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Courier tapped the butt of his cigarette into the tin ashtray, a somewhat tired look on his face as he glanced at his companion. She was decked out in her usaul pink dress, but her hair was slightly mussed and matted down to her forehead because of the sweat that gathered at her hairline. A happy flush settled against the apples of her cheeks as she leaned her lolling head against the flat of her palm.
“Do… Are-aren’t you…” She yawned loudly, not really caring that she was showing off the insides of her mouth to the world. Out of respect for her, Courier glanced away, fully intent on focusing on the dim glow that emanated from his cigarette. “You’re not gonna drink m-more?”
He glanced in her direction before slowly shaking his head.
“Can’t. You’re dead weight as it is and I’ll have to carry you back home.” Courier breathed out a sigh before taking another drag. “You might want to drink water, by the way. You’ll be severely dehydrated with a headache to boot.”
Swindler looked at him in wonderment.
“I… I’m dead?” Sluggishly, the young woman raised her head away from her hand and began pinching at her skin. At first, she started with light pinches at the fleshy parts of her elbow before deciding that it was best to attack the insides of her arms. However, before she could continue torturing herself even more, Courier’s metal hand grasped her gently by the wrist before letting it rest on the table.
“Dead weight,” Courier explained. “I already know from just looking at you that you’ll be unsteady on your feet.”
For some odd reason, Swindler found him funny. Tiny hicuping laughs became full blown laughter as she keeled over the table, her face squishing against the greasy surface of their table. With a sigh, Courier casually flagged over their server for a glass of ice water. The waiter, understandably, sent an exasperated look at Swindler, but complied with his request.
Just as suddenly as Swindler let out her outburst, she unsteadily straightened in her seat and poked Courier in the chest. Hard.
And in uncharacteristically good diction, asked, “Do you like me?”
Thank goodness Courier wasn’t drinking. If he had, he would have either choked or spat out his drink.
What was Swindler going on about?
“I’m paying for all of your drinks and taking you home,” the man said. He put out the last of his cigarette into his ashtray, the small plumes of winding smoke dancing into the air. “I think that should answer your question.”
Swindler blinked.
And then, much to Courier’s consternation and confusion, began to cry.
“Wh-what’s wrong?” Courier brought his hands up in a placating manner, not at all too sure where to place them. People liked it when their backs were patted, right? Or was it rubbed? Shoot, this was Swindler, maybe she wanted something or someone more touchy feely?
Shoot.
He was not a touchy feely person at all.
“Y-you… you don’t like me!” Swindler wailed. She brought both of her balled up fists to rub at her eyes, which were currently tearing up and leaking. “Why don’t you like me, Courier? Is it something—”
At that point, Courier was more than a little concerned and mortified. Slapping a couple bills that more than paid for their outing, the man began to haul the young woman out of her seat. Although he would have liked to haul her over his shoulder and run out of the establishment, he kept his movements gentle and soft for her benefit. She would never admit it, but she was delicate and fragile, still relatively untouched by the Akudama lifestyle.
As Swindler sniffled into his jacket, Courier patted her head, his metal hand soothing her flushed features and granting some semblance of reality into her. As the night wind caressed her hair and kissed the apples of her cheeks, Swindler finally realized that they were no longer seated inside the dimly lit bar, but rather on the brightly lit streets of Kansai. Like a child, she raised her hand high, as if she could catch one of the lights in the palm of her hand.
And just like a child, she had forgotten what had caused her sadness in the first place.
“So pretty,” Swindler mumbled. “Cour—Courier’s very pretty!”
Courier felt the corner of his lips twitch a little at her childlike behavior. Here she was, like a limp ragdoll smelling like cheap alcohol and booze, her eyes opening and closing as the threat of sleep continued to try and consume her.
She was adorable.
Knowing that she would not remember much past her first few drinks, Courier leaned in close and whispered into her ear. “So are you.”
Swindler yawned before humming into the lapels of Courier’s jacket.
“You’re… y-you’re prettier, though.”
“Is that so? Well then, you’re the prettiest.”
The young woman let out a tired giggle before settling deeper into his chest and falling asleep.
Courier shook his head fondly at the sight before walking them back home.