#kanji ic.

Kanji's not tech-illiterate. He hauls the majority; his Ma' isn't too surefire with learning it, so... without want, he manages. 'Course, it's less than Yosuke, Rise-senpai, but he manages... and if he was big enough of a dumbass to not recognize a friggin' robot, he wasn't deserving of claiming himself any bit 'knowledgeable.'

(Arguably, he shouldn't do that anyways... not like anybody would seek him out for tech stuff. Or anything, really, though.)

Were it not for the crisp evening, the sun down near right after school, Kanji wouldn't have sussed out anything different about this ... person? Felt wrong to not call them a person. Whatever. Kanji wouldn't have thought anything of it... but the halo of blue seeping from her eyes, a beacon in the dark, keyed him in on a detail or two. Though his hand reached in his pocket, he didn't procure any shades, and his Shadow-senses weren't going haywire, so... 'least they weren't a threat in that regard.

Could Shadows come over to their world?

Deciding that's far too much thinking after a full school day, Kanji rolls his shoulders.

"If you're gonna' do somethin', hurry up 'n do it. I wanna get home."

"Uh. Probably."

His Ma' packed it, but that ain't slipping. Usually his lunch consists of whatever and however much of it, leftovers or something new seamed together, coherent only in its incoherency. He never minded it; it was cheap, good, and filling. He'd never complain about eating his Mom's cooking, anyway... even if he always ripped off that 'lil post-it note she liked to add. Always tucked away in a pocket, mind you. Never tossed out.

Speaking of, Kanji fumbles around in that exact pocket, pulling free a couple of wrinkled-up Yen. .. or is it two halves of a singular Yen...?

"Yeah, I know a ramen place not far off. Cheap, but their meat doesn't taste it. Means they know their seasonings. So, uhh... we'll split a bowl, me 'n you. You're not gonna' fight me over what one, are ya'? I've had enough of that for a lifetime."

She was like a rabid creature, clashing teeth and talons held fast to her chopsticks. He's never seen Chie in that light before, yet it stars in many of his worst nightmares.

Maybe a kiss.

The hoodie is more important, along with the card and the actual party that is going on, however.

"What's..."

Oh.

It, it was his birthday. It was a gift.

Who knew about this?

Kanji maintained impartiality on celebrations. Christmas was fun, but normally left him icing his wrists from the numerous homemade presents he'd crafted. Every other holiday was a blur... White Day? Hell, he'd never gotten any chocolates, so he had none to return. ... he did make Yu one, once, but that's irrelevant. Wanted to test his uhh, chocolatiering.

Thought about giving Naoto one, but she didn't seem the type to have a sweet tooth. Didn't help that her locker was bustin' down once that hoard of ladies passed by.

As he was saying, holidays didn't mean much to Kanji, but it did mean business was boomin' for one reason or another, or their version of it: pink wool all but sold out, requests for heart after heart after heart, sometimes mixed up with a bundle of roses, uhh, bouquet or whatever the hell, which - honestly - ... helped, in a sense. Got him to live vicariously through his creations. Someone requested this for someone whose heart they held, both in spirit and in physicality.

Sappy shit aside, Kanji had no idea anyone knew of his birthday, nevermind Shirogane. That enough painted a broad stroke of red across his face, nevermind her goin' out of her way to get him something. In fact,

"You didn't have to go outta' your way to get me somethin'," 'cause that was a good line he thought of, and Kanji did best whenever he thought little. "Seriously, it's not... holy shit it's so soft."

Pressing the fabric to his cheek, he all but ate his words. True, Shirogane still didn't have to get 'em anything, especially something this high quality -- it wasn't cheap stuff, cheaper than some, but still a hefty yen -- when she had more pressing matters on her mind than, well, him.

Then, for reasons he doesn't quite understand, something softer presses against his freed cheek, warmer.

Oh.

As though broken from a spell, Kanji... ceases.

Seriously, everything stops. He's no longer rubbing the hoodie against his skin, like some sorta' cat. He's probably not even breathing, which would make sense, 'cause he is kind of lightheaded.

"Th," oh good, his tongue still moves. "Tha...nks. Naoto."

Coming-to, Kanji blinks. Then blinks again, because yeah, he was worth her time.

Somehow.

It's so cute.

It's so cute, in fact, that his first glance bathes him in color. Kanji's mind bounces from one synonym to the other at a breakneck speed, and what leaves Kanji's mouth is neither a word or a sound, but a garbled attempt at... something, probably. Cooling it, Kanji coughs into his fist, and tries in vein to not think too hard about the cute guy that gave it to him. Honestly, they're identical. Ryuji-Pug would need some sharper teeth, though.

"How'd you know it was my birthday...?"

Kanji doesn't do hope. It's something he's reached for, but couldn't even graze his fingertips against it. Still, that feeling lights beneath his skin nonetheless, and he hopes Ryuji remembered, somehow. Here's to hoping for something else: that won't stab him in the back down the road.

"I figured you wouldn't wanna' watch any of the sappy crap my - my Mom usually puts on, so I went out 'n found something else. Sorry, I can't do horror."

If he was having to admit to one thing, he wasn't gonna' admit to another. Naoto's smart anyway, she'd read through the lines, probably. She could be dense in the emotional department, but Kanji's never figured it a flaw, and that'd just play to his benefit, here. Each DVD portrayed a tale of dramatized infatuation and the turmoil that exists within that passion, how it either adds or subtracts. Kanji wouldn't spend his hard earned money on a piece of shit script though, so all of 'em he could vouch for... but he's not gonna' put Naoto through an hour of him weeping.

That's just one of the many bad things in that imagined plight, and Kanji... well, less Kanji, but... he wanted to give Naoto a good evening in, away from the chaos. Everyone saw how swamped her locker was, the mountain of heart-shaped chocolates flowing from within it, love letters to match, and she... honestly, the fact that Kanji could steal her attention for a moment of today was a marvel in and of itself.

"Hey, thanks for uh... I know you probably get rumors started about you. 'Cause of me, so... thanks for showin' up. It's not much, but Ma' picked up some teas for ya. Didn't know if you liked 'em hot or cold, so, they're still in the kitchen..."

Dumbass, who likes their tea cold?

"Anyway. 'Fore we start, I've got some snacks you can sort through. Movie's," Kanji squints at the DVD slip from afar, the pop of kernels following his forward lean, 'till he remembers that has to be on the stove to cook, dumbass. "Taken. Someone said it was good, so, they better be right. It was expensive as hell to rent."

Tick, tick, tick...

"Snow baby? The hell's a snow baby?"

Their assertion leads to a glare with no heat. Heat would be great, actually, making snowmen? Overrated. It's cold as shit, and his palms're cold as shit, and his nose's as red as Rudolph the damn Reindeer's. Slipping a hand into his pockets, he tugs free a pair of tightly-woven gloves, his Ma's specialty. First, it didn't feel so cold, but now that he's ankle-deep in the stuff? Hell yeah he's wearin' 'em.

"Uh. We can split 'em," Kanji suggests, tossing a glove in their general direction. "Keepin' one hand warm's better than keeping none of 'em."

Didn't fit Nadine's style, really. Had he not been persuaded by his own idiocy, Kanji would've picked up somethin' more stylish from his wardrobe. Somethin's better than nothin' though, and with a pat on his non-gloved hand, Kanji supports his 'snow baby' with pride.

... An odd sort of it, the kind you have when you make something kinda' ugly, but you've got an odd attachment to it. That kind of pride.