it's a lot. ichiro didn't see kuko at the final division battle--he was nursing his wounds and his pride, pissed off at losing to samatoki --but jakurai's short comment about him had been enough to send him reeling for days. he hadn't bothered to look into it when kuko had disappeared off of the face of ikebukuro because even thinking about him was a wound so sharp he couldn't breathe when his name come up. kuko had been ichiro's only friend, at the worst time in his life. the only person that he relied on, the only person that had his trust, the person he enjoyed shitty tv with, drank cokes in back alleys with, fought with, rapped with. when things went to shit, the last thing he expected was kuko hating him.
he remembers every crisp detail of their fight, remembers going to samatoki's and crying his eyes out on the couch, but everything in between is hazy. ichiro couldn't tell you how he got to samatoki's that night. he couldn't tell you where he slept, or what he ate, moving around in a daze until samatoki slapped some metaphorical sense into him. ichiro hasn't cried many times since then, took samatoki's advice to heart. he doesn't have many friends now, burnt by the trust that was destroyed with the end of mad comic dialogue, and staring at the ghost of his old friendship like it's nothing has reopened every old hurt he had papered over.
he stands there holding the door, like an idiot. does he have some time to talk? can they talk? is he a jilted ex girlfriend or something? is he--
no, no, that's a bad train of thought. ichiro squeezes the doorframe so he doesn't lose his traction, then lifts his arms and shoves them into his pockets. they're just division leaders. that's all. enemies.
(ichiro doesn't want to be kuko's enemy.)
he tilts his head up once, a rough gesture of "after you", his expression carefully neutral. if kuko wants to go back into his apartment, ichiro will follow him. he doesn't have his mic, and his hands tap against his side in his jacket, twitchy, not sure how to handle this situation short of keep it professional. keep it crisp. they're divisionless, just them and nurude. how funny. mad comic dialogue, minus one.
he probably wouldn't hate working with either of them again, but there's a lot to be resolved first, at least when it comes to this relationship, this burnt, smoldering bridge. ]
for kuko.
it's --
it's a lot. ichiro didn't see kuko at the final division battle--he was nursing his wounds and his pride, pissed off at losing to samatoki --but jakurai's short comment about him had been enough to send him reeling for days. he hadn't bothered to look into it when kuko had disappeared off of the face of ikebukuro because even thinking about him was a wound so sharp he couldn't breathe when his name come up. kuko had been ichiro's only friend, at the worst time in his life. the only person that he relied on, the only person that had his trust, the person he enjoyed shitty tv with, drank cokes in back alleys with, fought with, rapped with. when things went to shit, the last thing he expected was kuko hating him.
he remembers every crisp detail of their fight, remembers going to samatoki's and crying his eyes out on the couch, but everything in between is hazy. ichiro couldn't tell you how he got to samatoki's that night. he couldn't tell you where he slept, or what he ate, moving around in a daze until samatoki slapped some metaphorical sense into him. ichiro hasn't cried many times since then, took samatoki's advice to heart. he doesn't have many friends now, burnt by the trust that was destroyed with the end of mad comic dialogue, and staring at the ghost of his old friendship like it's nothing has reopened every old hurt he had papered over.
he stands there holding the door, like an idiot. does he have some time to talk? can they talk? is he a jilted ex girlfriend or something? is he--
no, no, that's a bad train of thought. ichiro squeezes the doorframe so he doesn't lose his traction, then lifts his arms and shoves them into his pockets. they're just division leaders. that's all. enemies.
(ichiro doesn't want to be kuko's enemy.)
he tilts his head up once, a rough gesture of "after you", his expression carefully neutral. if kuko wants to go back into his apartment, ichiro will follow him. he doesn't have his mic, and his hands tap against his side in his jacket, twitchy, not sure how to handle this situation short of keep it professional. keep it crisp. they're divisionless, just them and nurude. how funny. mad comic dialogue, minus one.
he probably wouldn't hate working with either of them again, but there's a lot to be resolved first, at least when it comes to this relationship, this burnt, smoldering bridge. ]