Asuka stared at him. Her bright eyes widened completely.
She could not believe what he just said. Zenjiro just sat there, looking back at her through the lingering gray haze with absolute seriousness.
Seeing the dead-serious, unwavering look on his face, she reached into her open canvas bag. She pulled out a single, thin white stick and handed it directly to him.
Zenjiro clamped it clumsily between his lips. "Give me the lighter."
"You don't need a lighter if someone is already smoking," Asuka replied flatly.
She kept her own burning cigarette resting securely between her lips. Leaning her upper body entirely to the left, she closed the physical distance between their faces. Her right hand stayed resting casually on her knee, while her left palm remained heavily clamped over Zenjiro's right hand on her thigh.
She tilted her head. The glowing red cherry of her cigarette pressed directly against the unlit tip of his. It was a bizarre, secondhand kiss. The thin paper cylinders touched perfectly in the damp shade.
Zenjiro had absolutely no idea how this worked. So he just blew air outward through the paper filter.
The sudden gust sent a shower of bright orange sparks flying wildly across the wet concrete.
Asuka jerked back instantly. She burst into a loud, ungraceful laugh.
"Ahahaha! What are you doing?" she wheezed loudly. She coughed a bit of stray smoke out, clutching her stomach with her free right hand. "You don't blow! You draw the air in. Like sucking through a straw."
She demonstrated the motion, exaggerating the sharp inhale so he could see the glowing tip flare brightly.
Zenjiro felt a hot flush crawl rapidly up his neck. He felt incredibly stupid. He tried again. Leaning his torso forward, he touched the paper tips together once more. He pulled the air inward this time, sucking hard.
Thick, acrid smoke instantly filled his mouth and shot straight down his windpipe.
He hacked violently. His chest heaved as he coughed the harsh fumes out into the freezing wind. His eyes watered immediately. It tasted exactly like burning trash.
Asuka laughed even harder. The cold, calculating smoker completely vanished. She was replaced by a normal teenager genuinely amused by Zenjiro's absolute incompetence.
Albert tried a third time. He took a much shallower breath, holding the bitter smoke briefly before letting it drift slowly out of his nose. He finally got the hang of the mechanics.
They sat side by side, blowing gray clouds into the damp afternoon air. A strange, relaxed rhythm settled over the concrete stairs. They both started laughing quietly at the lingering awkwardness of the coughing fit.
"You laughed," Asuka suddenly pointed out.
Her voice pulled him entirely out of the lighthearted moment.
"This is the first time I see you laugh since that day," she added. Her tone dropped into something much softer and heavier.
Zenjiro stopped smiling because he realized she was entirely right. Ever since that cold afternoon in this particular place, when she brutally rejected his confession, he had not laughed a single time. He just existed in a dull, painful fog.
"You're right," he muttered.
Asuka looked down at the dusty concrete near her boots. The sweet, popular girl facade was nowhere to be found. This was her real face.
"Zenjiro-kun, do you hate me?" she asked quietly.
He looked at her profile. His right hand still rested flat on the top of Asuka's bare thigh, held firmly in place by her palm.
"Hate?" Zenjiro asked. "Why do you ask?"
"Because I said painful words to you on that day," Asuka replied. Her gaze remained fixed firmly on the ground. "This is the real me. I don't have a filter. If I want to say something, I will say it without caring what the other person would feel. And I will never say sorry."
Zenjiro took a slow drag of his cigarette. The bitter taste coated his tongue, but he ignored it.
"I don't hate you," Zenjiro said flatly. "And you don't have to say sorry. I prefer this version of you."
Underneath his right knuckles, he felt a strange, tiny movement. Asuka's left hand trembled slightly. The faint vibration lasted for about two seconds against his skin. He completely ignored the minor sensation.
Sitting there in the damp shade, smoking a cigarette while his hand rested heavily on a pretty girl's bare thigh, he felt incredibly cool. He felt exactly like a bad guy in a cheap gangster movie.
"I need to light another one," Asuka announced, breaking the quiet spell. "Just for today."
She pulled a fresh stick from her bag, leaning close to him again. They performed the lighting method a second time. Their cigarettes kissed. She drew the heat inward until the tip glowed bright red, then pulled back to take a long drag.
Zenjiro shifted his gaze downward. He stared intently at Asuka's exposed left thigh.
The dark, twisted craving flared up violently in his stomach. He really wanted to glide his hand upward toward the off-limits area. But Asuka's left hand still pinned his right hand firmly down against her flesh. He could not move his fingers a single inch without starting a physical wrestling match.
So he thought of a different approach. He desperately wanted to see what was hidden underneath the dark pleats of her skirt. He visualized the concrete stairs. If he could just get down in front of her, he would have the absolute best view in the world.
But simply walking in front of her and crouching down would look incredibly weird. It would be a total dead giveaway. He needed a solid alibi.
A strategy formed in his head.
I'll throw my pencil in front of her, he decided silently. I'll pretend to pick it up and just accidentally look up.
It was absolutely not a high-IQ move. His tired brain was so thoroughly flooded with dirty thoughts that he could not concentrate on forming a flawless plan. He just blindly committed to the very first idea that crossed his mind.
Using his free left hand, he dug deep into his uniform pocket. His fingers closed around a yellow wooden pencil.
He watched Asuka carefully out of the corner of his eye. He waited for the exact moment her attention drifted.
Finally, Asuka tilted her head back, looking up at the gray sky to blow a long stream of smoke.
Now.
He casually flicked his wrist. The yellow pencil tumbled through the cold air. It landed on the concrete right in front of Asuka's shoes with a soft, wooden clatter.
Zenjiro immediately shifted his weight. He planted his left foot and started to stand up from the blue picnic blanket to execute his fake retrieval.
He did not make it.
Before his knees could even fully straighten, a hand clamped down hard on his right wrist.
Asuka's right hand—with her burning cigarette wedged securely between her index and middle fingers—grabbed him.
Zenjiro froze in a highly awkward, half-standing position. His right hand remained heavily sandwiched on Asuka's bare thigh by her left palm. Now, his right wrist was firmly clamped by her right hand. He was completely immobilized.
He looked down at the sitting girl.
"Is there something wrong, Shinohara-san?" Zenjiro asked.
Asuka flinched. Her dark eyes narrowed into sharp, dangerous slits.
"Where do you think you're going, pervert?" she spat.
The specific word hit him incredibly hard. A cold flush of pure shame rushed up his neck. He could not form a single word in response.
"Did you really think I didn't notice?" Asuka demanded. Her grip on his wrist tightened painfully. "Your pencil is on the ground. And it just happens to be right in front of me? I heard it when it dropped."
Zenjiro finally managed to force his vocal cords to work. "What are you talking about, Shinohara-san?"
She flinched again, clearly disgusted by his terrible acting.
"Don't play dumb," Asuka hissed. "Boys are the absolute worst. You all are perverts."
He was caught completely red-handed. His pathetic plan was intercepted before it even started. She did not let go of his wrist, glaring up at him with pure venom.
"Sit," Asuka ordered.
Zenjiro immediately obeyed. He dropped his weight heavily back onto the blue picnic blanket.
The physical geometry resumed its tense, awkward shape. His right hand still rested entirely flat on her bare left thigh. Asuka's left palm pressed his knuckles down. Her right hand remained tightly clamped around his right wrist, the smoking cigarette hovering just inches away from his sleeve.
Zenjiro stared intently downward. He locked his eyes directly onto the dark fabric of her pleated skirt.
"Zenjiro-kun," Asuka warned. Her voice dropped to a low, dangerous whisper. "Whatever you are thinking right now, don't do it. Just look forward. Don't look at my skirt. We should go back to smoke."
He did not respond. He kept his dark eyes glued to the heavy hemline.
A tiny fraction of panic finally leaked into Asuka's rigid posture because of his unbroken silence.
"Zenjiro-kun," she repeated, her voice shaking slightly.
He slowly lifted his head, looking directly into her nervous eyes.
"I understand," Zenjiro said flatly.
"I told you before," Asuka exhaled a tense breath. "There are things that are off limits."
Zenjiro gave a slow, deliberate nod. "Sorry. I won't do it again."
Asuka let out a massive, shaky sigh of relief. The heavy tension drained out of her shoulders. She finally released her tight grip on his right wrist. Bringing the cigarette back to her lips, she took a long, calming drag to settle her nerves.
Zenjiro shifted his gaze downward one last time. He stared at the dark pleats resting against her pale skin.
I really want to see what 'off limits' looks like, he thought stubbornly.
Then, the cold afternoon air suddenly shifted.
A massive, violent gust of wind swept aggressively around the brick corner of the old gymnasium. The strong draft caught the heavy fabric perfectly, flying directly upward.
Zenjiro's eyes widened completely. He saw it.
He saw the absolute best view in the world.