[Maybe leather cleaned easy. He wouldn't know. Mikey had lackeys for that sort of shit.
Tilting his head, watching him spill crumbs of cake and crumbs of dried blood like a god damn post-apocalyptic confetti parade, he'd snort.]
Oh, you prefer I show off for a crowd, eh? That's a first.
[Because they all knew Mikey was the Queen of not-kicking-in-the-teeth-of-anyone-who-touched-his-stuff. Baji barely contained an eyeroll, before reaching out; jangled of silver bracelets; to prod his nose.]
The couch ain't gonna bitch at me. Besides, then you can't sleep on it.
(mikey... felt lonely, but that doesn't need to be said. it's whispered in the ways he clings to baji when he's over, starfishing him as if they've never grown older, or how he finds solace on sanzu's chest when meetings end and he needs a nap. he's always needed it, physical contact, attention, and this was a way of saying - sleep next to me instead.
ah, all that's missing are the pants, now that his feet are free, but he'll deal with that later, when he showers. he'd attempt to bite the finger, if his teeth weren't capybara-busy.)
Of course not. He didn't see me.
(because he isn't supposed to. none of them are. he's got people to watch, protect, and all he does is receive intel nowadays. hardly ever does he come any near.)
(he had a quitty comeback, but he's forgotten once he reached for his cigarette pack for a stick. it doesn't bother him that he's sticky - he's been through this over and over and over. it's fine.
once he exhales, the words come out amidst the smoke.)
... I know. He can't find us, though. He's worked too damn hard for me to just pull him into this. It ain't fair. It's-- It's Takemitchy. I think he's back and completely ignoring what I told him.
(a sigh, before he decides to be a dick. much like a dog would, he shakes, blood spills now painting the couch and, well, baji.)
Well yeah, that's what that cheese-whiz dingbat does.
[It was Takemichi's puppy-like charm. Secretly, in his bones, Baji wished that guy would find some solution to all this sooner rather than later. He despised counting solely on others when he could do something himself, but he was emotionally profound enough to realize Mikey wasn't something he could do by himself. What were friends for, in that case, but to prop each other up where there were weaknesses? Cohesion. He'd always put his faith in cohesion.
But then there's the spray to jar him from his thoughts; luke-warm and vaguely viscus.
Baji doesn't stop himself from rolling his eyes now.]
I thought you said you didn't want to fuck up my clothes?
Maybe you thought wrong. I don't remember saying it.
(god, gross. but it's easy enough to get liquid on his index finger, drawing a happy face on baji's poor forehead before he stands. his bones show more often through skin, it's been so many pounds lost, but his posture is still of someone grander than the god themselves, the walk of someone who still trained for hours and hours on end.
and it's pull and push with mikey at this point. part of him wants to be left alone, but a bigger part of him can't stand it. what he's doing hurts. not being near to protect his friends from himself, when he was the one who should protect them in the first place. ridiculous, isn't it? once he leaves the living room, it's not the bathroom where he goes, but the balcony, a place where he's ignoring all the fancy furniture to sit on the edge that separates it from the fall, thick enough for his legs to cross. he needs fresh air, and the nicotine to stain it.
He lets Mikey reach out, follows the languid trace of a wet finger over his skin, and knows he looks ridiculous now. And probably pretty fucking disturbing. This shit had never stopped disturbing him, even if he was nonplussed. He had to retain that shred of his humanity; the knowledge that everything in this gang was wrong and not at all what he had wanted it to be.
Not what any of them had wanted it to be.
And then Baji had to very delicately shut the fuck up about it so Mikey wouldn't oust him like most of the rest; so fucking far away that he'd become some untouchable legend to the people he still stalked and obsessed over. Sucking it up meant he got to sit on the couch while Mikey finger painted him; date night.
Baji gives Mikey a minute to himself. And then, yep; he's on his feet, following at a slow trail, barefoot and unbuttoning the rest of the shirt at a lazy pace as he walks, the starchy fabric now with its dark dank stains. Evidence. Death. Proof of Life.
Coming out onto the balcony, the city glittering, he'd curl his toes on the cold stone beneath...]
Why you always gotta sit like you half wanna jump?
[Not looking at him; still just looking out.
Sanzu's biggest worry. But Baji isn't worried. He'd never pull that shit with him there.]
(deflect, of course. anyone who knew the boy a decade ago could tell just how miserable he is, how detached and just how out of fucks to give. as far as he knows, he was born with this darkness surrounding him, pulling him to all directions and sinking everyone with him. he might as well jump one day.
it's rare what he's about to do, one of the few times he opens up, but never to ask for help. it's clarification what he seeks, and he knows he has to be at least a little open to receive something in return.)
... You know, Baji. You don't belong here. If you're just here because you want to take care of me, you should rethink your choices. Kazutora's out. You should date him instead.
(and that aches, makes every joint in his body freeze, even as his face stays the nonchalant expression of nothingness it always does. he doesn't want to be abandoned, not again, not by anyone else - "the thought makes me want to vomit."
but it's true. baji's heart still beats with goodness to be stuck in the darkness with him and sanzu. he deserves better.)
[A shake of his head Mikey was likely to feel on the wind, so to speak. The whip of hair, the jangle of metal...
No. Not weird.
Not weird, compared to all the rest of it.
Not weird, to feel almost relaxed in the weightless enormity of skyscrapers that looked like a galaxy you could simply fall into and keep falling forever; not weird, to see all those warm blinking lights and think about the millions of lives being led out there apart from all this hell; the millions of destinies they themselves could have maybe had. Salaryman. Homemaker. College student.
Tokyo had a way of swallowing things; so it wasn't weird. Mikey wanted to be swallowed up. Who didn't, now and again.
It was just a little unnerving, if he had to put a name to it. But he'd leave that uneasiness to Sanzu. Mikey could never fall in any way that Baji couldn't catch him. Just wasn't possible. Literally, or in any way else.
...He wasn't expecting the sudden press, though.
Huh. Mikey really was in a charitable mood today after all. Killing Tora's enemies, skipping date night for take-in, offering up woulda coulda shoulda love connections; sharing his toys. Mikey couldn't have offered something like that if he didn't love Baji, same as the rest.
But Baji knows better than to express surprise. Or much anything at all.
Instead, he breathes in the pleasant curl of secondhand smoke, and shoves his hands into the pockets of his slacks, shirt open, forehead smiling.]
...Nah.
[That was all he'd give.
To a degree, Mikey was right. He loved Tora; always had. It had always been about even between the two of them, a thin line drawn in the sand, grains of difference apart, that loyalty running so goddamn deep in him that he couldn't tell the difference between his own heartbeat and his heart beating for these two people; couldn't untangle himself from wanting to save them or be with them or... make sure they were happy.
That was it. He wanted to make sure they were happy.
He couldn't make Tora happy anymore... or maybe that wasn't true. Maybe he just couldn't think about it. Thinking about it would be too terrible, because it would be like betraying one over the other. If he could make Tora happy, but not Mikey, he should leave; Mikey was impossible to make happy, ergo...
...But he could make him a little less alone. He could make him a little more grounded. He could make him say selfless shit like, 'maybe you should leave me and fuck that other guy you love'.
Tora... had Chifuyu. He had therapy. He had empathy now, so he'd heard.
He missed him in his bones.
Mikey, on the other hand, had crazy-ass Sanzu, bloody knuckles, and himself.
So... Mikey won. He'd stay with Mikey. He didn't have to think about it. He'd made his choice. He'd make it again and again. He wouldn't be forced away like the others had. Never.]
(everyone knows manjiro doesn't cry. a leader has to protect, and he has to stand tall, and showing vulnerability would mean to show vulnerability of the group. it could shake the entire foundation apart, and what's more important - his mom taught him that strong men are strong like rocks, and when they are above all else, they're loved.
these patterns are rather hard to break, and he's never saw any flaws with his mindset... because it worked. he's the invincible mikey, for fuck's sake. strong enough to punch the life of someone with his bare fists, a couple of punches will do, and no sweat will be broken. he's been beloved, adored, worshipped, so-- she'd been right.
he does fail to realize that he's needed in other ways, however. friendship and love are two-way streets, and if he's taking and giving only his best, it's a feast for the worst parts of his mind if he doesn't speak. in his mind, however, it's fine.
strong men can do it. he's weak, but he's strong.
and he hates himself for the tears that pool in his eyes, after a decade of thinking his tearducts had dried out. not a drop had been shed, not alone, in front of other people. the mere answer sounded so absurd, but so relieving, and for a second, he looks down, there's almost intent with the way he's staring at the ant-sized crowd below his feet.
if he just quit it, then baji'd be free. he could be with the other he loved just as much.
he can't say anything, the sniff he needs to give pathetic so it wouldn't bring attention to the waterfalls rolling from his cheek.)
Not that there was anything wrong with it. Baji had always been a fan of old films, and old detective films especially: big tits, big crimes, big ol' man tears. Lots of leading ladies dead, lots of bodies floating in the Sumida river, lots of shots of lone men in trench coats pulling their hat a little lower, cheeks glistening in moonlight.
He'd always thought there was something irresistibly masculine in being brave enough to cry. He was maybe too Japanese in that way, even if he rarely indulged in it himself.
He knew Mikey felt the opposite. Always had.
It was a sign of massive vulnerability, that his slim shoulders trembled the way they did now. That he had to try to master control of his runny button nose, like it was tattling on him.
...All because Keisuke said he'd stay.
Frowning, and shoving his hands deeper into his pockets.
...It meant something bad was on the horizon. Mikey was letting himself feel, letting himself engage with reality. Which meant Mikey was worrying about Kazutora, and now worrying about him.
And Mikey worrying about him was worse, because he knew Mikey loved him. To a depth he loved few others.]
...That musta been hard to offer, Mikey.
[Starting to walk towards him, like one might approach a feral cat; but cats had never scared Baji.]
(he hates every tear that rolls down his cheek, the salt trail left on his skin, and it even brings crimson to his nose and ears - it's not from the act itself, but the anger that he is feeling from letting baji witness him breaking, shattering, awake for once, and he supposes this is why he needs the dark impulse.
weak, weak, weak. it clouds in ways that he doesn't fully understand, but it allows him to just do what he has to, smother these stupid morals and feelings, until he's just a walking carcass. it works out. everyone's safe from him, and he does what he has to do.
everyone but baji. baji's as subjected to his wrath and indifference as everyone else, and his hollow eyes stare sideways to the man that approaches. he could hiss, were he truly a cat.)
You don't deserve a man who tears off nails, skins and scalps, and feels very little at the end of the day. You need to get away as soon as you can.
I won't make you, but you should.
(because if he does, it's just him and sanzu - he feels even more alone.)
--you do know that ripping nails off used to be literally Kazutora's faovurite thing, right?
[Mikey couldn't make him, more like. No way he'd leave him with the vultures; and worst of all, himself. Mikey could be surrounded by people, but it wasn't going to make him any less lonely; wasn't going to make the pain any better, or improve things.
And maybe Baji could never improve this shit for him. Maybe Mikey needed to be numb, to get through all this, and maybe there wasn't a coming back from it.
But he was nothing if not stupid, and hopeful.
Baji didn't press him about it anymore-- he pretended to be on board with everything-- but they both knew better.
They both knew what he really thought and felt.
Too bad he knew what Mikey really thought and felt, too, in his lucid moments.
He'd put out a hand for him. Whether to help him up and back, away from the ledge, or wether for a cigarette, it was unclear.]
He's grown out of it, I'm sure. Besides, he was young. We're old and I suppose there's no growing out of this for me.
(the subtext is there, however. for him, but there could be a place out there for baji. one he doesn't have to deal with bloody emojis drawn on his forehead, or murder on command, where his heart could be free and his loyalty better placed.
none of the things he seems to be asking are coming for him. instead, mikey takes the hand, intertwine fingers like he used to when they were younger, and places a kiss to each sinful knuckle.
Maybe Kazutora wouldn't want him anymore. Maybe he wasn't good for him. Maybe even Chifuyu would be ashamed of him, at this point. Or maybe they'd both get it. Maybe they both talked over tea and fruity desserts about how he was being held hostage by Mikey, the evil Prince in the tower.
Who the fuck knew. It didn't matter. If he let it matter for much more than a few minutes a night alone with himself, Mikey would notice. And he couldn't have that.
He'd rub the palm of Mikey's hand with a thumb in slow, soothing circles. Warm. Affectionate. The blood on his forehead had dried, and was starting to crack.]
Yeah. I love you, too. Now c'mon.
[Giving him a soft tug; more suggestion than anything.]
You coming with me? You got some blood here, and here, and here...
(fuck-- if he doesn't wash this shit off, his white hair is going to become salmon-colored, and that just won't do. the purple shampoo-- does baji know these things by now? has he become awfully used to these things?
there's a sigh before he hops off, cigarette to ashtray before he stretches his muscles. apparently, at this age, he needs to keep his flexibility more than ever.
his back hurts.)
... Can I have my toys or you're going to bitch at me?
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[Maybe leather cleaned easy. He wouldn't know. Mikey had lackeys for that sort of shit.
Tilting his head, watching him spill crumbs of cake and crumbs of dried blood like a god damn post-apocalyptic confetti parade, he'd snort.]
Oh, you prefer I show off for a crowd, eh? That's a first.
[Because they all knew Mikey was the Queen of not-kicking-in-the-teeth-of-anyone-who-touched-his-stuff. Baji barely contained an eyeroll, before reaching out; jangled of silver bracelets; to prod his nose.]
...Tora didn't notice anything?
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(mikey... felt lonely, but that doesn't need to be said. it's whispered in the ways he clings to baji when he's over, starfishing him as if they've never grown older, or how he finds solace on sanzu's chest when meetings end and he needs a nap. he's always needed it, physical contact, attention, and this was a way of saying - sleep next to me instead.
ah, all that's missing are the pants, now that his feet are free, but he'll deal with that later, when he showers. he'd attempt to bite the finger, if his teeth weren't capybara-busy.)
Of course not. He didn't see me.
(because he isn't supposed to. none of them are. he's got people to watch, protect, and all he does is receive intel nowadays. hardly ever does he come any near.)
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The couch was pretty comfy though, no lie.]
Who says we couldn't both sleep on it if you stopped shedding red?
[Rescinding his finger, and nodding a little aimlessly.]
Yeah... but you know he's been tryin' catch up to us.
[Bad idea. Tora had gotten out. He was safer this way-- happier. Healthier. They both knew it.]
You reek, by the way.
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once he exhales, the words come out amidst the smoke.)
... I know. He can't find us, though. He's worked too damn hard for me to just pull him into this. It ain't fair. It's-- It's Takemitchy. I think he's back and completely ignoring what I told him.
(a sigh, before he decides to be a dick. much like a dog would, he shakes, blood spills now painting the couch and, well, baji.)
Now you do too.
(the little shit smile. it's still there.)
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[It was Takemichi's puppy-like charm. Secretly, in his bones, Baji wished that guy would find some solution to all this sooner rather than later. He despised counting solely on others when he could do something himself, but he was emotionally profound enough to realize Mikey wasn't something he could do by himself. What were friends for, in that case, but to prop each other up where there were weaknesses? Cohesion. He'd always put his faith in cohesion.
But then there's the spray to jar him from his thoughts; luke-warm and vaguely viscus.
Baji doesn't stop himself from rolling his eyes now.]
I thought you said you didn't want to fuck up my clothes?
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(god, gross. but it's easy enough to get liquid on his index finger, drawing a happy face on baji's poor forehead before he stands. his bones show more often through skin, it's been so many pounds lost, but his posture is still of someone grander than the god themselves, the walk of someone who still trained for hours and hours on end.
and it's pull and push with mikey at this point. part of him wants to be left alone, but a bigger part of him can't stand it. what he's doing hurts. not being near to protect his friends from himself, when he was the one who should protect them in the first place. ridiculous, isn't it? once he leaves the living room, it's not the bathroom where he goes, but the balcony, a place where he's ignoring all the fancy furniture to sit on the edge that separates it from the fall, thick enough for his legs to cross. he needs fresh air, and the nicotine to stain it.
he knows baji will follow.)
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[Maybe being absolutely.
He lets Mikey reach out, follows the languid trace of a wet finger over his skin, and knows he looks ridiculous now. And probably pretty fucking disturbing. This shit had never stopped disturbing him, even if he was nonplussed. He had to retain that shred of his humanity; the knowledge that everything in this gang was wrong and not at all what he had wanted it to be.
Not what any of them had wanted it to be.
And then Baji had to very delicately shut the fuck up about it so Mikey wouldn't oust him like most of the rest; so fucking far away that he'd become some untouchable legend to the people he still stalked and obsessed over. Sucking it up meant he got to sit on the couch while Mikey finger painted him; date night.
Baji gives Mikey a minute to himself. And then, yep; he's on his feet, following at a slow trail, barefoot and unbuttoning the rest of the shirt at a lazy pace as he walks, the starchy fabric now with its dark dank stains. Evidence. Death. Proof of Life.
Coming out onto the balcony, the city glittering, he'd curl his toes on the cold stone beneath...]
Why you always gotta sit like you half wanna jump?
[Not looking at him; still just looking out.
Sanzu's biggest worry. But Baji isn't worried. He'd never pull that shit with him there.]
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(deflect, of course. anyone who knew the boy a decade ago could tell just how miserable he is, how detached and just how out of fucks to give. as far as he knows, he was born with this darkness surrounding him, pulling him to all directions and sinking everyone with him. he might as well jump one day.
it's rare what he's about to do, one of the few times he opens up, but never to ask for help. it's clarification what he seeks, and he knows he has to be at least a little open to receive something in return.)
... You know, Baji. You don't belong here. If you're just here because you want to take care of me, you should rethink your choices. Kazutora's out. You should date him instead.
(and that aches, makes every joint in his body freeze, even as his face stays the nonchalant expression of nothingness it always does. he doesn't want to be abandoned, not again, not by anyone else - "the thought makes me want to vomit."
but it's true. baji's heart still beats with goodness to be stuck in the darkness with him and sanzu. he deserves better.)
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No. Not weird.
Not weird, compared to all the rest of it.
Not weird, to feel almost relaxed in the weightless enormity of skyscrapers that looked like a galaxy you could simply fall into and keep falling forever; not weird, to see all those warm blinking lights and think about the millions of lives being led out there apart from all this hell; the millions of destinies they themselves could have maybe had. Salaryman. Homemaker. College student.
Tokyo had a way of swallowing things; so it wasn't weird. Mikey wanted to be swallowed up. Who didn't, now and again.
It was just a little unnerving, if he had to put a name to it. But he'd leave that uneasiness to Sanzu. Mikey could never fall in any way that Baji couldn't catch him. Just wasn't possible. Literally, or in any way else.
...He wasn't expecting the sudden press, though.
Huh. Mikey really was in a charitable mood today after all. Killing Tora's enemies, skipping date night for take-in, offering up woulda coulda shoulda love connections; sharing his toys. Mikey couldn't have offered something like that if he didn't love Baji, same as the rest.
But Baji knows better than to express surprise. Or much anything at all.
Instead, he breathes in the pleasant curl of secondhand smoke, and shoves his hands into the pockets of his slacks, shirt open, forehead smiling.]
...Nah.
[That was all he'd give.
To a degree, Mikey was right. He loved Tora; always had. It had always been about even between the two of them, a thin line drawn in the sand, grains of difference apart, that loyalty running so goddamn deep in him that he couldn't tell the difference between his own heartbeat and his heart beating for these two people; couldn't untangle himself from wanting to save them or be with them or... make sure they were happy.
That was it. He wanted to make sure they were happy.
He couldn't make Tora happy anymore... or maybe that wasn't true. Maybe he just couldn't think about it. Thinking about it would be too terrible, because it would be like betraying one over the other. If he could make Tora happy, but not Mikey, he should leave; Mikey was impossible to make happy, ergo...
...But he could make him a little less alone. He could make him a little more grounded. He could make him say selfless shit like, 'maybe you should leave me and fuck that other guy you love'.
Tora... had Chifuyu. He had therapy. He had empathy now, so he'd heard.
He missed him in his bones.
Mikey, on the other hand, had crazy-ass Sanzu, bloody knuckles, and himself.
So... Mikey won. He'd stay with Mikey. He didn't have to think about it. He'd made his choice. He'd make it again and again. He wouldn't be forced away like the others had. Never.]
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these patterns are rather hard to break, and he's never saw any flaws with his mindset... because it worked. he's the invincible mikey, for fuck's sake. strong enough to punch the life of someone with his bare fists, a couple of punches will do, and no sweat will be broken. he's been beloved, adored, worshipped, so-- she'd been right.
he does fail to realize that he's needed in other ways, however. friendship and love are two-way streets, and if he's taking and giving only his best, it's a feast for the worst parts of his mind if he doesn't speak. in his mind, however, it's fine.
strong men can do it. he's weak, but he's strong.
and he hates himself for the tears that pool in his eyes, after a decade of thinking his tearducts had dried out. not a drop had been shed, not alone, in front of other people. the mere answer sounded so absurd, but so relieving, and for a second, he looks down, there's almost intent with the way he's staring at the ant-sized crowd below his feet.
if he just quit it, then baji'd be free. he could be with the other he loved just as much.
he can't say anything, the sniff he needs to give pathetic so it wouldn't bring attention to the waterfalls rolling from his cheek.)
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Not that there was anything wrong with it. Baji had always been a fan of old films, and old detective films especially: big tits, big crimes, big ol' man tears. Lots of leading ladies dead, lots of bodies floating in the Sumida river, lots of shots of lone men in trench coats pulling their hat a little lower, cheeks glistening in moonlight.
He'd always thought there was something irresistibly masculine in being brave enough to cry. He was maybe too Japanese in that way, even if he rarely indulged in it himself.
He knew Mikey felt the opposite. Always had.
It was a sign of massive vulnerability, that his slim shoulders trembled the way they did now. That he had to try to master control of his runny button nose, like it was tattling on him.
...All because Keisuke said he'd stay.
Frowning, and shoving his hands deeper into his pockets.
...It meant something bad was on the horizon. Mikey was letting himself feel, letting himself engage with reality. Which meant Mikey was worrying about Kazutora, and now worrying about him.
And Mikey worrying about him was worse, because he knew Mikey loved him. To a depth he loved few others.]
...That musta been hard to offer, Mikey.
[Starting to walk towards him, like one might approach a feral cat; but cats had never scared Baji.]
Thanks.
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weak, weak, weak. it clouds in ways that he doesn't fully understand, but it allows him to just do what he has to, smother these stupid morals and feelings, until he's just a walking carcass. it works out. everyone's safe from him, and he does what he has to do.
everyone but baji. baji's as subjected to his wrath and indifference as everyone else, and his hollow eyes stare sideways to the man that approaches. he could hiss, were he truly a cat.)
You don't deserve a man who tears off nails, skins and scalps, and feels very little at the end of the day. You need to get away as soon as you can.
I won't make you, but you should.
(because if he does, it's just him and sanzu - he feels even more alone.)
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[Mikey couldn't make him, more like. No way he'd leave him with the vultures; and worst of all, himself. Mikey could be surrounded by people, but it wasn't going to make him any less lonely; wasn't going to make the pain any better, or improve things.
And maybe Baji could never improve this shit for him. Maybe Mikey needed to be numb, to get through all this, and maybe there wasn't a coming back from it.
But he was nothing if not stupid, and hopeful.
Baji didn't press him about it anymore-- he pretended to be on board with everything-- but they both knew better.
They both knew what he really thought and felt.
Too bad he knew what Mikey really thought and felt, too, in his lucid moments.
He'd put out a hand for him. Whether to help him up and back, away from the ledge, or wether for a cigarette, it was unclear.]
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(the subtext is there, however. for him, but there could be a place out there for baji. one he doesn't have to deal with bloody emojis drawn on his forehead, or murder on command, where his heart could be free and his loyalty better placed.
none of the things he seems to be asking are coming for him. instead, mikey takes the hand, intertwine fingers like he used to when they were younger, and places a kiss to each sinful knuckle.
god, he sucks so much.)
I love you, Keisuke.
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Knowing it's possible didn't make it true.
Maybe Kazutora wouldn't want him anymore. Maybe he wasn't good for him. Maybe even Chifuyu would be ashamed of him, at this point. Or maybe they'd both get it. Maybe they both talked over tea and fruity desserts about how he was being held hostage by Mikey, the evil Prince in the tower.
Who the fuck knew. It didn't matter. If he let it matter for much more than a few minutes a night alone with himself, Mikey would notice. And he couldn't have that.
He'd rub the palm of Mikey's hand with a thumb in slow, soothing circles. Warm. Affectionate. The blood on his forehead had dried, and was starting to crack.]
Yeah. I love you, too. Now c'mon.
[Giving him a soft tug; more suggestion than anything.]
Let's go rinse off.
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(fuck-- if he doesn't wash this shit off, his white hair is going to become salmon-colored, and that just won't do. the purple shampoo-- does baji know these things by now? has he become awfully used to these things?
there's a sigh before he hops off, cigarette to ashtray before he stretches his muscles. apparently, at this age, he needs to keep his flexibility more than ever.
his back hurts.)
... Can I have my toys or you're going to bitch at me?