Work Text:
“Aya-kun,” Yoji takes a long drag of the cigarette he’s got stuck between his index and middle fingers, letting out a stringy exhale of smoke before he starts to speak again. His emerald eyes, half shut in apathy, shift to the red-head. “Couldn’t you have bought something a little… smaller?”
The emo doesn’t return the glance, instead glaring forward at the small boy, who stands nearly drowning in a zip-up jacket fashioned to look like G.I.R. from an American cartoon, who stands in front of the pair.
Despite the way that his expression remains hard, Omi knows that Aya doesn’t mean any harm by it.
That’s just how he is.
“No.” Aya’s voice is as sharp and precise as his katana. “He likes looser hoodies.”
Their conversation soundtracked by the coos of high school girls over Omi’s new clothing and Ken’s firm, but desperate attempts to placate them.
Yoji sighs, slipping his eyes shut and flicking his fingers forward, flinging ash from the end of his cigarette.
The blond is about to speak again, but Omi pops his head up, hands rising, though draped completely by the black fabric of the sleeves.
“I love it! Thank you, Aya!”