[ there's no reason to be this incensed, really, but for ichiro, it's that same feeling of disrespect that sticks hard in his gut. fucking samatoki, who ichiro thought was different, for so long, reminding him that the person he used to know's gone, replaced by a filthy liar who's lost every moral he ever had. the irony in ichiro's rise from delinquent to darling was that it was this person who taught him he was better than every terrible thing he ever did. that's why he admired him, adored him, wanted to be just like him. samatoki was a symbol that his life could be better than where it was.
now, he's just a representation of every mistake ichiro refuses to make again.
he's expecting some kind of retaliation, whether verbal or physical, and he's not disappointed. samatoki's knee connects with his gut and ichiro chokes, the noise startled out of him; it's only his sheer bulk and his same tight hand on the curtain that keeps him from getting knocked backwards from the force of it. but, like always, he's stubborn and stupid, and he's not going to back off after one hit, even if it smarts enough to knock him breathless.
he's quick on the draw as ever, though, never the type to lay back and take anything. though his hand jerks with the reaction, making the curtain screech against the rings holding it on the bar, ichiro uses it to propel himself back forwards to more or less tackle samatoki into the dressing room behind them. there's a cacophony of noise--the curtain swings shut, probably a good thing, and ichiro doesn't just go down to take him out. he's throwing an elbow at his jaw the minute he gets momentum going, far less graceful but certainly effective.
fuck it, he doesn't need his mic. giving him a black eye is going to be way more satisfying. ]
i love when i don't get notifs until an hour later
now, he's just a representation of every mistake ichiro refuses to make again.
he's expecting some kind of retaliation, whether verbal or physical, and he's not disappointed. samatoki's knee connects with his gut and ichiro chokes, the noise startled out of him; it's only his sheer bulk and his same tight hand on the curtain that keeps him from getting knocked backwards from the force of it. but, like always, he's stubborn and stupid, and he's not going to back off after one hit, even if it smarts enough to knock him breathless.
he's quick on the draw as ever, though, never the type to lay back and take anything. though his hand jerks with the reaction, making the curtain screech against the rings holding it on the bar, ichiro uses it to propel himself back forwards to more or less tackle samatoki into the dressing room behind them. there's a cacophony of noise--the curtain swings shut, probably a good thing, and ichiro doesn't just go down to take him out. he's throwing an elbow at his jaw the minute he gets momentum going, far less graceful but certainly effective.
fuck it, he doesn't need his mic. giving him a black eye is going to be way more satisfying. ]