author's note;
01/11/14 — I have formed a nasty habit and it is called splitting chapters in half. If I ended things where I planned to actually end them... we would only be on chapter 5. Oh, golly.

That said, happy November 1st! As always, feel free to point out any mistakes you pick up as well as any particular lines you're fond of. Both make my day a little brighter.

"...Kirishima-san?" he asks, hands hovering inches away from her shoulders and brows knit in concern. His eyes, she thinks, are a tad too wide for his face. Or maybe it's just the fact he looks a little bit like a deer caught in headlights, frozen for a handful of seconds before the surprise wears out and reality sinks in. "Wait — No, more importantly... I must have knocked you down. Are you alright?"

For a moment, the only thing she wants to do is laugh. Her voice is caught in her throat and the absurdity of the situation makes reality feel less like fact and more like fiction. He didn't knock her down. The thought of a ghoul being knocked down by a flabby human being is too mortifying to even consider. All he did was gently bump into her right arm, his elbow grazing the wound that decrepit old asshole had given her. The pain resulting from said gentle bump, on the other hand, had been nothing short of excruciating.

But—oh. Crush Boy is waiting for a response.

She coaxes her voice out of her throat and forgets about the warmth spreading across the palm of her left hand.

"Ah... I'm fine," she lies through her teeth. She wants to snap at him for asking such an obvious question (because, really), but she holds her tongue. He's just a customer. Practically a stranger. Snapping at him would serve no purpose. Though it could make her feel better for a while, it would only cause her trouble in the long run.

Still, Crush Boy seems to mull over her answer far longer than is strictly necessary. Just when she thinks his brain must have disintegrated into a puddle of goo, he gives her a weak chuckle and retracts his hands. "Well... If you say so, Kirishima-san," he responds, brows still knit together and lips set into an uneasy smile. She suspects he does not believe her at all. "Let me help you up."

He lifts himself from the ground as he says this, wiping both of his hands on his pants and then holding them out to her. She stares at them for a moment, examines her options, and then clicks her tongue. "...I can stand up on my own."

His chivalry is wasted on her. She refuses to involve herself with more humans than is strictly necessary. Maintaining the lifestyle of a normal high school student is hard enough without any added concerns. She slowly stands up and focuses on the speckles and pebbles on her knees instead of the look on his face. Careful not to upset her wound any further, she tries to brush the dirt off her legs with her hands.

She hears him suck in a breath at the same time she notices she's smearing blood on her left knee.

( chivalry )

She had wanted to avoid causing a commotion.

Alas, brushing past him and rushing out of the store without saying a word is exactly the sort of thing that would cause a commotion.

(She's not impulsive. She really isn't.

But her reactions materialize faster than her thoughts.)

She weaves through the crowd, slipping her hands into the pockets of her jacket and carefully avoiding brushing against anything or anyone that would further irritate her wound. The color of her jacket is dark enough to mask the blood seeping through the bandages, but not nearly dark enough to conceal the ever growing wet spot on her sleeve. Thought she doubts anyone would flag her down at this busy hour in order to ask how that spot had gotten there, she needs to hurry home. She needs to change her bandages and pretend this never happened. Maybe (just a hopeful maybe), she managed to spook Crush Boy away with that scene she caused back there. That would be nice. It would be one less thing to worry about. She could deal with losing a regular at the coffee shop.

Now—if only that regular could deal with losing her.

(He's chasing after her, she realizes.)

"Hold on!" he shouts, sounding more out of breath than anyone she's ever heard before. Looks like she was right about him being small and weak. "Kirishima-san!"

Of course, she has no intention of waiting for him. Or anyone else for that matter. Her arm is throbbing and sprinting at a human's pace is way too tedious, but she needs to keep going. He's only a couple of paces away from her. With any luck, he wouldn't catch up to her. With any luck, he—

He—

He catches up to her.

It's embarrassingly cliché.

Grabbing her uninjured arm and holding onto it with a surprisingly strong grip, Touka is forced to stop as she hears him pant and wheeze behind her. She refuses to turn around and look at him. She also refuses to consider why he didn't go for her injured arm, seeing as how it was closer to him than the one he reached for.

"H— Hold on," he repeats with a wheeze. His sweaty palm radiates enough heat to seep through her clothes and into her skin despite the early winter chill surrounding them. "I... I'm sorry. I was surprised. H-Honestly, I didn't mean to scare you."

Scare her. Him. He thought he scared her. She isn't sure if she should feel insulted or amused by the concept.

So she chooses not to respond.

And when he realizes she's not going to run away if he lets her go, he drops her arm and coughs. He might have covered his mouth with the sleeve of his sweater; it sounds somewhat muffled. "Kirishima-san," he says, now having regained his ability to speak without wheezing through every other word. There's a degree of decisiveness in his voice, but she cannot figure what he's decided on. "I know you must have already noticed this, but... you're bleeding."

"So?" she hears herself say, tone laced with unnecessary vitriol.

Crush Boy must have been a caught off guard by this, because he hesitates for a moment or two before continuing. It's his fault for stating the obvious, anyway. "Ah... um... This isn't my business, and you probably think I'm being nosy," he begins, "But you need to have that treated. If you're scared of going alone, then I could accompany you to the hos—"

She cuts him off before he can even finish that ridiculous statement, turning on her heel and letting him stare at her blood stained clothing. He could keep gawking for all she cared.

"—To the hospital? Is that what you were going to say?" she spits, already fed up with his attitude. For someone who's name she could not bring herself to use, his existence was rapidly becoming a thorn on her side. "You already said it. It's none of your damn business, so stop trying to be my friend."

His eyes widen ever so slightly, lips pressed together as her words sink in. Then, after a handful of seconds in which she thinks she's finally scared him off, he shakes his head at her. "Even so... I can't just leave you like this. Not when you're injured," he says, voice soft and tone gentle. He's pleading with her. "It wouldn't be right. Please, let me help you."

She inhales, the chilly air stinging the tip of her nose and burning her lungs. She holds her breath as she stares at him. She becomes convinced he is trying to pull her leg. He can't mean that. He barely knows her.

When she exhales, she realizes a person this foolish is real.

"...Are you trying to be the moral person right now?" she quietly responds. She can feel the fight leaving her bones, dripping down her skin and forming a hopeless puddle at their feet. "It's irritating."

The look on Crush Boy's face softens. She is not fond of it. Not at all.

"That's not it," he tells her. "But if you won't go to the hospital, will you let me treat your wound?"

No, her mind supplies, vehemently.

"If I say yes, will you fuck off?" her mouth asks, the traitorous thing.

"Yes," he responds.

And that is how she ends up in a boy's apartment at 4:58PM on a weekday.