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Ryousuke was halfway through his cigarette, yet he was still pissed as hell.
The pleasant April sun and a gentle sea breeze could do nothing to soften the two holes being bored into his back. He could feel them drilling into him. Yet every time Ryousuke looked back and tried to catch it, those dark eyes were downcast, lost in the frames of a shounen comic. The offender puffed on his own cigarette, his legs were propped on top of a table Akabane would claim if he were there on the roof. The fact Ryousuke couldn't catch the other boy look at him with those freaking eyes, and that he was so casual in ignoring the blond, just made it that much more offensive.
He was being ocularly accosted by Ryuuichirou Kiyama, the fucking weirdo.
Ryousuke tapped his fingers against the overturned pail he was calling a chair that afternoon. He didn't know how to feel about that guy.
He never rolled with Wataru and Akabane and the rest, though he tread yankee ground and showed no deference for the top gang in town. As far as the blond was concerned, that made Kiyama a threat. A few years back, when he pointed out that Kiyama didn't fight with them, didn't hang out with them, barely even talked with them of his own volition, the redheaded yankee leader only answered with a wave of a hand and a few words. "He's with us. Don't mess with him. Ever."
Junior high buddies or something. The details eluded him, like the cloud trailing from the end of his menthol.
But the fact was that since getting his ass handed to him that afternoon on the pier, Wataru Azuma's word had become law to Ryousuke. The Head of Kara High was a just leader, so Ryousuke figured there was something he was missing between his best friend and the neutral delinquent besides the shambles of a one-sided bromance the redhead was holding on to.
Who would like that guy, anyway? He's a total weirdo.
Whatever. Ryousuke had learned to deal with the quiet yankee and even found him amusing at times. This was not one of those times. Ryousuke looked past the smokiness to see Kiyama's glance falling to the pages of his comic. He wasn't quite sure, but he could swear that he'd caught the other yankee at the end of a "look" that time. In fact, the sheer probability of that sent him over the edge.
Ryousuke shot to his feet, knocking over the pail and leered at the other boy, seething. "You got something to say? Then say it, dammit!"
Chest heaving, Ryousuke stood there. The pail rolled until it hit the railing. Kiyama kept reading.
The blond found himself nearly gasping for air as he kept looking to the dark-haired yankee, but nothing happened. He moved to take a step towards Kiyama, but froze when he finally saw the boy in the chair turn a page. Kiyama adjusted his legs, crossed and strewn against the table, and finally locked eyes with the Ryousuke. It was the first time he acknowledged the other boy the entire day.
"It's strange."
The words were barely audible over the wind, but the blond caught them. He wrinkled his nose in response.
'You're fucking strange,' Ryousuke thought. Or mumbled. He wasn't sure which.
Whether he said it aloud or not, Kiyama returned to his comic, the corner of his lips hinting at a smile... or frown. Again, Ryousuke couldn't be quite sure. But he wore a frown as he watched the other yankee tap the excess ash off his cigarette, taking his sweet freaking time to get to the point. "You know exactly what I mean."
Ryousuke narrowed his eyes and grit his teeth at the other yankee. What the heck would he know? So what, Ryousuke had neglected to do his hair in that updo he had every day, and seemed more irritable than usual. He was entitled to have a bad day, right? Taking a break from Wataru Azuma wasn't a crime!
The blond winced. The last thing he wanted to think about was that dickhead Wataru, who'd been ditching him for days to dance around in tights with a bunch of stupid dorks and--
He blinked, something suddenly becoming very clear to him. Ryousuke wasn't mad at Kiyama. He was mad at Wataru.
Not that the black-haired yankee didn't confound him all the same.
At the realization, Ryousuke huffed, the warm fumes of his smoke and the cool, salty air filling his lungs. This oddball yankee wannabe who tried so freaking hard to avoid him and the gang was suddenly so interested in Ryousuke's personal affairs? First Wataru had started ignoring him, and now he had to deal with this guy who'd been practically ignoring them all for years, and everyone was fucking weird for no apparent reason no one would give him the time of day even though he'd gotten himself in some deep shit and all he wanted was someone to listen to him and give him some answers and--
Hands balled into fists so tight his nails cut into his palms, practically trembling, Ryousuke eyed his classmate.
"Who the hell are you, anyway?"
There was a moment of quiet, save for the shouts from what he guessed was the baseball team below, and some seagulls in the distance. Kiyama turned another page before opening his mouth, answering with only a cloudy exhale. It meant nothing to the blond. Ryousuke didn't speak smoke.
So Ryousuke Tsukimori crinkled his face into the most foul scowl he could manage, kicked over a chair, and stormed down the fire exit, slamming the door behind him.
It wasn't until after the heavy metal door stopped reverberating that Kiyama finally shut his manga and rested his head in his hand. Why were they all so noisy?
Wataru was a bit much, but he found Ryousuke irritating in a way he hadn't gotten used to. Especially when he was in one of his moods. They'd happened before, but Kiyama was never around the Ryousuke enough to grow accustomed to them. He wondered if he ever would.
He sighed. Ryousuke Tsukimori -- he was okay. He would run through this little funk and the homeroom greetings would resume by the end of the week. But Kiyama simply despised Reiji Akabane. He didn't know why the two were meeting in shady establishments and talking over stacks of cash -- especially when it seemed like Ryousuke had no need for extra money. Perhaps it had to do with Wataru and his new tights fetish... or whatever the hell he was doing. It seemed unlikely, but jeeze, everything had been peculiar since the Head of Kara High had taken up an extracurricular.
There was another breeze from the sea. Kiyama nearly shivered, and remembered the feeling he'd gotten when he'd seen Ryousuke and Akabane in town the other day. Did Wataru know about that? Besides class, Kiyama didn't see the others so much, and since the gymnastics crap had started he'd noticed the blond hadn't been as chipper has he usually was. None of the yankees were.
Something was very wrong.
Before he knew it, Kiyama found his hand moving towards his pocket, and his cell phone. It had been a really long time since he'd messaged Wataru.
He pinched the bridge of his nose before he retrieved another cigarette from his pocket instead. There was a reason he tried not to get too mixed up with the others, and he hoped they wouldn't get too mixed up with him.
Placing the cigarette between his lips, he closed his eyes and sighed. Whatever was going on meant trouble, big trouble, Kiyama was sure of it. But... Maybe if the occasion came up where it would be... convenient to tell Wataru that Ryousuke was involved in questionable activities, he'd slip it in there. This was Wataru's friend, after all.
Kiyama opened his eyes to see that old pail the blond had kicked, and frowned.
Yeah, he'd slip it in. Maybe.