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The afternoon brought along with its sundown a rush of cold wind. The closeness of winter apparent and not at all festive. It was a time of hoarding - the absence of blankets in his and Kyouka's apartment blaring, the heater unusable, and windows only one plane thick - it all called for expenses. Walking down the streets of Yokohama, the intent of purchasing the necessary comforters in advance a doomed narrative which only led to the imaginary flies filling Atsushi's wallet dispersing upon its splitting of sides. A sad droop of his mouth accompanied his tramp, dragging his heels on the sidewalk all the while.
The birds would leave the town as well, having the freedom of being unchained in work and interpersonal relations keeping them here. Along with their family, they would migrate to the warm continents south of their homes, where flowers still bloomed and the sun grazed their luscious feathers. Atsushi cursed whatever Greek god was responsible for the winter time. He would miss them.
Nearing the destination of thieves, Atsushi unconsciously slowed his anxiously fast walking pace, the dread piling in his gut; 'No, go back! not here!' - his inner voice pleaded, but it would be a disservice to Kyouka to make her sleep over at the others' dorms for the season. He sighed and lowered his head in defeat.
Trotting even closer to the entrance of the flower-emblazoned shop, he suddenly stopped in his tracks. A wet splat sounded, almost in slow motion.
His scalp felt violated, utterly soaked with filth. A finger tentatively touched the top of his head before bringing the pad over to his line of sight, where eyes widened comically, more than they were before. A seemingly impossible feat achieved by the sight of the sticky, black dotted, foul smelling, atrocious substance coating his finger and dripping down onto the pavement. Atsushi could cry.
Now aware of the dozens of eyes on him, embarrassment overshadowed his annoyance and, fueled by humiliation, he ran to the nearest alleyway.
On second thought, birds should be permanently banned from populated areas. Those undesirable, gross, dreaded, god-forsaken critters didn't deserve the light of day. Actually, they don't even deserve existence. shoot them down, he pleaded to every deity he could think of, please, kill those wretched avians.
Crouching down closer to the dirty ground of the alley, which was undeniably more clean than whatever was on his head, he surrendered to the embarrassment and let his head lean down. The bird feces drooped and splatted in front of him. He could vomit.
Curse those meddling, disgustingly infiltrating city life birds. He hates them. He despises them.
In the end, the blankets Atsushi so desperately dreaded buying were fetched by Kunikida, the only one Atsushi had faith in to not humiliate him further.
The older man had sought him out and, after asking hesitantly some pedestrians if they had seen a young man with uneven bangs before getting an exhilarated reply to the effect of; "Oh! You mean the boy who got bird shit on him? He went that way," had found him blankly staring at a torn newspaper article titled "Parenting 101: What to do When Your Child is a Picky Eater!". He sympathised with him.
Rummaging through his bag to retrieve the handkerchief he kept just in case, he lent down to Atsushi's level and started to dab his head lightly, smiling with what he hoped was reassurance. Atsushi hadn't returned it.
After an agonizing minute consisting of Kunikida asking him what he had intended to get from the centre and getting a rather late but curt reply - "Blanket," - he hoisted them both up and got to buying the needed bed covers and whatnot else, just for the sake of it
(It was unnerving to see Atsushi so devoid of enthusiasm, especially when Kyouka's comfort was brought into the question. Hesitance over expenditure, yes. Outright disinterest over it? Never.)
After the fabric had been bought and the duo were on their way to the Agency dorms, Atsushi muttered an unintelligible series of vowels and consonants which sounded suspiciously like Kunikida's given name. He looked over at him immediately.
"Pardon?"
"Doppo. Do you like birds?"
"I have neither interest nor disdain for them. Why do you ask?"
"If you see a black pigeon with a white spot underneath its eye, kill it for me."
"Understood, Atsushi."