smokebombsandmirrors:

Kaito spun on his heel and nearly slipped on ice again. He could feel the soles nearly give. He really need to get some with better treads. “Actually I do know. Some people can’t afford to drop 600 pounds much less 150 dollars on clothes. Now if you don’t mind I would like to get out of the cold before I bust my ass on ice and deal with you insulting me and my country any longer. So can we please just get back to the classroom in peace and one piece.”

He whirled back around and continued to storm off. 

December 24th, Last Year (The “Present”)

“Wait, let me get this straight.” Jones rubbed the bridge of his nose between his eyes.

It was an action which Hakuba had seen him perform many, many times in the past. It was easy to imagine it as he lay under the piano, recounting the story. “What?”

“So you were getting supplies for a Christmas party with your Japanese friend–”

“Classmate." Hakuba corrected him.

”–with your classmate who, again, is Japanese, while complaining about Japan, its people, customs, and differences?“

"And the snow. Don’t forget that.”

“I thought that was part of your narrative. Did you actually complain about the snow?”

Hakuba hummed. “I might have at some point, yes.”

Jones sighed. “So you were ranting and raving about how much you hate Japan–”

“I don’t hate Japan, I just don’t like it very much.”

“–regardless, you were doing this while in the company of your Japanese classmate, and then you critique his taste of clothing and criticize his financial standing?”

“Well…”  The blond looked up at the bottom of the piano, tracing fingers over the crayon drawings from so many years ago. Though he wasn’t certain of its actual bluebook value, he knew that it was somewhere in the range of $600-700k. Just for the piano. “To be honest, I just don’t think about that very often.”

“What, that not everyone is filthy rich like you?” Jones was snickering.

“Right. It just doesn’t occur to me… I make my own money, and I suppose I’ve never really been interested in material possessions other than clothes, but…” Hakuba sighed. “If you go by the theory of self-actualization, I suppose I already have those things, so I’m blind to it.”

“At least you’re aware that you’re blind.”

“Sometimes.”

There was another lull while Jones sighed. “So, the making out in the alleyway?”

“I’m getting to that!”

“Then get on with it!”

“I’m telling this story, Jones, and I know that you love my stories, so just let me do it as I see fit!”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re a regular John Watson… go." 

"Right, then. So I’d just made a muck of things with him again, as usual, and yes, showing off that I’m a ruddy git who is unintentionally insensitive, nationalistic–”

“I already knew that you hated Americans.”

“Hush! I do not!”

“Fine, fine, go on.”

“So I just made an ass of myself and Kuroba-kun–”

“That’s the kid’s name?”

“Uhhh… yes. Anyway, so I didn’t realize that he knew just how much burberry scarves cost, or that he was aware of the context in which…” Hakuba sighed, dropping his arm to lay over his chest. “It was bad, Jones. It was very bad. I was so embarrassed. Especially because he just kept slipping and it wasn’t as if he’d done anything wrong…”

“So what did you do?”

“Well, I caught up to him, of course…”

One Week Earlier (“Thirty four point seven six seconds after Kuroba-kun stormed off”)

“Kuroba-kun!” Hakuba reached for his shoulder, eyes wide, pleading as he caught up to him again, nearly slipping on the ice himself. This was something that didn’t really happen to him often. Slipping on ice, that is– he was quite used to traversing on slick, frozen sidewalks, and most certainly used to putting his foot in his mouth. 

“Wait, really, I’m sorry. Please wait? God, I didn’t mean to get all… well, you know! I just… this place! And there are so many… and the…!" 

Frustrated, trying not to slip, trying to balance everything in his arms, and grab onto Kuroba-kun as really not working out all that well for him. 

"God will you please just listen to me?!”