Getting straight to the point, I asked, "Do you want to hear our story?"
"That depends," Mr. Author said. "What sort of story is it?"
Mr. Author and I sat at a table in Cosmic Pizza, the town's most famous restaurant. It was a gigantic establishment that was a cross between a very large office space and a Denny's. Like a typical family-friendly restaurant, there were small walls and cubicle partitions separating some of the tables, except here they're tall enough to conceal a seated person from their cubicle neighbors. Placed strategically throughout the restaurant, these cubicle partitions created about a hundred or so small eating areas with only a few tables and chairs in each. The building itself was actually a converted warehouse with who knows what above the ceiling, and the only indication of the restaurant's size is the building's exterior. Each little area had its own electronic kiosk that could be used to order and pay for food, internet access, or to rent one of their "luxury chairs" at a college-student-affordable price.
An inordinate number of these "luxury chairs" were actually just exotic cushions imported from who knows where, or beanbags made suspiciously flat as if a large amount of stuffing had been removed.
During the school year, Cosmic Pizza would be packed at all hours of the day and night, with the flat beanbags being their most popular "luxury chair." It was a legitimate pizza establishment that made great pizza, but it also doubled as an illegitimate overnight hotel for poor college students.
The eccentric owner is actually a friendly guy I met on a few occasions. His name is "Cosmo," but it isn't entirely clear if this is his first or last name, nick name, or some sort of pseudonym. Nonetheless, his name is perhaps, the least sketchy thing about him. Apparently he either was, or still is, the town's only health, building, and safety inspector—or so he claims. It's actually one of his most favorite topics to discuss with his patrons, as in he mentions this at every possible opportunity. Even though I've heard this each and every time I've encountered the portly man, the actual details still eluded me.
The problem is that I often can't understand what the hell he is trying to tell me. Whenever he spoke, his voice was rough, and his always-slurred words came out at an unusual tempo. His disorganized thoughts were conveyed in a stream of consciousness that came directly out of his mouth. To me, he sounded like a lifelong chain-smoking Scotsman who'd recently been kicked hard in the balls during some perpetual search for more booze. The only thing about him that was more difficult to understand was how he could possibly be a fully functioning human being.
"Well, it's my story; a true telling of the past few months of my misguided attempts to help a cute guy with a very gay problem."
"So, no werewolves, then?" he asked, but didn't wait for an answer.
The "What!?" I gave him was practically involuntary.
This had apparently been the response he was looking for, because he then said, "Goood … ," drawing out the word like a house cat drawing out the suffering of a captured mouse. On the other hand, he sort of sounded like a comic book supervillain trying to hide his Bible Belt accent, and that invoked its own imagery. In that case, had there been an actual cat present, I would've been severely disappointed if he didn't pet it while saying, "exxxcellent."
I struggled to find an appropriate response to give Mr. Author, so the best I could do was mumble the obvious, saying, "Um, … like I said. It's about real events that—" but then Mr. Author interrupts me. "You'd be surprised at the number of gay werewolf stories that claim to be true accounts. Admittedly, some of them are just furries with very active imaginations."
Really, I had no idea what the fuck he was talking about, but I could work with that because he wasn't anything like Cosmo.
Before I could actually say anything, he asks, "Do you always sound like you're narrating a Budweiser commercial?" and then nodded once at me as if I actually answered his question.
I considered the possibility that we weren't having the same conversation, but I discarded that idea in favor a simpler explanation. As far as I could tell, Mr. Author will interpret my face as being a direct response to his questions. From this I reasoned that he was probably treating my "what the fuck" expression as a complete and valid statement.
"Maybe I should call him 'Mr. Sassy Author,' " I thought to myself.
"Mr. Author" was just the name I used in my notes to refer to a selected handful of people who shared the same function. There were six writers in all living nearby, but any one of them could have been here, coincidentally, dining at the same time we were. For my purposes they were basically interchangeable.
I gave him a brief, but polite, chuckle in response before waving that nonsense away with a gesture. It was only a figurative gesture, but I strongly wished was literal.
Mr. Author asked, "So, … then, … what's it about?" in a way that was definitely sassy.
Given how tall he was, the aging Caucasian fellow spoke more softly than I would've expected for someone of his height.
Answering him, I began to say, "It's about the lies we told ourselves and—" but then Mr. Author broke in again and said "Is this poetry or prose?—Because if it's the former then I'm not interested," without giving me any chance to respond. "So can the poetry please, and just tell me why your story is so interesting." Then, after looking at his expensive watch, he added, "You have about a minute left."
This guy was either very impatient or very intolerant of bullshit. It was either that or he was severely over-caffeinated. Despite being nearly three times my age, Mr. Author spoke quickly with the energy of a youth that should've long since passed.
He had that unnaturally smooth face that comes from an overuse of Botox, and his hair was dyed in a rainbow of colors and styled stiffly against the top of his head. It almost looked like he styled his hair first, and then painted a rainbow on his head. When I first walked up to him, I noticed the distinct absence of reading glasses, and only now do I realize that this was a possibility I totally forgot to plan for. It was a sloppy mistake, even though it worked out in the end.
Since Mr. Author preferred gestures over words, I reached into my bag to grabbed a small box, like the sort that might hold a ring, and a portable video player. In it's current folded form, the video player was a bit smaller than a typical tablet computer, but still larger than a cellphone. On the outside it appeared to be a thick version of one of those mini-notepads that waiters in normal restaurants use to take orders.
It actually has two screens that act together like one large screen when unfolded. The screens were designed to sit flush against each other so that there's only a thin physical gap in the middle that was easy enough to ignore. Most of the video on the player is in HD, and this more than makes up for the small size of the viewing screen. I didn't want to waste any more money buying something bigger for a one-time use item like this, especially given how common it is for people to watch video on their much smaller cellphone screens.
I rose and placed both items on the table in front of Mr. Author, but without pushing away the book he'd been reading. There was plenty of room on the table for my purposes. Earlier, just before he closed the book and set it aside, I saw the title, "Raunchiness in the New Millennium," so I did my best to ignore it. I gestured to Mr. Author, asking if I may sit beside him.
In response, he says, "This is how my husband should've proposed to me."
I laughed genuinely at this, and sat down. There was no point in asking for a more direct answer to my simple request.
In any case, it really was unintentionally funny. I had deliberately picked this particular video player due to its folded appearance, which I thought would be perfect for a meeting with Mr. Author. However, I hadn't thought about what it would look like when both it and the box were on the table.
Now that I was seated beside Mr. Author, I noticed that he opted for a rocking chair. This was somewhat surprising, but I didn't let myself get too distracted by it. Thus far, he'd been still enough for me to think that he was in a non-rocking chair, which means that I could probably rule out the over-caffeinated hypothesis. I made a mental note to review this later.
When I opened the little fake-notepad to reveal the double-screened video player, Mr. Author "ohhed" and "ahed" sarcastically because, of course he did. Even though I'd only just met him, it didn't take me long to figure out that aspect of his personality. The player was on and already set to the relevant footage that needed only to be unpaused. It showed a still image on the screen of one of the campus' lesser-used cafeterias. The scene was centered on two young men—students—seated next to each other, and unknowingly facing the camera.
While I was propping up the video player, using its built-in stand, Mr. Author reached over to grab the small ornate box.
Before he could take hold of it, I said, in a comically polite way, "No, no, no. Allow me," and then presented the box in the manner one might for a marriage propose. I said, using his actual name, "… will you … put this in your ear?" and opened the box at the appropriate moment.
Rather than a ring, the box contained a white wireless earbud sitting in shaped black velvet. This was apparently the right thing to do because Mr. Author laughed so raucously that I feared it would be loud enough for my friends—the putative couple—to hear. As far as they know, I'm either gushing over my favorite author, engrossed in some arcane literary discussion, or that I was trying to hit on him. Regardless, it mattered little what they thought at this point. My primary concern was whether they would try to approach us sooner than I had planned for this scenario.
"Hya, hya, hya, heh. And here I thought your were some humorless fan."
"Ouch," I said jokingly, but with a smile Then, to myself, I noted that, "Technically, I am neither."
"So, Ahmed," Mr. Author says with amusement, and then very sassily, he asks, "Do I get to keep these?" as he fiddled with the earbud I gave him.
"Yes," I said, plainly. "Consider this a gift of appreciation; a 'thank you' for giving me the time to talk to you."
He looked at me sideways in disbelief, and I nodded. I smiled again, more genuinely this time, because I was surprised at how extremely satisfying it was to evoke his bewildered expression.
I pointed to a larger earbud, that was already in my own ear, in case he hadn't noticed it yet. It was a shade of brown that matched my skin tone, but it was also plainly in the ear that was currently visible to Mr. Author, and notably not to anyone that might pass by.
I then added, "But first, let me show you some of the footage that is already stored in the video player."
Echoing me, he said, "Footage?" and raised an eyebrow while I resisted smiling.
"Yes. Footage," I say, and then pause for dramatic effect. "You see, I have this hobby, … people watching—like going to public places to watch the crowds go by."
I can practically see Mr. Author's bullshit detector coming up with an error, and only now do I allow myself to smile.
"I'm very good at my hobby," I tell him, because it was true.
I took out my phone—the one I use for casual surveillance—and opened up this program-turned-app that my cousins and I made for connecting to computer networks we'd compromised.
"It's similar to some of the work I used to do for my family. But we'll get to that a little bit later."
After selecting a security camera pointing at the putative couple, and then another covering some of the intervening space, I also selected the camera currently pointing at Mr. Author and I, but I quickly put that video feed in a different tab. I switched back, returning to the original tab with the view of the putative couple. Very unconcernedly, I place my phone down in front of me, like I would if I wanted to keep track of the time. Of course, and in accordance with my family's traditions, this was technically true because, after all, my scenario was on a schedule. As the saying goes, "we are like glass in the dark; both technically transparent and hidden in plain sight," but I keep that to myself.
Mr. Author did a double take when he saw my phone, and any humor that remained, drained visibly from his face.
"Is that? …" he asked, pointing to my phone.
Rather than say anything, I switched to the other tab and waved at our security camera. There was a slight delay between my action and its appearance on my phone, but as soon as that happened, I switched back to the original tab.
Gesturing first to the video player, and then to my phone, I quietly said, "Before. … After. The putative couple," and then pointed to each in succession, "my friends, Shin, which is short for Shinjiro Nezu-Rivera, and Kit Miller, which isn't short for anything."
I huff once at my little pun.
Between the gifts and my unveiling, I was certain that I now had Mr. Author's complete attention.
But then he leans in towards me—actually over me—and says in a harsh whisper, "Are you some sort of spook?" which was predictable and unoriginal.
I do not react immediately to his question, but I do suppress the need to role my eyes.
It was a rabbit hole that I didn't want to fall through quite yet, and so for fun I turned and gestured for him to remain silent with a gentle and barely audible "Shh …".
My act, rather than being enigmatic and ambiguously serious, was likely ruined by my bemused smile. However, at the very least, it was creepy as fuck. Still, in the end, anything he might've been planning to say, died quietly in his mind.
⁂
The putative couple were still recognizable as being the same people on both screens, but there were some notable differences. Shinjiro developed this subtle afterglow effect that put him on the sexy side of cute, while Kit's transformation was much more pronounced with both his body and with what he wore. It seemed like he'd finally finished growing into an adult.
Both looked healthier now, with Kit appearing especially so. His once sunken cheeks now looked almost supermodel attractive, and with the T-shirt and shorts he wore, his skin was visible enough to illustrate how exceedingly talented Shinjiro was with the use of makeup. Nonetheless, he still showed signs that he was resisting Shinjiro's makeover, but overall, that war had already been lost.
On the older paused footage, my friends looked somewhat mismatched, but on the real-time feed they looked liked they belonged together.
Even seated at a table, their usual dynamic was always there. Shin was the skinny and short one, while Kit was taller and far more muscular. This contrast alone was noticeable, but not in a "David and Goliath" kind of way. Both were still fairly average in height, but what they wore could accentuate their differences, or make them less apparent. Back then, before my meddling, they had almost diametrically opposing styles. Now they almost look like they coordinated their outfits, but in reality it wasn't "they," it was all just Shinjiro. He deliberately chose those outfits so that they would match without seeming like they were.
In the old footage, Shin wore a tight fitting black T-shirt with a mess of gray, red, and blue that was some sort of printed logo or design. His black hair was shorter than it is now, but still styled fashionably in a meticulously messy way. To most, he looked vaguely Asian or Hispanic, but few ever guessed that he is actually part Asian and part Hispanic. His father is a Japanese immigrant turned naturalized American citizen, while his mother was a Hispanic immigrant who'd been separated from her parents at a very young age.
Kit originally had a sort of grungy and disheveled appearance, but now that's been mostly abandoned. It wasn't that his clothes looked old or dirty, but rather that they didn't fit him very well. Just as he had in the frozen frame of the video, Kit sometimes wore an undershirt that was either too big or very loose on him. However, what compounded the issue was that whatever he wore on top of that tended be too small.
Still, even beneath his grungy appearance, it was hard to hide his athletic build. His sharp facial features and high cheek bones would have made him very attractive, but there was also a hollowness there that, overall, made his face seem only slightly attractive. This worked against him, in a sense, because his good looks hid health issues that neither he, nor Shin, were aware of. However, his unflattering attire was kind of deliberate because he did not like the attention he garnered when he appeared as attractive as he really was. There's more to it than that, but the gist was that Kit was just as fucked up on the inside as he looked on the outside.
In the video, he wore a gray T-shirt beneath a camo colored hoodie, unzipped, with its long sleeves rolled up enough to show a few scars on his forearms. Both the shirt and the hoodie were baggy on him, practically draping his frame, but the hoodie seemed slightly smaller. His large biceps and wide chest were often difficult to hide, and this time the sleeves on the hoodie were tight enough to show hints of his muscular physique.
He looked to be well-tanned, but that was just his complexion. His light-brown hair was messily unkempt, and with the way it hung over his ears and piercing amber eyes, it desperately needed to be cut.
Mr. Author sat hunched over examining the still image, but he seemed hesitant to touch the device. He was former alumni from some bygone era—probably the stone age—where they might, or might not, have used writing slates instead of paper. Actually, I doubt it was that long ago since the school name still had the word "Zephyrus" in it. Even though he is not part of the faculty, he has some sort of long-term relationship or association with the university, the details of which I did not care to learn. The only relevant bit was that he has been on campus regularly enough to know that security cameras were not common in the classroom or cafeterias.
He turned to me, his eyebrow raised, giving me a look of distrust. Before he could say anything, I pressed a button on the video player—a real button and not the fake digital kind—and the footage immediately began to play. Just as in the real-time feed, the two sat next to each other on the same side of the table having some sort of discussion. Shin was talking animatedly, while Kit sat motionless, like the play button had no effect on him.
Kit sat with his elbow on the table, using his hand to prop up his head, facing away from Shin while staring off into the distance. At first glance, it appeared as though he wasn't even listening to his friend, but based on his expression, he was simply trying to hide his amusement.
Shinjiro was in the midst of explaining something, his hands moving lively while he talked. "… numbers! Seriously, the first week was just about numbers; real, imaginary, natural, and blah-blah, whatever. Then he added stuff like addition and multiplication and called them groups, and I was like, 'Am I even in the right class?' thinking this was some low-level remedial course."
Without hiding his amusement, Kit turned to face his friend directly. It was sudden like he'd just come to life. "Hahaha. Well, you weren't totally wrong there. Did you even think that it might be a high-level advanced course?"
Shin crossed his arms and grumpily said, "No, not really. I just … ," but then didn't bother finish the sentence.
Kit did not hesitate to finish his friend's thought. "—you just assumed you wouldn't do something as dumb as take a high-level math course?"
"It's called 'Modern Algebra.' Algebra! I thought it was like, solving-quadratic-equations, algebra," he said, and then reacted to Kit's amusement, adding, "Fucking hilarious, right?" his words dripping with sarcasm.
The audio was pretty clear but slightly tinny and distant in that way people tend to associate with hidden or clandestine footage. Some of that effect was added artificially during editing because expectations needn't always be subverted.
Shin's mood changed quickly, and he said, almost pleadingly, "Are you sure you don't know any high-level math?"
"Yeah, … I'm sure," Kit said with a sad and defeated tone. "And you're sure you can't drop it?"
"It's been almost a week since the end of the add/drop period. I tried the professor but he didn't seem to be very … sympathetic. The registrar says, 'sure you can drop it, but you'll just fail that course for the semester.' Very helpful."
Kit sat up and said, more seriously, "We'll just have to find you a tutor."
"I think the people who'd tutor that subject, are also taking that class."
Kit said, with a goofy smile, "Technically, they can't tutor a class they haven't taken yet," which made Shin glare at him. "Okay, okay," he added, placatingly. "I get what you mean. But there's got to be someone that's taken it already."
Shin's attention shifted to something in his hands that he was fiddling with. After a few seconds of that, he spoke, but was sadder and less lively than before. "I asked a few people in the class and they said I was pretty much fucked. This course is taught every other year, and only juniors and seniors take it." Then he looked back at Kit, concern evident on his face as he said, much more quietly, "All the students that took the course have already graduated."
"Shit, man," Kit said, sitting a bit straighter. "I don't think you'll be able to pass that class without some help—like divine intervention—so you might have to think about taking a different math course over the summer to replace it." He looked away and added, "But yeah, … that's for your degree requirements. As for your GPA … I don't know, man."
Clearly displeased by this response, Shin changed the subject.
"How's organic chemistry 2 going?"
"I think everyone in the lab course hates me."
Shin laughed and nearly choked on some chips he was eating. "Pfft! Hehehe, why do you think that?"
"They all sort of stare at me when I'm not looking."
Shin mumbled something unintelligible, and Kit gave him a grunt-like "Huh?"
Instead of responding, Shin quietly finished off the small bag of chips, but his expression had become noticeably gloomy again. Like that they sat in companionable silence, which was a common occurrence for them.
Finally, after taking a drink from his water bottle, Shin said, "Maybe they see through your awful disguise," his voice nearly monotone, but tinged with what I now recognize as regret and resentment. That was always the tone he used when he talked fatalistically about his friendship with Kit and the impossibility of their being something more.
Completely oblivious to this, Kit said, "It's not like that," somewhat defensively. "You know how it was back then," then they lapsed into another of their periods of companionable silence, both appearing distant and contemplative.
It took me a moment to recall what I've learned, since then, about the taboo topic Kit mention.
⁂
During one of his high school's summer breaks, puberty had been kind to Kit and his wardrobe. Due to a growth spurt, he outgrew most of his clothes while growing nicely into others. Around this time, he got a rather stylish haircut and "acquired" some new sneakers to replace the boots he wore throughout his childhood. When the new school year started, his transformation overcame the stigma of his thuggish reputation that remained even after he left that gang.
He changed his life around and now people were finally beginning to recognize him as being hard working and studious. Initially, people simply didn't recognize him at all, with some even mistaking him for being a new transfer student. Eventually, most people realized who he was, but this only made him more famous and remarkable. He gained a following of sorts in the form of a growing gaggle of girls that seemed to always be around him. They were hangers-on that constantly flirted with him, and while some of these girls were friends with one-another, they generally sabotaged his attempts to get to know any of them individually.
They quickly became more aggressive and more direct, professing their own undying love for him while painting their competitors as being disingenuous and unironically duplicitous. Neither Shin nor Tessa were around him during this time, each for their own reasons, and a lot of Kit's friends had been in, or were related to, the gang. Up until that point, even his good friends in the gang would unintentionally keep drawing him back into gang-related affairs, and so for him to truly leave he had to cut ties with all of them.
He was alone and lacked the skills needed to deal with high school social drama. However, it wasn't so much that he didn't know what to do, but rather what he did do was "creative and disastrous," and from what Shin learned, some of his efforts were hilarious. Kit banned Shin from tell me about specific details when he found out that I was snooping, but from what I understand, Kit tried to "manage" the group of girls in a way similar to how he managed his subordinates in the gang.
And that's as close as I'd been able get. From there, the details become vague and sketchy. There's just a gap that takes up most of the 11th grade, and part of the 12th grade. When asked about this period, both of them, alone, were always evasive, and I'd always have trouble getting them in the same room at the same time after probing too deeply into this subject.
Questions remained about how this fits into his grungy clothing style or how Shin and Tessa eventually returned to him. Something happened between Kit and Shin, and my best guess is that it relates to some of Shin's revelations at the end.
That's the best I can do. Someone else in my family will have to figure out the rest.
Mr. Author had paused the video and was staring at me while I was lost in my thoughts with a likely pensive expression. This man was more intuitive or observant than I gave him credit for.
He deserved a reward, but I didn't have any cookies at the moment, so I said, seriously, "I still don't know what happened. Even now, they won't talk about it. My only guess is—" but then he raised a hand to silence me.
"I assume you have more of this," and he waved his hand with a flourish, then finger quoted, "footage."
I said, "Yup," plainly, and waited for Mr. Author to continue. He was hooked, and he didn't even complain about the size of the video player.
Speaking in hushed tones, he said, "It's better if I'm not biased towards your theories in this," then after a few moments of hesitation, he added, "You're after some sort of book deal, right?" I nodded. "Then it would help if I could interview each of them on their own."
"Of course," I said. "Just not today."
He scowled at my simple response. I could see the gears turning in his head, and I was now convinced that I ended up with one of the better, "Mr. Authors." He'll need a few moments to process this.
Despite my many talents, I wasn't much of a writer, … at least, compared to a professional. Mr. Author's function in that respect is relatively straight forward.
Then there's the fallout and aftermath at the end of this scenario to deal with, and I wanted to avoid doing that if I could. Hopefully, my literary agent will be able to help with some of that, and for the rest, there are those handlers from my family that I set them up with.
This was ultimately about the money and contribution points, but just as with everything else I do, there were additional goals I had in mind. After all, she finally made contact with me again, after all these years. Even though it was just a one-word childish insult—that I totally deserved—it's proof that, perhaps, she has been watching us this whole time. Honestly, if that had been the only goal of this scenario, then I'd personally consider it a huge success.
As for the other goals, I am not terribly optimistic.
Then again, we're a bit overdue for a major exposé on my family, and I think this will be the first for this millennium. My approach could garner me plenty of points, even if it doesn't become popular. But if the book does becomes popular, then that will secure my standing with the Neutrality Faction for awhile.
Its popularity should please the Persistence Faction, and the Prosperity Faction will like the royalties. Since I'm a Green, letting Growth manage the copyright will be enough to satisfy them. They wouldn't want to recognize my work any less than Persistence and Prosperity.
After that, the general public will eventually forget about my family again, as they tend to do with brown people.
Mr. Author seems to be about ready, and just in time to interrupt my machinations. He finally asks, "I take it that there's some sort of time constraint here?"
I think the wait was worth it, so I tell him, "Yeah. We have several more hours, which should be enough time for me to show you the highlights, offer background info, and share my thoughts with you. The rest is footage saved on that," and I pointed to the paused video player.
Then out of the blue he asks, "So, what are you?" and once again, what the fuck.
At this, all I can manage is a "Huh?"
"Are you a government spook or do you work in corporate espionage?"
I shake my head and think, "That's, 'what the fuck,' " Then I say, "Neither. I worked for my family and helped manage its many members—my relatives—and its tangible assets," and my voice is calm, casual, and relaxed because its just the usual.
"Is it perverted—" he begins to ask, but before he could finish his question, I cut in with an amused "Pfft, no," while feigning offense. That's a new approach, but still expected. "There's more than enough porn in the world," I tell him, "and it isn't as though the internet is in dire need of more dick pics."
Alas, he just ignores my little joke, and I mourn the death of an unappreciated joke. Instead, Mr. Author continued interrogating me with his harsh whispering.
"Then what is it? Why is your family so much into surveillance?"
"They're not. This surveillance stuff is pretty new."
"Then, What Is It For?" he said, and I could hear the capitalization of those words in his voice.
We were getting a bit off topic here, and it was time to move on. "Let me put it this way: I hope you are enjoying your free lunches. Don't forget, it expires at summer's end."
His eyes went wide and he mouthed, "this was you?" and then takes out the card I made.
I pointed to the card with my chin and said, "Nice work, wouldn't you say?"
He puts it back in his wallet and then begins to examine me again, as if he's seeing me for the first time, and he does this unabashedly with what appears to be suspicious curiosity. It takes him only a moment of thinking before he asks, "Why me?"
"You're the professional writer that showed up today. I wasn't sure when 'today' would be, so I simply arranged for there to always be a suitable writer here at the right time of day." Mr. Author looked like he was going to ask that question, and so I might as well get that out of the way now. "And, no. I do not have you under any surveillance," and then I pointed to our security camera and added, "other than that."
Thankfully that had worked. Mr. Author nodded and I resumed the video.
⁂
The putative couple were still companionably silent. I realized that, technically, I too had been part of their moment of silence, thinking about that mystery period as they likely were. No doubt this was part of what Mr. Author saw when he caught me lost in my thoughts; a silent moment that spoke volumes.
Then again, Kit had already been staring off into nothingness when the footage began because, by then, he'd already finished his lunch. Shinjiro, on the other hand, was still eating something—probably one of those granola bars that I saw—and on his plate was a still untouched sandwich cut in two.
He looked at his friend's empty plate with an expression of concern that made it seem like his granola bar had suddenly become distasteful. Then, while Kit was apparently distracted by nothingness, Shin took one half of his sandwich and placed it on his friend's plate. On video, Shin's actions appeared to be obviously sneaky. He said, "I keep telling you to pack more food for your lunch," sounding more annoyed than concerned.
As if he knew what was there, Kit picked up the half-sandwich without even looking, and took an overly-dramatic bite, adding an exaggerated and unnecessary "Gomp!" sound effect.
Presumably, the bite alone hadn't been dramatic enough.
After that one bite, he put the half-eaten half-sandwich back on his plate and said, dejectedly, "I already eat most of the food."
"No, you don't," said Shin as soon as Kit finished the sentence. "You just eat more than me, and that's just biology and physics."
At this, Shin squeezed Kit's arm and said, "Where do you think these muscles come from?"
Weakly, he turned to pull his arm away, as if to keep up appearances, but Shin didn't let go.
His gay best friend's hand seemed to linger on his large bicep for a moment too long and then, as if in sudden realization, Shin let go with a quick jerking motion.
Unbeknownst to Shin, Kit smirked for a brief instant while he was turned away. Before he could turn back, his gay best friend swapped his half-eaten half-sandwich with the other still uneaten half. Compared to how sneaky he was when he first did this, Shin now swapped sandwiches with a magician's sleight of hand.
Despite his size, Kit moved gracefully. He sighed and said, "Fine … ," agreeing, but only reluctantly so.
Without looking, he carelessly grabbed the half-sandwich from his plate, and took another overly-dramatic bite, seemingly intent on finishing it off. Between bites he began to say, "I just ate two sandwiches and—"
"Yeah, you had a small breakfast because you didn't want to finish off the cereal," Shin interjected. "Now there's like a little bit left. What am I supposed to do with that?"
Instead of responding, Kit simply finished the half-sandwich in another companionable, if not slightly grumpy, silence. That's when Shin put the original partially eaten half-sandwich back on Kit's plate.
Seeing this he complained, giving a bemoaning, "Hey!" before adding, "I hate when you do that."
Nonetheless, he still finished off this half as well.
Eventually, Shin's mood changed so that he now appeared wistful and unconcerned. He was hard to read sometimes, so this was undoubtedly not how he felt. He said, "You should get going," without any emotion.
"What?"
Shin casually said, "Your girlfriend, you fucking moron."
Kit shot up and said, "Oh, shoot! I forgot. Thanks!"
While he hastily gathered his things, Kit ruffled Shin's hair who just sat there as if he didn't notice it. This might have something to do with the fact that afterwards, his hair looked just as stylishly messy as it was before. Both men grunted their good-byes, but Shin remained where he was, exactly as he was, unmoving and inactive as if he left his body empty and uninhabited. Just as Kit had done before, Shin sat there motionlessly with his elbow on the table and his head propped up lazily by his hand.
As soon as it was clear that Shinjiro had settled into that position, the video briefly sped up. The effect made him look like he was lively, moving at a normal speed and fiddling with something on his lunch tray, but from what I recall, he didn't move much. Then, as soon as the video returned to its normal speed, a man walked into the frame and sat down behind Shin at a nearby table.
That man was, of course, me from several months ago. I—or I should say, "Video-me"—sat there, quietly, while pretending to play with something on—his—err, my phone. There was nothing interesting on my phone. The reality of it being that I was simply waiting for the right moment to finish making my surprise entrance.
--- ======================================== ---