It Must be Idiocy

[ 0 1 ]

It must be curiosity.

The man was strolling along the row of people, brazenly picking pockets and inspecting contents of bags and nobody so much as spared him a glance. He didn't seem to pay the people much mind either, though he occasionally leaned over to watch a phone screen or stepped over errant feet. Finally, he reached Wakatoshi and begun rifling through his bag.

Wakatoshi grabbed the man's wrist and pulled his bag away protectively.

The man's head jerked up and his eyes widened a fraction.

"What are you doing?" Wakatoshi asked. The person beside him shot him an odd look before continuing to type on the laptop perched precariously on their knees.

"Huh? Me?" The man asked.

Wakatoshi nodded.

"Hmm..." With a quick motion, the stranger freed his wrist from Wakatoshi's grasp. He thought he felt sharp bones click beneath his fingers.

"You're... Stealing." He said, eyeing the stranger's shoulder bag. It wasn't any business of his, not unless the stranger decided to take one of the costly textbooks he held.

The stranger shrugged his bony shoulders, "gotta get by somehow." He said.

He did look underfed. His hair was a brilliant shade of red, which stood upright seemingly without hair gel. His face was all angles, hollow-cheeked, and a little gaunt. Perhaps odd was the word for it. He had a strange countenance, one which made Wakatoshi want to pay attention - but it was none of his business, he reminded himself. Maybe his stealing was something these people allowed for some reason - something he simply hadn't paid attention to before. Maybe the man worked for a charity.

The stranger had removed his hand from Wakatoshi's bag but stayed sitting in front of him, watching him with intense concentration. Wakatoshi cleared his throat and busied himself reading the advertisements plastered on the opposite wall of the subway.

He wasn't one to avoid eye-contact, but something about this stranger's gaze was unnerving. Maybe he was just tired from volleyball practice.

(He wasn't one to make excuses either, yet here he was).

"Oy." The stranger rapped sharply on his knees, forcing Wakatoshi to look again. He was spinning Wakatoshi's volleyball on the tip of one of his long fingers. It spun neatly - perfectly controlled. "You can see me?"

"Obviously."

The stranger frowned for a moment, then grinned like he'd found something amusing.

He said nothing more until Wakatoshi's stop arrived and he stood up, whisking the volleyball from his grasp and stowing it away. He was relieved to finally be off the sweaty, uncomfortably bright train and onto the cooler station.

The stranger was with him - he realized when he was on the sidewalk lit only by the occasional streetlight. He was spinning the volleyball again - Wakatoshi hadn't even felt him take it.

"You are following me."

The stranger threw the ball into the air and caught it deftly. "Yup." He answered though Wakatoshi hadn't meant it as a question.

"Why?"

"Didn't have any plans." He said with a shrug, "what's your name?" And then, unperturbed by Wakatoshi's silence- "Mine's Tendo Satori, you can call me Satori if you'd like - all my friends do." Tendo laughed an uneven, wheezing laugh, "no one has in years of course." He didn't even sound bitter, just the slightest bit resigned.

"How far will you follow me?" Wakatoshi asked uncomfortably. He wasn't worried about Tendo hurting him; although almost as tall as Wakatoshi, he was almost painfully scrawny.