#so i decided to pay a bit of tribute with some king sketches!

[blackheart-6]

king clawthorne doodles

[artmakerproductions]

“The Island Of Beasts” — Concept Sketches

Another movie idea that pays homage/tribute to the work and films of Ray Harryhausen, specifically the VERY first film I ever saw that introduced me to his work, “The Seventh Voyage Of Sinbad”. (Descriptions from DeviantArt)

...

1) Concepts for the look of the Cyclops.

2) A design of the cyclops that I’m happy with. King Kong, the Ray Harryhausen cyclops and among other sources, served as inspiration for this guy. 

3) A basilisk based on this depiction: https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Basilisk_aldrovandi.jpg 

4) A collection of mythical beasts such as: the chimera, a pair of cyclops (fighting over a meal), a griffin, a harpy, a unicorn and a basilisk. For the story, it’s about a bunch of explorers going on an adventure to a island inhabited by various creatures from mythology. Inspiration being King Kong, the Sinbad films by Ray Harryhausen, among others. 

5) Illustrations of a few scenes I have in my head:  - Harpy attack. - A mad unicorn rocking a log bridge w/ some unfortunate people who are hanging onto deer life. A nod to King Kong. - Valley/pit of snakes that pick off the crew. Inspired by this: https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=B3OjfK0t1XM, as I feel it would make for a good action sequence for a fantasy story.   - As two crew members set sail the cyclops follows them out to the ridge’s edge. 

6) In this 1st draft of the idea/story I had in mind it was to starts off w/ a grand wedding on a supposed abandoned/uninhabited island out in the Mediterranean Sea. Not long after the preparations and everything is finally set up and the event is to commence, a terrible cyclops interrupts the ceremony. Going in for an easy meal initially, but quickly decides on going after the bride and claiming her for himself as his prize. Carrying her off deep into cyclops territory near the centre of the island. Being charmed by her pretty face and lovely dress. Others of his kind would also find this quality alluring and to their fancy. Even going as far as to try and take her from him. Their marital partner by now, along w/ the aid of an Sinbad-adventurer/jungle explorer type, would venture forth to retrieve the snatched bride. Based off some earlier artwork of mine from years back (can be found in my DeviantArt gallery: https://www.deviantart.com/artmakerproductions/art/Clash-Of-The-Cyclops-725451173) that had an aged/old man cyclops and a younger cyclops that was still in their prime. 

7) A rough storyboard concept for the introduction of the explorer/adventurer-type character. Here she can see the cyclops w/ the bride in hand from up on the mountainside. The idea for the story (at the moment) has her already on the island, maybe by a week or so, and helps out w/ the rescue mission. Why she's even there in the first place is because she's on a search for the elusive 'cave of untold riches' said to be somewhere on the island. A lifelong goal she's had for years now. 8) A bunch of concept sketches for a dragon. 

9) Dark Thorn: A reclusive sorcerer who lives a secluded life on the island. Using a cave (far out of the reach of the creatures of the island) as his living quarters. Hardly ever ventures out unless it’s for gathering ingredients for his spells or food and water. His only companion is a brown bat. Crystals embedded in his staff are where he draws his power from. Which he uses to assist himself in walking as he is very weak in the legs, practically crippled, and needs to keep it in hand. Otherwise he risks collapsing/falling over. Despite his appearance, crabby and somewhat dry attitude, he is not that bad of a guy. Even going as far as to aid the characters in their retrieval of the kidnapped bride. So a bit of history for some context. Waaaay back in 2017, I created the character "Dark Thorn", who has shown up from time to time in the past (ex. www.deviantart.com/artmakerpro…). This being a redesign/repurpose of that character. 

Cyclops & the Bride: The Cyclops climbs up the rocky mountainside to it's lair w/ the annoyed kidnapped bride in his hands thinking to herself, "This is bullsh*t." Grows a fondness for the beauty in white. 

Chimera: The myth, the legend, it's the Chimera. Used as a guard dog by another inhabitant of the island, the one who sent the cyclops to retrieve the bride, to keep intruders and the other beasts of the island out. She's pretty pissed a majority of the time. But then again, I'm sure anyone would be pissed if they were chained up 24/7 for years and years. Would get released by the characters as a diversion, and would go on to kill her enslaver as payback. 

10) Various concept sketches of the explorer/adventurer character. From the top to bottom, it started off as a guy before I decided on it being a woman.

[yrpreciousmoon]

Dear Gravity (4/?)

Title: Dear Gravity (4/?) Fandom: Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure Pairing: Akira Otoishi x Rohan Kishibe Rating: Teen (for now?) Summary: It’s dangerous living among the stars. You might just find yourself caught in the gravitational pull of a black hole. * A spin-off of “Morioh Hi-Fi” where we get a peek at what unfolds between these two drama kings. AN: This chapter started out with the idea that it would be funny to apply Rohan's pretentious "sO sPiDeRs TaStE lIkE tHiS" mindset to a romantic setting. And then I had to pay tribute to the white hot chaotic intensity that both of these ding-dongs embody. Enjoy!

Nearly a month passed while he was out on the road, and Akira worked hard to keep his mind and hands off of his phone, opting to leave it on the bus as much as possible. He didn't want to get in too deep (or at least, any deeper than he already was.) Didn't want to add any more complication or confusion on top of Rohan's existing romantic woes, and didn't want to get his own heartstrings tangled up in someone who was emotionally unavailable.

Except... of course he did.

Akira had never exactly been the soft and fluffy romantic type, but he couldn't ignore the appeal of some Nicholas-Sparks-level drama; the idea that maybe he and Rohan were star-crossed lovers. He could write a whole concept album, no, an entire rock opera about it...

He groaned into his pillow – his own pillow, on his own bed, for the first time in weeks – and couldn't decide if he was more upset about having this stupid crush, or about being upset about having this stupid crush.

Was this what being in one's mid-twenties was really like? Not getting what you wanted, and not knowing if it's what you actually wanted anyway?

Akira huffed. That was a good vein to mine for lyrics.

He sat up in bed, rubbing his tired eyes a bit before reaching out to his nightstand for a notebook and pen. No sooner had he opened the cover than an alert sounded from his cell phone.

He crawled to the foot of his bed where he'd dumped his luggage upon returning home, and rummaged through his duffel bag for his Sidekick 2.

Something small lifted from his shoulders as he noted the sender: Party Dad (KR).

Checking in. Are we still on for tomorrow?

Yeah. Def. Cant wait to see how the cover is coming along!

Don't get your hopes up. It hit a wall. But don't worry, we'll get it figured out.

Not worried. I have complete faith in u party dad.

Are you ever going to stop with that?

Absolutely not. Cya tomorrow!

-⚡-⚡-⚡-

The next afternoon found Akira leaning against the window in Rohan's studio, staring down at a series of sketches – and one thoroughly stressed out artist.

The room was in much deeper disarray than the last time Akira had been there, and admittedly it was a bit surreal to see nearly every surface covered in sketches of himself, torn-out magazine photo spreads, and even some shitty print-outs of live photos that must have come from a fan forum somewhere.

“...so what I'm getting at,” Rohan continued, having just finished a terribly long and boring rant about why he was at an impasse, “Is that I'd really appreciate if I could have you sit for a session or two.”

“Uh...”

“Literally.” Rohan dumped a pile of magazines from a chair and dragged it out into the middle of the room. “Sit. I need to study you as you really are. Photos never quite tell the full story.”

“Okay,” Akira replied amiably, and with a shrug he heaved himself from the window and strode over to the chair. He sat, and Rohan did the same across from him, wasting no time in opening a sketchbook and setting to work.

Akira watched his hand fly across the page – it was so damn cool how quickly the artist worked, how purposeful each line he laid down seemed to be. And it was charming the way his face twisted in concentration, lips pursed to one side, his nose scrunched like a rabbit's each time his eyes moved from reality to the paper.

Akira tilted his head, shifted a little to try to catch a glimpse of the paper, then he froze abruptly. “Shit! Sorry, am I supposed to...” he tried to reset his sitting position, “I'm probably supposed to stay still, right?”

“No, no, that's fine...” Rohan mumbled, lifting his pencil from the paper. He looked up and observed Akira for a moment before going on, “Actually, you know what, feel free to move around a bit. Don't pose, for god's sake, but do whatever you would do if I wasn't drawing you.” He flipped to a clean page and lowered the pencil again, poised and ready.

“Okay. Sure.” Akira scratched at the back of his neck and then looked around, suddenly hyper-aware of every movement he made. He pointed over to Rohan's enormous vinyl collection. “You mind if I...?” Rohan just grunted and waved his free hand, causing Akira to smirk and loosen up ever so slightly. Then he stepped over to the records and began to examine them, occasionally pulling one out half-way to get a better look.

“You must be doing some kind of dark, shady deals to get this much stuff from overseas,” he eventually said, breaking the silence.

“Trade secrets,” Rohan replied simply, and then, “Hey, turn back this way.”

Akira looked up at him and blinked.

“Tell me about your favorite musician,” Rohan demanded.

Akira snorted a laugh. “Seems to me like you probably already know the answer to that,” he said, gesturing around at the sea of magazine interviews.

“Yeah, but were you giving those journalists your stock answers or your real ones?” Rohan paused for just a moment to meet Akira's eyes.

“Huh.” Akira folded his arms. “Okay, I see your point. But between you and me, I don't even know if I have a favorite anymore.” He tossed his hair back and stared into space, considering the question in a way he really hadn't in ages, even though it was asked of him on a regular basis. “Like... there's people who inspire me. Ones I want to be like. Ones I could learn from. And the ones I listen to when I just want to fuck off and relax.”

“Uh huh. Who would you put on right now, given the chance? Don't think, just answer. What's stuck in your head right now?” The furious scratch of the pencil resumed.

Akira cracked a smile. “Honestly? Do you know The White Stripes? The Hardest Button to Button? Haven't been able to stop singin' that one for days.”

“Perfect.” His tone was flat, indecipherable, and he was staring intently at Akira's face. The musician started to feel self-conscious again.

“Uh. Why do you ask, anyway?”

“Hm? Oh.” Rohan set his pencil down and blinked the intensity from his eyes as if waking from a dream. “I wanted to capture that look on your face when you're genuinely happy. When you get to express yourself honestly.” He leaned back in his chair and returned his attention to his sketchbook, scrutinizing the images there. Akira was grateful that he didn't see him blush.

“Cool, cool,” he murmured, then returned to his own chair. “So... Did it work? D'you think you got it?”

Rohan scowled at the paper before looking up at him again. “It.. helped,” he began, searching for the words. “But it's still not what I want.”

“Can I see?”

“Of course,” Rohan sighed, rising and crossing over to his friend. He placed the pad in Akira's lap and squatted, tapping here and there to indicate certain sketches. “This one is starting to look like you. And see, here, this is the dimple on your cheek when you smiled, I'm glad I got that. This... Your eyes aren't quite right, but it's close, I think.” He brought his hand to his chin and studied them some more. “I just can't quite work it out.”

“I think they look great,” Akira offered in earnest, but Rohan fiercely shook his head.

“No, no, there’s something about fixing reality onto a page… There's more to it than physical form,” Rohan muttered. “Knowing that is what separates good artists from great ones.”

“I'll take your word for it.” Akira crossed his arms and leaned back in his seat. “So… what's missing? How can I help?”

Rohan clicked his tongue and dramatically turned away. “It's not that simple. To effectively capture the essence of a person, you must truly know them, inside and out. The full sensory experience of being around them. Not just what they look like — what they sound like, smell like…” He sighed in exasperation.

“What they feel like?” Akira asked, half-joking and half-hopeful.

“I… well… sure,” Rohan agreed, looking a bit torn. He hesitated, cleared his throat. “Okay, I know it might sound odd, but... hear me out.” He gestured with his left hand as the right perched on his hip. “Take your hair, for example. How does one accurately depict the texture of it without knowing what it feels like?”

“Hmm, mhmm.” Akira nodded a bit, his mind already filling with images of Rohan feeling him and... To hell with it. He grabbed Rohan’s wrist and pulled the artist forward, burying his hand in the mop of wavy purple hair. “If that's the case, then go ahead,” he said with a shrug.

Rohan’s eyes went wide, panicked, and for several seconds it appeared that his brain had stopped functioning completely. Then he swallowed and took in a breath. “Um.” His fingers trembled slightly. “Yeah. Okay.” He spread his fingers out slowly and proceeded to run them down through Akira’s hair. The musician let his eyes close; it felt so nice. Intimate. People had only ever played with his hair immediately before or after sex; it was a hard connection to shake. He felt himself growing warm.

The room was nearly silent as Rohan continued to comb his fingers through, brushing a few unruly strands back behind Akira’s ear. Eventually he withdraw his hand, but only slightly, moving it then to hold Akira’s cheek instead. He cleared his throat again. “You know, you can tell me to stop if this is too weird...” But the younger man only hummed and leaned into the touch, smiling a bit. A few seconds passed and then Rohan’s other hand was on the corresponding cheek, his thumb running gently over the line of Akira's scar.

Akira fought back a gasp and cracked an eye open, taking in the sight of a very flustered-looking Rohan.

“Does it... Your scars, do they... feel different?” Rohan asked quietly.

“Not really. I guess a little bit if you put pressure on it.” To demonstrate, he placed his own hand over Rohan's, pressed the artist's index finger against his cheek.

“Hm. Mhm.” Rohan's eyes darted away. “Well...” He clearly wanted to retreat, but Akira was too stubborn to stop now. He held the other's hand in place.

“Well?” the musician echoed, his voice low, “Is this helping?”

Rohan nodded. “Yeah, actually,” was all he managed, biting at his bottom lip.

Akira's eyes held fast to Rohan's. This was too much, they were too close, too comfortable... and his reluctance to get sucked in had disappeared the second he'd walked in the door. All of the resolve he'd built up from weeks away on tour suddenly crashed down around him as his conscience threw its hands up and yelled “Fuck it! We've already come this far.”

“So, you want to know your subject inside and out; sight, scent, sound, and touch,” he repeated the words slowly. “Would it help to taste, too?” “Hah...!” Rohan chuckled awkwardly, tearing his hands away immediately to wring them together in front of his chest. He peered around the room as if looking for some evidence that Akira was definitely joking.

He definitely wasn't.

“I'm serious.” Akira shrugged and pushed back his hair, trying to appear smooth and nonchalant. “You know me, I'm not gonna make a big deal out of it or anything. I'll do whatever you need for your creative process.”

“Oh,” Rohan barely squeaked out. “It's just that, I uh... Usually, people don't... I mean...” He was getting visibly frazzled. His mouth curled into a frown.

“Listen, would it make your artwork more authentic?”

“I... Yes,” Rohan replied, looking slightly distraught at his own answer.

“And would you like to do it?” Akira tapped lightly at his own bottom lip.

“Yes?” The reply came quickly, but nervously. “Strictly from an information-gathering standpoint, of course.”

“Well then,” Akira put out his arms, “Gather away.”

He knew he'd have to let Rohan make the first move, much as it pained him. This had to happen on the artist's terms, he had to feel safe and unburdened by expectation. And for a moment Akira wasn't sure what was going to happen; Rohan looked like he was either going to shit himself or pass out. Mercifully, though, Rohan eventually worked up the courage to move closer and awkwardly lean in.

Fuck yes!

With mere centimeters between them Akira let his eyelids flutter shut and he leaned in as well, hoping the pounding of his heart wasn't really as loud as it seemed.

Their lips bumped together, shy, uncertain, and almost immediately Rohan withdrew with a strained chuckle. But Akira was patient – he'd waited this long already – and he held his ground. His refusal to back down seemed to renew Rohan's conviction. The artist moved in again to kiss him properly, his hands coming to rest on Akira's shoulders so he could lean into it fully.

They kissed twice, three times, soft and slow, sizing each other up. Akira was already euphoric but couldn't resist testing his boundaries. He parted his lips, the tip of his tongue making a polite inquiry that Rohan seemed more than happy to oblige.

Rohan was so warm, and he tasted of coffee. It was enough to make Akira feel dizzy, intoxicated. His hands found their way to Rohan's hips; he didn't remember moving them.

“This– ” Rohan gasped out between kisses that were quickly growing in ferocity, “Is this– okay?”

But Akira only hummed something indistinct, pulling the other forward, into his lap. Rohan let out a tiny yelp and Akira snickered in spite of himself, pulling back just enough to steal a glance at his crush, deeply flushed and chest heaving. It was an utterly beautiful sight to behold.

Akira started to move in again, but all at once Rohan's hand was clapped over his mouth to stop him. Akira's eyes widened in surprise, and he looked up at the other for an explanation. Rohan's other hand was at his own mouth, fingertips ghosting over his lips.

“...Kishibe? What's– ”

Rohan quickly clamored off of him, off of the chair, and made a beeline for his desk. Akira stared at his rigid back as the artist stood unnaturally still, his shoulders drawn up and a hand still on his mouth.

“Well!” Rohan suddenly exclaimed, nearly making the other jump, “I have plenty of material to work with now. I’ll get started right away. But I really do my best work when I’m alone... You understand.” His voice was somewhat shaky. Akira stood from the chair.

“Rohan, um, do you want to…?” He stopped himself mid-question because frankly, he didn’t want to talk about what had happened, didn’t want to admit that he’d been way out of line, didn’t want to confess his feelings. A quick tactical adjustment: “Are you okay?”

Rohan kept his back to Akira as he uselessly shuffled some papers on his desk. “Yes! Yes, I'm okay. Just... excited to get back to work.”

“Sure.” Akira blinked. “Of course.” He ran a hand anxiously through his hair, then started to leave the studio as asked. But he paused again at the threshold, drumming his fingertips on the doorway.

Shit shit shit shit shit. He couldn't leave like this...

“Hey, Kishibe...” he started, unsure of what he would follow this up with. He saw Rohan tense a bit more. “Tch...” He scowled down at his feet, kicked at the floorboard. I just...” He chewed at the inside of his cheek. Just what? He didn't know how to approach this, and Rohan wasn't giving him anything. “I uh, can't wait to see what you come up with for the cover?”

Rohan let his palms rest on the desk, still not turning around. “I'll get you some new drafts soon,” he said quietly.

“Oh-kay,” Akira breathed, “Great! That... sounds good. See ya, then.”

He somehow managed to stifle the screaming of his inner monologue as he exited the room for real this time and quickly let himself out of the house.

With his jaw clenched and fists balled in his pockets, Akira stormed through the streets, back to his own home. He had flown too close to the sun, alright... He'd gotten over-eager and completely bungled any chance he may have had with Rohan. He was pissed and sad and confused and ready to get in the studio and break some very expensive recording equipment.

(Incidentally, the news that night reported a bizarre occurrence in Morioh cho: Several power transformers in the area had exploded with no rhyme or reason, leaving large swaths of town without electricity.)

-⚡-⚡-⚡-

Over the next few days Akira felt caught in a loop of opening his phone, staring at the screen, and then tossing it aside in frustration. He wanted to say something... anything... but what? What could he say that wouldn't make it worse?

He could just... apologize. But that was hard enough to do properly in person, impossible through a text message.

He could pretend it never happened. That seemed to be the route Rohan was taking. But it did happen, and he wanted it to happen again.

He could just come clean and explain that he was developing feelings... But if he did, Rohan might actually turn him down, and the last time Akira had misjudged someone else's feelings in such a way, it had been... bad.

Akira rubbed at his eyes as he pushed his phone away for the millionth time, trying to shake off the pain of old wounds. He couldn't go through something like... that... again. Couldn't risk losing the first genuine friend he'd made in ages.

Inevitably, and despite his best efforts, thoughts of Keicho Nijimura began swimming to the surface of Akira's mind. He growled low in his throat, kicking at whatever unfortunate object was nearest to him – in this case, an ornate lamp. It gave a loud, satisfying crash before coming to rest at his feet, and as he glared down at the newly-broken object, it only served to remind him that he'd done the exact same thing on that night, years ago.

The bulb on the lamp popped, sending bits of glass skittering across the floor as Akira stomped away.

Fuck this. He was going to set things right with Rohan. He wasn't sure how, exactly, but fueled by frustration and self-loathing and an ounce of stupidity, he had decided where to start.

-⚡-⚡-⚡-

Akira took a deep breath. Put on a serene face. And pushed open the doors to Dark Pink Records.

Each of the record store's employees had a similar reaction to his arrival. First there was Okuyasu Nijimura, who was making eyes over the counter at some guy with goofy hair. He hardly acknowledged Akira at first, but then he did a double take, his eyes widening. Akira brushed by him with just a small wave.

Next, the short kid, the one Rohan seemed to like more than the others. He opened his mouth to start his practiced customer service welcome, but quickly trailed off as recognition dawned on him, and he watched Akira confidently move towards the back of the store.

And then there was Rohan, who had been leaning up against a wall, eyes cast down at a magazine, looking every bit as bitchy and hot as ever. When he realized who had just walked into his store he nearly dropped the magazine, instantly turning red as Akira approached. His green eyes darted around as if looking for an escape, but just as Akira had planned, he was trapped.

“Otoishi!” the artist chirped, “I... didn't know you were coming by today.”

“Hi!” Akira said jovially, “I happened to be in the neighborhood. Hey, mind if we talk in private for a second?” He put an arm around Rohan's shoulders and moved toward the back room. “This is your office, right?”

“Yes...” Rohan managed, allowing himself to be lead.

Once they were inside, Akira was quick to close the door and let out a deep sigh. The fake grin dropped from his face. Moment of truth, he told himself – he had better figure out what the hell he was going to say, and fast.

Except, Rohan beat him to the punch.

“This is about the other day, isn't it.”

Akira looked up at him, surprised. Rohan was still flushed, but his usual scowl was back. “Y-yeah,” Akira replied, trying to find his footing again.

“Look, I'm sorry.” Rohan squeezed his eyes shut – evidently, apologizing wasn't really his thing.

“Sss... sorry. For... what?” Akira furrowed his brow.

“I shouldn't have done that. I shouldn't have... kissed you.” Every muscle in Rohan's body was tight.

“Whoa, whoa.” Akira put up his hands. “Wait, no. I didn't come here for an apology. You didn't... Aren't you mad at me for kissing you?”

“What? Why would I be mad?!” snapped Rohan, like this was the stupidest idea in the world.

“Wh- Why would I be mad?” Akira countered, matching the other's energy, and the lights overhead flickered a bit. “You're the one working through feelings about your ex!”

He hadn't thought it possible, but Rohan looked even angrier now. “So what? Practically everyone on the face of the earth is working through feelings about their ex!”

Akira faltered, let out a choked laugh, put a hand on his forehead. “Jesus. Okay. So. If you weren't mad at me, why did you get so... weird afterwards?”

“Because I was extremely embarrassed,” Rohan hissed, “Just like I am right now.”

“Well, that's great.” Akira shook his head, gave another sardonic chuckle. “Great! Because I am, too.”

“No, shut up.” Rohan approached him and poked an accusing finger at his chest. “You don't get to be embarrassed. I'm the one who... who made out with a... a client!”

“Yeah, well, I'm the one who pressured you into it!” Akira threw his arms up and glared down at the other. “I wasn't acting like a client or a friend! So I'm sorry!”

“No, I won't accept it! I'm sorry!”

“You...? Are you kidding me? You have to accept my apology!”

“Not unless you accept mine first.”

“Oh my god, you are infuriating.” Akira reached out and pulled Rohan into a tight hug. “But fine,” he mumbled into the other's hair, “I accept your apology.”

There was a beat. Then, muffled by Akira's shoulder: “I accept yours too.”

“Good.”

“This is incredibly stupid.”

“Extremely.” Akira pulled back, studied Rohan's expression, and softened. “Fuck. So... Hang on. Are we okay?”

Rohan offered a half-smile. “Yes..? I think so. Thoroughly humiliated, maybe, but not angry with each other.”

“Okay, good.” He clapped Rohan on the shoulder. “Because I... Listen, I'm not your client. I'm your friend, alright? Don't ever think of me as a client. Gross. We could throw the whole album cover thing in the trash and I'd still want to hang out with you.”

Rohan nodded slowly. “...Fair enough. I guess it's been a while since I've made friends with someone who isn't one of my employees.”

“And it's been a while since I've made a friend who I'll see more than the one time a year we play a show together.” He paused. “Are we just really bad at making friends?”

Rohan considered this for a moment. “We did just nearly have a fight over which of us was the bigger asshole.”

“But we got through it, because we are so fucking good at being friends.”

“Sure. Let's go with that.” Rohan shot him a smirk. “Look... why don't we step out and get some coffee? I think we have some... things to talk about. And we haven't properly hung out since you've been back.”

“But don't you have to take care of the shop?” Akira gestured towards the door.

“Eh, Hirose has things under control. And Nijimura has a handful of functioning braincells, even if they're mostly focused on his– ah– boyfriend. They won't burn the store down while I'm gone, at least.”

“I see you've set the bar pretty high.” Akira smiled and stepped over to the door, opening it and gesturing for Rohan to pass through. “Okay then, lead the way, Kishibe. Let's get coffee and forget we ever made complete fools of ourselves.”

Rohan offered a little shrug as he stepped past. “I hate to break this to you, Otoishi... but I think making making fools of ourselves in front of each other is what friends do.”

“Does it always end with coffee?” “That, or alcohol.” “Then I'm lookin' forward to it.”