"I'm just gonna throw out the garbage, alright?" I ask Izumo.
"Ah. No, we don't need any cabbage," he replies, hands absentmindedly wiping clean a champagne glass with a cloth, his eyes staring ahead into the distance.
I snicker lightly, "Izumo, I think the glass is clean enough."
"Huh?" he says, finally looking up at me.
"You've been wiping the same glass for the past 20 minutes," I say, not bothering to hide my amusement.
"Oh," he says, looking down at the glass in hand as if he just realized its existence. "I .." He clears his throat. "Hah, guess I was too caught up listening to the radio."
Said radio in question was sitting innocently in the corner of the bar, tuned into the news. For the past hour, it's been babbling on about some helicopter crashing into an apartment block about an hour's distance from here. Yata had cried out in despair when it first came on because apparently "the best comic store" is right across the apartment and had rushed out on his skateboard to check on it, Kamamoto trailing not far behind.
"What were you saying, Tatara?" Izumo asks, this time giving me his full attention.
"I'm gonna go throw out the garbage," I reply, my hand pointing to the overflowing trash can at the corner of the room. Izumo is persistent in keeping his precious bar spotless so much that all the boys obediently pick up after themselves without having to be told. But then again, after how Izumo reacted to Eric carelessly leaving a packet of chips on the coffee table, who wouldn't be scarred for life. If Kosuke hadn't stepped up to defend him, who knew what Izumo would have done to the poor guy.
"Oh, well thank you Tatara," he beams at me, obviously relieved that he doesn't have to deal with it. "Don't worry about it," I say, waving it off.
After securely tying the trash bag, I head to the kitchen's back door to dump it outside.
"Tatara!" I pause, hand already turning the door handle open. Turning my head around, I see Izumo's head peering from the kitchen door leading to the bar. "Make sure to wash your hands after throwing the trash, okay?" he grins. "Ora ora. I know," I reply, opening the door and stepping out. Izumo's uncommon desire for cleanliness and perfection sometimes makes me wonder if my dear friend has OCD.
I laugh lightly at the thought.
The alleyway in the back of HOMRA's courters isn't that wide, so reaching the large green garbage can doesn't even take a minute. In the distance, I hear dogs barking at each other, as they always do when the sun starts to set. I wonder if it means that they're afraid of the dark. I ponder the possibility as I drop the trash in hand into the can. Wiping my hands together, I start heading back in before Izumo decides that I need a bath instead of a simple hand-washing.
CLANG!
I whirl my head towards the sound. What was that? Even though there are a few stray rays of sunset shining the alley, the garbage can blocks almost half so it's hard to distinguish anything out. "Hello? Is someone there?" I ask, raising my voice a little. I slowly walk towards the can, half cautious half curious. 'It can't be bandits,' I think 'they wouldn't have made a sound and besides, it's not even 7 yet.'
Peering over the large can, I gasp as my eyes land on the figure heavily leaning on the wall adjacent to the can, as if it was the only thing supporting them, chest heaving as if they just ran a marathon. The person was wearing baggy track pants and a large sweater with the hoodie up, hiding their face and any hint of hair. It's hard to tell what gender this person is. Hearing my gasp, the person looks up at me and I am taken aback by the strange colour of their tired eyes. Purple, almost violet irises, stand out against the sun ray on their face. I am so immersed in them, I almost missed the one thing they said before those violet eyes close shut and the person falls forward.
I sprint forward and catch them before they hit the hard ground. The person is surprisingly light, the clothes obviously not their own as it seems much too large for their petite frame. Looking down at them, I see burns and bruises covering their face. If this is the condition of the face, what can be said about the rest of the body? Without hesitation, I put my arm under their legs and stand up, carrying the person bridal style into HOMRA. Izumo is in one hell of a surprise, he probably thought Eric would be the last 'stray' we'd bring in.
Stepping towards the building, my brain finally registers the word that was whispered from the strange person;
"Help."