Rooftops At Sunrise

12

"Well, I sure hope you're happy," Damian mutters as he makes his bed, whilst Aoi twines a cotton blanket around her sides, from across her mattress. "Because it's likely we'll be eating pancakes for breakfast, dinner and tea, for the rest of the week."

"You will," Aoi corrects him, as she clears her throat. "Not me."

Damian's lip twitches. He lets out a discontented groan, then gets under his sheets in turn. In truth, he is rather relieved that Lucas has a van at his disposal from the many catering services he apparently also offers to the public. For although Damian had the intention of renting one for the two of them, he was still pondering on the matter of where he could possibly find enough money to do so, in less than two days. Therefore, he has allowed for Lucas to tag along. Well, he thinks to himself, also because Lucas makes for good company, but I will not tell him that. He does not need to know.

The young man rests his head against both his arms that are tucked neatly behind his skull. He glances up to the ceiling. There is a fountain beneath his window, and the water from it makes peculiar patterns, wobbly strings of light rise, then fall against the walls, in a rather lovely dance that often helps the young man find peace at the end of each day. "So..." Damian mumbles, in hopes that Aoi will hear. "What's your deal anyway?" he asks her.

"I don't see what you're talking about."

Damian laughs; it rings empty. "Come on, you know very well what I mean."

"Are you shaming me for my food choices, Damian?"

"Ah," he raises a brow. "But is it a choice?"

Aoi falls silent. She bites her lip, then shifts, and turns around in her temporary bed. "Do I have to tell you?"

"Nope," the young man adds, "but it's probably better if you do. You know," he cringes, "in case something happens on the trip. Consider it like... one of those permission slip you've got to fill out at school, where they ask you if you have any allergies—you don't owe them an explanation, but I guess they should probably be aware if it's not cool to put crabs in your pasta."

The young woman snickers. "Gross, you make it sound like they would be alive."

"Ah! Well, if you don't want any live ones, you've gotta tell them!"

Aoi sighs, then crosses her arms. She does not know what it is about the general ambiance of Damian's apartment, however, she feels much warmer than when she does in comparison to when she is usually on the verge of falling asleep at her parent's home. "Fine," she mutters. "You win. I have Mast Cell Activation Syndrome. Go look it up, because I'm willing to bet both my arms you don't know what that is."

Sure enough, Damian takes out his phone.

A minute passes, before he yelps, then shouts, "Anaphylaxis? How are you still alive!"

She shrugs. "I don't know. How are you still alive? Also, for the record, that only happened to me once when I thought I could be fine without taking my meds. Mine isn't as severe as—"

"Okay," Damian's voice cracks. "But this road trip is a bad idea."

The young woman hums. She shuts her eyes. "You don't want to see the aliens anymore?"

Damian doesn't reply.

"Hey," Aoi mutters. "Did you fall asleep on me, friend?"

The young man huffs. "I do want to see the aliens..." he tells her. "I really do. But..."

"But?"

"What if you get hurt?"

"Damian, I love that you're looking out for me, but I'm already hurt. And hurting. I don't know what it's like to not be in pain anywhere, anymore."

"Dude, that's seriously sad, and I seriously want to cry."

She gets up, then stomps toward his bed and pauses, once she is looking down at him, and he, is staring up at her. "Don't pity me." Aoi's dark bangs fall over her eyes. The moon's light reflects from within her onyx gaze. "I'm not an idiot. I brought my treatment with me, and I always have an arsenal of antihistamines at my disposal, in my bag, just in case. In fact—" she smirks, "tomorrow morning, I'll be trying out some new pills! And if I'm lucky, maybe I'll even be able to eat something other than those dratted drinks!" Although Aoi says this with much enthusiasm, she does not entirely mean to insult her food; they are, after all, her only current means of staying alive.

"I'll be fine," she tells Damian. "Worst case scenario, I have the hospital's number—and my doctor—on speed dial. So, if it gets out of hand, just call one of those."

Damian blinks. He wants to reach out to touch her—he could, they are mere inches away from each other. He yearns, to shake her awake, and ask her if she has lost her mind, or, if she is half asleep. Why are you so calm, the young man wishes he could say the words. How can you be so calm?

But he understands that this is important. Even if he ignores why, he can tell that Aoi wants to go on this road trip, more than anything else in the world. "You'll let us know if you start feeling like crap, yeah?" he asks her.

To which she laughs, then walks back to her bed. "Trust me, if I do, you'll know."

Damian isn't sure if he wants to understand what that truly means.

He hopes he will not have to find out the hard way.