A/N: First chapter break was only for the suspense! ...And because the entire original chapter was too long, especially in comparison to the others.
Ah, the origin story...
[Chapter 02]: Red
"What in the world is wrong with you?!" he spat. Customer service be damned—he was dead anyway.
And whoever she was, she wasn't even looking at him! She was just staring down at the shards at her feet like a complete imbecile. Maybe if she learned to look straight ahead instead of staring at her cute little boots, they wouldn't be having this problem.
"Why don't you watch where you're going?!" That snapped her head back up, but at this point Ayato didn't care. He had a lot of screaming left to do, his insides boiling with rage, his stomach turning, and now he couldn't look away from the devastation before them.
"LOOK at this!"
He sank to his knees, gesturing to the fragments surrounding him. It was like a minefield of jagged pottery pieces. And wonderful—the broom was all the way on the other side of the store.
But the neatness of the floor was the smaller issue here. His mortality was at stake. He might already be having a heart attack—a heart attack, at the age of sixteen!
If the girl had managed to say anything helpful or even intelligible, he couldn't hear it. The only thing he could hear over the ringing in his ear and his deadly heartbeat was his own screaming.
"My father is going to murder me! Do you realize that?!" he snarled, glaring at her knees—if he dared look into her eyes, he'd lose his nerve. He ran his hands through his hair, tugging at his fringe, and forced himself not to hyperventilate. "Do you realize how long all these took to make?! You just broke a week's worth of work!"
"If you could let me speak for two seconds, I could tell you I'm sorry—"
Her voice seemed familiar—maybe he'd heard it in the hallway at school. But that apology was crap. That wasn't a sorry. That was a sarcasm-laden guilt trip, and she could stuff it.
"You are indirectly going to cause my death! These vases are expensive!" He started picking up shards and scooping them into a pile, taking extra care in handling the sharper edges. The money this would lose them… he shuddered to think of how Kimito would react to this. "And they take forever in the kiln. Because of you, I'm going to have to start all over again!"
If Kimito even let him live, that is.
The girl huffed, and he could just see her putting her hands on her dainty little hips. "Listen, I said I was sorry—"
"Well, why don't you just engrave that on my headstone," he replied, pitifully trying to connect two shards like a puzzle piece. "'Sorry' isn't going to put my vases back together!"
Another sigh from above him. Then she crouched and sat down in front of him, nudging some shards out of the way of her sitting area with her boot and shepherding them into his pile. "Then just let me help you."
"Don't bother," he muttered, turning away and scanning the room for the garbage can. But it was useless to say, because by the sound of it she was already picking up some pieces. Stubborn and clumsy. If he weren't so furious with her, and with himself, he would note that they had a lot in common.
He got up to fetch the garbage can, along with the whisk broom and dustpan. But he made sure to yell and rant over his shoulder as he went.
Yes, he knew it was an accident. But it didn't matter how he saw it.
"For future reference? If someone clearly can't see where he's going, and if he's holding something expensive," he paused to fish the dustpan and whisk broom out of a cleaning cabinet, "it's your job to use your perfectly unobscured vision and stay out of their way!"
"It was empty in here when I came in," she said defensively. "I was looking around for the shop owner and next thing I know you're flying out at me. You didn't…" she hesitated then for some reason, her breath catching, "you didn't really give me a lot of time to react."
"That's because I didn't know you were there!"
"Well like I said, I didn't see you either."
He came back around the corner of the shelves with the dustpan, tiptoeing over the pieces that had spread out farther in the vase explosion. She'd actually made some progress moving a good portion of the shards closer to each other. Now her head was bent with her dark reddish purple hair covering her face, avoiding his eyes and focusing intently on adding to the pile.
"Intent doesn't matter," he shot back, kneeling down to sweep up the pieces. "Intent isn't going to—"
"—fix your vases. Yeah, I heard you the first time."
"Did you hear me when I said 'don't bother'?!" He found himself getting rather irritated with this girl. She kept trying to play the good guy, making him look like a jerk when he was the victim here.
He was the one who was doomed. She was fine. She—
With furrowed eyebrows, he picked up a piece of pottery he'd already swept into the pan. There was a wetness on it, a maroon discoloration against the brown of the hardened clay. When he touched it, crimson came off on his fingertips.
Blood? Was that his? On top of everything, if he'd gotten cut by the broken shards of his own vase… He sent another annoyed grunt her way. But then, the blood would've had to come from him handling it with bloody fingers.
He inspected himself, then frowned. Nothing. He should have suspected, his hands had gotten too calloused to cut. And he'd been careful.
But then, that would mean…
He flicked his gaze toward the girl, who was still picking through the mess on her side. Behind her hair he could see her chewing the inside of her cheek, and her right hand was clenched and quivering slightly.
Picking up a shard from her pile, he curiously squinted at it. And his stomach dropped.
More maroon fingerprints.
"Are…" he lowered his voice, a sinking feeling in his chest where the guilt trip struck, "are you bleeding?"
She wouldn't meet his eyes. "It's just a cut."
"Let me see."
At first she held her clenched hand to her heart, her face still hiding behind all that dark red hair. But he held out his hand and waited. With a sigh, she extended her injured hand to him, and he took it.
There was a significant slice in her middle finger, where she must have gotten cut picking up a sharp piece of pottery. He couldn't tell if any of her other fingers had gotten cut; they were all tinted with crimson. She'd been concealing it in her fist, but now that it'd unraveled in his hand, the blood was dripping down her fingers and wrist and onto the floor.
Opening his mouth, then closing it again, he swallowed hard and fought back a grimace. The idiot had just… just let herself bleed without saying anything?
Though… he really hadn't given her too many chances to speak up while he was screaming at her.
So, then, why had she continued helping him?
When he lifted his gaze from all the red, the next color he saw was green. Pure sea-green eyes, widening underneath dark reddish purple bangs that framed a strikingly familiar heart-shaped face.
The strong sense of recognition he felt at that moment was strange. He'd barely ever noticed his classmates, but something about this girl was different. He had to have seen her in the hallway before.
When and where would have to wait for another time. There were more important matters at hand.
"There's a sink in the back room," he said, taking her wrist more securely and helping her to her feet. "Come on. I'll help you clean that up."
She hesitated for a second, then nodded and followed him as he headed down the hall.
In the back room, she'd batted his hand away when he tried to help her run the cut under cold water, but she didn't deny his assistance when he came to her bearing gauze. Again, he took her hand in his calloused ones, and slowly but gingerly began to wrap her afflicted finger.
Unfortunately not as gingerly as he had hoped. The gauze tightened around her cut, and she flinched with a small yelp.
"Sorry!" he said quickly, and she raised an eyebrow at him. Suggesting she'd never expect such a humble thing to come out of his mouth. Sighing, he picked up some scissors from his father's work table and snipped the gauze. "Not just for hurting you. For yelling at you too." He held the gauze on with one hand while grabbing some tape with the other. "I have an explanation but no justification."
"Hm. What's your explanation?" she asked, eyeing him as he pressed the tape onto her gauze.
"Let's see…" Releasing her finger, he began to count on his. "Long day, no sleep, skipped breakfast, no food, slaved over a potter's wheel for hours this morning, got work thrown on me out of nowhere… and Kimito Naoi is my father."
She snorted then, toying with her bandages. "I can understand the last one."
This time it was his turn to raise an eyebrow at her.
"My parents buy from him," she explained, shrugging when she caught his skeptical glance. "They're big vase fanatics. Collectors, I guess. They usually shop for one themselves when one of them isn't busy, but they both are now, so they sent me to see if the one they've had their eye on is still available." She scoffed, leaning against the edge of the sink. "Normally, I'd like to stay out of Mr. Naoi's way."
"Yeah, well, you and me both," he said, planting himself next to her on the sink counter.
Her mouth twitched into a half-smirk, and she eyed him with sudden curiosity.
"So you're his son?" she asked. "Ayato Naoi?"
"Unfortunately." But thank the whole blessed universe she hadn't called him by his brother's name.
"I'm Yuri." She held out her uninjured hand for him to take, and they shook. But then she frowned, concerned. "So your father wouldn't really murder you for what happened in there, would he?"
Ayato opened his mouth to answer, but then the bell at the front door jingled and they both froze. The door slammed shut, followed by a furious snarl.
"WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED IN HERE?!"
"You're about to find out," Ayato said aside to her.
Yuri's eyes went wide. "Geez, he's even louder than you-!"
"AYATO!"
Heavy, quick, and dangerous footsteps headed down the hallway with all speed.
"Ayato, you'd better—"
Kimito's face, which paled instead of reddened whenever he was furious, had gone a deathly snow white by the time he appeared in the doorway. But when he spotted the two of them standing there, he cut himself off. A different, unreadable color took over his face.
"Miss Nakamura!" said Kimito. "What are you doing here?"
Ayato whipped his head around at the name, giving Yuri a questioning look that she didn't seem to notice.
Nakamura? She was a Nakamura?!
"My parents are busy, but they've seen a vase they're interested in," Yuri said calmly. "So I've come in their place as the paying customer."
"I can only hope you'll be as loyal a customer as your parents one day." Kimito regarded her with interest and a little bit of suspicion, but with no trace of anger left over on his face. "Might I ask what you're doing in the back room with my son?"
The implications there lit up Ayato's cheeks, before he realized where this topic would take them. He looked helplessly to Yuri, but she was already answering Kimito's question.
"About that, Mr. Naoi…" She twisted at the gauze on her finger. "That mess out there? That was my fault, not his. I wasn't looking where I was going and I crashed into him while he was carrying some pottery vases."
Kimito turned his attention to Ayato, his gold eyes glinting. Ayato nodded, confirming both her story and Kimito's silent question of whether or not they'd been the vases. But inwardly his head was spinning faster than the potter's wheel.
"Then, even though he assured me I didn't have to bother, I tried to help him clean it up. It was my doing, after all. But I cut myself on a shard," Yuri said, and held up her bandaged hand, "so your son was nice enough to take me back here and take care of it for me."
Kimito nodded, rubbing his chin. "So that would be your blood on the floor."
Yuri winced. "Yeah, I'll clean it up. Sorry about that."
"No need." Kimito waved his hand dismissively. "I'm just relieved the cut wasn't too severe. If your parents heard that my son's vases injured their daughter, they'd never buy one from me again."
Turning it around on him and making it about money… Ayato quickly suppressed his scoff. Typical Kimito Naoi.
"In all fairness, I think I did the most damage," Yuri said. Managing to meet his eyes—a bold feat—she gave the older man an apologetic frown. "I can pay for that."
If she was the Nakamuras' daughter, then of course she could. That couple could pay for half the shop! The other half might even already be in their sitting room at this point. No wonder his father was actually being pleasant toward Yuri. He couldn't afford to lose her parents' business.
Kimito must have been thinking the same thing at that moment.
"I'll take it up with your parents," he said, stony-faced, "but no harm done."
Unbelievable. If Ayato had been a cartoon, or confident enough to be melodramatic in front of his father right now, he would have vigorously rubbed at his eyes. He wasn't going to take his chances with anything else, but he could very well be off the hook here.
"Yeah, no harm done," Yuri agreed, placing a hand on Ayato's arm, "thanks to this guy."
He blinked at her, but she only continued to smile at Kimito. Ayato frowned—what was she doing?
"I have to give your son credit," she said, pushing herself off the sink and walking up to the older Naoi. "When he saw that I was hurt, he acted quickly and responsibly." She cast her smile briefly to Ayato, before giving Kimito a respectful bow-like nod. "You've got a good worker here."
"Indeed," said Kimito, and Ayato nearly fell over in shock. "Well, Miss Nakamura, if you still want to talk business, we can take this into the main room." He nodded to his son. "Ayato, I think you'll want to finish cleaning up in there before you head home."
Head home?
Ayato couldn't believe his ears. But he knew better than to "stand there gaping like an imbecile" after his father had given him an order in front of a customer.
"Y-yes, sir," he managed, and bowed slightly to the both of them before he slipped into the hallway.
It took a little over three minutes to sweep up the remaining shards on the floor and dispose of them. The blood took longer to wipe up and disinfect, though he did that discreetly while Yuri was over at the counter with Kimito so she wouldn't be embarrassed.
Then again, she shouldn't be the one to feel embarrassed. If he hadn't yelled at her, she might have told him she was bleeding sooner. If he hadn't turned into a total monster…
If he caused a girl's injury—yes, he'd admit he caused it, however indirectly—and merely kept shouting at her, he really was no better than his father.
He scrubbed harder at the floor until there wasn't a single fleck of red left, then put his gloves and cleaning tools back in the cabinet. Lifting the protective apron over his head, he draped it on a hook on the wall, then made his way to the front. He hesitated at the door, and turned to look over his shoulder. Kimito was still speaking to Yuri at the counter, while lovingly patting the top of a large, intricately decorated vase that he'd set on the surface. Ayato cleared his throat to get their attention.
"I'm heading out," he said.
His father gave a grunt and slight hand wave, dismissing him. "I'll meet you at home."
After all that "running the store for a few more hours" talk, he was seriously letting him go. Ayato spared a grateful glance at Yuri, who grinned back at him.
"Maybe I'll see you around school sometime," she said.
A similar grin pulled at the corners of his mouth. "Maybe." And then, when Kimito was looking the other way, he mouthed a "thank you so much," to which she replied with an inconspicuous thumbs up.
With a final bell jingle, he left the store behind him and headed toward the workshop.
Yes, Yuri had saved his life, but he had some vases to make up for.
Preview:
"I had you pegged for a rooftop lunch kind of loner."
"Why are you sitting with me?"
"He couldn't literally murder you."
"You really are a bad judge of character."
"My grandparents were… horrible drivers."
"Are you trying to be my friend?"
[Chapter 03]: Blood Bond.