Termites & Sugar

“We drink vodka from Russia We got our chocolates from Belgium We have our strawberries flown in from England”         “Chuuuuuyaaaaaaa!”   The curled in figure laying on the ground grunts but gives no other response. He doesn't even swat at the air when his shoulder is none-so-gently nudged by a shoe.   Persistently, the annoying voice Chuuya’s long since grown accustomed to these past five months continues to whine out his name, practically stepping on him with all his (admittedly light) weight.   “Chuuya. Chuuya. Chibi-face. Small-Fry. Ginger. Loud Mouth-”   “Oh fuck off!” Chuuya finally snaps, turning his head to look up at the offending nuisance. Dark eyes meet him with gleaming satisfaction, though his face remains aloof as it always seems to be. “What d'ya even need, ‘Samu?”   Osamu sniffs, like he is being the annoying one. “How old are you.”   Chuuya squints. His brain wracks to find any reasonable answer as to why Osamu is asking such a random question but can’t come up with anything. He's still laying on the ground but that can change easily if this topic derails into a messed up joke, crude insults being a hobbie Osamu is prone to doing often.   With great suspicion, Chuuya asks, “Will I get anything out'a answering?”   Osamu hums, absently tapping at the base of Chuuya's neck with the foot that still rests there. Chuuya highly doubts it's an accident. “Equivalent exchange work for you shortstack?” Chuuya really has no clue as to why Osamu insists on badgering his height (they literally stand eye-to-eye and nose-to-nose) but it's gotten more than old by now.   “You go first then,” Chuuya huffs, challenging the other. The dark haired boy rarely picks a battle, physical or not, that he can't win, yet he never fails to take a bet with Chuuya if only for the sake of getting on his last nerve.   With no surprise on Chuuya's end, Osamu squats down and leans over him, eyes lidded as he whispers out, “Chuuya's so bossy. If the little one wanted to know I'm eleven so bad he could have just asked.”   Chuuya rolls his eyes and pushes the other back with a hand to the face. But he got his answer, so he can't help but finally sit up and look Osamu over curiously. “Really? Thought you'er younger. Like, nine or someth'n.” Osamu's frail enough to fit the age, and while not completely childish he always stands out amongst the kids as brattiest.   The boy ignores Chuuya’s comment, needy glass eyes practically staring him into the ground. Chuuya scoffs but returns the information. “Also eleven.” That's the guess at least. Plenty of The Sheep don't know their real ages so they just make reasonable assumptions. Though, Chuuya gets the feeling Osamu's case doesn't fall into that category.   Osamu “ooh”’s, tilting his head around with the likeness of a cat. “That can't be,” he ends up stating, looking down at Chuuya quite seriously (even though they're both sitting up at equal heights), “Chuuya's too small and dumb to be my age.”   “Brat!” Chuuya retaliates, offended but not surprised.   Osamu sticks out his tongue in response.   Their conversations carry on, as per usual, with a lot of insults and rough housing—Chuuya always has the upper hand with the latter but he thinks he's been getting better at word fights too. It was already late morning when Osamu decided to bother him, so before Chuuya realizes it, afternoon has come around and the rest of the day moves along.   Since meeting Osamu all those months ago he and Chuuya have been worse than most siblings Chuuya knows of, basically taking any time they possibly can to annoy the shit out of each other in new and creative ways. Chuuya won't admit he struggled so much at first to understand what was happening but once he realized—fully digested the disturbing reality he found himself in—that he was friends with Osamu…it wasn't pretty but for the rest of The Sheep members it was hilarious.   Once Chuuya got over the initial grief of befriending a lunatic who doesn't know shit for what personal space is, the acceptance came easily. And somehow, nothing else really changed. Whether or not the days were filled with hard work, fighting traffickers or the usual thug, or just being able to relax under a shaded roof with the rest of the kids in their group, Chuuya found not one day going by without Osamu.   The boy who always looked on the verge of tears and murder draped himself over Chuuya whenever possible, spouting shitty words to rile him up, and pouting if Chuuya tried to ignore him. In fact, Osamu was so disruptful and mean that Chuuya’s been on the receiving end of many Sheep Council members concerned questions, asking if the newbie needed to be kicked out or put in a different branch. Chuuya thought it was funny, and when he brought it up to his friend, Osamu laughed it off with him.   And now, after discovering each other's ages, they both decide to one-up each other through late birthday gifts. Obviously, being homeless and poor in an even poorer city skeleton makes gift-finding extremely difficult. Chuuya and Osamu only see it as a greater challenge to one-up each other with.   Chuuya only turned eleven late April. He doesn't remember the exact day The Sheep agreed on, honestly it's rather common for the members to re-date their forgotten birthdays, but he won't do Osamu the honor of asking around for it. He's sure the brat would make a joke of it and that just won't do.   The tricky part then is figuring out when Osamu's birthday was. Chuuya, once more, won't be asking around. At least for this he's confident no one else would know the answer either, since Osamu never hangs around any other Sheep or straggler.   Oh well. He doesn't need the month or day or whatever. This competition is about late presents only. Chuuya's sure he can beat Osamu's scrawny ass any day, and this is no different!   …Or so he thought.   Just barely three weeks (Osamu said it's three, but Chuuya can never be sure if he's telling the truth or just lying to mess with him) after the age reveal and the consequential gift face-off, Chuuya finds himself gulping in nervousness. Being confident is one thing, but he's still young, and he's definitely never given or received a gift before, so his body is hot and cold all over while his mind races with quick thoughts that fade before he can even remember them.   The weather gives him no break either, hot and humid as always despite the rafters above, blanketing him in shade that does nothing for the heat. It's a very different place from where Chuuya and the other Sheep were last week, much less several months ago, but he makes due with it seeing as there's no point in complaining.   Osamu sits across from him, dark, messy hair somehow more tangled than usual with dirt and suspicious green stains chipping at the frayed ends. His eyes blink owlishly at the poorly wrapped, plastic bag-covered blob seated in Chuuya’s lap and Chuuya struggles not to fidget or punch the boy's face for staring in the first place. It's totally on purpose too, Chuuya knows.   “Did the delinquent fetch me a bone instead of a gift?” Osamu asks all superior-like, “Or did I mistake a dog for a little boy this whole time? My, how silly of me.”   Chuuya bares his teeth, pointing to the equally shitty looking object at Osamu's side. “Yer’ one to talk! What the heck is that, a rock?”   Osamu sniffs, eyes turning into narrow slits as they give him a dramatic, offended glare. “A blind dog too, so unfortunate. And to think, I put my own time and effort into finding such a wonderful gift. Oh well. Into the garbage it goes-”   The sound that leaves Chuuya when he lunges forward to tackle Osamu is nothing short of a screech, fingers brushing the hand-sized present before the other boy lifts it away. Chuuya scowls, immediately smacking the side of Osamu's unguarded bobble head. “Yer’ such a bastard.”   Osamu grins mischievously, hiding his object more effectively behind himself. “Mean words won't get you you're gift, chibi~”   “Watch me,” he grits out with a sharp tug to Osamu's ear. The boy whines, flat and fake, and Chuuya ignores it.   That is, until he hears the rustling of familiar plastic, and pulls back, realizing too late that his brat of a friend has stolen his own present and is currently ripping off the trash wrapping.   Chuuya grabs at it unsuccessfully, using a foot to kick at Osamu's stomach. “You little- Let go! I didn't fuck’n say ya could have it yet!”   “But I was about to receive it anyway!” Osamu fights him off, bending and twisting to avoid Chuuya's kicks and grabs.   “You weren't!” Another smack to the head and missed lunge for the present.   “Was too!” A responding dodge.   Kick. “No!”   Spit. “Yes!”   “Ew! Bastard!” Chuuya leans away, gagging at the spit that dribbles down his chin, wiping at it with his arm furiously. Osamu receives his glare with a victorious smirk, loudly tearing the rest of the plastic bag wrapping. Chuuya doesn't try to stop him this time, merely scowling as he witnesses the other dig into the trash and hold up a chipped yet shined, wooden ball the shade of yellow-white. The front, Chuuya knows, has a painted face, worn and faded in many areas.   Osamu stares down at it indifferently and Chuuya tries not to hold his breath. It won't matter to him, really, if Osamu doesn't like it. Osamu's a brat, his opinion hardly matters, this is just a dumb competition after all-   “Cute.”   Feeling like he's somehow just choked on air, Chuuya stills, squints at the dark-haired boy, opens his mouth but then quickly closes it, trying to look around and see what the actual fuck Osamu is talking about. He sees nothing that wasn't already there, dust and poor lighting their only company.   Meanwhile, Osamu looks smug with his eyes folded into crescents and his mouth upturned into a little smirk. Chuuya huffs, folding his arms and giving the boy a deadly glare. “What is?” he questions gruffly, daring the brat to say something rude about his gift.   Osamu doesn't say anything though, surprisingly. Instead he reaches one arm behind himself and collects his own gift to hand off to Chuuya. When Chuuya doesn't immediately snatch it out of his hands the dark haired boy rolls his eyes and tosses it into Chuuya’s lap.   Well, it's not like it can be a bomb or anything…Chuuya thinks as he slowly lifts the trashy item and observes it. An old cloth of some sort, frayed and torn all over, is barely held over by a large, rusted wire, twisted carefully so as to not puncture whatever is hidden beneath. He has no qualms with ruining the hard effort, snapping the most feeble spots of the wire and ripping off the fabric, revealing…   “Ya’ got me beer?”   Chuuya can't tell if this is a joke or nit. The work put into the wrapping made him think it was a hard-found item that Osamu genuinely gave effort for, but all for a gross adult drink? That just doesn't make sense.   His friend, now, looks pouty, swinging the wooden figure in his hand around dramatically. “Chuuya's too cruel! He hasn't even tried it yet!”   Chuuya's eye twitches. He's tempted to crush the can and be done with Osamu's jokes.   “Why should I? It's probably expired, dumbass,” he retorts, glaring back and forth between the beer can and Osamu.   “If Chuuya could read,” the brat counters with an annoying tone, “then he'd see it's fresh and won't upset you're poor ‘wittle tummy.” The last words were spoken with a mocking pat on his stomach, shaking his head as if scolding a little one.   Unable to fight off the obvious rage baiting, Chuuya holds eye contact as he, unsuccessfully, tries to crack open the beer. He flushes pink out of sheer embarrassment but stubbornly continues prying his dirt-stained nails under the metal lid-thingy, face burning red by the time he's painfully lifted the metal and hears a fizzy POP!   Osamu grins, tossing his wooden ball back and forth between his hands as he watches Chuuya, eyeing his expression like a cat would a rat. Chuuya chooses to ignore it, observing the way small bubbles rise from the opening to spread around and even start to trail over the sides. Gross. It's leaking over his hand now too.   Chuuya's mouth pulls into a grimace, unsure of how exactly he's supposed to go through with drinking this bubbly mess. His time with The Sheep hasn't prepared him for drinking alcohol, despite the glee he's seen the older kids felt whenever stolen cans and bottles make their way into their arms.   “Mah, is Chuuya just going to let my precious gift I spent hours digging around for go to waste?”   Grunting, Chuuya kicks out, hitting the sole of one of Osamu's feet. The boy sniffs and scoots back but otherwise keeps teasing him.   “Come on, Chuuuyaaaa, you know you want to drink it~” he trills, practically gleaming as if he's won the award of making Chuuya the most pissed off. If that was a real thing Chuuya would hand it to the guy himself with a punch to the skull.   “Instead of being an ass maybe shut up,” he huffs, swirling the can around. The movement sloshes more of the foamy bubbles over his skin and he groans. “Sheesh, with all yer’ badgering it almost sounds like ya’ expect me to get poisoned.” Chuuya pauses, then gives the other a suspicious look over, to which Osamu just blinks innocently. “Okay, no, take a drink. I'm not tasting this shit until you do.”   Osamu gasps, over the top with his free hand to his heart. “But Chuuya! The gift is for you, not me. Has living on the streets finally gotten to your puny head?”   Chuuya tsk's at the comments, jutting his arm forward to hold out the beer. He smirks when the froth and liquid splash onto Osamu's tacky, long-sleeved shirt. “Drink. Or I'll dump it out on top of yer’ head.”   The brat huffs out of his nose, ignoring the stains spreading on his shirt, and takes the can to quickly sip. He drinks it for less than a second but holds his mouth wide open to showcase the beer before swallowing. Chuuya grimaces, nearly gagging at the gross sight. “Ew, what the fuck, ‘Samu.”   Osamu grins, wide and proud. He throws his arms around, splashing more of the beer and nearly losing the wooden ball. “To chibi's health! May he somehow grow more than an inch by his thirties!- Ow! Chuuya, no hitting!”   Chuuya sticks out his tongue, swatting at this dumbass's head a few more times before pulling back. He yanks the beer can out of Osamu's hand as he does so, taking a giant sip before it can be taken bake or before he changes his mind.   -Only to choke and cough it all back out, hitting his chest as he wheezes out all the beer in place of air.   Sure, okay, two boys drinking any kind of alcohol at the simple age of eleven isn't necessarily smart, but that's not the issue.   Cackles fill the air, Osamu falling back to laugh on the ground in broken gasps and unnatural sounds, much to Chuuya’s annoyance. “Shut it! It’s sweet ya’ bastard! Ugh, damnit, you’re shit at presents!” He roughly sets the can of fruity liquid aside, letting out a few more coughs as he wipes up his now-sticky face.   “Hehehe…hahaha….Chuuya…Chuuya doesn’t like sweet alcohol?...Ahehehe…How…surprising….” the chucklefuck giggles out. He sounds like some nightmarish creature trying to mimic human laughter but failing horribly. Chuuya's more irritated about how happy Osamu apparently is at his misery.   “The hell does that even mean…?” he grumbles under his breath, sighing. Then he leans back and collapses on the ground much like the other boy, staring up at the rafters that shudder with the willowy breeze outside.   Under his breath, when Osamu is finally starting to calm down, Chuuya whispers, “You too, idiot. Have good health or whatever.”   Laughter floats through the wind, followed closely behind insults and banter. A new year, the same THEM.   Chuuya's glad he drank the beer that day. Even if it turned his stomach horribly for the days that followed.