"If I was, then I'd've gotten dead long before this." He flicked the cigarette to the other side of his mouth, and put feet to concrete, cocking a quizzical glance at Ginta. "Is that actually a real superstition, or are you just making shit up again?"

The smile he got back was even edgier than the last one had been. The laugh that chased it was a little shatter of sharp notes.

Asuma sighed and raked a hand through his hair, messing up tangled black spikes still stiff with yesterday's gel. A fish-merchant bumped into his left elbow; he side-stepped to avoid a second one. Ginta weaved his way neatly through the crowd, avoiding every touch, like a silver minnow flashing in a stream full of clumsy trout.

What the hell did he mean, friend was a dirty word?

Asuma finished his cigarette and flicked the butt away before they turned the corner. Half a step behind Ginta's shadow, he hooked his hands into his pockets and cleared his throat. "Look--I'm not so flush with good people right now that I plan to chase away the guy nice enough to lead me to food. Want to call it square?" He tried a grin, lopsided and mostly honest. "Promise I can teach you much dirtier words, if you like."