Ikki.
Ikki.
Ikki.
You're in every beat of my heart. Did you know that? No, of course not. But it's true. You're in every beat of my heart, you stupid boy. Do you hear me, Itsuki Minami? Babyface? Hey, you hear me?
Every.
Damn.
Beat.
IKKI.
Sometimes, I really irritate myself. Like when we're at practice and I get all hot and bothered if you accidentally bowl me over. Like when I nearly choke to death when you come up behind me and touch my arm. Like when I scoot away because you sit just a smidgen too close.
Have you ever felt like that? Somehow, I highly doubt it. I mean, you're an impulsive kind of guy; you ride on the first reckless instinct that rips through you, practically having intercourse with danger. . . Yeah, I don't see you feeling this way.
But me, I'm a sensitive guy. That's right. Go ahead, laugh if you want to, laugh all you fucking want, but it's the God-damn truth. I actually take a second to think shit over, even if I am the Jet. It makes no difference. I'm a more sensitive guy than you by far.
By my guess, this means you've never truly been in love. Sure, you've met plenty of girls you wanted to fuck blind/screw into a mattress, but one you just wanted to be with for the pleasure of her company? For her love? Yeah, no. Was there ever any REAL feeling behind that lust for a sexy piece of ass? Ha ha, most definitely not. That's just it, dude. Jury's out; you're guilty as fucking charged, good buddy.
With all that being said, why don't you try this one on for size, see how it goes down?
I'm in love with you.
Yeah. There. Now that I've told you, I can go crawl in a deep, dark hole somewhere to decompose.
Well, okay. I'm not being totally honest. I didn't ACTUALLY say it to you straight just now. You didn't really hear those words. But I dropped another-mighty large, I might add-hint, just like the others I've been dropping like bombs on Pearl Harbor. And guess what? YOU HAVEN'T NOTICED YET. Dear, sweet Jesus. You should really be the blond in this relationship; God knows, you sure are dense enough.
I'm thinking too much, I can see it on your face. "What?"
You don't answer, but it's all part of the game; you just look away and. . . wait for it, wait for it. . . Aha! There it goes. That funny little head-shake, telling me I'm crazy, I'm so weird, just like every other time I think too much for your taste.
Oh, but wait a second; this isn't part of the My Idiot Best Friend Is Thinking Again maneuver. You don't usually turn BACK, do you?
"You're such a space cadet, Kazu."
I open my mouth to tell you to kindly piss off and die, but the words never really make it out. No, you swallow them, and they are gone, past your lips, never to be heard from again.
Hang on just one fucking minute. What the fuck?
YOU'RE KISSING ME, IKKI?
Apparently so, because I don't know how else I could be feeling your lips on my lips, your tongue swishing around my mouth like a Swiffer Sweep N Vac; and I'm not having a wet dream this time, either. I pinched myself, and I didn't wake up. This is real. You're kissing me, Ikki. And I'm kissing you back for all I'm fucking worth. And it sets my heart to pounding out your name all over again.
Ikki.
Ikki.
"Ikki."