Haruka was flying way above the ground, sweating so very much under the hot summer sun and carrying a big bag of groceries that Youko had commanded him to buy even if it's summer, really summer as in, summer, and he'll suffocate or melt into a big puddle of goo and feathers, or else, when he saw the truck in front of a vaguely familiar house.
Hmm. Maybe there were people moving in.
Then he saw someone. That someone was wearing a white kimono and a red hakama, and had silvery white hair, and—
Wait.
Wasn't that Kantarou?
No wonder the house looked so familiar.
He watched two men move a glass table into the house, and another…
He was…
He was leaning towards Kantarou!
Completely flabbergasted and utterly speechless, Haruka dropped the bag he was holding. And that bag just happened to contain a big, fat, green watermelon.
And it just happened to drop onto the glass table.
Which broke.
Into a million tiny pieces. And so did the watermelon.
Uh-oh.
"Haruka!" Kantarou wailed in despair. "You just broke our new table!"
"Um," he managed. Somehow the temperature seemed to rise considerably, and he was sweating even more, which he hadn't thought was possible.
"It was given to me! For my hard work this month!" He cried, arms flailing everywhere.
"Um," Haruka gulped, and tried not to be pulled by gravity and just rest on the ground, god it was so hot.
"And now our watermelon's destroyed too!" Kantarou glared at him furiously, cheeks puffed out like a child. "Come here!"
"No!" The Tengu bawled. Somewhere deep in his mind a voice told him that he was impugning his own masculinity.
"Come here, right now!"
The men, half drenched with watermelon juice, were definitely staring by now. Probably surprised at how a twenty-year-old man could act so childishly, and an even more macho-looking man who had wings and was flying above the ground was acting almost the same way.
"NO!" Haruka flapped his wings and fled.
Unfortunately, Kantarou had an advantage.
"Come here, Haruka!"
Which was the name bond.
Haruka was all too aware of his impending doom, and for once seriously considered suicide. Or murder.
--
Fin.
Word count: 367
It looks like it's left off hanging there, but I'm tired, and sleepy, and do not care.