(AN: This will make no sense)
It's been awhile, hasn't it? Doesn't seem like anything's changed, though. Of course I grew! Guess how tall I am now! Yeah, that's right! I'm five foot three now! That's a good, healthy height of one as slim and delicate as me!
Hey – stop laughing.
You haven't changed at all, you gigantic asshole. I, at least, have matured. Somewhat. Hey, do you remember that time when I put glue in your shoes and loaded your weapon with sausages? God, I was brilliant. Still am, in fact.
There was the green dye in your shampoo, the hair in your floss, the paint on your jacket, the saran wrap on the toilet, the lemon juice in your eye drops, the coloring on your face – d'you remember all that?
…Do you remember that day?
REWIND
(Wait! Not that far!)
You always did take yourself a little too seriously back then.
"KISARAGI!" you raged, storming down the hallway in the hotel with murder in your eyes. "You are in so much trouble," you hissed venomously at me, forked tongue at all. "That little stunt nearly killed me." You didn't notice that I was unconscious, apparently, and continued waving your weapon around like a raving lunatic until the handle slipped from your hands and beaned me on the head. I still have the bump, you know.
In any case, I was sleeping before, but now I was wide awake, with a killer migraine to boot. What I did wasn't even that terrible in the first place – I mean, who complains just because somebody glued your shoes on the ground?
"The heartless paid me a little visit after you left," you were still hissing. I suppose I should've paid more attention to you, "so there I was, shoes glued to the ground, trying to take them off before that bloody Defender rips my head off and DEEP-FRIES me, and not a person to be found in the ENTIRE second district. What the hell were you thinking? You know that the second district is the worst."
My head was still throbbing, so I pretty much only heard, "Heai dealit siter oueft," and more of the like before passing out.
Now that I think of it, you were rather self-centered.
From what I gathered, you took one look at my unconscious body and harrumphed before picking me up and throwing me onto the bed. Git. The sources I speak of would like to remain unknown, however, and I don't blame them. You could always get fairly psychotic. Er – in a good way. I think. If that's even possible.
One of said sources – all right, it was Aerith – then delegated you with the task of taking care of me for the rest of the day, which you did incredibly with amazing flying colors. You had the maternal instincts of a hen.
Who am I kidding? You sucked at it. Sucked majorly. Sucked like a duck with a buck cleaning muck without any luck like a hockey puck trying to f-
Okay, I'll stop. But only because you asked so politely. (Please note the sarcasm or be viewed as a simpleton. Oops, too late!)
Butit was a great memory. What with you spilling the hot water on my stomach, dropping the thermometer in the chili, tucking me in too tight (you nearly choked me!), feeding me the wrong antibiotics and other things of the like. It was brilliant.
I digress. The only reason why I pulled up this whole memory was for the next part I'm about to retell. Sorry.
Anyways, after this disastrous day of horrible care taking, I was in my bed and you sat next to me in a chair trying to figure out how to cover my entire body with a blanket. You said the most interesting things.
"So," you muttered, pulling the blanket over my feet before realizing that it would expose my neck (the horror!), "I, er, just wanted to say that…uh…I'm – er – sorry for hitting you. So, uh, yeah. Sorry. I didn't know you were sick," you slowly became more coherent. My, my, were you nervous? "I guess I'll just…forgive you. For gluing my shoes, I mean. But, don't do it again, alright? Right. And, um, sorry for being terrible about this- this whole taking care of you thing."
And it was about three milliseconds long, but you leaned over and kissed me before recoiling like I'd just burned your nuts.
Oh, wait. I remember now. Sorry about the hot-water bottle. I really didn't mean to.
Now that I think of it, you thought that I was asleep then! Whoops.
In any case, you were much nicer – well, I wouldn't say nicer, but you growled a good deal less – to me after that. It was the beginning to our very strange 'relationship'. And I mean 'relationship' as in the non-platonic kind where the guy is supposed to give the girl chocolates and pretty flowers. You, on the other hand, cut back slightly on my training schedule and didn't pull the blinds open quite as harshly in the morning. How sweet of you.
I was joking, by the way.
And now you're here and I'm here and things were way too short and fuck, you were such a jerk, just going on and ditching me to play hero with your damsel in distress (not me, by the way), and now I don't even know why I'm still trying to talk to you.
After all, there's no point in talking to a tombstone.