◁ ◁ ◁ ◁ ◁ @antigravi.
had you told kunikida only a few months ago that he’d be spending his more of his evenings with a member of the port mafia than without, he’d not have believed it. he certainly didn’t understand it when it began happening — still doesn’t, not wholly. he does, however, know they’re far beyond questioning this for what it is ( this being time spent together entirely of their own free will and not being thrown crudely together by the hands of fate and circumstance ) and by now, they’re well into acceptance.
that’s two of the five stages of grief.
he considers for a moment that he’s too harsh in thinking that. after all, he wouldn’t bother with someone that he didn’t hold some kind of trust in; even if that trust was less than clearly defined. before he can reflect any further on the matter, nakahara proves his grievance right in just a simple movement — sat on the pool table, he manages to block the shot that kunikida has been meticulously angling for seven minutes and thirty four seconds with his boot. ridiculous.
❝ nakahara. ❞ glare sharp and judging, kunikida frowns across the way at him and his brow furrows, distinctly in frustration. yet, if he were actually angry — note, composed irritation and pure rage are two completely different beasts — then he wouldn’t hesitate to aim for his teeth, right then and there. that, and if it weren’t chuuya across from him. him and that... indescribable quality of his; the very same one that drew kunikida to him time and time again.
❝ intentionally blocking my perfect shot and looking at me with that shit eating grin is bad enough as it is, but dirtying this fine felt with your disgusting feet... tch. simply unforgivable. move your hind end, or i’ll move it for you. ❞
