It was supposed to be a normal afternoon.
Sota's room, the usual meeting place. A stack of manga on the floor, half-drunk bottles of soda, and the soft hum of a fan spinning lazily above them.
Junpei walked in first. Socks on hardwood. He slipped.
Thud.
No one laughed. Sota looked up, blinked, then looked back down at his manga.
Ryota entered next. Saw Junpei lying there. Raised an eyebrow.
"Floor's slick," Junpei muttered.
Ryota nodded. Then stepped forward. He slipped.
Junpei moved just enough so Ryota landed half on him, half on the floor.
Sota glanced over. "You guys good?"
"Fine," Ryota said, rubbing his elbow.
Junpei sat up slowly. "You need to clean this floor."
"It's not dirty," Sota replied. "It's just smooth."
No one had the energy to argue. Ryota crawled to the futon. Junpei followed. Sota stayed seated, cross-legged, flipping pages.
Silence.
Then Junpei shifted. His foot hit the edge of a cushion. It slipped. He slipped again.
A dull sound of contact.
Ryota snorted.
Sota shook his head, barely hiding a smirk.
Junpei lay flat. "Why do we even come here?"
No answer.
A bag of chips was opened. Crunching.
Ryota leaned back, tossing a grape candy into his mouth. It bounced off. Landed in the folds of a blanket.
He sighed.
Another slip—this time Sota, trying to stand.
Junpei sat up just to point and say, "Finally."
Sota didn't respond. He slid slowly back into sitting position, pulling a volume of manga closer.
Time passed. Pages turned. The fan clicked.
None of them spoke again.
The floor stayed slick.