Izuru was on drive-through duty today. Cursing the world yet again, he donned his green apron, pulling the strings around to his front to tie them, his green visor, and the headset that whoever was on "d-t" duty had to wear. He adjusted the little microphone so it wasn't poking his nostril, and stationed himself in front of the automated cash register. Things began to pick up, and the first customer pulled up to the menu.
"Good afternoon, welcome to Starbucks. How may I take your order?" Izuru said into the ridiculously close microphone, as smoothly as possible.
"Um, yes. I'll have a venti cappuccino, two sugars, very dry, and one of those pumpkin muffin thingies." A soft feminine voice spoke through the headset. Izuru could hear the gentle humming of a car in the background.
Izuru glanced at the pastry case, entering the order into the computerized cash register. "Sorry, miss, we're fresh out. Could I interest you in a blueberry muffin?"
"I'm allergic to blueberries."
"Then a lemon poppy seed?" Izuru chewed on his lip.
"That sounds good. I'll have one of those."
Izuru entered it into the register. "All right then. Your total is ¥775, and we'll have that ready for you at the next window."
"Thank you," The woman said, and her car growled.
"Venti capp, extra dry, two sugars and a poppy muffin!" Izuru called to the baristas, turning off the headset momentarily.
"Aye, aye!" One called back, pumping shots of espresso. If there was a good side to working at Starbucks, it would be the discounts on coffee and the friendly coworkers. Another customer pulled up to the menu, and Izuru repeated his line into the headset. He received the cappuccino and the bagged poppy seed muffin from a short, dark haired barista whose name was Momo or Momoe or something akin to that, and slid open the drive-through window, handing a tall, silver-haired girl her cappuccino and muffin. She handed him ¥1000, and Izuru popped open the cash drawer, retrieving her change. The receipt printed from the register, and he tore it off, handing it to the girl along with the change.
"Thank you, come again." He said with a sweet smile. The silver-haired girl returned the smile, and drove off.
Thankfully, the workday had not been as long as others had been, but it had still taken a toll on him. He hadn't been feeling quite one hundred percent after that drinking binge he and Matsumoto had gone on day before yesterday. Maybe it was the fact that he had gotten caught in the rain before hand, and now he was getting sick. He sneezed as he hung up his apron and visor on his hook, lurching forward. It seemed he was always jinxing himself. I must be cursed, he thought with a heavy sigh. He pulled his keys from his pocket, and stepped into the drizzling summer outside. He hopped in his truck, and revved it up, somewhat excited to visit Gin to return his towels.
Driving from the Starbucks to the cemetery was almost second nature to Izuru; he did so so very often. It was a calming drive, really, watching all those quiet, urban, steely gray concrete buildings pass by. Izuru blinked his esoteric blue eyes and a small, sad smile slipped onto his lips. Well, any smile on Izuru might as well be portrayed as sad. Even in sheer joy the man looked ready to weep. Sometimes it caused the people around him worry, and every time he tried to convince them he was truly happy, it only made them more wary.
Izuru pulled into the empty cemetery parking lot, and got out, thankful for the earlier drizzle having cleared up. He waved to Gin, who was on his knees pulling weeds that were growing around the base of the wrought-iron gate. Gin's head lifted, and his wide, haphazard smile broke out across his face, replacing the fleeting look of confusion. He rose off his knees, wiping his dirty hands on the back of his jeans to return the wave. "Hi, Gin-san," Izuru said, approaching. "I brought your towels back.""
"That's awful nice a ya," Gin smirked. "I wasn't exactly expecting ya to live up to your promise."
Izuru was flabbergasted. "What? I'll have you know I always do the things I say!" He exclaimed. "I'll go get them." He ran back to his truck, throwing open the canopy and reaching for the towels, pushing away yesterday's offending toolbox. Pulling out the towels, he handed the plastic grocery bag they were in to Gin, opening the black iron gate with a threatening screech.
"Thanks," Gin said, looking down. "I better run these to my house. Care to join me? I'm just up the hill a little ways." He indicated a driveway branching off of the parking lot.
Izuru shrugged. "Sure." He pressed the lock button on the key-ring remote to his truck.
"Awesome." Gin looked genuinely pleased to have Izuru accompany him.
Together they trekked up Gin's gravel driveway, Gin swinging the bag of towels back and forth. He hummed an unfamiliar tune that had a note of despondency to it, and the air felt heavy with an unsettled feeling. "So you help your dad out?" Izuru asked, attempting to start up a conversation.
Gin turned his head to Izuru, and nodded. "Yup. Support the family business, ne? But lately dad's been sick, so I've been doing the brunt of the work, ya know? Finally making something of that free time I've on my hands." Gin smiled with white teeth.
"Sorry to hear your dad's sick," Izuru steadied a gaze at the ground. "But I guess it's good you're doing something."
"Uh huh." Gin nodded satisfactorily. "I haven't been this busy in over seven years. Not since I got expelled." He barked a laugh.
"Expelled?" Izuru lifted his head, his eyebrows knit. He didn't like the way that sounded.
"Got too violent," Gin make a karate chopping motion with his free hand, and Izuru gulped. Just what kind of man was Ichimaru Gin? Izuru began to reconsider some things. "The higher-ups didn't like it. But no worries, I'm different now." Izuru hoped he was right.
"So," Izuru searched for a topic change. "Do you have any hobbies?"
Gin nodded enthusiastically. "I play a bit of piano."
"Oh, that's cool. I couldn't play an instrument to save my life," Izuru snorted. Gin laughed melodically.
"I bet you could, if your life really did depend on it," Gin winked, and patted Izuru on the back. Izuru stiffened, his shoulder muscles tensing in pain, and he sucked in a breath through his nose, trying hard not to cuss. Gin's brow furrowed in confusion.
"Bruises," Izuru explained.
"Ah," Gin fought back a snicker. "What happened? Didja get beat up?"
Izuru's cheeks turned red. "No, I fell."
"How'd ya get a bruise in the middle of your back from falling?"
"I fell backwards in a chair." The corners of Izuru's mouth turned down in embarrassment.
Gin chortled. "Smooth," he teased. They approached a smallish house, perched atop a small hill, with traditional sliding doors and windows, and tatami. Izuru's eyes lit up at the quaintness of Gin's house. Gin slid open the door to the genkan, and threw the towels inside. Izuru's gaze wandered around the modest landscaping, taking in the ripening persimmon trees, and the marigolds planted in small clusters.
"Do you like to garden?" Izuru blurted.
"Guess so," Gin said as they headed back down the hill. His smile was, as always, plastered eerily to his face. "There ain't much else to do."
"Hmm," Izuru scuffed at the gravel. The conversation died down again, and Izuru sneezed into the sleeve of his jacket.
"Bless ya," Gin giggled, waggling his eyebrows. "Catchin' a cold, are we?"
Izuru shrugged, sniffling. "Maybe,"
"You better be well by the summer fireworks festival during summer recess. It'd be a shame t'miss out on it, ne?"
"Oh!" Izuru exclaimed. He'd entirely forgotten that there was a summer fireworks festival in their area of Sapporo. Or rather, it was in the area next to theirs, but everyone in their area went because fireworks are hella cool. And summer recess started next week! "That's right." Suddenly it dawned on him. Was this Gin's strange, roundabout way of asking if Izuru would go to the festival with him? Izuru thought it would be better to take initiative. "Would you like to go?" The question was... vague. "I know it's still a a couple weeks away, but why not plan in advance?" Izuru tried to shake off the awkward.
"I dunno, I'll see." Izuru subconsciously hoped his answer would be yes. "If my dad is doing really bad, I won't go. And lately he's not been doin' good t'all."
"Oh, okay." Izuru was a bit disappointed. He looked over at Gin, and Gin wasn't smiling. His mouth drooped at the corners, his lips slightly parted to show the edges of white teeth and his eyebrows were pulled together in a neat little "v". Looking carefully and discretely, Izuru could see a glimmer of bright aqua-blue eyes peeking between squinted lids. Worry gnawed at Izuru's gut. "What's up?" He asked gingerly. "You look... distressed."
"The doctors say dad prolly won't make it through to the New Year."
Izuru was unsure how to respond. "Oh no," he muttered. He wanted to drop this conversation. Quickly. "So, um. Er, what are you doing this evening?" Bad topic change, bad topic change!, Izuru screamed mentally.
Gin blinked, and did a double-take glance at Izuru. Instantaneously, his broad smile materialized on his alabaster cheeks. "Weeding." He affirmed with an aloof snort.
"Well um, when you're finished with that, would you maybe like to go find some dinner?" The angel on his right shoulder slapped him. His devil applauded. Izuru unconsciously rubbed his right cheek.
"Yes," Gin was almost a little too quick to respond, Izuru noted. They reached the bottom of the hill, and Gin skipped ahead. Izuru twitched. He skipped? This man was a piece of work. Izuru sighed.
"I'll do some homework while you're finishing up," Izuru called, unlocking his car. He crawled in the passenger side, and unzipped his backpack, hefting his binder out. His hand felt around in the bottom of his bag for his pencil tin, and his fingernails hit it with a satisfying click. Sitting cross-legged on the sidewalk, he flipped open his notebook to his final poetry assignment. He was analyzing a poem by the Polish poet Zbigniew Herbert. Izuru uncapped an orange pen, and began circling and underlining things, hunting for some undiscovered meaning. To him, the poem seemed nothing at all like a structured poem and was more akin to a musing. But none the less there was something to be uncovered in this poem, this musing about a pebble, and that is what Izuru studied poetry for. He drew an orange arrow pointing to the final stanza.
"-Pebbles cannot be tamed
to the end they will look at us
with a calm and very clear eye"
The margins of the paper soon filled up with Izuru's orange-penned drabble. His blond hair brushed the page as he leaned close. Either he was going to need reading glasses, or far-away glasses, since he nearly pressed his nose to the paper every time he wrote something by hand. He flipped to a clean sheet of lined paper to start his rough-draft analysis. Heading the paper with the title of the poem, he flipped back to his marked copy. A shadow fell over him.
"Poetry?" Gin asked into Izuru's ear, leaning low over his hunched form.
Izuru gasped in surprise, sitting up suddenly. His head became acquainted with Gin's jaw.
"Ow," Gin muttered, rubbing his chin.
"Oh my gosh," Izuru babbled. "Sorry! I wasn't paying attention." He slammed his binder shut, and recapped his orange pen. "Are you okay?" Gin dropped down to sit on the curb.
"Absolutely." Gin's smile wasn't helping to convince Izuru. "I been hit much harder, believe me."
Izuru sighed. "Are you ready to go?"
"Only if you are."
Gin sat in the passenger seat of Izuru's blue truck, his legs swinging as he stared out the window. He almost seemed like a little kid, what with the dorky grin and kicking feet. Nevermind that he was six feet tall.
Izuru jammed his key into the ignition. He cleared his throat. "So um, where do you want to go?"
"To dinner, silly!" Gin teased, sticking his tongue out.
Izuru resisted the urge to slam his head into the steering wheel. "What restaurant do you want to go to?" He specified.
"Hmm," Gin pondered, putting a slim finger to a porcelain chin. "McDonald's!" He proclaimed.
Izuru's jaw dropped. He can't be serious. "No, really. What restaurant do you want to go?"
"Your house?"
Izuru pinched the bridge of his nose. "My house isn't a restaurant." The nerve of this man, Izuru thought.
"Nnn, how about sushi then?"
Izuru slumped onto the steering wheel. "Thank you for choosing something I can agree with."
"You're welcome." Gin sat atop of his slender hands with a sneering simper. Izuru revved up his Toyota with a sigh.