7 1.6

Suddenly, a feeling of abrupt sadness entered his chest. It wrapped around Angelo's heart like a second skin, coiling around and around. He sighed inaudible. Ah, he really was a mess, wasn't he?

A second later though, Angelo got a hold of his turbulent emotions and looked at the man.

"Not exactly? What do you mean by that?" Angelo asked, raising a slender eyebrow.

"Too fast," the man answered almost immediately. "Too wild. Almost like it's alive. As soon as you try to do anything more than ride in a straight line with it, it goes out of control. Stopping is in really hard as well; most get thrown off. The bike is a road, terrain and stunt bike rolled into one. It's a miracle the president actually managed to build it and get it to work- as well as make it look good."

"Ho... is that so?" Angelo asked thoughtfully. "Sounds interesting. The president must be very smart then."

The other man stared at the blonde-haired youth and hummed in agreement. Angelo didn't notice the stare, and instead studied the bike. And then made a choice. "Mind if I try?"

-[the stars incline us. They do not bind us]-

As they headed to the elevator, a shop assistant already heading down to the test track with the bike, Angelo realised his impoliteness.

"Ah, I didn't catch you name," he said, looking at the other, who shrugged uncaringly. "Hm... mine's Angelo. Angelo di Inverno. Pleasure to meet you."

The man raised an eyebrow at him. "di Inverno? I've heard of that name before..."

Angelo shrugged, mimicking the man's previous action.

"Ah, well, my parents are rather well known in the acting industry. In her days, Mother was renowned as the number one harp player," Angelo said proudly. "Father was hailed as the greatest composer in Italy before he retired. And now, little Bianca is living up to both their names, that little brat. Anyway, that's not important. When someone gives you their name, it's usually polite to give your name back." He sounded amused though, not angry.

"I'm not so important," the man said. "Just an employee."

"An important employee of you're lugging around that bike the president of the company himself made," Angelo pointed out.

"Perhaps so," the man answered indulgently. "And what of you?"

Angelo blinked, and then laughed. The man startled, and found that he rather liked the other man's laughter. It wasn't obnoxious or over the top at all, but rather, it sounded like wind chimes. It made one think of a distant call from faraway; barely there, but able to be heard nonetheless, and extremely pleasant and light to listen to. The man was a little disappointed when it stopped.

"Ah, I'm just a small time musician in a little cafe."

"You don't want to become famous? Or rich?"

"What point is there? I'm happy to just spread the joy of my music, and let my little sister be the one to gain success," Angelo said simply. "And I'm already rich, what with my parents and all."

The man thought for a moment, and then asked; "Couldn't you spread more music by being famous? Performing in a cafe may get you some attention, but that's it."

Angelo wagged his finger, shaking his head.

"Aha, that's where you're wrong, Mister Just-an-employee. If I became famous, my music would be criticised by people. Or rather, people would find faults where there are no faults. Begin to idolise and want, want and want. Never giving. Whereas, my plan is to be small, but make an impact. See it like... being rich and famous and spreading music globally: a random bird attacks you, but then you chase it off and it's forgotten. Performing in a smaller area, more locally: an ant bites you, and you can't help but notice it. Constantly itching and scratching till it's scarred there forever. If I continue to play there, people will become more aware of me, flock to me, instead of me to them. Do you understand?" Angelo asked, his sharp, violet eyes glimmering with mirth.

The man nodded slowly, his eyes showing his reluctant impress. The elevator they were in gave a soft 'ding' and Angelo grinned, clapping his hands together. "Well, that's what I think anyway."

The doors opened and Angelo hopped out, then stopped in awe. "This was unexpected," he said quietly, looking around the room.

The 'room' was a large, complicated looking track split in thirds. A third of the room looked like the usual street roads in cities with traffic lights and pedestrian crossings. Another third resembled that of a rocky terrain, its track was carved out crudely, but methodically. The last was that of a stunt area, with jumps and twists and tire marks everywhere. Angelo whistled, looking suitably impressed as he looked around.

"Ah, sir, here's the motorbike," the shop assistant from before said, gesturing towards the vehicle. "You can choose a helmet from the rack over there."

Angelo nodded in thanks, striding over to the mentioned rack and picking out a blue helmet and trying it on. Too big. He tried on a red. Small. Yellow then? Eh, not bad, but it would have to do, seeing as any other would be too small or too big. He turned to the watching employees and nodded.

"Ok. I'm ready. Where do I start?"

He started the engine and Angelo almost crooned in delight. She practically purred like a little kitten. He started off at the road section and slowly edged forward. Or well, sort of. The bike shot forward and Angelo whooped in excitement, forgetting that road laws did, in fact, exist and wove through the roads. The man hadn't been joking when he'd said the bike was fast.

Angelo's whole body was tense and adrenaline filled and he nearly crashed when he turned a corner, only to push himself back up with his hand and speed forward again.

His mind was blank, the low roar of the engine filled his ears and he. Was. FREE. The ground turned rocky and rough below him and he was almost shook off from the bike as it travelled along. But then the process turned so smooth, it could be considered glass-like. The shock-absorption and suspension was working splendidly and Angelo was in love. Then came the stunt area. If Angelo so chose to, he could stop, and most people who came here did. Actually, you could stop anytime on the track. But, who was Angelo, if not a mad adrenaline-junkie? He drove to the stunts section, still going several tens of kilometres an hour.

The stunts area was getting closer, the first obstacle, a large ramp and a jump, was nearly upon him. Angelo didn't slow down even a little. Then he was going up, up, and up and then-

He. Was. Flying.

He gave a cry of glee and laughed madly. Yes, yes, YES. It was precisely this that he had been missing. The sense of gut-wrenching feeling of a free fall, that sense of freedom that came along with the loss of gravity. The soul throbbing feeling of just being ALIVE and FREE and THERE. That mind-whitening surge of adrenaline and the laughter that bubbled up in his throat.

A few minutes later, he pulled up, gasping for breath and his pupils blown out in the middle of his violet iris, and a wide grin stretched across his lips. The shop assistant fanned herself with a hand, having had ten years of her life shaved off from Angelo's impromptu show. Angelo took a breath, his mind still a little hazy.

"Do I get this bike now?" he asked coyly.