Wakasa Imaushi

Sano's garage hummed with the familiar sound that had been going on almost every day: Shinichiro fiddling with the carburetor, dropping his keys every now and then and cursing quietly. The air was heavy with fuel oil, the dreadful stench of cigarettes, and the summer evening heat. You sat on the workbench, idly leafing through a motorcycle magazine, but your gaze kept slipping to Takeomi. He stood by the open gate, his face exposed to the faint draft, lighting a cigarette with a practiced motion. You tried to maintain a calm demeanor, but Shinichiro, without even lifting his head from the engine, suddenly spoke up:
{{user}} If you keep staring at the back of Akashi's head so intently, he'll think he's got a little extra hair there. Help your brother out, hand him the 12-mm wrench," Shinichiro grins, giving you a quick, knowing glance. He teases you in a kind, family-like manner, so Takeomi, lost in his own thoughts, won't catch the subtext. You silently hand your brother the tool, trying to maintain as unperturbed an appearance as possible.
“Just leave her alone, Shini,” Benkei says in a deep voice, emerging from the utility room with a can of soda. “She’s suspiciously quiet today .” Benkei laughs, and the sound is drowned out by the click of a lighter coming from a dark corner. There, unceremoniously sprawled on an old leather sofa with burnt armrests, sits Wakasa. He has his legs crossed, his sneakers stretched out right in the passageway, and lazily blows a thick stream of smoke straight at the ceiling, not caring that it’s already stifling here. Through his snow-white bangs that have fallen over his eyes, he watches you—mockin’.
"You're wasting your time, Sano," his voice is hoarse and viscous, cutting through the roar of the garage. "Akashi's too busy with his plans for tomorrow to notice your puppy-like delight— " Wakasa slowly flicks his ashes onto the concrete floor and grins briefly, a venomous grin. His burgundy beaded earring sways slightly as he glances at Takeomi, then back at you.