2:17 AM — The Hour When the Adults of the Future Visit the Toilet Paper Aisles
The Konbini smelled of resignation. Of stale coffee, of dying fluorescent lights, and of the stupidest conversation I ever thought I'd have.
"The birth rate in Japan is lower than the onigiri sold on a rainy day," said Aoi, rocking on a chair while I rearranged tuna cans. "Do you know what that means, Hiroto-kun?"
"That you should stop reading trashy news during your shift.
"It means nobody wants to have sex!" she yelled, throwing a little paper ball at my head. "Or that everyone is so dead inside that not even that interests them anymore."
"I'd rather believe people realized that bringing children into this world is like inviting someone to a burning building and saying 'surprise: the fire is your life'."
Aoi opened her mouth to respond, but a sound cut through the air: someone crying.
Not the fake crying of a drunk, nor the moan of an otaku who lost the 50/50 in Genshin Impact. It was high-pitched, trembling, and coming from outside.
"Probably a ghost who wants to buy Doritos," I murmured, but Aoi was already moving towards the exit.
The little girl was squatting next to the ice machine, clutching a stuffed animal as worn out as my expression when I see a customer at 3 AM.
"Are you a kidnapper?" she asked between hiccups, pointing a trembling finger at me.
"Yeah, but today's my day off," I replied, crossing my arms.
"Hiroto-kun!" Aoi pushed me aside and knelt in front of the girl with a smile I'd never seen on her before: soft. "What happened, kid? Did you get lost?"
"Y-yes..." the girl showed a wristband with a phone number on it. "Mom said if I get lost, I should go to a Konbini..."
"How obedient!" Aoi took her hand without hesitation, as if touching someone didn't make her want to vomit. "Come on, we'll give you free Kit Kats and call your mom. Do you like Kit Kats?"
The girl nodded, letting herself be led. I stayed at the entrance for a second, processing what had just happened.
Inside the Konbini, Aoi had been replaced by someone else.
She gave the girl a chocolate bar and sat her on the counter.
She told her a story about a stray cat that got lost in the Tokyo subway but found ghost friends (?).
She taught her how to make shapes with receipt paper.
"Look, this is how you make a plane," said Aoi, folding a receipt with the precision of an origami master. "If you throw it and it lands on Hiroto-kun's head, you win another chocolate."
"Really?" The girl threw the plane. It hit me on the forehead.
"You won!" Aoi handed her a Pocky like a trophy.
I just stayed silent, filing it all away in a mental folder labeled "Things I Must Never Comment on in Public."
The mother arrived in 20 minutes, crying more than the girl. She wore a wrinkled office uniform and had eye bags that reached the floor.
"Yui!" she cried, hugging the girl as if afraid she'd evaporate. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry!"
Aoi, who until then had been all smiles, turned serious. More than serious. Annoyed.
"Hey," she said, crossing her arms. "If you lose her again, I'll bury her under the drink fridge."
The woman nodded, too grateful to notice the threat.
But Yui did. She broke free from her mother and ran to Aoi, hugging her legs.
"Thank you, Nee-chan!" she said, burying her face in Aoi's skirt.
Aoi froze. Her hands trembled for an instant before gently resting on the girl's head.
"J-just don't get lost again," she murmured, putting another chocolate bar in her hand. "And I'm not a Nee-chan, I'm a shark girl." Aoi smiled, showing her sharp teeth that gleamed under the fluorescent lights.
Yui's eyes sparkled when she saw them, as if she'd witnessed a live magic act.
"Woooow!"
When they left, the Konbini returned to its usual silence. Or almost.
Aoi jumped back onto the counter, swinging her legs.
"What?" she said, avoiding my gaze. "Never seen a little girl before?"
"I didn't know you had that mode," I replied, also avoiding her gaze.
She got up and started cleaning the glass of the vending machine with more force than necessary.
"Don't say anything," she murmured.
"Wasn't planning to."
"Nothing."
"Not even that being cute suits you?"
A coffee can flew towards my head. I dodged it.
"You know what I hate more than being touched?" she grumbled, hiking her skirt up a few millimeters to prove she was still herself. "Babies and children."
"And yet, you almost adopted one."
She froze.
"I just think it must be nice..." she said suddenly, looking out the window where the girl had vanished. "To have someone who... well. Who looks for you. Who loves you like that, even if the world is shit."
I looked at her. Really looked at her. Her profile, illuminated by the neon lights, looked fragile. Like window glass about to shatter.
"Don't tell me you want to have a kid now," I said, more to break the tension than anything else.
She turned, smiling with those little shark teeth. But her eyes weren't playing along.
"Of course! I want a girl!" she said, jumping off the counter. "Wouldn't you like to have one with me, Hiroto-kun?"
The coffee I was drinking made me choke.
"Is that a threat?"
"Maybe," she laughed, walking away towards the drink aisle. "Imagine it: a mini-me who steals your socks or a mini-you who frowns all day. It'd be adorable!"
"It'd be a disaster."
"Exactly!" she shouted from among the shelves. "Disasters are all we have left, aren't they?"
"I'd rather adopt a cat."
"Boring," she sang, spinning around. "But oh well, if you change your mind, I've already picked the names!"
"Names?"
"Yeah. If it's a girl: Aiko. If it's a boy: Hiroshi."
"That's plagiarism."
"It's an homage!" She laughed, heading towards the candy aisle. "Though with your DNA, it'd probably turn out to be a crybaby tsundere..."
I watched her as she rearranged cans that didn't need rearranging. Her hands were trembling slightly. Her ears were red. And for the first time, I understood:
Aoi didn't want a child.
She wanted what Yui had.
I shrugged, feigning indifference. But she wasn't finished.
By 4 AM, Aoi was still whistling the Doraemon no Uta while cleaning. I was still counting coins, but the numbers were getting mixed up in my head.
"Hey," she said suddenly, throwing a crumpled paper at me. "If ever..."
"No."
"I didn't even finish."
"Doesn't matter. The answer is no."
She rolled her eyes but didn't push it. Though that night, for the first time, she didn't try to sit close to me.
Or maybe she thought about it.
And maybe I did too.