x
BANDS OF black AND blue
x
x
x
23 : a tertiary opinion for two
Argh.
He's looking our way again.
I would inform you of this fact, but the last three times I told you, you refused to believe me and busied yourself with scrubbing your sneakers clean which is, on the list of terrible distractions, right next to banging your head repeatedly into a brick wall. But the problem is that if I don't tell you, you won't act all weird and he won't get all embarrassed (because clearly we are not all in the first year of high school but are, in reality, in kindergarten or something) and go away.
Me? Distracted? From the hot baths? Of course not - what a silly idea - it's just that the guy who used to be your light that you so fervently deny as being your ex-boyfriend (even though everyone and their mom knows the sordid story of how you two broke up) is looking at me like he would prefer two stakes to be in the place of my eyeballs and that's just the slightest bit disconcerting.
Oh believe me, I've tried everything to get rid of the waves of negativity.
When we play together, I've refrained from bumping fists with you, I do my best to sit a good two spots away from you. Heck, in the games that we play together, I get the feeling that Izuki has said more direct lines to you (if you count 'pass... the... water... bottle...' as four sentences), and still he will not stop shooting not-so-metaphorical daggers my way. Especially when he thinks I'm getting too close (which, apparently, is defined by 'being on the same team as his ex-boyfriend') which is, you guessed it: ALL. THE. TIME.
The worst part about this whole affair - aside from the fact that basketball takes top priority so, you know, the two of you should screw on your angsty soppy heads because we've got a game to play in two days - is the fact that you won't talk to him face to face about it. That you flush and curl up in a ball and then in the middle of the night I hear you talking to him and I'm supposed to wake up next morning and pretend like you're not out of your freaking mind?
So - what I'm trying to get at here - is that you should work up your short, prissy, and invisible self to go over and talk to him. Thank him for giving you that cold can of soda, tell him that you're looking forward to the Winter Cup, whatever, just do something. C'mon, I see you're looking in his general direction - and yesyesyes his eyes are redirecting from dreaming up new and improved versions of my death to looking at you and - no, for the love of God, no, don't turn your gaze at the last second!
Argh.
...Truth be told, there are a lot of things that impressed me when I finally saw Japanese basketball. The whole Generation of Miracles, for one. Your special drive, for another. The fact that this guy can play when he's got baggage the size of New York on his shoulders is also pretty damn impressive. But the fact that you're just scared or jealous or insecure or something is not impressive. Just go! Stand up! Move your skinny little legs! Go talk to him - your old teammate, your ex-partner, you old Light, your ex-boyfriend - whatever.
Yes, yes, yes, you can do it... slow, steady steps - you just fainted, remember? Doing good, doing good, just keep walking straight, and then - no, no, no what the hell are you doing? Fainting at a time like this? Oh well, whatever - seems like he managed to catch you before your empty-save-for-basketball head hit the ground. True Love and blahdablahda ensued. Keeping me up all night. Argh.