Chapter Text
Aya Osawa was just the type of girl to get herself into compromising situations, such as the one she currently found herself in. After a great tumble, she had ended up sandwiched between a bookshelf and a boy. That boy just happened to be Aya’s crush, an employee at the store. His face hovered over hers mere inches away. She slowly brought her face up to meet his.
The cashier's eyes were wide and cautious, seemingly studying Aya. Did he think she was pretty? Another thought pushed its way to the forefront of Aya’s brain as the boy continued his intent stare. Oh god. What if her mascara was running again?
She pushed away from the man, way too abruptly, crashing several vinyls and CDs from the shelf.
“Oh my god. I’m so sorry.” Aya yelped into the handsome boy’s face. What has gotten into her?
“I’ll help you pick this up.” She scrambled to the ground, starting to clean up the mess she had just embarrassingly made. She grunted, “I’m an idiot. I am so sorry.”
Aya barely picked up the boy’s quiet voice when he mumbled, “Are you alright?”
Aya turned around to look at the boy. He hadn’t moved an inch since the whole interaction started. Oh god. He hated her. His question completely slipped out of her mind.
“I can’t believe I ran into you. I’m so brainless. I was just caught up because my favorite band released a new album and I wanted to make sure I got one of the limited edition signed copies but-”
The cashier nodded and lightly grabbed her right wrist, picking it up. Aya burned where he touched her, an electric tune played in her ears. Suddenly, all she could think about was her wrist and how he was touching it. So softly.
“Your wrist. It slammed against the shelf so hard I thought, maybe, you had sprained it. Did I hurt you?”
“No-no-no no, I am perfectly fine!” Aya brought her other wrist up to the boy’s face and waved both hands energetically. “See?”
“You’ve got some pretty strong wrists!”
He smiled and looked back at Aya’s face. Aya noticed her crush had dimples. She thought they were pretty, and now all she could think about was his dimples.
At that moment, his face and smile dropped and a look Aya thought could’ve been recognition passed over his features for what could’ve been half a second.
Aya, realizing she was still holding up her wrists to the boy's face, brought them to her sides. Abruptly, she stumbled back upright holding the fallen vinyls and CDs.
“OK!” she said, a little too loud, “Thank you! Bye!”
As Aya sprinted away she mumbled some very mean things to herself. God, what was she doing? She was a bumbling fool around him. Aya had told him ‘thank you’, for what? Because he said she had ‘strong wrists’? She could never go back there again.