Karasuno's little bird

Part 6: Silver hoops

"Well I suppose you're not a stranger anymore."

Asahi's words continued to bounce around your head, leaving you restless and frankly irritable.

He had dropped you off hours ago, yet you still had not managed to grow tired.

I'm not going to be able to get any sleep at this rate.

You sat up, duvet pooling around your ankles.

It was at this moment you realized how empty your apartment was.

I miss my grandfather.

In an effort to escape your loneliness you made the executive decision to venture outside.

The humid night welcome reprieve from the chill of the apartment.

You stretched, deciding a walk would give you time to clear your head.

Your walk was somewhat brief, the glow of the afamed Sakonoshita store beckoning you closer.

I guess Asahi was right about it being just around the corner...

This is convenient.

Oddly enough...

You pulled the door open gently, the ding of a bell notifying a nearby clerk of your arrival.

He was a mysterious character, hair bleached an artificial flax blonde, giving him the appearance of one much younger.

The cigarette hanging from his lip was the only indicator of his seniority.

I could go a step further and say he's handsome.

In a rugged kind of way...

"Hello." You nodded politely.

The clerk grunted, peering at you from above his newspaper.

"Yo." He droned, resuming his focus on his paper.

"Um—" You began.

How awkward.

The newspaper shifts slightly.

"Need something?" He murmurs, settling the paper onto his register.

You nodded, unsure your request would be taken as sincere.

"I need help reaching something."

The clerk stood, small silver hoops jangling from his earlobes.

Pierced ears.

"Show me." He drones.

You shyly make your way to the back of the store, gesturing to a shelf, just inches out of reach.

"Ace bandages?" The man queries.

You nod, ignoring the puzzled expression forming upon his face.

"How many?" He asks, pulling a box from the shelf.

You maintain your stare.

"All of them."

The next morning.

Your alarm clock was a savage mistress, tantruming loudly atop your nightstand.

Bing.

Bing.

Bing.

"Shut up." You groan, hand slapping against the reset button.

Too early.