iv. an afternoon, a day off

If it weren't for the demons inside his stomach demanding food, Kaminaga would probably still be sleeping soundly in his bed. Or lying in his bed, to be precise. Because he'd always been a light sleeper who, exacerbated by the training at D Agency, would be woken up by the slightest of sounds; the bed creaking, the door closing, or even sometimes the rumbling automobile engine on the street below his window. Each of the spies Kaminaga was sleeping in the same room with now was quiet enough not to wake him up when they exited, but at times someone would just deliberately make noises to wake the others up. Miyoshi did so. Or he did because it was past noon already and now Kaminaga was hungry.

He stretched slowly before bringing himself to a sitting position, eyes adjusting and focusing in almost no time, finding out, without surprise, that he was the only one left in the room. It was their day off, and Kaminaga felt like not wanting to move. He had moved his body all night after all, splurging through the dancing hall, moving from one bar to another, drinking a little bit too much than he usually would. But Miyoshi had smiled at him in the way he never before, and under the man's gaze Kaminaga found the vigor to let himself lost a little bit in the spree.

Kaminaga wasn't drunk, though—a little tipsy, perhaps—but he was aware and remembered everything that happened, particularly the part when Miyoshi pulled him out to catch some fresh air, before dragging him to another bar, with just the two of them. They talked a lot; about the classy restaurant that had just opened downtown, about the book Kaminaga recently finished, about the news Miyoshi read in the morning newspaper—but never about themselves. Maybe he was being overconfident, thinking that if he could get the man drank enough, there would be a chance for Miyoshi to slip out something about his past, something about himself, something that could give Kaminaga a clue about his true colors. Anything.

It was yet another game for all the spies, trying to collect fragments of each other's past, learning about the others in the most unconventional ways. At that time they were still neither friends nor comrades; they were just a group of people happened to be working under the same person for the same purposes. Even months after living and meandering the town together, Kaminaga still couldn't trust them, no, not fully. (He did respect them, but there's a distinction between acknowledging and trusting.) And the easiest way to feel safe among uncertainties is by knowing something about the other party, whether it's something they like and dislike—or even better, their past. If any of them were to double-cross him, information would serve like insurance.

But Miyoshi was impenetrable, and he held his liquor well. That's a shame, since it was no longer just a game or pride; Kaminaga was genuinely curious. At some point he gave up tacitly coaxing the other man to spill about himself, and somehow it had turned into a quite blatant flirting. Maybe it was the alcohol talking, but he couldn't help himself, not when Miyoshi was crossing his legs, leaning in closer, bumping their knees together—staring and smiling, knowingly. At some point too Kaminaga managed to somehow call it a night, no matter how tempting it was to keep ordering drinks or enjoying the way Miyoshi's eyes gleaming under the bar's lights, he knew his limit and it was the time to stop. Kaminaga might present himself as carefree, but he could never be a spy if that was the truth.

Letting out the remembrance of last night with a big yawn, he headed for the toilet. Miyoshi was already there when he came in, not batting an eye even though the mirror he's facing was placed on the opposite of the door.

"Morning," Kaminaga greeted, half-heartedly.

"It's two in the afternoon."

"Good afternoon, sir." He said in English.

The other spy glanced at him through the refection, before returning his eyes back to himself. "Afternoon."

The water was freezing cold when he opened the tap, and it's not the most pleasant feeling having to wash his face with it, but as long as Yuuki was civilized enough to keep the heating in their bedroom working, Kaminaga wouldn't complain. Washing off the remains of sleep, he turned his attention to Miyoshi.

"What's wrong," he asked, "seeing something in the mirror?"

"I just don't like how my bangs look." His long fingers combed through reddish brown strands.

Kaminaga stared at the man's reflection and his hair; there was nothing wrong with it, he looked flawless, as usual. "Wouldn't it be better to just cut it then?"

A low sigh escaped from Miyoshi's mouth, turning his face to Kaminaga, he said, "You don't get it, do you?"

He wanted to argue, Miyoshi did look fine. He always did. If it weren't for his pride Kaminaga would've already blabbered about how hard it was trying to tear his eyes off him all night when the man looked so, incredibly, stunning, dancing to jazz and swing with all those foreign women. Perfect, in every way it's humanly possible, Miyoshi was perfect.

Instead, Kaminaga only raised an eyebrow, but the man before him chose not to elaborate. Slowly, the corners of Miyoshi's lips turned upwards, it was one of those rare genuine smiles, Kaminaga could tell the difference by now, because it came out only when the two of them were present. It's merely a slight curve of the lips, with a glint of amusement in his eyes, but not condescending; it was Miyoshi's way of showing fondness, and Kaminaga wouldn't mind getting drunk any time, as long as he could see it again.

For him, this man who used the name Miyoshi was an enigma himself; how could someone who possessed a smile as lovely as his at one time, could be so cold in another? Someone like him couldn't be an automaton, Kaminaga wanted to believe, there must be something terribly wrong in the way the world works, because there was no chance a man who always fuss about petty things like his hair, capable of turning into an unfeeling and heartless machine.

The spy checked his reflection in the mirror once more, fixing his front hair one last time. Miyoshi caring so much about his looks was endearing. It's like a reminder for Kaminaga that everyone had at least that one flaw (because humans are not perfect and perhaps Miyoshi wasn't an automaton after all), no matter how faultless he thought they were. It made Kaminaga doesn't hold back his grin. "They say it gets thinner faster if you freak out about your hair so much."

Miyoshi produced something that sounded too elegant for a snort before replying, "I suppose Fukumoto would be courteous enough to save each of us a portion of lunch," he then suddenly, turned and ran a hand through Kaminaga's hair, and if he wasn't a trained man, he would've jolted in surprise, "don't come to the cafeteria still looking like a hedgehog, I'll lose my appetite."

Washing his face one more, thoroughly this time, Kaminaga followed him outside.