Do Delinquents Dream of Jobless Sheep?

Youji’s new year’s resolutions, ten years ago:

1. Get into T university.

2. Get good grades.

3. Get a job.

4. Get laid.

Youji’s new year’s resolutions, current year:

1. Be nice.

Weird how he’d managed to get two out of four in one fell swoop, nearly one decade later. It wasn’t Youji’s first job (thankfully), but he’d never gotten laid before. It didn't bother him as much if he pretended it happen to somebody else.

The storm had become a whisper of itself; if not for that, a pleasant, early yellow light would’ve filtered through the window.

K. Isao’s room looked like a prison. A pile of books lay scattered atop a desk opposite to the bed, but that was about it for personalization. No posters. Nothing on the shelves. Not even a pile of socks next to the door.

Youji sat up, stifling a yawn with the back of his hand.

K. Isao curled around a pillow next to him, presumably naked, too. Compared to the bundle of nerves he was when awake, he looked so peaceful that Youji couldn’t bring himself to wake up the… man… boy? He looked to be in his early twenties.

So…

…well, it’d be a mess and a half once K. Isao woke up anyway. Youji missed smoking sometimes. This was one of those times. With nothing to use as a crutch, he got off the bed—tried to, but he must’ve rolled around in his sleep more than usual.

“What!? What’s going on!? Who—oh.”

As Youji rolled off the bed like a makeshift taco, K. Isao sprang off it.

Well, that wasn’t good. How did he even tangle himself on the sheets in the first place? Youji barely even used them. Maybe that was why. Landing hurt.

“Uh,” began K. Isao. “Are you… um. Are you. The. Hi.”

Slowly, Youji distacoed himself. His head also hurt.

“So. Also. I’m sorry about yesterday.”

Youji sat up. Before he could ask why, he realized something he should’ve the moment he woke up, but that, again, could be forgiven due to the unfamiliarity of the situation: he still wore underwear. “Oh,” was all he could say.

“Please don’t get mad, it’s just that I’m not. Ready. I’ve read about how it works but I’m not sure if I’d be able to, you know.”

It was then, only then, that Youji looked at K. Isao—at his back, anyway, for he sat on the bed facing away from him.

Youji grimaced, then held his head. Not the best time to admit he didn’t remember what had happened last night.

K. Isao sure did, though…

“…but I appreciate it. Really. I know this is lame, but I’d never kissed anyone before.”

“Oh, shit,” Youji mumbled.

“Yeah, I know.”

“No, I didn’t mean….” Well, now Youji really couldn’t tell the guy he didn’t remember anything. He could barely even think at the moment. Probably due to shock, he hadn’t felt anything at first, but now his head pounded. “I… don’t… worry about it.”

“It’s fine if you don’t want to talk to me again after this.”

“No, I don’t… ugh.”

“…okay. I get it. I totally get it. Yeah. It’s fine. Like it’s fine. I wouldn’t talk to myself, either. But yeah. I-I think my parents would miss me if I. Yeah. It’s fine. Um. I’m sorry.”

“Wait.”

“No.”

Was it a poor idea to call him by his first name? Probably, but Youji didn’t remember the other one, even though he had yesterday. K… Kamiya, Kinoshita… something… oh, well. “Isao,” he said. “Listen.”

Instead, K. Isao stood up. He also only wore underwear, which had prints of some anime girl, and ought to be a size too big. He didn’t listen. At all. In fact, he covered his ears before running out of the room.

While he figured out what to do, Youji made the bed, then picked up the little pile next to it—the clothes from last night. He squinted, shook his head, but still couldn’t remember.

Omelet rice, then beer… then…? Isao said something about… oh, right, Youji told him he wanted to work at the coffee shop, so that was good. Isao said yes.

Youji sighed. So much for that happening now.

“…hey, why are you crying?”

…wait.

“Are you okay?”

Sitting on the bed, Youji looked at the avocado shirt Isao had borrowed him yesterday, as though it had last night’s events written there.

“You can’t find a job? Don’t worry, I’m sure the owner will hire you. He said he liked them crazy once, which is why he… w-wait, not that I’m calling you crazy or anything.”

Of course.

“Just between the two of us, I hadn’t been able to find a job, either…”

Of course Youji had cried. As though the situation wasn’t embarrassing, painful, disorienting enough.

“H-hug? You want a… o-okay, sure, just give me some time to—”

“That’s enough,” Youji mumbled, then wrapped himself around the sheets again. He knew how he got when he drank a lot, so why hadn’t he stopped yesterday? But he lacked the mental fortitude to dig into his memories anymore.

Time to apologize. Or something.

Isao’s apartment only had the prison-like bedroom, a bathroom next to it on a tiny hallway, and an equally sterile living room conjoined with a kitchen. Since Youji couldn’t find the guy on the latter, he figured Isao had to be in the former, since it’s not like he could run away from home in nothing but anime boxers (probably).

It would’ve been nice to know where the painkillers were.

Youji made omelet rice again for both of them. It was hard with the blanket around him, but he didn’t feel like putting on clothes that’d been on the floor for so long, so this would have to do. Since there was absolutely no way in hell he’d have beer again, Youji brewed coffee, too. Hopefully Isao wouldn’t mind.

Should he draw underwear this time? Probably not. Isao could take it the wrong way.

“…okay, sure. I haven’t done it before, but, um. I wouldn’t mind. Yeah. Let’s—”

Enough—

“—cuddle?”

Well then. He supposed one thing had lead to another.

Isao emerged from the bathroom around the time Youji poured coffee for both of them. He had to use a bowl for himself, since Isao seemed to be allergic to having a proper setup. “You’re still here,” Isao noted, then cleared his throat. “I mean, yeah. Duh. Sorry.”

“Breakfast is ready!” was Youji’s reply.

“Is that omurice again?”

“Well, it’s not like your kitchen is brimming with possibilities.”

“I-I know, I don’t… mind. Um. Why?”

Eh, whatever. Youji drew underwear on top of the omelet rice with ketchup. “Why what?”

“I thought you said you didn’t want to talk to me again?”

“What.” Youji had to look at him after that. Isao had a blanket around him, too. Why not just use clothes? Wasn’t this his house? Did he treat his closet like he treated his kitchen? “When did I say that?”

“A while ago…”

“No?”

“Yes you did! ‘no, I don’t’, right after I said that it was fine if you didn’t want to. Talk.”

“Oh, that…” Youji took the omelet rice to the table, then the coffee. “I just couldn’t finish the sentence ‘cuz my head hurt. Anyway, it’s not like you think. Let’s eat.”

Isao didn’t budge.

“…Isao?”

“Y-yeah. Sorry.”

Even as they had breakfast together, it didn’t seem like a good idea to admit he only vaguely remembered what happened last night. To tell Isao not to worry about it would probably worsen the situation… and he wouldn’t get a job.

Then again, to sweep it under the rug would be basically lying. Wouldn’t it?

Isao burst out laughing. Youji almost choked on his egg. “The…” Isao trailed off. “I just re… the… I just realized the drawings are…” he covered his mouth, but giggles spilled out of it anyway.

It wasn't even funny. Isao knew this, which was why he tried to cover it up, but he couldn't. He shouldn't, either. It was okay to add color sometimes, however unusual it might be. Youji of all people should know.