>>5656207You fish into your purse for some wet wipes, paper towels aren’t going to do much good against a sticky liquor like bourbon.
<span class="mu-g">“Come here,”</span> you say, frowning as you suppress the urge to stomp over to the café and give Yoshimura’s boss a piece of your mind, <span class="mu-g">“Paper will just stick and shred, you’ll end up with dozens of tiny bits to your shirt.”</span>
You take a wet wipe in hand and try to fight the stain in Yoshimura’s shirt.
Yeah, this is not going to come out that easy. Looks like an expensive shirt, too.
What a waste.
How can somebody stay in a job where their boss treats them like that…
How dare people treat their employees that way to begin with…
The nerve of those people. Black companies truly are the worst.
After a fair bit of effort, your frown relents and you sigh, <span class="mu-g">“It’s not helping much, you’ll have to take it the cleaners,”</span> you say, then looking up.
Yoshimura is staring down at you with small smile, <span class="mu-g">“Sure, I’ll do just that.”</span>
He sure is close. Wait.
He didn’t get close. You did.
It finally dawns on you what you’ve been doing.
You were so caught up in your own thoughts you barely noticed until now.
After hurriedly taking a step back, you bow in rapid succession, <span class="mu-g">“I’m sorry, so sorry,”</span> you say, <span class="mu-g">“I wasn’t thinking.”</span>
When you notice a mess, you clean it up.
That’s a given, right?
Yoshimura laughs, <span class="mu-g">“Don’t see me complaining,”</span> he says, pressing a button on his car keys as he walks towards the car, <span class="mu-g">“I came prepared, there’s a new shirt in the car, so don’t worry.”</span>
The lights on the car flash twice, signalling that it’s unlocked.
You feel blood rush to your face, then stomp your foot down, <span class="mu-g">“Why didn’t you say anything?!”</span>
<span class="mu-g">“And miss out on what just happened?”</span> says Yoshimaru, <span class="mu-g">“Not a chance.”</span>
He has no issue with chancing his shirt in the middle of a busy Tokyo street.
It feels silly to look away after you were basically rubbing his chest only moments ago, but you do so anyway.
It’s different now that you’re aware of it.
<span class="mu-g">“Have to cherish moments like these,”</span> says Yoshimura, as he buttons up his fresh shirt, <span class="mu-g">“They don’t come often for guys. Hell, I still remember the compliment a girl gave me back in high school.”</span>
<span class="mu-g">“What did she say?”</span> you ask.
<span class="mu-g">“She complimented my new haircut,”</span> says Yoshimura, <span class="mu-g">“Said it made me look cool. Handsome.”</span>
He puts his dirty shirt and jacket in the trunk of his car.
<span class="mu-g">“What kind of haircut was that?”</span> you say.
<span class="mu-g">“This one,”</span> says Yoshimura, pointing at his hair, <span class="mu-g">“I’ve had this haircut ever since.”</span>
Wearing his hair like that ever since?
That’s… strange, right?
