. “Who’s Tucker?” he asks.
The man sighs, his forehead creasing as his head bobs forward slightly. “It’s a club. My husband said he wanted to go, but he disappeared while I wasn’t looking and I have no idea where the place is.”
Issei snorts against his better judgment, fiddling with the cuff of his jacket by his side. “That sucks,” he says. “It’s my first night here, though, so I don’t know where anything is.”
“Us, too,” the man says, rubbing at his face with his right hand. “Alright, thanks. I’ll find it.”
“Good luck,” Issei says with a nod, and the man walks away.
He seemed… normal.
Issei takes a deep breath and lets it out, then looks around at the storefronts along the street. Nothing is open save for restaurants and bars, it seems, and with a full stomach and no desire to get drunk by himself, nothing in his line of sight seems all that appealing. He considers going back the way he came — giving up on this whole thing — but the draw to the ocean is stronger than his apathy, for now. He might as well see the water up close before he leaves.
“Where’s the nicest beach around here?” he asks a passerby, who — surprisingly — points him towards the center of town. “Really?”
“Yeah, follow this road down past Tucker’s and keep going until you hit the water.”
Tucker’s. “Okay, thanks,” Issei says, shoving his hands back in his pockets and starting off down the street. It can’t hurt, he tells himself. It can’t hurt.
Bodies move around him like swarms of bees, flitting from place to place with smiles on their faces and laughter in their throats, pollinating the air with life, or something like it. He moves through them easily, used to the art of dancing through other people’s space without an echo. Used to the rule that he should never leave a trace.
He’s like a ghost, like that, but even more transparent. More forgettable. He’s never been too keen on sticking around.
The air gets thicker as he walks, heavy with the music coming from one place in particular: a building somehow brighter and more neon than all the ones around it combined. The boom of the bass reaches Issei even from a block away, and he’s nearly blinded by the light coming from the giant sign above the doors.
“So this is Tucker’s,” Issei mumbles to himself, stopping to admire it from across the street.
Well, maybe admire isn’t the right word to use, here. Observe is closer to the truth.
It’s like a nature documentary, club-goers gathered in groups of three or four while eyeing the groups nearest to them with varying levels of interest. Issei almost expects a mating ritual to break out before his eyes, but, as one woman blows a kiss at another from a few meters away, thinks that maybe this already counts.
The dark-haired man who had asked him about Tucker’s before is leaning against the wall of the building, tugging on the hem of another man’s shirt. The husband, Issei assumes. He’s tall, with huge pecs and a fox sewn into the back of his jacket, and he’s whispering something in Glasses’ ear that’s making him blush. They look good together, like they’re really in love.
Someone comes out of the club, and Issei lets his gaze wander lazily away from the couple and towards the newcomer, but regrets doing so almost immediately. The guy — tall, with light brown hair that looks almost rose-colored — is staring right back at him. He’s smiling, just slightly, and though they’re a whole street’s distance apart, Issei can see the interest sparkling in the other’s eyes.
He looks fun, in a frightening sort of way, with his hot pink windbreaker and a pair of crisp, white sneakers covered in what look like stickers but could very well be part of the actual design. The guy just kind of stands there, watching him, and Issei feels almost like he’s stuck in a staring contest with an eldritch horror just from how intense it is.
He has to get out of here.
It’s not that Issei isn’t a people person. He can be, sometimes. He actually likes meeting new people. Figuring them out. Under the right circumstances, anyway.
Two hours from midnight in San Junipero with someone who reminds him a little too much of an incubus for his taste is just not what he would consider under the right circumstances.
He nods out of politeness, but turns to continue down the sidewalk in the direction of the beach. Something about the other man makes him think he wouldn’t survive that encounter. Not with his sanity intact.
The man doesn’t follow him, and Issei thinks he should probably feel more relieved than he does.
The walk to the beach is nice, though, and Issei relaxes as the number of people around is reduced with every step he takes. The music gets quieter. The air gets lighter. By the time he reaches the water, he’s pretty much alone.
The sound of the waves is calming, the give of the sand beneath his feet reminiscent of happier times. It makes him feel young again, and Issei feels a weight he hadn’t known existed be slowly lifted off his chest. It’s nice here.
Man, the ocean is beautiful under the stars.
He isn’t sure how long he stands there before his legs start to protest — he forgot to wear a watch — but he doesn’t really think it matters. His thoughts are less dismal than usual, mimicking the tranquil nature of his surroundings.
He knows the sea can be tumultuous. He’s seen waves the size of small buildings more times than he can count, but the sky is clear. There is no storm plaguing the shore tonight. It’s just Issei, his inner monologue, and the expanse of the infinite above and before him, daring him to exist.
It’s easy to forget that moments like this are attainable when you don’t get the chance to experience many of them, but right now, Issei kind of gets it. This place makes sense. He begrudgingly accepts that he may have judged the town by its populace too quickly, and that there may be something for him here, after all.
He’ll give it one more shot.