[center][h1][color=black]T[/color]OTSUKA [color=black]R[/color]YUSEI
[color=black]戸[/color]塚 [color=black]竜[/color]星[/h1][/center]
[hr][right][color=gray]a date where smartphones exist
half past morbin' time[/color][/right][hr]

[indent]The walk through town was more depressing than Ryusei had expected it to be—he knew it wasn't going to be anything like downtown Kobe, but even the main streets seemed dead as dirt. Shiori seemed to have given it her best shot, pointing out a few things here or there when she wasn't busy brooding, but he could tell she was at a loss for items of interest. It wasn't like he could blame her though. He had come to Utsubyo expecting nothing and it had still managed to disappoint him almost every step of the way. Their arrival at the FamilyMart was welcome, if only because it gave him a sense of familiarity despite its rundown exterior. The alleyways beside a conbini were no strange frontier to the teen either, so he readily followed his redheaded companion when she ducked off.

[color=c0c0c0]"You're that desperate to get my clothes off, huh?"[/color] He cracked, hands already busying themselves with his tie. He pulled it free and tossed it to Himawari, his jacket following shortly thereafter. As flattering as Shiori's implication that he could look a businessman was, he had little interest in playing pretend. The teen wasted little time popping the first few buttons of his shirt—just to mess with her a little—and rolling up his sleeves so they rested around his elbows. Figuring he looked casual enough, he proceeded to snag the offered bills.

[color=c0c0c0]"I'll be back."[/color] He muttered as he stepped back out into the open, figuring it best he hurry along and get the cigarettes before his luck ran dry and she started making good on those threats of hers.

[center]____________________________[/center]

It didn't take him long to return. The interior of the store had been about as dead as the exterior, with only a few errant youths stopping by after class to stock up on drinks and snacks. For his part, Ryusei wasn't especially nervous. He had bought cigarettes and worse plenty of times back home, supplying his delinquent friends with all they could need with his admittedly generous allowance. The key was to just be confident, to not act like a fucking spazz, and if all else failed, look mean enough that you weren't worth the risk to question. If the cashier had any misgivings about the cigarettes when he rung them up, he didn't voice them—the teen's perpetual scowl had undoubtedly informed the man that he was not inviting idle chitchat, nor a rejection of his purchase. 

With a couple packs held between the digits of one hand, and a wrapped sandwich in the other, the teen returned to the alleyway. He tossed the former towards his partner in crime, and began unwrapping the latter.

[color=c0c0c0]"Hope you didn't want menthols. They were out,"[/color] He declared before taking the first of many bites. [color=c0c0c0]"Not that I mind. Menthols taste like shit."[/color][/indent]