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“You know the rules, right?” Ichiban leans in and stares him down as if they aren’t sitting right next to each other. “Roast battle, no holds barred. A one-on-one duel of wits.”
He holds up fingerguns, and Nanba can almost feel the twangy music and tumbleweeds that must be drifting through his head. They haven’t even started and he’s already treating it like a real fight. Luckily, his energy is starting to rub off on Nanba, who stayed up late to hang with him and didn’t expect to be roped into a game like this.
“Yeah, yeah, I get it.” He’s learned to accept Ichiban’s spur-of-the-moment nonsense by now. Most of his annoyance is just for show.
“You go first, then. I wanna see what I’m up against.”
Although he does love to take the occasional potshot at his friends, he’s not great at being put on the spot. He settles for the first thing to come to mind.
“Your… hair looks weird.” It’s not really true, but it’s a surefire way to provoke him, and Nanba can’t pass that up.
He responds with a scowl and a huff. "Ugh."
“Need some ice for that burn?”
“That was lame as hell. First of all, have you looked in the mirror lately? You’re just as bad as I am.”
“Oof…” Nanba winces and tries to smooth out his own unruly hair. Any progress he might have made is ruined as Ichiban vigorously ruffles it up again.
“Plus, I’ve heard it a million times before! That joke has been run into the ground, and it wasn’t even funny to begin with.”
“Well, it’s the most obvious thing about you. And you fall for it every time, dumbass.”
“Hey! You can’t insult me again, I didn’t get to go yet!” He’s still easy to rile up and easy to read, unable to hide the big pout on his face or the way his voice gets shrill.
“You said my hair looked bad.”
“That was my counterattack!”
“And that was my… counter-counterattack.”
“That’s—” Ichiban gawks, probably about to give a lecture on RPG rules, then decides against it with a shake of his head. “Either way, it’s my turn now!”
“Fine, whatever.”
He pauses to think and curls his fists tightly. Here comes a look that Nanba knows all too well — the complete, unfettered intensity he only shows when he’s caught in the middle of one of his imaginary games.
“You smell.”
“Tch. And you called mine lame?” Of course, he didn’t expect one of the nicest guys in the world to be good at this, but with that whole display, he was hoping for something just a little bit clever.
“What, don’t like it when your own tactics are used against you?” Now he’s back to being smug. Nanba just sighs and wonders how he manages to get along with someone so mercurial. “But now that the obvious stuff is out of the way, you gotta get serious, and really cut deep!” he shouts, slamming his hands on the table and making Nanba flinch. That’s too much energy for this time of night. “Hit me hard, give it all you got!”
“Don’t test me, man. I know all your weaknesses.”
“Go ahead, I can take it.”
Despite his bragging, Nanba isn’t sure what to say. He can’t seem to hold a grudge against Ichiban. They’ve only had a few disagreements, and Nanba can’t claim to be on the right side of any of them. Even his brashness and overenthusiasm are too endearing to insult with a straight face.
That’s not to say that Nanba doesn’t have any gripes with him. Ichiban is a constant source of headaches, but his warm smile will always melt Nanba’s cold, bitter heart and make him forget about it all.
But you're too cute isn’t a good enough insult. He digs through his sugarcoated memories until he can find something sufficiently petty.
“Y’know what I hate about you? You’re too damn sweet, and dumb to boot. You keep befriending every assassin and gangster you meet and inviting ‘em back home with us. Your shitty sense of self-preservation is gonna be the death of us all someday.”
Ichiban grins at him, unfazed. “You think I’m sweet?”
He didn’t mean to say that — maybe he should’ve gone with naive or gullible instead — but it’s accurate nonetheless.
“That's the part you’re focusing on? Well, you’ve dealt with me this whole time, even after all the trouble I’ve made for you, so you’re either sweet or just stupid.”
“Aw, Nanba!” Ichiban hugs him with enough force to almost knock them both out of their seats, leaving him unsteadily balanced between his stool and Ichiban. “I was kidding when I called you smelly. I shouldn’t have—”
“It’s fine, don’t worry about it. No holds barred, remember?”
“I know, I know.”
Nanba tries to move so that his position is less precarious, but ends up in Ichiban’s lap.
“I take back what I said about your hair. You look great, man.” It’s embarrassing to say, even more so when he’s close enough to feel Ichiban’s breathy laughter against his cheek. “And I love being in this party of yours, I wouldn’t give it up for the world.”
“It wouldn’t be complete without you! But… don’t talk about yourself like you’re a problem for me to deal with, okay? You mean a lot to me. Save those insults for our next game.”
He had never been good at accepting praise or affection. It was hard to believe that he deserved them. Now, as Ichiban holds him close and rubs his back, he can’t bring himself to deny it.
He hugs Ichiban as tightly as he can. “Only you could turn a roast battle into a compliment session.”