[h2][color=fff79a]Iwao - Central District[/color][/h2]

It was about halfway through the pilgrimage of sun and cement towards the sharehouse that an idly poignant thought floated through the mind of our erstwhile athlete— If you removed the ice from the equation, he might have actually been better served by buying, say, crab. This wasn't born from any dislike of white fish on his part, far from it. But every time he glanced at his reflection in the Central District's many glass windows, urban hall of mirrors this patch of the city was, and saw his reflection waver with the heat haze...

[i][color=fff79a]The things'd steam right here in the bag. Ultimate lazy cooking.[/color][/i]

...His mind found itself getting literally half-baked ideas like this. He must have been going soft. A little heat hadn't killed him before, and he was no stranger to running in the summer. [color=fff79a]Get a grip, Iwao.[/color]

That said, he [i]was[/i] reasonably sure it was the kind of day where frying eggs on the hood of a sun-baked car was actually viable. Exertion heat and "oh, that's my skin starting to go golden-brown I feel", while both trying to the wills of anyone, were actually pretty distinct.

[color=fff79a][i]I need a break. No mas, no mas.[/i][/color]

And on his way he continued, solemnly trudging past the brave young pairs that quietly asked their beloveds who the hell carried a bag of cold groceries [i]this[/i] far on [i]this[/i] sort of day, dodging his fellow pedestrians, and even observing a madlad or two on bicycles. They and their ultra-breathable compression wear were... a different breed.

But this arduous trek was not insurmountable, and completing it took much less than an eternity. He soon drew up to the dilapidated three stories of "sharehouse" that the Urban Exploration Club called home, promising that coveted shade and, if luck permitted, maybe even AC. The fish would definitely appreciate the refrigeration within, too.

He passed the threshold to their territory, the weathered wood of the door ahead of him giving way as he stepped between the concrete slabs they called their fence. As if to meet him, out stepped the tall and striking figure of a friend— Hiroyuki, a man with knack for flexing his style and wearing a welcoming look on his face. While Iwao wasn't sure how well the sharply dressed dude would fare in this heat that was testing he and his simple, light garb, it wasn't like he could do much about it—

[color=fff79a]"You don't know the half of it,"[/color] he drawled in both response and warning, holding up his half-melted bag of fish to punctuate the point. [color=fff79a]"Grabbed some Red Snapper from Belo 'bout twenty minutes ago and they're already starting to swim again. It's nuts out here."[/color]

A beer in the fridge, huh? Say no more. Something cold and wet sounded fucking divine right now, and Mochizuki, for all his earnest kindness, couldn't stop him. Dog eat dog world, he could enjoy the fish later as recompense. Speaking of—

[color=fff79a]"You're heading out?"[/color]

"Yup."

[color=fff79a]"I'll save you some fish. Thanks, man."[/color]

Mutual nods of assent and gratitude were exchanged (albeit with the reassurance to not worry due to an expected late return), as the two men forged ahead towards their new destinations, Hiroyuki letting the door close behind Iwao as bruiser powered up the stairs with a practiced, light gait. Stairstepping built cardio and calf strength and demanded accurate foot placement— muscle memory kept the ghosts of old training alive even in this mundane context. Despite not being a club member [i]du jour[/i] like his girlfriend, Hiroyuki had always been nothing but a chill guy to Iwao. His constant presence, thusly, never proved to be much a bother, and was basically just another roommate. There were worse arrangements in the world.

[color=fff79a]"Oh, Sayuri. Yo."[/color] He entered the kitchen, brandishing the bag for the second time in as many minutes once he spotted the familiar head of long brown hair at the table. So she hadn't left yet. Couldn't blame her there. [color=fff79a]"Snagged fresh Snapper for later."[/color]

Beelining for the fridge, he kept an ear open for a response as he rummaged through it to a) extricate that last beer and b) clear the requisite space for three pounds of protein. Apologies to whomever that inconvenienced.

After a moment or two... the fridge door shut,

[i]tss-CRACK[/i]

And the odyssey came to an end as the young man turned and ambled towards the table, indulgently savoring the beer on his lips.

Mission complete.