(no subject)
Characters : Varon (aussie_biker) and Yoshida (NPC)
Rating : PG-13, for swearing and possiblebadthoughts?
Summary : Well. The Yamaha R6 made it as Britain’s Bikes magazine Bike of the Year, but Varon wants the second place bike - the beautiful Triumph Daytona 675. However, instead of a pretty new motorcycle, he gets a slap to the head and a telling he really doesn’t want. P.S. Remember how much you all love me.
Saturday, at last. One more evening in this place and he’d be gone, as the nurses had cheerfully reminded him before shoving the aspirin in his direction that morning. Now, he could just hope that Squiggly would be as
…was he still meant to fight Shaadah? The street war could hardly be a punishment, and Yami hadn’t mentioned it when he’d came down on Thursday night. Just the street war - a shaky rebirth for the Darkside, but it was progress. Yami had used past tense, anyway. Wanted. White text on the -ed, but it was still past tense, for which Varon should have been thankful. If the problem was eliminated, he could have his best friend back. The potted plant was a decent bloke, sure, but he didn’t quite match up to the other half of the Darkside.
No awkward feelings, no awkward crush, nothing to tear apart the Darkside. Yes - it was definitely something to be thankful for.
So why did he get that small, questionable, unlabelled twinge when Yami had used past tense? Was he really that fond of having his ego stroked? But his ego hadn’t flourished under … that, and he was thankful.
Yami was seeing Strings now, which was another good thing. It meant Yami had moved on - so quickly, too, nice recovery - and he’d be happy with Strings. Strings could obviously give Yami what he wanted, what Yuugi wanted Varon to give Yami. That was ridiculous. Varon wasn’t what could make Yami happy. He had no idea what could, but if there was anything other than Yuugi, it would probably lie in Strings.
So why, just why, did his stomach clutch and his brain stop dead to the one thought? Why had it taken him so long to recover from Yami telling him? Far too long. Had had to scramble to make that, “Oh, great. Congrats.” Shaky smile and a swift return to the subject of street wars.
And why the hell had he spent all of Friday twitching away on Fly the Copter thinking about Yami kissingYami?
…he was just an egotistical bastard who a) wanted his friend back, b) hadn’t been laid in far too long, c) had been in the hospital far too long, d) had hit his head too hard and e) was straight.
“Oi.”
Varon jumped, watching the shiny copy of Bikes land in his lap. His head snapped up in time to see Yoshida drop into a seat, his eyebrow raised. Yoshida? Why? Glanced at the clock - seven o’clock, visiting hours, of course - then back to Yoshida, shifting to sit up properly.
“Yeah, what?” he muttered, snatching the magazine and flicking through.
“Ungrateful little shite.” Yoshida snorted, “Yamaha R6’s made it as Bikes’ Bike of the Year.”
“Oh yeah?” Varon flipped to the page, scanning over the description. Like he cared. No, no, did care. Just had other things to contemplate than a beautiful bike he’d never own. Or rather, a beautiful bike he couldn’t own now and wouldn’t want to own when he could. Flipped back a few, snorted. “Forget the Yamaha. I want the Triumph Daytona 675. See this? ‘Get used to wanting it.’ I’m getting used to it already. How many Aussie dollars is seven thousand nine hundred and ninety nine British pounds?”
“How should I know? And you might want to reconsider the Yamaha. Built for little bastards like you.”
He waited for the next remark, frowning when he didn’t get one back. Wonderful. Varon was PMS-ing today. How lovely for Yoshida. Give him a smack around the head and get him to snap out of it before Yoshida lost his rag and landed the idiot another week in here.
He looked up, frown deepening. Magazine lay open at the Triumph Daytona, but instead of being devoured by young, hungry biker eyes, it was lying ignored. Underappreciated. While those young, not-so-hungry-looking biker eyes stared out of the window with vacancy shutters down.
“Oi.” Startled, he raised his eyebrows as, like the very kittens he was named after, Varon jumped and turned to stare at Yoshida. Look of guilt. “This how badly they’ve drugged you up, boy? You can’t even concentrate on some of the world’s most beautiful bikes?”
“I can concentrate.” Varon shrugged, folding his arms over his chest and glancing back down at the Daytona, “I just don’t feel like it.”
Not when every thought came spinning back to Yami, watching him inch towards the door and knowing - with sinking realisation - that the Darkside was going to be harder to resurrect than he had originally thought. Or, at the very worst, that it might never come back. Yami, and that stupid twinge in his stomach. Or thoughts of kissing Yami, and that was by far the most disturbing of all. Oritwasn‘t,and thinkingother thingswas.
“So what’s wrong with you, then?”
Yoshida had crossed one leg over the other and folded his arms, eyebrow raised. Nosy old bastard. What did he care, anyway? It wasn’t going to be keeping Varon out of work and in a hospital bed for any longer, after all. …and that wasn’t fair, because Yoshida was a friend, something of an uncle, even. So he swallowed, looking back down at the shiny magazine page, “I dunno.” Which seemed like a fairly decent answer, for lack of a better one. He watched the other eyebrow raise to join its brother.
“Are you going to leave me in ignorance or what?” Yoshida demanded, shifting the chair closer. ‘Kitten’ really was an appropriate nickname - looked like a kicked one, and Yoshida couldn’t help but wonder what the hell had happened. He was more used to Varon being a happy-go-lucky idiot, riding a motorcycle faster than he perhaps should have, but with skill to rival some of the senior riders. Varon, with shiny eyes and a new motorcycling magazine clutched in his hands, whimpering about how beautiful it was. But then he was always back at his Harley, polishing the bodywork with genuine affection.
…or, he was begging to test drive whatever motorcycle happened to fall into the hands of the mechanics, to ‘make sure that everything was working as it should‘. Yoshida had grown used to asking customers if they minded Varon taking it for a ride, making sure everything was functioning, and most would give a snort of laughter and say to let the boy have a go - couldn’t let him live without a bit of motorcycling variety, after all.
Besides that, he liked him. He liked all the guys working for him - would fire anyone he didn’t - and Varon was a right character, anyway. So, he gave a damn if someone had kicked the kitten more than he deserved.
Ignorance. Varon missed it. Almost wished he had it, but caught himself in time to consider how ignorance would have affected Yami. That was totally unfair. Better to let Yami tell him than let Yami wallow in whatever … feelings … he had for Varon. Besides, the separation had obviously worked if he was moving on already.
“D’you know Yami’s got a boyfriend?” He was talking, and it was simply falling from his lips, but he wasn’t stopping, “He just uses pictures to talk on LJ. He makes imitation grunting sounds, has rings hanging off his face and he’s bald. He looked like a fifty year old crack addict - a particularly ugly one at that - and Yami told me on Thursday that he’s seeing him.”
Well. One surprise, one give away. Varon obviously wasn’t taking the break-up the way Yami had predicted. Which gave Yoshida clues to work with. He sighed, sitting forward. “It must be hard for you, getting dumped for him. But there’s other guys - and girls, if you still fancy ‘em - for you to -” he cut off when Varon’s eyes stopped widening, finishing up at dinner plate proportions. “…what? Yami told me he was gonna tell you something you wouldn’t like.”
… Jeeze. A fucking conspiracy. No, Yami hadn’t broken up with him yes he still liked girls, only girls, and Yami was a bloody idiot. Strings probably was on crack, and Yami could only end up in a hell of a lot more trouble than he bargained for. Varon would kill Strings if Yami turned up on drugs again. Rip out every piercing, make him choke on them. Watch and see if the entire head would turn blue.
“We weren’t dating.” Varon snorted, watching a clueless expression fade onto Yoshida’s face, “He told me he liked me. In that way. He already knew I’m straight, so it was a case of ‘Hello, I like you. Goodbye, no more friends’. That’s what I didn’t like.” Because who liked being told they had to lose their friend? His biggest fear in all those quizzes was always losing someone he cared about, and that was what happened. No wonder he was so clingy.
“Ah.” Yoshida sat back, “So your dislike of Strings is due to friendly concern, yes?” Varon nodded, gaze dropping to the bed sheets, “How come Yami told you, if you aren’t friends anymore?”
“He was here on Thursday. He said ‘wanted’, which means he doesn’t want me anymore, and everything’ll … be more of what it was than it’s been since he told me. Kinda. We’re still twitchy, but I think the Darkside’s gonna come around again.”
Yoshida noticed, letting a lull fall on the conversation for a bit. If they were supposed to be getting back to being friends, why was Varon looking so bloody miserable? Couldn’t be the blow his pride suffered from having the shit kicked out of him, considering he’d been fine Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday. Had gone off into a long rant about how he could have smashed the bastard’s face into a bloody run of bodily fluids, had he been sober, but had cooled to a low simmering of muttered curses.
“I coulda died.” Varon chirped, turning to look at Yoshida with a bemused sort of grin, “Marik called Yami, called him pet and told Yami to come pick up his lost, homeless kitten. Something like that, anyway. Yami came and found me unconscious and bleeding a bloody river. Held me until the ambulance came, even when I was bleeding all over him and bleeding enough for blood to pool on the pavement. Ruined his shirt, apparently. He said I was cold, that I would’ve been his first corpse. Doctors say the chances are I’d’ve been dead by morning, if no one’d found me.”
Yoshida shifted, swallowing. Knew, of course. Could’ve figured it himself from the doctor’s quiet little, ‘He bled an awful lot. We’ll give him a transfusion and fix his head up, keep him in for observation.’ He’d seen the state of Varon’s hoody, had watched blood flake off it. Nurses had taken away and cleaned it, sterilising it. Yoshida had taken it home and got his wife to wash it again, to get rid of the smell of disinfectant. Had had it back to Varon by Wednesday.
“See, if you’re straight? You think stupid things sometimes, don’t you?” Varon continued, bemused smile still pasted on his face and a desperate look to his eyes. Yoshida shrugged. “Stupid things like other guys. I went through that phase, once, for about two weeks or something. Kissed the dude playing Spin the Bottle, never heard the end of it and it died off. Met Vicky a couple of months later and it was forgotten. I’m still a teenager, right?” He paused, waiting for Yoshida’s nod, “So it’s plausible I’m having another phase?”
“It’s Yami, right?” Didn’t have to wait for the nod, but did note the faltering of Varon’s smile, “What kinds of thoughts? Bottle handing on him, hm?” Varon dropped his gaze, nodding, “Or what, more?” He really shouldn’t have taken satisfaction in Varon’s face turning such an adorable shade of red, but it wasn’t to be helped. “Maybe you like him. Why’d that be so big a deal?”
Varon raised his head again, eyes wide again, “Yoshida. I’m straight.”
“Or, you’re bullshitting yourself. Feeling jealous of Strings at all? Wishing that maybe it was you romantically involved with Yami?”
Varon was going to kill him, and kill him good. He’d never breathe another word of this, never make his face burn like this again, never make him confess this again, never ask him stupid, patronising questions and never do whatever the hell it was he was doing again.
“He’s my friend.” He snapped.
“Was your friend, since you started meaning more to him than just being a friend.” Yoshida rolled his eyes, sitting forward again, “Admit you like him, you stupid twat. This is what’s known as the twenty-first century, boy, and I’d like to think you’d have more smarts than to grow a homophobic complex just cos you might happen to like another guy.”
Wow, what incredible role reversal. Shouldn’t Varon be the one lecturing the old timer about homophobic behaviour? One of Varon’s oldest friends had turned out gay, and that didn’t mean anything more to Varon than if he’d been straight. Yami was God-only-knew-what and he had been Varon’s best friend. Varon wasn’t homophobic. Grandfather was, and Varon could only sit and wince pathetically whenever his grandad saw a man wear pink or looking at another guy in the eye for too long without starting a fight and passed a snide comment.
“…I don’t like another guy.” Varon muttered, and then there was a sharp slap to the head, narrowly missing his newest head wound. “Ow, you fucking bastard!” he snarled, clutching the offended area of his head, glaring death at the glowering Yoshida. “What the hell was that for?”
“For being a little prick.” Yoshida snapped, “Get your head out of your arse and get a fucking clue. They’re hardly expensive. Far be it for me to tell you if your sexuality’s taken a u-turn, but I will scrap my Harley if you’re anything less than bisexual.”
He stood up, ignoring Varon’s gaping mouth - languishing in the moment when Varon Tibbles was at a loss for words - and checked his watch. “Half seven. I’ll be picking you up tomorrow at eleven in the morning. Make sure you’re ready, and make sure you’re quite set to ‘fess up that you have a crush on your guy friend who has a crush on you. Do the math, you bloody idiot.”
And with that, he turned smartly on his heel and strode from the hospital word, blissfully unaware of the nurses snickering by their station and the PSP boy staring at Varon - who was gaping after Yoshida and still clutching the back of his head - with an odd mix of apprehension and amazement.
“…bastard!” He finally managed to splutter, flooring four Amazonian Warriors with just one word.
Rating : PG-13, for swearing and possiblebadthoughts?
Summary : Well. The Yamaha R6 made it as Britain’s Bikes magazine Bike of the Year, but Varon wants the second place bike - the beautiful Triumph Daytona 675. However, instead of a pretty new motorcycle, he gets a slap to the head and a telling he really doesn’t want. P.S. Remember how much you all love me.
Saturday, at last. One more evening in this place and he’d be gone, as the nurses had cheerfully reminded him before shoving the aspirin in his direction that morning. Now, he could just hope that Squiggly would be as
…was he still meant to fight Shaadah? The street war could hardly be a punishment, and Yami hadn’t mentioned it when he’d came down on Thursday night. Just the street war - a shaky rebirth for the Darkside, but it was progress. Yami had used past tense, anyway. Wanted. White text on the -ed, but it was still past tense, for which Varon should have been thankful. If the problem was eliminated, he could have his best friend back. The potted plant was a decent bloke, sure, but he didn’t quite match up to the other half of the Darkside.
No awkward feelings, no awkward crush, nothing to tear apart the Darkside. Yes - it was definitely something to be thankful for.
So why did he get that small, questionable, unlabelled twinge when Yami had used past tense? Was he really that fond of having his ego stroked? But his ego hadn’t flourished under … that, and he was thankful.
Yami was seeing Strings now, which was another good thing. It meant Yami had moved on - so quickly, too, nice recovery - and he’d be happy with Strings. Strings could obviously give Yami what he wanted, what Yuugi wanted Varon to give Yami. That was ridiculous. Varon wasn’t what could make Yami happy. He had no idea what could, but if there was anything other than Yuugi, it would probably lie in Strings.
So why, just why, did his stomach clutch and his brain stop dead to the one thought? Why had it taken him so long to recover from Yami telling him? Far too long. Had had to scramble to make that, “Oh, great. Congrats.” Shaky smile and a swift return to the subject of street wars.
And why the hell had he spent all of Friday twitching away on Fly the Copter thinking about Yami kissingYami?
…he was just an egotistical bastard who a) wanted his friend back, b) hadn’t been laid in far too long, c) had been in the hospital far too long, d) had hit his head too hard and e) was straight.
“Oi.”
Varon jumped, watching the shiny copy of Bikes land in his lap. His head snapped up in time to see Yoshida drop into a seat, his eyebrow raised. Yoshida? Why? Glanced at the clock - seven o’clock, visiting hours, of course - then back to Yoshida, shifting to sit up properly.
“Yeah, what?” he muttered, snatching the magazine and flicking through.
“Ungrateful little shite.” Yoshida snorted, “Yamaha R6’s made it as Bikes’ Bike of the Year.”
“Oh yeah?” Varon flipped to the page, scanning over the description. Like he cared. No, no, did care. Just had other things to contemplate than a beautiful bike he’d never own. Or rather, a beautiful bike he couldn’t own now and wouldn’t want to own when he could. Flipped back a few, snorted. “Forget the Yamaha. I want the Triumph Daytona 675. See this? ‘Get used to wanting it.’ I’m getting used to it already. How many Aussie dollars is seven thousand nine hundred and ninety nine British pounds?”
“How should I know? And you might want to reconsider the Yamaha. Built for little bastards like you.”
He waited for the next remark, frowning when he didn’t get one back. Wonderful. Varon was PMS-ing today. How lovely for Yoshida. Give him a smack around the head and get him to snap out of it before Yoshida lost his rag and landed the idiot another week in here.
He looked up, frown deepening. Magazine lay open at the Triumph Daytona, but instead of being devoured by young, hungry biker eyes, it was lying ignored. Underappreciated. While those young, not-so-hungry-looking biker eyes stared out of the window with vacancy shutters down.
“Oi.” Startled, he raised his eyebrows as, like the very kittens he was named after, Varon jumped and turned to stare at Yoshida. Look of guilt. “This how badly they’ve drugged you up, boy? You can’t even concentrate on some of the world’s most beautiful bikes?”
“I can concentrate.” Varon shrugged, folding his arms over his chest and glancing back down at the Daytona, “I just don’t feel like it.”
Not when every thought came spinning back to Yami, watching him inch towards the door and knowing - with sinking realisation - that the Darkside was going to be harder to resurrect than he had originally thought. Or, at the very worst, that it might never come back. Yami, and that stupid twinge in his stomach. Or thoughts of kissing Yami, and that was by far the most disturbing of all. Oritwasn‘t,and thinkingother thingswas.
“So what’s wrong with you, then?”
Yoshida had crossed one leg over the other and folded his arms, eyebrow raised. Nosy old bastard. What did he care, anyway? It wasn’t going to be keeping Varon out of work and in a hospital bed for any longer, after all. …and that wasn’t fair, because Yoshida was a friend, something of an uncle, even. So he swallowed, looking back down at the shiny magazine page, “I dunno.” Which seemed like a fairly decent answer, for lack of a better one. He watched the other eyebrow raise to join its brother.
“Are you going to leave me in ignorance or what?” Yoshida demanded, shifting the chair closer. ‘Kitten’ really was an appropriate nickname - looked like a kicked one, and Yoshida couldn’t help but wonder what the hell had happened. He was more used to Varon being a happy-go-lucky idiot, riding a motorcycle faster than he perhaps should have, but with skill to rival some of the senior riders. Varon, with shiny eyes and a new motorcycling magazine clutched in his hands, whimpering about how beautiful it was. But then he was always back at his Harley, polishing the bodywork with genuine affection.
…or, he was begging to test drive whatever motorcycle happened to fall into the hands of the mechanics, to ‘make sure that everything was working as it should‘. Yoshida had grown used to asking customers if they minded Varon taking it for a ride, making sure everything was functioning, and most would give a snort of laughter and say to let the boy have a go - couldn’t let him live without a bit of motorcycling variety, after all.
Besides that, he liked him. He liked all the guys working for him - would fire anyone he didn’t - and Varon was a right character, anyway. So, he gave a damn if someone had kicked the kitten more than he deserved.
Ignorance. Varon missed it. Almost wished he had it, but caught himself in time to consider how ignorance would have affected Yami. That was totally unfair. Better to let Yami tell him than let Yami wallow in whatever … feelings … he had for Varon. Besides, the separation had obviously worked if he was moving on already.
“D’you know Yami’s got a boyfriend?” He was talking, and it was simply falling from his lips, but he wasn’t stopping, “He just uses pictures to talk on LJ. He makes imitation grunting sounds, has rings hanging off his face and he’s bald. He looked like a fifty year old crack addict - a particularly ugly one at that - and Yami told me on Thursday that he’s seeing him.”
Well. One surprise, one give away. Varon obviously wasn’t taking the break-up the way Yami had predicted. Which gave Yoshida clues to work with. He sighed, sitting forward. “It must be hard for you, getting dumped for him. But there’s other guys - and girls, if you still fancy ‘em - for you to -” he cut off when Varon’s eyes stopped widening, finishing up at dinner plate proportions. “…what? Yami told me he was gonna tell you something you wouldn’t like.”
… Jeeze. A fucking conspiracy. No, Yami hadn’t broken up with him yes he still liked girls, only girls, and Yami was a bloody idiot. Strings probably was on crack, and Yami could only end up in a hell of a lot more trouble than he bargained for. Varon would kill Strings if Yami turned up on drugs again. Rip out every piercing, make him choke on them. Watch and see if the entire head would turn blue.
“We weren’t dating.” Varon snorted, watching a clueless expression fade onto Yoshida’s face, “He told me he liked me. In that way. He already knew I’m straight, so it was a case of ‘Hello, I like you. Goodbye, no more friends’. That’s what I didn’t like.” Because who liked being told they had to lose their friend? His biggest fear in all those quizzes was always losing someone he cared about, and that was what happened. No wonder he was so clingy.
“Ah.” Yoshida sat back, “So your dislike of Strings is due to friendly concern, yes?” Varon nodded, gaze dropping to the bed sheets, “How come Yami told you, if you aren’t friends anymore?”
“He was here on Thursday. He said ‘wanted’, which means he doesn’t want me anymore, and everything’ll … be more of what it was than it’s been since he told me. Kinda. We’re still twitchy, but I think the Darkside’s gonna come around again.”
Yoshida noticed, letting a lull fall on the conversation for a bit. If they were supposed to be getting back to being friends, why was Varon looking so bloody miserable? Couldn’t be the blow his pride suffered from having the shit kicked out of him, considering he’d been fine Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday. Had gone off into a long rant about how he could have smashed the bastard’s face into a bloody run of bodily fluids, had he been sober, but had cooled to a low simmering of muttered curses.
“I coulda died.” Varon chirped, turning to look at Yoshida with a bemused sort of grin, “Marik called Yami, called him pet and told Yami to come pick up his lost, homeless kitten. Something like that, anyway. Yami came and found me unconscious and bleeding a bloody river. Held me until the ambulance came, even when I was bleeding all over him and bleeding enough for blood to pool on the pavement. Ruined his shirt, apparently. He said I was cold, that I would’ve been his first corpse. Doctors say the chances are I’d’ve been dead by morning, if no one’d found me.”
Yoshida shifted, swallowing. Knew, of course. Could’ve figured it himself from the doctor’s quiet little, ‘He bled an awful lot. We’ll give him a transfusion and fix his head up, keep him in for observation.’ He’d seen the state of Varon’s hoody, had watched blood flake off it. Nurses had taken away and cleaned it, sterilising it. Yoshida had taken it home and got his wife to wash it again, to get rid of the smell of disinfectant. Had had it back to Varon by Wednesday.
“See, if you’re straight? You think stupid things sometimes, don’t you?” Varon continued, bemused smile still pasted on his face and a desperate look to his eyes. Yoshida shrugged. “Stupid things like other guys. I went through that phase, once, for about two weeks or something. Kissed the dude playing Spin the Bottle, never heard the end of it and it died off. Met Vicky a couple of months later and it was forgotten. I’m still a teenager, right?” He paused, waiting for Yoshida’s nod, “So it’s plausible I’m having another phase?”
“It’s Yami, right?” Didn’t have to wait for the nod, but did note the faltering of Varon’s smile, “What kinds of thoughts? Bottle handing on him, hm?” Varon dropped his gaze, nodding, “Or what, more?” He really shouldn’t have taken satisfaction in Varon’s face turning such an adorable shade of red, but it wasn’t to be helped. “Maybe you like him. Why’d that be so big a deal?”
Varon raised his head again, eyes wide again, “Yoshida. I’m straight.”
“Or, you’re bullshitting yourself. Feeling jealous of Strings at all? Wishing that maybe it was you romantically involved with Yami?”
Varon was going to kill him, and kill him good. He’d never breathe another word of this, never make his face burn like this again, never make him confess this again, never ask him stupid, patronising questions and never do whatever the hell it was he was doing again.
“He’s my friend.” He snapped.
“Was your friend, since you started meaning more to him than just being a friend.” Yoshida rolled his eyes, sitting forward again, “Admit you like him, you stupid twat. This is what’s known as the twenty-first century, boy, and I’d like to think you’d have more smarts than to grow a homophobic complex just cos you might happen to like another guy.”
Wow, what incredible role reversal. Shouldn’t Varon be the one lecturing the old timer about homophobic behaviour? One of Varon’s oldest friends had turned out gay, and that didn’t mean anything more to Varon than if he’d been straight. Yami was God-only-knew-what and he had been Varon’s best friend. Varon wasn’t homophobic. Grandfather was, and Varon could only sit and wince pathetically whenever his grandad saw a man wear pink or looking at another guy in the eye for too long without starting a fight and passed a snide comment.
“…I don’t like another guy.” Varon muttered, and then there was a sharp slap to the head, narrowly missing his newest head wound. “Ow, you fucking bastard!” he snarled, clutching the offended area of his head, glaring death at the glowering Yoshida. “What the hell was that for?”
“For being a little prick.” Yoshida snapped, “Get your head out of your arse and get a fucking clue. They’re hardly expensive. Far be it for me to tell you if your sexuality’s taken a u-turn, but I will scrap my Harley if you’re anything less than bisexual.”
He stood up, ignoring Varon’s gaping mouth - languishing in the moment when Varon Tibbles was at a loss for words - and checked his watch. “Half seven. I’ll be picking you up tomorrow at eleven in the morning. Make sure you’re ready, and make sure you’re quite set to ‘fess up that you have a crush on your guy friend who has a crush on you. Do the math, you bloody idiot.”
And with that, he turned smartly on his heel and strode from the hospital word, blissfully unaware of the nurses snickering by their station and the PSP boy staring at Varon - who was gaping after Yoshida and still clutching the back of his head - with an odd mix of apprehension and amazement.
“…bastard!” He finally managed to splutter, flooring four Amazonian Warriors with just one word.