Yesterday, I caught the chibi smoking, in deep, nervy pulls, in the small yard behind the shop where we keep the incinerator and the rubbish bins. Usually, Omi will sneek into the greenhouse, or when he feels particularly reckless, even smoke in the workshop, and try to hide the fag when I'm around. This time, he only gave me a gloomy glance from beneath tumbled blond bangs and stayed put on the binbag with rubbish he sat on.
"Hey, whassup chibi?" I asked him, with a frown at the cigarette. He took another drag and exhaled with an almost-sigh. He was on shift with Aya that day, because I had a date, and to place Ken and Aya together meant asking for trouble.
"I'm not gonna smoke in there anymore, and I can forget 'bout givin' up now," he groaned, shifting uneasily on the rustling bag.
"Oh?" I sat down beside him, my back against the sun-warmed wall, and lit up.
"Man, Yohji, I thought I could handle him..." Another puff of smoke, angry and sharp, through nose and mouth at the same time like a huffing dragon, and his blue eyes glittered edgily. I knew he missed Ken, they tended to banter throughout their shift and natter about anything of interest to chibis, and they enjoyed the attention of the girls that flooded our shop every lunchtime and after school. Aya does not do banter, he thinks nothing of spending an entire shift in utter silence, and he dislikes dealing with customers.
Here was a chance, and before I knew it, my mouth ran ahead of my brains. "If you want, I'll take the shifts with him."
Omi did not risk the possibility of me changing my mind. "Oh, Yohji-kun, I so hoped you'd say that!" Before I could take another breath, he jumped me, gave me a bear hug and ran off, back into the shop, the cigarette forgotten and smouldering on the ground. My offer meant I had to cancel my date, because the chibi had taken my word literally, and was gone for the rest of the afternoon. I've never seen Omi run like this.
So that's how I came to have all my shifts with Aya.
Who makes us all itch, puts us on edge simply by being here.
Because we now know with certainty that we are a shambles, a sorry heap of deranged, messy slobs, drunkards and sluts... even if he does not say it. He has his ways of letting us know.
And there's something I haven't found out yet: I wonder what he does with himself when he gets hot. I know he does 'cos I saw him the other day, leaning into the corner of the shower, and hell hath me if he wasn't hard and trying to ignore it while the water steamed all over his white hide.
Perhaps he even fucks himself with that damn sword of his.
xxx
Next chapter: Stillness
(I had planned to title it 'Relief', but it seemed to fit better this way. I hope you won't be disappointed – let me know what you think, please. Thanks.)