There was something familiar about what his hands did while he hotwired a car.
His fingers danced rapidly into the car handle, jimmying it out and coaxing through the lock as persuasively as a politician.
He’d said it would be easy, because it was an old model, and that much Ayumi could see.
The car, a Ford with chipped paint and a rusted fender, looked like a kind word hadn’t been spoken to it in ages.
The flaking coat was a dark green, but it was hardly recognizable what with all of the scratches that marred the shade.
She’d been surprised that Yoshiki had selected that car when there were so many nicer ones,
but he’d told her with an annoying know-it-all sort of look that beat up cars were hardly ever stolen and that less people would pay it mind.
He flew into the driver’s seat as soon as the aging handle gave way,
pliers already in hand as he set to bunching out the wiring from the dashboard like a collection of organs in the hands of a surgeon.
Ayumi stood on the sidewalk with her eyes frantically searching around them for some sign of another presence,
shifting her weight from foot to foot during what had to be the longest ten seconds of her life.
There was a silence broken only by Yoshiki shifting about and the crickets hidden away just out of sight, serenading the starry sky.
It was a situation the classroom representative would have never imagined herself in a month, or even a week ago.
Even if her opinion of her companion had softened significantly due to the nightmarish experiences they had shared, hotwiring a car and running away hadn’t exactly been in her plans a week ago.
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