Different Kinds of Warmth

By Ju

It’s a quiet walk home, but Eiji doesn’t mind.  The sun casts a dusky orange hue across the sky, the breeze is light and cool against his face, he has his rackets swung over one shoulder and a drink bottle hanging from his lips.  And he has Oishi.

“Mblerm arrm mnmn un chmm chm mmay?” he asks curiously.  It never occurs to him to remove the bottle from his mouth.

Oishi gives him a patient smile.  “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch all of that.  Where are who?”

Eiji blinks his wide eyes, slightly puzzled by Oishi’s question.  Didn’t he just say who?

“Mnmn un chmm chm,” he repeats.

Their slow stride dwindles to a halt.  Eiji is confused, while Oishi is patient and reaches over to gently tug the half-empty plastic bottle from the other boy’s lips.

“You were saying?”  Oishi tilts his head to one side, a gesture that somehow seems more like something Eiji would do.  Eiji thinks it’s cute.

“I said, where are Momo and Ochibi-chan today?”  Eiji grins widely, now that the movements of his mouth are unhampered.  Oishi thinks the grin is charming.

He shrugs, accidentally shifting the position of the racket bag on his shoulder, and replies, “I’m not too sure.  Momo said something about Tezuka and cleaning up, but then Echizen said something about going home early to do homework.  I think they’re both lying.”

A muffled meep sounds from behind them, and Eiji glances over his shoulder.  He doesn’t see anything, though, except for a stray cat.  He’s vaguely tempted to bend down and lure the kitty closer, but then Oishi’s mild voice distracts him as it always does.

“I smell something fishy.”

Eiji blinks.  “It’s just a cat.”

And then it’s Oishi’s turn to blink dumbly.  “Um… I meant that metaphorically.”

“Oh.”  For a second, Eiji continues to look blank, but then the sunny grin returns.  “Well, the cat does smell a little fishy.”

The two boys share the joke with a short laugh, followed by the comfortable silence of routine.  Several feet away, the brown and white ball of fur issues a tiny meow of protest.

Finally, Eiji takes a step forward, at the same time that Oishi does.  And they begin to walk, side by side, neither moving more than a step ahead before the other catches up again; their hands brush lightly as they walk.  A happy coincidence, Eiji muses, and it never occurs to him to move his hand away.

It isn’t until they reach the end of the street, where the sun is a blazing ball of orange fire, that they speak again.  And even as Eiji is opening his mouth to say something, Oishi is turning towards him to listen.

“I used to think that I could reach the horizon, and that when I did, I’d be able to touch the sun with my hand.”  Eiji’s voice is light, but wistfully serious.

“Wouldn’t it burn?”  Oishi is curious; logic often takes a back seat in conversations with Eiji, wherein nothing is impossible and the glass is always half-full.

“No, silly,” Eiji rolls his eyes, then states knowledgeably, “It’d just be warm.  A lovely, burning heat that runs down my arm and makes me warm inside, as if I’d just drunk a cup of hot chocolate.”

“You think of the sun as a giant ball of hot chocolate, huh?” Oishi is smiling again, patiently.

“Something like that,” Eiji nods.  Curiosity compels him to demand, “Why?  What do you think of it as?”

His smile threatening to widen further, Oishi’s voice is deliberately even as he responds, “A burning ball of gas in space.  At least, that’s what our science textbook tells us.”

“Pft,” Eiji makes his opinion of the science textbook clear, waving a dismissive hand for additional emphasis.  “That’s not what I mean.  You know what I mean.”

Oishi realises that they’ve stopped moving again, that they’re now blocking the sidewalk at the intersection.  But there’s still nobody around except for the fishy-smelling cat, which seems to have followed them down the street.  The skin on the back of his hand is warm, a strange, prickly warmth that may or may not have been caused by contact with Eiji’s hand.  Oishi ponders this for a few silent seconds, then murmurs, “It makes me feel warm, deep inside, even where I think it’s so cold that nothing can ever touch it.  It feels… yeah, like hot chocolate, perhaps.”

Eiji grins happily, and he can’t help smiling back.  They stand at the intersection beside each other, close enough for their hands to be touching, and the sound of hushed whispers reaches their ears.  But before he turns around to give their stalkers a piece of his mind, Oishi remembers something.

“Here,” he says, holding up the half-full bottle of water to Eiji, who immediately pops it back into his mouth.  Their fingers brush, and their eyes meet briefly before Oishi turns away.

“Thmnsh,” Eiji mumbles cheerfully around his mouthful of plastic.

They find Momo and Echizen hiding behind a tree.

:: Owari ::