[In as much as the look on your face cuts at him, he respects you enough to not sugar coat, not pull his punches, and be very ready to help you pick yourself right back up when you're done.]
[ And you've been joined to his brain for long enough that he knows what that statement means. Which is why he's pressing his head back into his hands -- fingers fisted now as he tries to breathe.
That laugh that escapes him is awash with a mix of emotions: guilt, helplessness, and even a little bit of fear. ]
[This reminds him, uncomfortably, of the very first night that he manifested more than a month ago. Your roles have been switched around for the moment, but he's caught snippets of the playback in your memories.
Not his best moment, that. And this certainly wasn't yours.]
I'm not going to tell you that it's okay yet. Talk to me first.
[And even with the potential harshness of that first statement, he's reaching out with his free hand and squeezing your shoulder.]
[ Maybe it's because it's been a very tense, and frighteningly emotional two weeks for him. Maybe it's been because it's just been one realization after another: how much Rhiannon had become home, how highly he'd regarded Jessiah Vice as an individual, that fucking clock above Hikaru Shinta's head, celebrating his birthday, seeing his boys again -- realizing how important and valuable he was to people he actually gave two shits about and being granted all these responsibilities he hadn't realized he'd wanted so badly to have. And then having to deal with the uncomfortable absence of that one friend who just seemed to get him as he was, as he could be and more.
He's trying to logic his way out of it. There was Gabriel. There was the Board of Directors at Rhiannon. There was doing right by his sister and by the blade he now led. There was Cisco Montelibano-Profaci coming to speak with him about that brief encounter during Hikaru Shinta's 28th Life Cycle.
He's shaking a little as he looks up, because he's thinking back to that apology -- that goddamn apology, over and over at the club. To that hurt look on Hikaru's face that he didn't understand right after he'd said: Isn't that what friends are for? on that bench, right outside Balamb. ]
[Because there are no words, he's left to study your expression and - fine. He caves a little, reaches, just so, into your mind. Traces the wires, where they connect, what flares up, what fades.]
Trying to apply logic to this is still going to lead you to the same place.
[Unless you don't want to go there in the first place.
[ Dropping his face back into his hands now because he doesn't know what to say, doesn't know if he actually has the words to coherently express the utter mess of emotions that is crashing down on and all around him.
But he tries. Because that's always been Joshua Lee Brennan's personal philosophy where it concerns living: Trying, even if there doesn't seem like there's a point to anything. The simple act of trying -- because that is something everyone is capable of doing. ]
Why me?
[ The words come out in a half-croak, and he's thinking back to the seven of them seated out there on that couch and how easily the words Don't make it me had left his mouth, with an accompanying reason that Hikaru Goddamn Shinta went ahead to dispute, by systematically pointing out why the others would not work.
Why the hell him? He wasn't a veteran hunter like Yulia with prior experience with a top blade, he didn't have Kaz's family legacy nor the ties that came as a supplement of that. He never spent five hundred years in Arcadia, found himself picked up by Tala Vega, "The Key", a member of Wolf's Choice, nor is he the one mentored by the Kaiser herself. He's not a promethean with a hundred years' worth of experience on the battlefield, nor is he like Stan, who had, by Josh's estimation, only been held back from greatness by the traumatizing possibility of what that greatness could achieve if wielded by the wrong hands.
He's just the kid who wandered around lost for so long. His first mentor ( and he cares for Rethe like a brother ) wasn't quite the right fit and at the beginning, it seemed like the people who could be wanted nothing to do with him. He hadn't even wanted to join Netsach in the first place, but then the reasons and the justifications came in the form of his sister and his dad and so had the unexpected news of his mother's connection to TFV, which had led to him want something more than a position as a novice.
He isn't used to wanting things, people, due recognition anymore. He isn't used to it because he'd taught himself for six, long years that wanting got you nowhere but hurt. Because wanting makes you feel so terribly small, especially when you thought you had it handled only to realize that you don't have it handled at all; when you're almost there only to have it snatched out of reach.
He's hugging his knees now, mind moving faster than his own emotions can catch up because working under and around people who challenged him and twigged that he was more than just a jock had felt something like the day he'd walked into the Blue Coffin asking if they would take a kid with some kitchen knowhow who needed the work. He'd meant what he'd said: Rhiannon was now like home, the people there as much family to him than his own blade or his friends in Netsach or even his own flesh and blood. They were like his second chance at being someone more than just the kid who ran, someone named Joshua LaRue, that kid that was good enough to catch Gabriel Marlowe's attention, the Sin-Eater affiliated first with and now leading the War Hounds, trusted enough by two ( maybe three? he wasn't sure ) Malice Kings to be called a friend. ]
Why me? [ He's not twenty-eight years old as he looks at you, Makoto -- he's that twenty-one year old kid who's just figuring out that he'd chosen to let Time stop, metaphorically, because he'd given up growing up every, single year in favor of wandering like a lonely ghost in Vancouver. Because that -- that was easier. That helped him deal with losing what little he'd already had. ]
[It takes him a while to respond because he is following the twists and turns of your mind, reliving your moments as if they were his own. He has spoken to Davis about you, and the two of them have commiserated, compared notes, debated, wondered.
The saddest part is, by the time he is done, he knows that there is no "right" or "wrong" way of answering that question. Distance always helps with perspective, but that doesn't mean that it's the cure-all for every situation. As things stood, it was obvious that this was going much, much deeper than just the matter of Hikaru Shinta turning his eyes towards Joshua LaRue/Joshua Lee Brennan in the first place.]
Did he not already tell you? You were always there for him when he needed you. You and him seem to see each other for what you are. Neither of you have to pretend.
[He settles for a reminder, pushing up what Joshua should already know from the surface of his doubts. Those he can try to deal with later.]
[ He's tearing up now, rubbing the back and heel of one hand across both his eyes. Because the reminder hurts as much as it helps. Because earlier that night at Hyve had been a quiet kind of hell, walking into a space he's already since considered theirs ( his and Hikaru's, for all that it had been one night nearly a month before ) to kick back by the bar and repeatedly check his phone.
The people he'd struck conversation with had been distractions, a way to pass the time and keep him from casting looks towards that one particular couch. It had been a way to forget that this was his first time here, all alone, in a crowded room full of strangers looking to have fun, and forget the life they led outside the black-tiled walls where music and mischief of varying sorts was the game that everyone played.
He still remembers the relief that had flooded through him when he'd glanced over to see Hikaru up there, hadn't even cared if he'd excused himself a little too quickly from the girl he'd paused mid-conversation with, because the real reason he'd decided to go out tonight had finally arrived.
Breathing harder now, but keeping his voice down because he doesn't know how thin the walls are in this place and his eyes travel to the one separating his room from the Blade King's. ]
I was so happy to see him laugh. [ Forehead pressed to the palm of that same hand now; eyes screwed shut and tight. ]
[The glance is telling. Makoto follows it at exactly the same time, and then turns away to take another drag from his cigarette. You will feel his Boneyard cover your room in the next moment, Josh, shrouding the both of you in silence.]
After all of that stress? [A small smile.] I'm not too surprised.
[Because it had been something familiar for Josh, hadn't it? Things were changing at a phenomenal rate around the Sin-Eater, and it seemed as though he was expected, often unfairly, to adjust to them without question.]
[ He feels that, and perhaps it is with the sudden reaffirmation that Makoto Kuzunoha has his back without question that he just crumbles into that awful mix of pained laughter and core-wracking sobs. Because the events prior to the engagement leading up to the rescue of one Jessiah Vice are finally falling into mortifying place.
It feels eerily -- and in some ways, more terrible, than when Gabriel had prompted him to think long and hard on his sexuality; a thing that he's becoming painfully aware of, he has not really had time to scrutinize.
Two faces -- one for those he cared about, another for when he had to stand at the head of his blade. What the world sees, and what you see. Those words, spoken by Hikaru, when they'd steered away from the awkward that he can now place: the sad looks, the apologies, the minute hesitation before his signature witty remark. ]
I lied. To Brianna.
[ Standing up now, his chest as tight as it had felt when he knew with a frightening clarity that the End had come, only to dream of Coach's outstretched hand and subsequently wake up in unbearable pain as his body healed itself, dragging him back forcibly into the land of the living. ]
[Makoto, in turn, remains in place. He brings the cigarette back to his lips and watches everything. One might think that he looked cold, that this was nothing but a simple assessment.
The look in his eyes and the very fact that he is still around and still sitting far too still would say otherwise.]
I know. Do you know why now?
[Or had he always known, and it was just too hard to admit it to anybody else but Makoto?]
[ He's flashing back to the previous afternoon's conversation at his house, the food he'd cooked just laid out on the table for his blademate and his sister as he'd opened up to Brianna. He can't remember the exact words now, can only remember how he'd tried to ask if she'd ever had a friend that got her in a way that just felt right and received a response about how there were no such things as perfect friendships.
He'd had fun at the spa date -- that's the thing, he always, always had fun with Brianna -- but as they'd driven into Falner, he'd looked down at his phone to send a message to Hikaru about going out that night and inquiring as the Changeling always was, he'd replied with a lie that he'd buffered with a truth.
He's starting to wish he'd brought more than just the mattress to this place. He had two footballs at home ( one from Kaz, the other from Brig ) and if he'd had at least one here, maybe he could throw it repeatedly against the wall to work off the tension ache building in his bones. ]
I'm not sure.
[ It's not a lie, though it is probably a hedge. He doesn't like the feeling the lie has left in him. It feels like a poison he needs to wash out, a foreign thing in his blood.
It feels unfair to feel hurt over this, that a member of his most trusted friends would shut down the possibility of a closeness that he had felt so sure of. That he still feels sure of because yes, something has changed and it will never be the same, but he is surprisingly okay with making peace with it in a way that he could not with Rethe.
( That Malice King had been his guardian angel, and now a close, close friend in ways words could barely express. He never leaves that Walkman at home, keeps it close like a lucky charm, no less than three of his most favorite tapes packed with it. )
His gaze turns back to that wall, thoughts returning to the man asleep on the other side: the way he'd smile, the gestures of his hands whenever he talked, the precision in a look and the grace by which he just moved.
He had tried not to watch Hikaru when he'd danced, but had looked over a handful of times just the same, whenever he was sure the Blade King was occupied with a new temporary conquest.
"Why not?" Kaz had asked him on the phone as Josh had sunk quietly into one of those seats right outside Relik, and he'd stammered and babbled out excuses because he couldn't block out the image of the two of them pressed close, an image that had no anchor in Makoto's own memories.
This isn't the bleed from his adoptive geist. And what frightens Josh now is: What now, about all the other times prior to this? ]
[He's quiet once again, because the handful of memories he is getting has a lot more underneath them than what appears to him on the surface.
Putting out his cigarette now, and lighting up another. Once he's done with that, he's pinning Joshua with a Look.]
It's starting to get really tiring, having to read between what you're saying and what you're thinking about.
[There's a hint of dryness in his voice, underscored by the fondness that he feels for his adopted Sin-Eater. They was no Bargain between them and their never would be, but they shared many other things.]
Try that again, and talk it out with me this time.
[ He's glancing over at Makoto now, and what the geist says is probably the first thing that makes him smile even if he still looks and feels like a wreck.
Walking back and sinking down beside the other man, he sighs. ]
What Brianna said, hurt. [ He's lookong down at his hands as he says this. ] I thought that... since she's essentially his daughter -- she'd get it, you know? [ He's pressing his lips together a moment as he arranges the things he wants to say in his head and tries to align them as much as possible with what he feels in his heart.
Sadly, the pieces aren't coming up right. And there's a pained look that crosses Josh's features, but he swallows it down and breathes out. ]
She told me there are no perfect friendships. And... [ breathe in, breathe out, Josh, no one's rushing you ] She's right.
[ He turns his gaze to Makoto, tries for a smile that says he agrees, but it stops short of his eyes. ]
It's not a perfect friendship. [ But the intensity of it... ] We just... maybe it's just me. You know him better. But he knows my tells, and I'm good with that. Even in the beginning, he'd send these random, weirdly psychic-ish messages and I'd be okay with them. They didn't freak me out. They never felt like he was intruding.
Or maybe I just that way because... Sin-Eater, right? Gotta get used to the constant presence of your geist. I mean, he used to be a Bladian. And sure, he doesn't have a bloodsinger taking up space in the attic, but he does have Death.
[ He hangs his head again. He's sorry, Makoto. He hedges deliberately when he's still working around the problem. ]
[ And this is head cradled back in his hands because his mind is toggling between answers that are all true -- although one hold more weight to him than the others. ]
[ He worries at his upper lip, and then: ] But I'm a selfish asshole and I just wanted to see and spend time him, screw everything else.
[ Shutting his eyes now, and knocking his head back against the wall. He doesn't want to think on the logic behind how he feels. The justifications that don't feel like justifications at all. ]
People are welcome to express their concern, and give their own opinions on the matter. The danger with buying into that all the time, though, is that you'll never be able to make your own calls.
[For better or for worse.
That goes unsaid, because he's certain that he doesn't actually need to tell you that.]
[ Opening his eyes now, the look in them hard, and hurt, and yes... just a little bit resentful. ]
Stanley knew before me. [ A breath. ] And since Kaz lives here, and the kid's incredibly perceptive, I think it's safe to say that he probably knows as well.
[ He doesn't want to feel like this. He doesn't want to feel so frustrated that he'd been walking around utterly clueless over Hikaru's behavior all because--
He's looking back at that wall now. And there's a twist in his chest as he whispers, even if he knows that with Makoto's Boneyard of Stillness in place, no one but the two of them will hear. ] Couldn't he have just told me. I thought we were good.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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[In as much as the look on your face cuts at him, he respects you enough to not sugar coat, not pull his punches, and be very ready to help you pick yourself right back up when you're done.]
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That laugh that escapes him is awash with a mix of emotions: guilt, helplessness, and even a little bit of fear. ]
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Not his best moment, that. And this certainly wasn't yours.]
I'm not going to tell you that it's okay yet. Talk to me first.
[And even with the potential harshness of that first statement, he's reaching out with his free hand and squeezing your shoulder.]
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He's trying to logic his way out of it. There was Gabriel. There was the Board of Directors at Rhiannon. There was doing right by his sister and by the blade he now led. There was Cisco Montelibano-Profaci coming to speak with him about that brief encounter during Hikaru Shinta's 28th Life Cycle.
He's shaking a little as he looks up, because he's thinking back to that apology -- that goddamn apology, over and over at the club. To that hurt look on Hikaru's face that he didn't understand right after he'd said: Isn't that what friends are for? on that bench, right outside Balamb. ]
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Trying to apply logic to this is still going to lead you to the same place.
[Unless you don't want to go there in the first place.
That goes unsaid.]
i apologize that his introspection is so tldr;
But he tries. Because that's always been Joshua Lee Brennan's personal philosophy where it concerns living: Trying, even if there doesn't seem like there's a point to anything. The simple act of trying -- because that is something everyone is capable of doing. ]
Why me?
[ The words come out in a half-croak, and he's thinking back to the seven of them seated out there on that couch and how easily the words Don't make it me had left his mouth, with an accompanying reason that Hikaru Goddamn Shinta went ahead to dispute, by systematically pointing out why the others would not work.
Why the hell him? He wasn't a veteran hunter like Yulia with prior experience with a top blade, he didn't have Kaz's family legacy nor the ties that came as a supplement of that. He never spent five hundred years in Arcadia, found himself picked up by Tala Vega, "The Key", a member of Wolf's Choice, nor is he the one mentored by the Kaiser herself. He's not a promethean with a hundred years' worth of experience on the battlefield, nor is he like Stan, who had, by Josh's estimation, only been held back from greatness by the traumatizing possibility of what that greatness could achieve if wielded by the wrong hands.
He's just the kid who wandered around lost for so long. His first mentor ( and he cares for Rethe like a brother ) wasn't quite the right fit and at the beginning, it seemed like the people who could be wanted nothing to do with him. He hadn't even wanted to join Netsach in the first place, but then the reasons and the justifications came in the form of his sister and his dad and so had the unexpected news of his mother's connection to TFV, which had led to him want something more than a position as a novice.
He isn't used to wanting things, people, due recognition anymore. He isn't used to it because he'd taught himself for six, long years that wanting got you nowhere but hurt. Because wanting makes you feel so terribly small, especially when you thought you had it handled only to realize that you don't have it handled at all; when you're almost there only to have it snatched out of reach.
He's hugging his knees now, mind moving faster than his own emotions can catch up because working under and around people who challenged him and twigged that he was more than just a jock had felt something like the day he'd walked into the Blue Coffin asking if they would take a kid with some kitchen knowhow who needed the work. He'd meant what he'd said: Rhiannon was now like home, the people there as much family to him than his own blade or his friends in Netsach or even his own flesh and blood. They were like his second chance at being someone more than just the kid who ran, someone named Joshua LaRue, that kid that was good enough to catch Gabriel Marlowe's attention, the Sin-Eater affiliated first with and now leading the War Hounds, trusted enough by two ( maybe three? he wasn't sure ) Malice Kings to be called a friend. ]
Why me? [ He's not twenty-eight years old as he looks at you, Makoto -- he's that twenty-one year old kid who's just figuring out that he'd chosen to let Time stop, metaphorically, because he'd given up growing up every, single year in favor of wandering like a lonely ghost in Vancouver. Because that -- that was easier. That helped him deal with losing what little he'd already had. ]
lol
The saddest part is, by the time he is done, he knows that there is no "right" or "wrong" way of answering that question. Distance always helps with perspective, but that doesn't mean that it's the cure-all for every situation. As things stood, it was obvious that this was going much, much deeper than just the matter of Hikaru Shinta turning his eyes towards Joshua LaRue/Joshua Lee Brennan in the first place.]
Did he not already tell you? You were always there for him when he needed you. You and him seem to see each other for what you are. Neither of you have to pretend.
[He settles for a reminder, pushing up what Joshua should already know from the surface of his doubts. Those he can try to deal with later.]
/)(\
The people he'd struck conversation with had been distractions, a way to pass the time and keep him from casting looks towards that one particular couch. It had been a way to forget that this was his first time here, all alone, in a crowded room full of strangers looking to have fun, and forget the life they led outside the black-tiled walls where music and mischief of varying sorts was the game that everyone played.
He still remembers the relief that had flooded through him when he'd glanced over to see Hikaru up there, hadn't even cared if he'd excused himself a little too quickly from the girl he'd paused mid-conversation with, because the real reason he'd decided to go out tonight had finally arrived.
Breathing harder now, but keeping his voice down because he doesn't know how thin the walls are in this place and his eyes travel to the one separating his room from the Blade King's. ]
I was so happy to see him laugh. [ Forehead pressed to the palm of that same hand now; eyes screwed shut and tight. ]
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After all of that stress? [A small smile.] I'm not too surprised.
[Because it had been something familiar for Josh, hadn't it? Things were changing at a phenomenal rate around the Sin-Eater, and it seemed as though he was expected, often unfairly, to adjust to them without question.]
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It feels eerily -- and in some ways, more terrible, than when Gabriel had prompted him to think long and hard on his sexuality; a thing that he's becoming painfully aware of, he has not really had time to scrutinize.
Two faces -- one for those he cared about, another for when he had to stand at the head of his blade. What the world sees, and what you see. Those words, spoken by Hikaru, when they'd steered away from the awkward that he can now place: the sad looks, the apologies, the minute hesitation before his signature witty remark. ]
I lied. To Brianna.
[ Standing up now, his chest as tight as it had felt when he knew with a frightening clarity that the End had come, only to dream of Coach's outstretched hand and subsequently wake up in unbearable pain as his body healed itself, dragging him back forcibly into the land of the living. ]
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The look in his eyes and the very fact that he is still around and still sitting far too still would say otherwise.]
I know. Do you know why now?
[Or had he always known, and it was just too hard to admit it to anybody else but Makoto?]
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He'd had fun at the spa date -- that's the thing, he always, always had fun with Brianna -- but as they'd driven into Falner, he'd looked down at his phone to send a message to Hikaru about going out that night and inquiring as the Changeling always was, he'd replied with a lie that he'd buffered with a truth.
He's starting to wish he'd brought more than just the mattress to this place. He had two footballs at home ( one from Kaz, the other from Brig ) and if he'd had at least one here, maybe he could throw it repeatedly against the wall to work off the tension ache building in his bones. ]
I'm not sure.
[ It's not a lie, though it is probably a hedge. He doesn't like the feeling the lie has left in him. It feels like a poison he needs to wash out, a foreign thing in his blood.
It feels unfair to feel hurt over this, that a member of his most trusted friends would shut down the possibility of a closeness that he had felt so sure of. That he still feels sure of because yes, something has changed and it will never be the same, but he is surprisingly okay with making peace with it in a way that he could not with Rethe.
( That Malice King had been his guardian angel, and now a close, close friend in ways words could barely express. He never leaves that Walkman at home, keeps it close like a lucky charm, no less than three of his most favorite tapes packed with it. )
His gaze turns back to that wall, thoughts returning to the man asleep on the other side: the way he'd smile, the gestures of his hands whenever he talked, the precision in a look and the grace by which he just moved.
He had tried not to watch Hikaru when he'd danced, but had looked over a handful of times just the same, whenever he was sure the Blade King was occupied with a new temporary conquest.
"Why not?" Kaz had asked him on the phone as Josh had sunk quietly into one of those seats right outside Relik, and he'd stammered and babbled out excuses because he couldn't block out the image of the two of them pressed close, an image that had no anchor in Makoto's own memories.
This isn't the bleed from his adoptive geist. And what frightens Josh now is: What now, about all the other times prior to this? ]
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Putting out his cigarette now, and lighting up another. Once he's done with that, he's pinning Joshua with a Look.]
It's starting to get really tiring, having to read between what you're saying and what you're thinking about.
[There's a hint of dryness in his voice, underscored by the fondness that he feels for his adopted Sin-Eater. They was no Bargain between them and their never would be, but they shared many other things.]
Try that again, and talk it out with me this time.
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Walking back and sinking down beside the other man, he sighs. ]
What Brianna said, hurt. [ He's lookong down at his hands as he says this. ] I thought that... since she's essentially his daughter -- she'd get it, you know? [ He's pressing his lips together a moment as he arranges the things he wants to say in his head and tries to align them as much as possible with what he feels in his heart.
Sadly, the pieces aren't coming up right. And there's a pained look that crosses Josh's features, but he swallows it down and breathes out. ]
She told me there are no perfect friendships. And... [ breathe in, breathe out, Josh, no one's rushing you ] She's right.
[ He turns his gaze to Makoto, tries for a smile that says he agrees, but it stops short of his eyes. ]
It's not a perfect friendship. [ But the intensity of it... ] We just... maybe it's just me. You know him better. But he knows my tells, and I'm good with that. Even in the beginning, he'd send these random, weirdly psychic-ish messages and I'd be okay with them. They didn't freak me out. They never felt like he was intruding.
Or maybe I just that way because... Sin-Eater, right? Gotta get used to the constant presence of your geist. I mean, he used to be a Bladian. And sure, he doesn't have a bloodsinger taking up space in the attic, but he does have Death.
[ He hangs his head again. He's sorry, Makoto. He hedges deliberately when he's still working around the problem. ]
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[And now he's holding out that cigarette you abandoned in your direction. Yes, he'll light it for you (don't argue with him on it).
Yes, he is also aware of the fact that you're hedging, just as he is equally aware of the fact that this is part of your process.
The look on his face right now? It's spelling out something simple: Keep talking.]
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He takes the cigarette. Accepts the light.
And then, softly, with a tone of quiet hurt: ] We click.
[ He takes a puff. ]
And I lied because I had this... weird feeling [ he soinds pretty choked up ] that she might tell me not to.
[ He takes a second drag. Exhales. ] I don't even know why I thought that. But when she took my answer for what it was, I was relieved.
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[Because Makoto has his own Words on that matter, but he'll save it for after he hears your take.]
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Well?
[They are going to be at this all night if they have to be.]
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She's a good friend and she's his daughter.
[ He worries at his upper lip, and then: ] But I'm a selfish asshole and I just wanted to see and spend time him, screw everything else.
[ Shutting his eyes now, and knocking his head back against the wall. He doesn't want to think on the logic behind how he feels. The justifications that don't feel like justifications at all. ]
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[Tilting his head in your direction now.]
People are welcome to express their concern, and give their own opinions on the matter. The danger with buying into that all the time, though, is that you'll never be able to make your own calls.
[For better or for worse.
That goes unsaid, because he's certain that he doesn't actually need to tell you that.]
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Stanley knew before me. [ A breath. ] And since Kaz lives here, and the kid's incredibly perceptive, I think it's safe to say that he probably knows as well.
[ He doesn't want to feel like this. He doesn't want to feel so frustrated that he'd been walking around utterly clueless over Hikaru's behavior all because--
He's looking back at that wall now. And there's a twist in his chest as he whispers, even if he knows that with Makoto's Boneyard of Stillness in place, no one but the two of them will hear. ] Couldn't he have just told me. I thought we were good.
[ It's not a question. ]
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He doesn't say anything, not until after he's taken a drag from his cigarette.]
Could he? Could he really?
[The look on his face is bereft of judgement yet again. Let's see how this plays out.
Think on it, kid.]
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Wide eyes. Lips parting as realization dawns and the pieces finally click into place.
This is a shoe. This is a shoe flung hard at this side of the wall separating you from one Josh LaRue, Hikaru Shinta. ]
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To be completely, brutally honest? Makoto wasn't expecting THAT. Like. At all.
Blinking up at you now, and then smiling.]
You could at least let me finish this cigarette first.
[Because he is going to clear out of here so fast now.]
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