Meeting Like This
The tiny store was theirs: too packed with clothes-racks to permit more than a couple of customers at a time. He and Rin would circle every stand, examine new arrivals: "Try this one." "Let me see--" Silence otherwise, except for buckles jingling against silver links, the shush of satin, the proprietor's gentle snore.
They'd dart soft comments between the hangers, over velvet display boxes crammed with rings, ankle-chains, earrings, armbands, chokers.
Once, Haru cracked a joke while Rin was browsing the next aisle.
Rounding the banked clothes, he found her laughing. He stood and stared, shocked into raw tenderness.