#cherry;

Maybe it wasn’t the brightest idea to take a shorter route to his usual ramen place but it wasn’t too bad. Sure the streets weren’t as clean and it looked like a back alley of a shabby club, but Kitayama had no complaints. It was interesting and there were things he had never seen before, like a small stand full of bright colored bottles and a kind, older woman standing behind it. She didn’t fit the area and neither did the bright colors which was probably what drew him to the stand.

She greeted him with a smile that reminded him of his own mother’s and told him that he had never had anything like what she was selling and he didn’t doubt it. “Is it okay to pick them up?” He asked, pointing to the oddly shaped bottles. The woman nodded, smile never fading, and Kitayama reached for the impractical swirly bottle with some sort of green liquid in it. When he brought it close to his nose, the scent of kiwi filled his senses and he blinked, setting the bottle back down. Were they fruit juices? They didn’t look like normal fruit juices but that could be the charm of homemade products.

The next one he smelled was yellow and the scent reminded him of bananas. Then, behind all the rest of the bottles, a round bottle filled with a sparkly looking red liquid caught his eye. Carefully, he grabbed it, making sure not to knock anything down in the process.

Cherry. And not cherry like the candies but cherry like the actual fruit, but better. This was it, this was the one. “How much?” He asked, unable to tear his eyes away from the bottle in his hands. And for 500 yen, how could he turn it down.

He was so distracted by it, he barely heard the warning of being careful who he drank it by. Did it have alcohol in it? And he didn’t have to show an ID? Kitayama didn’t know what to be happier about; having a delicious (possibly alcoholic) cherry drink to drink or someone thinking he was over 20 and not some middle schooler.

Nodding his head, Kitayama turned away from the stand, attempting to stuff the bottle into the pocket of his jacket before giving up and holding it in his hand. Ramen could wait another day, he’d order in tonight.

The woman told him to be wise about who he drank it with, which was pretty easy to decide. With his free hand, he pulled out his phone, quickly coming upon the name he was looking for. It didn’t take long for someone to answer, sounding irritated though he could see through that; it was clearly an act put on for him.