They did share a singular nervous glance at each just beyond Guzma’s slip-up, possibly checking to see what the other thought. And if he could guess, they were looking for the same thing. A singular, doubting reach for the reassurance that the label was intended... that he meant it, and for the other... if the phrase was even remotely acceptable. The last thing he wanted was to mess up what may be his final chance--after messing up every single one before. Kukui could only have so much patience. What was the breaking point?
Guzma remained wary with the thought fresh in his mind. He generally didn’t have any patience for anybody--who’s to say people wouldn’t give him the same treatment, as unbearable as he typically was? He never gave anybody a second chance for anything, yet he was given the flexible luxury of chance all around him, whether he wanted it or not.
Or, the more weighted question, deserved it or not. Obviously, the answer was no, he didn’t deserve any of this after everything he’s done--and lucky for his own jackassery at the trial, he interrupted the judge before he could finish reading all of his charges.
He’s done a lot to Alola and it’s people, and they’ll never know just how much. But he always will.
His wandering focus returned to Kukui once he spoke again, internally thankful he didn’t address the unintended term of endearment. Yeah. That was something he’d rather not go into full detail about. Good thing it was glossed over.
“Well no shit they gon’ tell you not withstand a fuckin’ oh-ko. Like--we ain’t Pokémon, y’know? Shit actually gon’ kill us if we ain’t careful. Like--what, what you gon’ do next? Fissure? You’d literally fall into th’ ground you goddamn sack’ o’ bricks!”
His playful name-calling brought a relaxed smile back on his face. It was in Guzma’s nature to playfully tease and bully, perhaps not the best strategy for gentle conversation, but it was natural to him. And it was hard not to be comfortable around Kukui. He never asked too many questions, and he was always good about letting things just be. Guzma nodded at the truthful remark... it was true, they hadn’t talked intimately in two decades. The last time was not months before...
The same beach, the same distance, the same feeling--they lived out shadows of their own time’s past. One final heart-to-heart before his own departure, swearing to never return.
“Yeah... been a while, huh? We ain’t talk like this in years, ain’t we? At th’ same time, feels like no time’s passed.”
But everything changed since then. Everything about the two young boys had changed since their last heart-to-heart on the very same beach.
Before he could say anything else to his company, he suddenly felt his heart sink deep into his stomach as he saw Kukui nearly excuse himself entirely. What? He furrowed his brows, confused. Wasn’t... wasn’t this what he wanted? Did he just not get the right vibe from him... No, this is what he wanted the whole time, a genuine conversation without one injuring the other. Or, on more common terms, rejecting.
Was this some kind of petty revenge? For all the times Guzma had foolishly been an asshole? Was building up this trust, this sincerity, all for nothing?
Guzma stood up, and stormed after the man. Fuck no. Fuck no--Guzma knew what he damn well deserved, and that was a bullet to the head, if not worse, but he also damn well knew he hated being walked out on, and that was not going to happen on his watch. Any move that showed he was the lesser, that he wasn’t in charge always felt like a personal attack on him. Fuck what therapy said--he’s going to drag his ass back out to the sand, whether Kukui liked it or not.
His long strides beat the professor’s eventually grabbing him by the back collar of his shirt, and yanking him back. Impatience fueled Guzma’s already overflowing strength as he held the man in place. A malicious smile grew on his lips, and eyes teetering on an outburst scanned his victim.
“Where the fuck... you think you’re going?”
The words sounded both hostile... and, underneath the thick layer of violence, concerned. He’d never take these measures had he not cared for the person--whoever else it would be, but he’d be damned if he was going to let this time go. No. He was far too stubborn to let a good time, a relaxing night--fall through his fingers.
“You ain’t gonna sit back down with y’big brother? Huh? Fuck, y’got too much to do? Ain’t this what you wanted?”
Guzma’s volume only increased--unluckily for his company, his lungs were nearly unlimited with air and volume--as Guzma was already a naturally loud speaker.
“Ain’t you wanna sit down and jus’ talk!? You wanna help me!? Or you jus’ doin’ all this to make yourself feel better!? I’m not a charity case--I’m not a fucking burden--I’m not some shitty punching bag you can take care of, a’ight!? I’m a person. We--”
Finally, he felt his own volume decrease.
“We’re people. It’s you--and it’s me. It’s just us. And... and if this some petty shit you doin’, fine. I get it. I was an ass. But--I be growin’. And--I wouldn’t even be talkin’ if it was anyone else but you, man.”
Humility now coated his words, his initial anger seeping into the sand.
“I’m not as merciful as you. I’m not as patient as you. So--So I’m not letting you leave, okay? You were too patient with me--but I’m not giving you that leverage. I want you here.”
He finally let go, realizing his own aggression long after the fact.