❝ Imma kill you, Imma grill you, serve you on a plate, the devil gonna see you at the gates of hell, bitch don’t my name ring a bell? ❞
Kiru spits, hands flowing with each word he speaks. Kamisori’s hands hover over his mouth as he beatboxes, providing a tone to Kiru to rap to. This view isn’t uncommon to witness between the two. Both boys passionate about some form of art, Kamisori being a painter, and Kiru’s brush being his lyrics.
❝ Don’t touch me, don’t fuck with me, don’t duck when the kagune comes out! ❞ The two are hanging around the outside of Hysy studio, Kiru wearing a fashionable doctor’s style facemask which has been pulled under his mouth. ❝ Restart the beat. ❞ He tells Kamisori, a look of frustration spread across pierced features. Kamisori nods as he takes a breath, then starts up again.
❝ I’m psychotic, mama blames the narcotics, the streets of the fourth ward are fucking demonic, shit got me so stressed so I’m smoking exotics. Shit got me choking with my hands around ya neck waiting for ya death wondering who’s next! I’ll bury you six feet under, ain’t nobody gonna hear your screams over the thunder. Your dying, your mother’s crying over the body that’s rotting in the lobby. Your father’s retired, got him hanging limp from this wire, come for me and shots gonna get fired! ❞
Kamisori stops the beat and smiles, placing his hand on Kiru’s shoulder. ❝ That was great man! ❞ He says excitedly. Kiru grins, ❝ Thanks, it could’ve been better though. ❞ He states as he removes his hat in order to run his fingers through his hair. Kiru’s attention is grabbed at the sound of footsteps, Kamisori turns to see who they’re coming from, a look of glee blooms across his face, ❝ Akako! ❞ He exclaims.
Kiru frowns, an expression of confusion spreads. ❝ Kami, who’s this? ❞ He asks.
