6. Wednesday
He parked his bike (sleek, slick, black: blackout throughout each inch of matte frame, and glossy midnight paint striking through the absolute darkness like the mercy of moonlight) in front of the boy's bike (compact, rounded, and astoundingly bold: a shadow-like frame all along, acting as a backdrop for the glaring red rims adorned likes fearsome eyes) when he noticed the same silhouette pacing before a cooler of drinks. He dismounts, making toward the automatic doors without much of an introspective thought as to why, halts, and then reconsiders. He watches the figure queue in front of the cashier and decides to wait, leaning against the glass pane beside the doors.
He comes, through the whirring sound of automated doors. One step out, and his gaze aligns with the Spider head's Black Widow, and like an involuntary twitch, his head snaps toward Kuroro.
"That's a nice bike," Kuroro juts his chin at the boy's bike. "Very recognizable. Daringly bold, even."
The boy cocks an eyebrow, "Doesn't look like your kind of colour."
"No, not personally, but it quite suites you," he smiles, baring pearl-white teeth. "I can appreciate that."
Unabashed scrutiny, wide brown eyes counting and measuring each breath of word—learning each and every nuance, every quirk and flick of dark abyssal gaze.
"Did you buy it yourself?" Kuroro veers the boy's focus back onto conversation.
A shrug, "Took the bike off the hands of someone who wanted to get rid of it. I did a bit of refurbishing afterwards."
"The rims?"
"Did those."
"Beautiful addition."
Again, wide-eyed dissection of every expertly placed transition, every praise sliding off that practiced tongue.
A chuckle, "Kuroro Lucifer. I didn't get to introduce myself last time, and I want to leave a good impression with a neighbouring gang."
The boy considers the hand outstretched, trailing his observant eyes up that strong arm to find that perfectly amicable smile and down again. "Kurapika." He lets the outstretched hand stay singularly outstretched.
Unfazed, Kuroro retracts his hand. "No last name?"
Kurapika hums, stepping around Kuroro while twisting the cap off his water. He stops in front of the Spider head, pulling his head back for one large swig.
"Maybe when I actually care for an impression," Kurapika tosses a sparing last glance over his retreating shoulder, "Kuroro."