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Adhésifs de Marque

Written: July Thirteenth, 2008

Yamamoto laughs, brushing the hair out of his eyes, brushing the sand from his pants, brushing away the conversation with carefully timed side-steps and foolish words. He knows, you are what you are - and there is nothing more honest than that - so it's not as if he's tied down by others, by anything more than himself, and maybe he'll say yes and maybe he'll say no, but it's the fact that he'll say something that matters.

He's got two Band-Aids with pink flowers and cartoon cats criss-crossing on the skin next to his elbow, junction of arm and arm, a synthetic rubber of the letter twenty-four in a language known for tinny sound and pancakes made on glass-top stoves: Kyoko was the one who handed them to him, tired of looking at the blood, even as he assured her it was only a scratch. Sliding into base haphazardly, and no, it won't happen again, so things quickly shift into awkward-yet-enthusiastic praise. Gokudera's there only because of the Tenth, makes sure to insult the game along with the players and, why not, all of Japan while he's at it, cigarette smoldering and fingers brushing against waxen threads. But Yamamoto thinks sometimes, wonders what it's like to be alone and disliked in a foreign place, dumped here with no family or cultural ties, so he knows, he thinks he knows.

The sleeve of his shirt is ripped, product of sliding against a dirt-covered ground, but it's happened enough that he doesn't worry about it, anymore. Part of the game. He'll sew it up himself later, needles and pins and the quiet mending of cloth against a backdrop of customer and radio noise. He politely rejects Haru's offer of repairs with thanks, but it's my responsibility, almost partially-afraid she'll end up altering the entire thing to suit her tastes despite how he knows better, knows to trust. Pats No-Good-Tsuna on the back and excuses himself for a moment, slightly anxious to change out of his shoes and switch back to his school uniform, ready to blend back in and head home or, really, anywhere. It's Spring now, and he can see the stone-faced Disciplinary Leader watching from the rooftop of his beloved Namimori, keeping an eye on the crowd as they head off-campus. Jacket resting on his shoulders like some cape from far-off days, bird and prey.

Baseball clothing slung over his back in a convenience-store shop bag, he returns to the group, Reborn flustering Gokudera with a phrase that little kids really, really shouldn't know. Yamamoto admonishes him gently - the reply is something he doesn't quite get a chance to hear, given the clamour of the rest of his friends - and offers to give him a ride on his shoulders for the trip back. He accepts, and before they know it they're walking towards Sawada's house like a mob that's all noise and no reason for it, and he's making promises to study on the next bright Thursday afternoon, and then he's at the doorstep and waving to say hello, goodbye, waving to say yeah, I'm sticking around, see you tomorrow and the day after that, see you always.

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Written for the KHR! drabble community on LJ, this week's theme is "Uniforms".

The phrase Yamamoto is talking about is referencing 1957's "The Only Intelligent Decision", and "tinny" is referencing "The House on Mango Street". According to the side of the Band-Aid box, "Adhésifs de Marque" means "Adhesive Bandages". (According to Babel Fish it means "Adhesives of Mark", but... ehhh...)