The Reality Of A Deep Breath
Despite everything, Baji likes to consider himself attentive. A testament to his self-awareness. It was why it came to him as a surprise when Draken, of all people, told him that he had a crush. Sure, recently, he had taken to frequent El Báquico, but it had nothing to do with Draken's baseless claims.
Lately, most local hangout spots have officially banned bōsōzoku, in addition to any individual they suspected were yankii or delinquents at their establishment. Claiming obstruction of business and damages to property— bullshit. Baji himself can testify that the most he had ever gotten into at any local hangouts were quarrels, with occasional fistfights. Which were not proper to be called such. They hardly ever draw any blood, and whatever property he had damaged, he sure as hell apologized. It was all nonsensical. In short, El Báquico was one of the few exciting places that did not mind their presence. To them, a paying customer was one to welcome, and their vulgarity was happily overlooked. Hence, it will only make sense for his routine visit, right? Baji likes to think his discovery of the establishment was unprecedented at most, a much-needed change. Synonymous with the findings of those early conquistadors. In short, it could not come at a more favourable time in his—their lives. (Baji likes to believe his discovery of El Báquico had brought about some measurable impact on his friends. Positively, of course!). In essence, it was El Báquico that had sought him out, not the other way around.
Baji believed he should, at the very least, try to explain this to Draken. In determination to better his previous statement about him, which was very wrong. The reason is not that it aggravates him, but since he cannot afford, for this, to be left hanging, with hopes of it continuing, probably, stirring unforeseen conflict. He must quickly begin to cut the roots of his friend's (false) buddings idea. Like he had seen done with plants showing disfavourable signs in his nature magazine. Otherwise, it might be late for any help. He started his explanation, Draken half-listening when he saw a flash of colour from the corner of his eyes. Baji would like to tell himself he had stopped talking since he realized his explanation was futile. But deep, deep down, something pestering his skin was saying otherwise. Baji ignored the feeling. It was not relevant. Probably later, in the comfort of his room, he would examine this feeling. Later, he told himself like a benedict of some sort.
She had taken a seat at the far right of the restaurant. Sitting, listening to her Walkman, eyes to the door. A thick sheet of silence draped over her table. Others must have sensed it too. Avoiding the seat adjacent to her. Even her co-workers, who were also on break, strolled right past. Not even a glance, a gesture that breathes convivial. In his few visits, he perceived she was different from the rest of her co-workers. Baji could not select a specific reason that detached her from co-workers and the many foreigners like herself that populated Shinjuku and Shibuya (or the entire Tokyo for that matter). Try as he would, he came up blank. Though, he finally got his answer when he had asked for her name. Hasegawa Xochitl. It was there, imprinted in the space between them. That it might as well have been written on plain paper with a black marker for its transparency. Xochitl is a hāfu. No wonder she seems more... homogeneous? Though they are still faults, glitches. Even now, Xochitl cannot be more perfectly compatible with others similar in appearance. Yet, alas, she screams— though not loudly— a buzz (morse code even)— different, like a wing on the jigsaw piece is ripped-off. The puzzle, though finished, was still incomplete.
Mitsuya noticed his current attention, and he was very grateful when he replied in nothing but his silence. Baji wished Kazutora had inherited such suavity.
"Is that the crush Draken talked of?" said Kazutora. Seizing both Pah-chin and Draken's attention (Mikey was much too taken with his Garnache to take notice). An awful smile spreads across Draken's face, and Baji wants nothing but to bash it inwards.
Pah-chin tilted his head, reminding him of those pigeons that invited themselves to his windowpane. Eating the food he had placed outside for the stray cats that usually strolled by. "I'm more for one into the cute types," Pah-chin confessed.
"We were not asking about your type of girl. This has nothing to do with you," said Kazutora.
If it was not for the fact that he had started this. Baji might have been thankful for his comment. However, instead, he was thinking more in the line of reacquainting Kazutora's stomach with his fist. A friendly reminder, after all, they are friends, right?
"Though—" Though? "—I for one, never thought you had such an extrinsic taste."
"Extrinsic?" Pah-chin parroted; confusion twisted on his face. Baji wondered if it hurt him: as creases appeared in his forehead, his face pulled, making the relation between his nose even wider— more pug-like.
"Y'know, foreign, outlandish."
Pah-chin ignored him. Not paying attention to him anymore. His mind was already preoccupied with the menu. Going over the dishes, they have not yet tried. Mikey enrapt at his discussion. Moments like this, he was grateful for his friend's short attention span. If only Kazutora was the same. Even just a tiny bit.
"Isn't she too dark and old? Though, I can never really tell with foreigners," said Kazutora.
Baji stopped to look as if to confirm Kazutora's statement (as if he had not already ingrained her image in his mind). Xochitl had not budged from the last time he had looked. Perhaps the movement of her hands as she furiously scribbled away in her notebook. The afternoon sun, extending from the windows lingering on the paintings that seemingly crowded around her. As if waiting, watching. An expected audience. It tickled at his superstitious side— just a bit.
They are colourful pieces, one of the many things that drew him to the place. Painting of women gathering flowers. Of men serenading their lovers, of laughter, dancing. Though, some did not compliment the ones mentioned. That did not belong in a restaurant (a place of communal) or any place for that matter. It should be hidden or at least put at some shadowy corner, forever there to mope. Confine to grow moulds and dust. Instead, it was placed here with the rest of them. As if some twisted statement of some kind— like equals. Baji was not artistically inclined. He leaves that to Mitsuya and his sewing. However, he knows which colours compliment which. This is evident enough by Mitsuya consistently seeking opinion from him. (Although Mitsuya seeks opinion from all of them, that is beside the point). Even so, he was not entirely clueless about fashion and décor. This was why he was puzzled by the paintings of skeletons, leopards. Or what Baji thinks are leopards at the hunt or already with their kills. Murderous rituals, women naked in rivers, and the crucifixion of Christ. His blood, burning flame-red. Why place them here? This had been one of the many things that he would never understand about foreigners. Soon he had to look away from the paintings— away to Xochitl. At least it gave him a reason to look.
(Why does he need a reason? Why does he need to look? Why is there a need?)
From his seat, he got a better view of Xochitl's profile than usual: the prominent bump on the bridge of her nose, making it slightly crooked. Her huge eyes and the folds under it, which the afternoon sun shaded dark. Creating a more pronounced look. Making her appear more mature. Her pursed lips which colour reminded him of Hazel Fay, one of the many flowers he has difficulty getting at the local flower shops. All that sweetly idiosyncratic asymmetry was not the kind of beauty one will find being embraced by the masses. Be that as it may, Xochitl was uniquely lovely. It was the kind of beauty one had to appreciate— to take in the silence.
Perhaps, Pah-chin was right. She was not cute. Especially in Japan with such sharp, angular features. Yet, Baji had never been the one to care for looks. He never fully grasped the importance of it either. Possibly a byproduct from his daftness. He had— more than once— heard that he was a few stations shy away from being categorized with Pah-chan. Who had an entire category— comfortably— for himself.
Beauty was irrelevant, it seemed.
His mother, for example (excluding his bias towards her), was a woman many considered beautiful; tall, slim, and had Freesia skin. However, it in no way had helped prevent his father from leaving them. No sign of falter, a reconsideration as he walked away from his family. Baji blood boiled. He balled his fist, ready to punch Kazutora's face, though not necessarily. Anything would do, but he seemed the closest now. There was no anger directed towards him. This was what he was planning to say. When he punched Kazutora, Baji decided.
"Do you ever talk to her, other than exchanging orders?" asked Mitsuya, his cheek resting in his palm with his usual lax expression. Kazutora narrowed his eyes, more than aware of his subject change.
"As-if, the only thing he does is stare." Draken was quick to answer. Baji's earlier distaste for his friend quickly returned. "I have!" the words were on the tip of his lips before he reconsidered it after having a posthaste of a realization. He had not told them about the other day. In truth, he liked to believe it was a coincidence, an accident even, so there was no point in sharing this with his friends. Who wants to hear about an accident?
Last week was a haze of events: regarding dull fights and overall disappointments, his favourite TV show starring Yuko Natori had been postponed broadcasting a live concert of a famous, lousy rock band. Two middle school senpai who had promised to fight him if they were to ever catch him idle in their spot of the park were let down. Not even two punches in, and they screamed in submission. However, the greatest disappointment of it all was Mikey not being at school. He was sick or was too stubborn to get out of bed. (To be honest, they were one of the same). Leaving him to spend the entirety of last Friday at school to be by himself.
The silence was sickening.
Before noon, Baji had caused three fights (the reason long forgotten), but the feeling was still there and would always be there after a fight. No matter how lousy the other throw was. For a time, it got him going before school let out, and news of his morning encounters soon spread. Resulting in everyone avoiding him (well, everyone interesting avoided him, that is). Leaving him to wander the streets of Shibuya with just him and the shadow of the sickening silence which created the perfect niche for the storm that was his mind. As it turned over the idea of his mother, of him, not being strong enough to beat Mickey, and lastly, his father. The bastard of a man. It was not like Baji was afraid of his thoughts or anything. No, it is just that he would appreciate it if he thinks less. Yes. If he thinks less.
In just a blink, Baji found himself in front of El Báquico. The smell of Allspice and smoked meat was what brought him to his awareness of his surroundings. The place is small. Almost dismissible: as it is painted in nude colours and looks thoroughly lived in. Elbowed in a tight corner by the buildings out front. The alley was damp and dark: loitered with food stalls and tired Filipinos on lunch break. Baji pulled the door open and was greeted by the smell of crushed peppers in hot oil. He sniffed, rubbing his nose.
It was not like he was looking for her. But if he was, he would say the search was not a difficult task. Baji found Xochitl pretty easy, tucked away in a dusty corner. Her book was out, but she wasn't looking at it as she chewed at her nails. He doesn't know what compels him, perhaps the pent-up energy from the day. Whatever it was, without reason, without thinking, he found himself walking towards her. He decided to sit adjacent to her, as it practically encourages conversation. However, Xochitl sat unaware of him, and he decided he would have to be the one that starts the conversation. His voice was low and a bit too formal for his liking. Then, a few minutes into his chatter Xochitl, finally, turned to him. Her eyes were brown (the colour of clay pottery), with thin, short lashes, watching him coolly under a thick bush of eyebrows. So close that he could see fading acne marks on warm ochre skin. Baji had stared for too long as she tilted her head, her brows raised in bemusement. He blushed. Or he thought he had. Perhaps it was the heat from the kitchen that had warmed his face. They sat pretty close to it. Baji could even hear the staff conversation as they chatted in another language —Tagalog?
Xochitl continued to stare, and the heat from the kitchen got even warmer. No doubt, a pretty shade of red was now settling on Baji's face as of this. He must break this tension!
With this determination, he asked a question. Baji thought it must have been a foolish one (it must have, as she sat silent. The question dying between them). Fool! Quickly he searched through his mind to find something, anything to ask her. He sieved through topics: from school to bikes. (Her eyebrow arch at that, perhaps she like bikes). So, he continued with an accident which had been caused by one. Xochitl remained silent while she cocks her head. Was that interest she was showing? Perhaps now would be wise for asking another question. He should. He must. Spurred further by his sudden determination to hear her voice. (Baji had forgotten her voice from the day she had introduced herself).
"What do you think of the CBR1100XX Super Blackbird? I've been saving up for a real bike for the longest time, but I think the little lunch money ain't going to cut it. Maybe I should just stick to dumpster diving. Besides, I have this friend who is good with his hands—neh, what do you think?" asked Baji.
A pause.
"Oh?" answered Xochitl, unfazed. Unenthusiastic.
Stupid! Nonetheless, Baji continued to talk. A minute passed. He could feel the conversation coming to an end as she began to chew at her nails, staring out the window. Fortunately, Baji found another topic when he noticed her Walkman. Quickly, he took upon it by asking if she likes music. This time Xochitl answered: "Yes."
Baji could almost smile. He decided to not lose the sudden fire of this conversation as he talked about the singer he likes. Maybe he should ask her about her musical taste. So, he did just that. A pause and Baji began to worry. Eventually, an answer followed: "I like Furui Nikki," said Xochitl slowly, her voice fruity and her brows knitted as if in deep concentration. For the first time, Baji noticed she talked with an accent, and he began to wonder, where was she from. Xochitl could be mistaken for any of the Filipinos that work here. But if they were to look, they would see the difference. It was all in the features. Most Filipino he had seen have a softer face. A contrast to Xochitl's sharp features. Perhaps South-Asia?
Baji didn't linger long on that thought. Since the reply she had given him was much intriguing. She loves Akko's earlier song, like his mother! He must quickly share this with her. To create some common ground, something to bond over. (Bond? Were they to talk again? Why not, he found himself counter). Baji told her that she was like his mother. Xochitl pause. This time he knew that she was thinking of a response. None came. However, Baji wasn't too disappointed as Xochitl stopped to look at him (finally returning his eye contact), and he blushed. This time he was sure of it. The mood didn't linger, and Baji long for it again. So, he continued with his chatter. Never stopping, he believed (no, he was sure) something was forming between the two. The sun filter through the windows, warming the profile of their faces. Xochitl now and then reciprocated his chatter, though they were choppy sentences.
Baji resolved to ask her to accompany him to a run-down music store in Harajuku. (Definitely not as a date!). But as a music enthusiast, growing acquaintances. The invite was on the tip of his tongue when her co-worker interrupted. Baji bit his lips. This afternoon restiveness had returned in his stomach. He tried to push himself between their conversation, but it might as well there be a brick wall planted on the table forcing him to stay out. To be an outsider while they chatted away in another language. Was it English, sounds like it. Before Baji could make sense of it all. Xochitl had gotten up before she turned to him and bow, before saying: "It was nice talking to you." Such simple words shouldn't have had such an impact on him, but they did. Baji thought he bloomed as lovely as those flowers in the paintings.
It was a moment, even if he was the only one living in it at the time.
Draken's laughter was what brought him back from his reminiscing, as Mitsuya had said something rather funny to warrant such a laugh from the older boy. Tears prickled at his eyes. For what seemed like hours, his laughter had died down to hiccups.
"What's that all about?" Baji knew he shouldn't have asked as the other boy's laughter returned. Albeit, it loses its previous vigour. Nonetheless, it irked Baji.
"You," answered Kazutora. He exchange looks with Draken before continuing. "You with that stupid look—"
"— I don't see what I have said could be funny. All said was that it is just that time, life springtime," said Mitsuya. Kazutora (or was it Draken?) snorted.
Baji could see how (why) Mitsuya's statement could have been interpreted as being funny. Especially by someone like Draken and Kazutora. Life springtime, a phrase taken straight out of a shoujo manga (not like he had reference to any !) being referred to him. His body itched for a fight. He was lucky that Mikey wasn't paying attention. But, if Baji was going by that bemused look on his friend's face, he could tell that in due time he would want to know what all this 'excitement' was about. The boy seemed to hate being left out.
"Nothing was wrong about what I have said—"
"Everything was wrong," Kazutora mumbled.
"—You should go talk to her."
Baji wouldn't say he had blushed at the statement but the blood seemed to flow generously in his cheeks and ears. Leaving a bright colour of red in its wake. He (can't) doesn't want to talk to her. Besides, he already had, last week Friday. He wanted to say. He was going to say. The words were bitter on his tongue as he began to open his mouth to explain.
"Yes, why don't you talk to her?" Mikey.
Baji bites his tongue. The words dying in his throat. He knew then he had no more options as he send Draken along with Kazutora and Mitsuya, for good measure, a stare that could curdle milk. No one goes against Mikey. A sheep[1] to his guiding rod. With the sound of wood scraping against wood, he got up walking towards her table. A few inches from Xochitl, he found himself contemplating whether or not he should go through with this. Xochitl seemed rather busy at the moment. He shouldn't bother her. But he couldn't stop now, as he remembered the gleaming look in Mikey's black eyes. Baji would never hear the end of it. With a deep breath, he continues, pushing such thoughts down. He talked to her once. He could do so again.
She was wearing the standard uniform a white shirt with embroidery around the sleeves and collar, along with a yellow colour skirt covering her knee, even when seated. He must have been staring for a while as Xochitl turned to him, earbuds in her hands.
"Sorry, I am on a break."
Baji had the urge to spare a look at his former table, but he could already feel his friends' jeering faces. Turning around would just solidify that it wasn't a figment of his imagination.
He cleared his throat, "I don't want anything."
She cocked her head, genuine confusion in her eyes. Her brows furrow.
Baji wondered if Xochitl remembered him. She must have. Has she? He asked her if he could sit. There was a pause, and he knew she was thinking of a reply. She answered with a hum and Baji took a seat. Gingerly. The one thing he was grateful about was that Xochitl haven't bothered to continue listening to her music. This could be a good sign, that she was interested in talking. Or perhaps she remembered him? Should he begin with music, being that it was there he had left off?
The atmosphere between them wasn't thick. However, it was not one would call comfortable either. Passable, at best. Baji thought he must get rid of it and like the Friday, he struck up a conversation that was only being fanned solely by him. Xochitl answered in dull quips:
"Xochitl what do you think of the Arashi?"
Baji hated them, cliché. What did he expect from a boy band? But every girl seemed to love them.
"Haven't heard of them."
He stirred in his seat. She hadn't (not yet he hopes) returned his eye contact as she sat inspecting the side of her thumb. (It appeared she had chewed down on it too much. If the flicker of displeasure on her face was anything to go by).
"Xochitl, do you have any special recommendation from the menu to try?"
"It depends. What do you prefer?"
"Something not too flavoursome and salty."
A hum in consideration. Then a pause.
"No. I don't have any recommendations."
It aggravates him. A little. Nevertheless, he understands. He loathed small talks, yet Baji couldn't help but feel annoyed at her apathetic manners towards him. Yet, it didn't deter him as he chatter away.
Xochitl, Xochitl, Xochitl, Xochitl he starts with each question. She remained passive to his chatter, (annoyed even), as he continued to harass her with questions. His patient begins to gnaw as ideas dwindle. Why wouldn't she be more responsive? Why hadn't she called him by his name yet? Xochitl, Xochitl, Xochitl—
"Xochitl, what does your name mean?" the words came out of Baji's mouth without him thinking.
An abrupt silence. Perhaps he shouldn't have said such a thing, but Xochitl already started to answer.
"That's the first—you're the fit person here to ask me such a question." She played with her hands, twisting, and bending. It was his first time seeing her with so much—so much emotion, on her face. Albeit he hardly knows her, much less interacted with her. But from his observation. (Which were just that, observation! Draken words echo in his mind: the only thing he does is stare.) she was usually just there.
"Is it a bad thing?" he asked twice. The first time came off a bit too low. Timid. Baji doesn't want to offend her, and that was only natural. It would be only unbecoming of him to upset the fairer sex. His mother will be disappointed if he does so.
She shook her head, her pleated braids moving as well. "No, it's just... refreshing?" She sounds unsure, and he understands, he wouldn't use that word, but he understands. "Nice," she finished.
Baji bloomed.
"Oh!" Xochitl jumped as she searched herself, only stopping after finding a pen in her apron pockets. Quickly she wrote in her notebook. Baji stretched over to watch. Finished, she turned the book to him, leaning over, her braid touching the table. The first words were in English the other beneath was Japanese: Xochitl Hasegawa, 長谷川 ソーチル. With her index finger (coloured threaded bracelets sliding down her wrist). She circled the first English written word. "Xochitl," she begins, "It means flowers," then she underlines Hasegawa written in Kanji. "Hasegawa means old river in the valley. So, my name can be interpreted as the flowers at the old river in the valley."
Xochitl looks (pretty) nice like this, closer than ever. He could even smell her: a bit sweaty from today's work and a hint of perfume, floral.
Recently, Baji had been controlled by impulses (more than usual). For instance, he took Xochitl's notebook and quickly wrote his name. Times like this, he wished he paid greater interest in English. He could have used it as creating a common interest with her. Impress her even. 場地 圭介.
"Baji Keisuke," Baji reads. "Baji means field or earth, and Keisuke means gemstone and forerunner. To be honest, I don't know how it reads."
Xochitl was now seated. He pushed the book towards her. Her finger traced over the words; her eyebrows pulled as if in deep consideration. "Ou... king?"
Baji blushed. Quickly he snatched the notebook from her. "No, it's Kei."
He cursed as he re-written the Kanji Kei (圭). His face burned with colour. His penmanship was always the worst (another thing he wished he placed more importance on). Baji had made the second stroke shorter than intended resulting in the 圭 to look like 王.
Xochitl pressed her lips together, sparing him a look that brought him no ease. It's the looks adults, his teachers gave him. A look that borders condescending, (it's not there yet). However, it was dangerously close. He hated it.
"Oh, I'm sorry."
Baji perked.
She twisted her hands, "I should have known, you did say your name was Keisuke." She stretches the Kei as if she didn't so her explanation would be lost.
He fanned his hands "It's no problem, my penmanship is to blame," he chortled.
Xochitl hummed. "I understand, kanji can be so difficult to write."
Xochitl jumped as if just hearing what she had said. It's nice what followed next: her cheek warm to a beautiful colour, the shade of orange at dawn.
Baji didn't know what to do. His system overload. "Even to us native, kanji seemed to baffle us." Though, it could be due to his slowness. He never tells her this though (will never), despite the thought at the forefront of his mind. All his teachers said so. Even the specialist he had dreadfully attended with his mother and father before he was gone. A slow kid. A learning impairment.
"He's default!"
Baji shouldn't. He mustn't pity himself like this and he clenched his fist. He shouldn't let his words—Xochitl then talk, and all attention was to her.
"That gives me no hope if the native cannot. How can I?" It was said to herself. Xochitl stared out at the window. It was getting late. The night was soon upon them. His mother was probably alone at home. He probably shouldn't stay out longer, but lately, he found the walls of his house rather vexing. It didn't help that the walls were paper-thin, too thin to block his mother crying, fevered by this religious determination to fill the entire apartment with salt. Baji was in no hurry to return to that, another hour. And when that hour is gone perhaps, he adds another, then another and another until it is daybreak. Yes, that sounds like a plan. It was not like he was hiding; it was not like he was a coward.
"Oh, sorry about that, you were saying?" Again, it was her to save him from such thoughts
Baji waved his hands as if batting away her words. "It's nothing." Then silence. A charming silence. One, that even he didn't want to disturb. A silence he could see himself welcoming.
"Isn't your shift over by now?"
Xochitl and his head shift upward to face the owner of the voice: exuberant and somewhat mischievous. A tall, lean-framed teenager was standing at their, her table. A smile on his face which showed all his teeth, he looked like those actors who stared in those western movies, or perhaps it was one of those syndromes he heard about where every westerner looked the same. There was nothing remotely attractive about him. Yet there was nothing that he could find wrong at the same. Amazingly average which in its own lend to it a sense of charmingness.
"Henri?" Xochitl seemed confused while Henri draws up a chair beside her. His arm resting on the back of her chair (too close) his smile still intact.
"Sure am." With that, the two continue to talk in English and again it was the repeat of Friday. Baji was being shut out.
Henri talked with wild gestures, his hand never resting, whilst Xochitl waited patiently for him to finish talking before making her valid input. It feels like time was walking upwards on the freshly waxed glass as Baji sat watching them two. Xochitl then turn to him, and she appeared to break from whatever influence Henri had had. She looked almost apologetic, almost as she soon returned to the unreadable visage she had every time he visited.
"K-Keisuke?..." he heard his name and perked up to only meet blue. Henri cocked his head. It appeared he had just recognized him now, before turning to Xochitl. Blinks then back to him. The older boy made a motion as though peering over his shoulder, over to his former table before running to Xochitl.
In English, Henri asked, "Is he your friend?"
"No."
"Is he bothering you?"
"No," Xochitl continues, "What is this to you?"
"Dunno, I just realize he's a part of the regular entourage," Henri made a pointing motion with his chin over to Baji. He clenched his fist, wishing he could understand. Or at least talk in Japanese.
"So, what of it?"
"I told you they would bother you eventually."
Xochitl bristled. Annoyed as she knitted her brow. "And I told you it's fine, I am not that interesting. Besides he is just a kid, probably just excited to talk to a foreigner."
A pause as Henri considered what she said before humming. Satisfied. Smiling once more. "True, I admit, I find it cute their act. Riding on a motorcycle pretending to be bosozoku. I bet they can't throw a real punch." He laughed. Loud. A few customers jumped. Before returning to their meals.
Another thing Baji doesn't understand with foreigners is how loud they could be. Xochitl must have shared the same sentiment as she seemed to curl into herself.
"What do you two talk about?" asked Henri.
"It's private."
Even Baji know that whatever she had said was final. Not to be tested as Henri leaned back into his chair. So far back that only two feet were on the floor. With this, he appeared childish and Baji began to wonder how old was he, a ninth-grader, perhaps even a high schooler? Kazutora's words from earlier echoed in his mind, "She seemed old.". How old was Xochitl then? He quickly shook that thought from his head as he watched Henri being rather friendly towards her.
It was odd. Baji always heard how westerners were more familiar with each other, but to witness it was another thing. Henri brushed a stray hair from her face before Xochitl snaps at him he laughed, head thrown back showing all his teeth. Anyone would think that she was indeed annoyed, but Baji saw the small smile tugging at the corner of her lips. Were they dating?
"You certain you two aren't friends?" Henri.
"Hmm," Xochitl turns her attention from the window to Henri before turning to Baji. Something flash across her face, shock, confusion? She seemed startled, as if not expecting to see him here (still here) as if a few moments ago talking was nothing, long gone. Perhaps he should go now. Overstayed his welcome. He had already proven to his friends he wasn't shy to talk to her. That there was nothing there. Nevertheless, he feels compelled to stay seated, to not lose whatever this was to this Henri person as he glances now and then to him A smile intact. He hates it. As though patronizing him. He beat down a couple of senpais already he's certain he would not be any different.
"Oh, as I said before seemed like an exciting kid. Nothing wrong with that. Besides, I don't mind it helps with my Japanese."
Henri laughed through his nose, "If you say so. Oh yeah! The reason why I am here is that Hemera called, she was asking if you are still on for Saturday?"
A pause. And Baji knew she was thinking of a reply. "Oh! Oh…"
"Don't tell me you forgot."
"I did make that decision in the spur of a moment "
"Then you still in?"
She frowned and purse before nodding her head confirming whatever it was Henri had said. Baji fumed. Why wouldn't they just talk in Japanese? Let him in.
"You inviting him along. Poor kid hasn't stopped looking at you, is schwärmend. Desperate."
Xochitl's brows furrow, "Again we are not friends. I don't even know him." She inspects her nails, "Stop perpetuating yourself on the boy."
"Me, are saying I'm desperate?"
Xochitl shrugged her shoulders.
"You pig." He laughed, all teeth. Henri drifted closer towards her, hands resting on her shoulder and the other used to cup his cheek. "Hey, why don't you invite him along?"
Xochitl frowned. "Why would I?"
"Why not, see it like carrying a textbook around, practice material. Besides a local with us, would be good."
"Are you suggesting I should use the child?" Henri raised his hands in defeat, smile intact, along with a sense of mischievous tone hinted at minutes earlier. Suddenly, he turned to Baji and in perfect Japanese (well, better than Xochitl, that is) said: "True, it's my idea I should be the one which executes it," this was said to Xochitl by the looks at it as she sends Henri a cold stare, the boy ignored it, "Hey, kid, wanna tag along with us this Saturday to Harajuku?" his thumb jerked towards Xochitl at 'us'.
For the time being, he would let him slide for letting him use such endearing words like 'kid' towards him as his heart thrum a mile a minute. Baji looked to Xochitl then to Henri. How could he ever refuse such an
Authors note
1: In the bonus manga named The Wounded Tiger which follows Kazutora early friendship with Toman founding members, Kazutora stated that the boys followed Mikey like they are his lackeys/underling/sheep. It depends on the translation. Also, reading that manga made me realize that I made all of the Toman founding members (Kazutora that is) know each other quite early, as this is 2002 and they wouldn't start talking until early 2003 thereabout. Meh...
Baji's point of view...finally! And a mood board, which shows tidbits about our main girl Xochitl. Probably gonna create one for Baji. Hmm...?
Sorry for the break, but that's what midterms and exams do. Starting January updates will follow the 2-4 week time plan.
For anyone curious, I picture Xochitl as the blend between Glenda Alicia Hernandez and Karen Vega. With Karen's brown skin and aura, and Glenda Alicia Hernandez nose, eyes and angular face. Happy New Year!
Xochitl Moodboard