“You know, next time I design you something it’ll definitely be copyrighted.” Mitsuya’s here to tease Draken over stealing his tattoo idea.
" You're still hung up on that after all this time, huh? --- You can't be serious, my dude. " The older adolescent out of the two forthwith simpers, stringent countenance decking a seldom exhibition of youthful innocence not many witnesses, by the enunciated words of absurdities, notably the statement of them copyrighting any future creations, their personal designs, so the blond could not freely use them as he wanted, akin to the one tatoo'ed on the flank of his cranium, that his twin-counterpart had promptly announced. It brought with it a childhood recollection of past events, beneath a diaphanous shroud of twilight's illuminant stars, between the forefront of beverage vending machines, and a wall freshly painted, where the foreordained strings of two dissimilar boys connected into a mutual knot of fellowship he cherishes even in present-day, for it had unified him and Mitsuya together in ways naught could effortlessly tear asunder; not even in death. Draken roughly wraps an appendage around the other's shoulder, yanking them against his person as if they were merely a commodity, chuckling. " - Have you been punched in the head so many times you've forgotten that fair and square deal we had back then? "
