BUSTER! GONNA ROCK YOUR MIND!

    ❛❛ is it so problematic ? i made the details public access, after all. less than 120/80 mmHg blood pressure, 60-100 bpm, a medium sized fit… although, he does dress baggily sometimes. so the preference may be in large.

    i assure you ! there was not a malicious thing in my surveying. nothing but a day or so worth of eyeing so to prove my abilities … ~ i feel as if it may have frightened some people, fufu. it is nothing but a fun trick of mine. ❜❜

    ❛❛ you have my gratitude for helping me out in even the most subtle way! really, you shouldn’t fret too much… take it as a start to our warm relationship as coworkers. ❞

    … .

    ❛❛ … fufu. after all, no harm can come from me. it is similar to birdwatching with a purpose. you are, unfortunately, not a type i would personally pursue …  ❞

“Look, Frenchie. I dunno what your deal is, but I ain’t gonna be makin’ ‘warm relations’ with someone who knows deep shit about me.” He says this while hovering his hand over his jacket-- he’s not kidding.

Yeah, he’s satisfied with that reaction. 

“Hey! You’re the one pouring gasoline onto the parking lot. Not too far from the pump, either. One spark is all it’ll take to light up the whole block.” 

Bass stands up, still smirking. He takes out the siphon, closing up his chest. This is taking way too long, and in a much better mood he wants to take off again. The way he opens his jaw next is disturbingly similar to a cobra unhinging. 

“You can try fighting me, but you’re just gonna bruise your knuckles.” said without…even moving his mouth this time. 

He dispels the gas the same way it came in this time, his mouth snapping shut the second he’s done. He tries his best not to make the same disgusted expression he made earlier as he wipes his face. He couldn’t stop himself from shuddering though.

“What does ‘fuck’ mean anyways?” 

This guy just got weirder and weirder. Jiro didn’t even bother to hide his expression as he watched Bass open his jaw like some kind of snake and shoot gas out of his mouth. It was almost... cool, but in a really gross kind of way.

...Y’know, maybe punching this dude would be a bad idea. Aside from the whole snake thing, he was right about the knuckles.

“THEN KILL HIM, STUPID!” 

“Sure!  I have a slew of options we could try, including, but not limited to: seduction, drown it out with alcohol, dramatically declare him as your enemy!”  Zelos struck out ‘drugging’.  He’s a changed man.

“WHY ARE YOU PEOPLE YELLING?! WHERE’S THE THREAT?!”  

“THAT SOUNDS LIKE A PERSONAL PROBLEM.”  Zelos, on the other hand, would never pass up an opportunity to die!

“I could do it for him.”  NOT THE POINT.

“Think about it this way: death will get that guy off your back.”  That’s not how any of this works.

“Privacy flew out the window when you entered this place.”

“I’ve never seen that guy before! But he knows about my clothing size an’ heart rate?!?!”

Sasara just laughed, plucking another prime grass blade and handing it over to Jiro before going back his original. “Like this,” he said, showing Jiro how to do it. A loud, clear sound once again emanated from his makeshift instrument.  “Well, I’ll mind my business here, and you mind it over there, and maybe sometimes our businesses can collaborate,” he suggested. “We’re not enemies here, after all~ Unless there’s a DRB I haven’t heard about.”  He crossed his arms behind his head and laid back with no apparent intent to leave any time soon. Jiro was pretty good at picking out spots to lounge in, it turned out! He closed his eyes and hummed softly. It was kind of nice to not have to work all the time or hide his identity everywhere he went!

Annoying. Annoying. Why did Sasara have to be better at something than him? He was supposed to be so good at everything he did, it’d have adults groveling at his feet as they wondered just how he managed to get so fucking awesome in such a short amount of time. He wasn’t supposed to lose, not to something as big as the DRB, and not to something so small as grass whistle-making.

...but he really couldn’t deny that Sasara had some kind of grass-mastery that he didn’t have.

Coming in and crashing his spot without grass-king, showing off like he mow-ned the place?! Grasshole.

...Anyways.

His lungs burned like Nyquil gone down wrong. He couldn’t get enough air, and it didn’t really help to have Jiro pummel into him, but Ichiro didn’t care about that. He could breathe in a bit. He just had to make sure his brother was okay.

He held onto Jiro as tight as he possibly could. The flavescent light of the late-night street lamp illuminated the space they stood, a warm spotlight in an otherwise cold night.

It felt like a puzzle piece falling into place, in a way. Ichiro didn’t feel like he could be unsure of being in Spirale. He had both of his brothers, now. It was less scary to exist in a different world if he had the two of them.

“Jiro,” he murmured once he was able, rubbing Jiro’s back comfortingly, “You’re okay, bud, everything’s okay…”

He’d stay here as long as he needed to. As long as Jiro needed to.

The weight of the world lifted from his shoulders– Atlas’s weight taken from him. He had his brothers back. He had his brothers back.

Jiro had to take a moment to get his breathing back-- running and sobbing like he was the Final Girl wasn’t good for his lungs, and no amount of stamina training would make it easier-- but that was fine. All of it was fine, and hell, it was great, because it gave him an excuse to crumple into his brother’s arms and stay there. It was all he wanted, needed. 

It wasn’t the ‘Bukuro, but standing there with his big brother was enough to make things feel a bit more like home.

Jiro’s world spun slightly as he finally made the reluctant decision to pull off of Ichiro, light-headed from just how hard he was freaking out. It was okay, though, because his older brother was there for him, as always. His puffy red eyes looked up at Ichiro, noting that he wasn’t faring much better than him.

Ichiro was already up, pulling his jacket on and damn near sprinting out the door. “I’ll be there in a sec bud, I’m in Archimedes–”

He was racing down the street, the cobbles vacant with the late night hour. His sneakers pounded against the stones, echoing softly in the empty, still night.

“Saburo’s fine, he’s in Archimedes too. We’re okay, man. You did what you could, but we’re all here now, alright? We’re together again.”

It continued to tear at his heart as he heard his brother cry, but knowing he’d be there to comfort him soon eased the sharp pains. His lungs felt on fire from running so fast– that was something Jiro had over him, the ability to pace himself– but he couldn’t slow down even if he wanted to. He had to get there. He had to see his little bro. The ache in his ribs could wait. The burning in his legs could too.

The scenery had begun to change, from the somewhat-familiar stone streets to a not-so-familiar steampunk type of aesthetic. He was starting to get to the Fibonacci Ward.

“I’m– I’m almost there, I think–” He said, trying to catch his breath. 

Jiro nearly fell out of the house from running so fast. The second Ichiro said he was almost there, he was ready to greet him. Hell, he was willing to speed up the process-- his legs continued to push him past the front door, down the path that he was pretty sure led to the Archimedes Ward.

Eventually, he heard footsteps slamming against the ground that weren’t his own. Labored breathing, matching the kind he’d heard on his phone. “Hang... hang on,” he said into the phone before hanging up. He knew that if he didn’t put his phone in his pocket, he would end up dropping it.

In the light of lampposts, Jiro saw him. Red varsity jacket, blue jeans, white shirt.

One eye green, one eye red.

“ICHIRO!!”

Jiro ran so fast then that he was damn near about to fall over from the momentum. He unceremoniously crashed into his big brother, squeezing him tighter than he thought he was even capable of. His sobs were muffled into the fabric of Ichiro’s jacket, all so familiar and all so comforting.