Kai walked around as he ate, pulling open drawers and cabinets. He marvelled at all the cans.

“This reminds me of a television show I watched once. Extreme Shopping. Something like that.”

I didn’t respond.

“Don’t you care?” He prodded me with the end of a chopstick.

“No.” I turned away so I could eat my noodles in peace. He made a face and set his bowl down. He continued to talk, chattering away the silence. Slowly though, even his voice dripped out like the remains of my noodles down the drain.

“Hey,” he said, suddenly quiet. “Are you mad? About today at lunch?”

“No,” I said quickly. Too quickly. “I’m not.”

He didn’t apologize, nor did he offer any excuses. He just sat there silently, playing with his noodles.

“You don’t want to know why?” He looked at me, and I looked down at my hands.

And for the first time in a very long time, I lied to myself.

“No.”

“When does your brother get home?” Kai asked. I looked at the clock. It was almost ten. We had been silent for the past few hours. I had been doing homework. A quick glance at his binder told me that he had been doodling.

“I don’t think he’s coming home tonight,” I said. “He’s probably out on business.”  Business was a funny term. It could stand for anything. Kai accepted it without really hearing what I said. He scratched his head absentmindedly.

He stretched and stood up. “I should go. Thanks for letting me stay.”

“Where are you going to sleep?” I asked, as neutrally as possible. Kai wasn't having any of it.

He gave me a sly grin. “You worried?”

“Yes, I am. Where are you staying?” I crossed my arms across my chest. His smirk faded a little, but he still shrugged his shoulders like an indecisive child.

“Around. Don’t worry.”

“But-” I wavered. There was no way I could let him stay, and yet there was no way I could feel okay about him roaming the streets at night.

“You really don’t need to worry,” he said firmly, and then he sighed. A perfect, theatrical sigh. That was what worried me. His lightheartedness would get him in trouble in our neighbourhood, with its dark alleys and broken lights. He must have known that, and yet he was still smiling. 

I decided to trust his confidence. 

"Well, good night then," I said, resigned.

He took his backpack, gave me a wave, and left. The door clicked softly behind him.

I waited for the sound of his footsteps to disappear before I followed him out.

I wasn't worried. I trusted his confidence.

And for the second time in a very short time, I lied to myself.