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"hoshikawa yori."
hoshi, star.
kawa, river.
a star river. you don't forget a name like that.
we had just finished building makeshift oxygen masks for the bus, out of a pack of expired face masks that someone had dumped near the tunnel that led to it. he was in charge of attaching the tiny plastic baggies to them, and i tweaked the design to include air filtration. after that, we had laid in the back and rested for a bit before i laid my head on his lap. so affectionate all of a sudden, minato! i'd rolled my eyes at him, but i sunk into him deeper once he started to castes my hair. i'd warmed up to it. he reassured me once he noticed i had cut my hair that he liked doing it, so note i let him.
"yes?" he replies, his tone resting on the thin line between teasing and genuineness. "the full name drop, why is that...?"
he's running his hands across my scalp again. we're in the bus, our safe haven, and my head's in his lap. i can't see, but somehow i know he's staring at me, at the jet black forest that lay atop my head. he'd retained a fondness of a sort for it that i hadn't even begun to try and understand.
"how was your day?"
"lame. the girls went shopping with their parents without me after class, and i couldn't go." he huffed, looking out the window.
"why not?" i ask, rolling over to look up at him.
"because i have to be here, with you!" he looks down and blows a dry raspberry, taunting me. i squint at him, frowning.
"you can always tell me if you're busy."
"i'm not busy right now."
"but you wanted to go with them..."
"and i didn't!"
i sigh, rolling over to my side again. he blows out a small, prolonged gust of air. his breath reaches my nape and it's cool, like menthol. the conversation stops there for now.
after a bit, he begins to hum.
i close my eyes and listen to him humming, ever so softly, as if i'm a baby who needs a lullaby to sleep at night. but it's only the early afternoon. and i'm not a baby. i don't need a lullaby, i almost want to yell at him, and i always think to. i never do.
the skin below his shorts rests beneath my fingers, and i want to circle them, to rub them, give him a comfort of some kind.
a hint of purple peeks out from under the sleeve on his right pant; i don't know if his father had done anything, and i hesitate to ask. if he had, i'd be the one to care for him.
i thought of making an ice pack. there were cubes resting in a cooler in the back of the bus from when i brought us mango popsicle sticks from the store. i saved up to buy them, since i has heard him talk about wanting to try them. i wonder if they put real mangoes in them! when we found out that they, in fact, did not, i nearly doubled over in laughter at the disappointment in his face.
i smile, and he feels it.
"what's so funny?"
i pull my hand from my side and rest it on his knee. "just a memory."
"of what?"
"the mango popsicles."
"oh, right, those totally sucked..."
i laugh, teeth showing. he rolls his eyes, the trace of a smile evident on his lips.