two unrelated scenes, ten years apart. they really have little to do with one another, despite the shared prompt. i really do not write shinjiro well, so this is half a practice in that.

His teacher gives him a candy-cane and he snaps it into thirds obligingly, sucking on his part, playing that it's a cigarette, cool and sharp. Miki licks hers, coating it wet and sticky, trying to get the stripes off; Shinji crunches on his and is done first. There's not much snow this year and they huddle together under the jungle-gym, bottoms wet and cold from the ground.

"Christmas is next week," Miki reminds them, licking at her thumb. "Hey, hey, Aki-oniichan, what are you getting me." She tugs at his hair with sticky and spit-covered fingers, he yelps and ducks away, knocking into Shinji who knocks him right back.

"I drew you a picture." His voice is thick from the candy, and he rubs some snow into his hair to try and get the peppermint-spit out.

"I didn't get you anything," Shinji announces, helping Aki by grinding snow into his neck. "I didn't get either of you anything."

"What?" Miki's eyes go wide and sad.

"He's lying." Aki does his best to shove Shinji into a wind-drift of snow. "I saw him wrapping up one of his dolls, he's givin' you—"

"It ain't a doll!" Shinji retaliates to this affront by pulling the candy-cane third right from Aki's mouth, now white and pointed like a bone, popping it into his own and biting down.

Miki sighs and puts her chin in the palms of her hands. "I'd really like one of Shinji-oniichan's dolls. That'd be a great present." Shinji chews away, and she adds: "That's an indirect kiss, you know."

Shinji swallows the candy and sticks out his tongue to prove it. "Is not."

"I heard Hana-chan and At-chan talking about it. If your spit touches, then you've kissed, so that's why sharing food is an indirect kiss." Aki looks from his sister to his hand, and touches his hair again.

Shinji shrugs. "I've spit on people all the time. Before I came here, and stuff. It's not kissing."

"It is. It's kissing. That's what they said, and At-chan even has a boyfriend. Spit is the same. That's why people kiss. Spit." Miki's voice goes high with insistence; she doesn't like to be wrong, being the girl and the youngest.

So Shinji steals her candy-cane, too. "You guys are both idiots. Spit's just water."

...

"Rejoin," Akihiko tells him, a nervous request masked in an order.

"You can shove your damn club up your ass," Shinjiro snaps back; his eyes are wide and shaky today, and Akihiko wants to ask (but can't, but won't) if he's on drugs now, too. He allows Shinjiro to light a cigarette, pull and exhale, before asking again.

"We could really use you again. It's been so long, you can't honestly tell me—"

"Shove it. Up your. Ass." Shinjiro coughs and then swallows. His hands are shaking. It's been too long since they were best friends, brothers, but Akihiko knows him like the back of his hand, knows how to read opponents for weaknesses in the ring.

"Shinji—"

Shinjiro bolts up from the barrel, decides it will be faster to leave than deal with Akihiko—pulls from his cigarette again and Akihiko decides to press the issue, risk the fight, blocks Shinjiro's path away. "What is with you today?"

"I'm sick of your face." They aren't the worst insults he's been given, but the ragged way of saying them, the fact that it's Shinji—who is a great asshole but rarely directly insulting, not this fast. Drugs, Akihiko thinks. He won't ask. He can't.

"Seriously, Shinji."

Shinji start to light up another cigarette, pulling it from his pocket, not a box, and Akihiko snatches it away. "Give that back, you bastard."

Akihiko drops it and crushes it under his boot, being petty and bitter and enjoying it; Shinjiro's pupils are dilated and he wants to escape, taller and larger but cornered—his tongue darts out, he licks his chapped lips, he spits at Akihiko.

"Oh, what the hell..." Right on Akihiko's vest. He picks at the fabric, mouth curling in disgust. "Real mature."

Shinjiro's posture stiffens and then unstiffens. "Priss. Afraid of a little spit?"

"Screw you." Akihiko moves his shoe off the cigarette and half expects Shinjiro to pick it up again; he doesn't. He's annoyed, but distracted by the gob on his vest, staining it brown.

Shinjiro draws another beaten cigarette out of his pocket, expression like he's daring Akihiko to say anything, lights it up and skirts around him, making his escape at last. "It's just water."