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"You think you're gonna be okay?" Kendrick asked.
"Huh? What do you mean?”
Kendrick grinned and gave a lighthearted huff. He looked around as if running away from eye contact, “You know what I'm talking about. The fans, the reception, all that shit."
Jermaine looked away, pursing his lips. "Agh, I’ll figure it out,” he waved his hand.
Kendrick looked forwards, the moonlight glistened onto the lakewater, breathing along with mother nature. It was 2AM and purposefully so; they wouldn’t get recognised, hopefully. And Kendrick wanted to meet up somewhere closed, but Jermaine wanted to be outside with nature (his wife says it’s the White side of him). And he didn’t protest because it was the least he could do. And it had just finished raining the moment they started to apologise to one another, it wasn’t quick. They breathed in fresh air, a calming sensation embraced them both.
They allowed their history to linger behind their eyes, eyes that were desperate to meet. It felt awkward how un-awkward their meeting was; it wasn't a reunion full of wit and laughter, no, it was a calm return to the purity of the past. They were much grown now, younger thems would have made up with some Hennessy but these days mere presence warmed them both. Maybe they were scared they had outgrown each other but for a second they forgot how many days were in a year and how many years were in a decade. It felt so natural, basking in each other was as easy as breathing. But both were too timid, perhaps that was the case.
And Kendrick didn’t love so openly. But Jermaine was always willing to give in. They were at a play for an imaginary audience that scorned and heckled them, waiting for a fight.
Kendrick’s feet played with the stones on the ground, his legs swinging by his seat. “We gotta wait till the buzz dies out though. Shit, how the fuck did you manage to pull all that in front of a damn crowd?”
Jermaine shrugged, “I had to control that line of info. If I don’t step up they’re gonna run with crazy ass narratives.”
“They’re already doing that even after you spoke your shit, bro.”
Jermaine knew exactly what would happen the moment he spoke into that microphone. Apologising mid-beef over a half-assed attempt of a diss? He was the first in history! It was sacrilegious even; you were supposed to beef, wait a few years, squash it and say some shit in an interview about how much negativity there is in the culture. You would preach about how rappers shouldn't be beefing when you’re in your 40s, your legacy solidifying. Jermaine had run through all the steps in a matter of a few days.
“If I were you I would’ve shat myself,” Kendrick joked, but it was only to blanket his own sincerity. Years of therapy and he still had to use quadruple entendres, metaphors, similes - all the like - just to give that little boy in him a voice.
“I did shit myself. I didn’t look through Twitter during the whole fucking beef! I was scared shitless.”
Kendrick shook his head, chuckling. “You should’ve been more careful, just think about it for a damn second before making a decision. I don’t want you to-” and he was afraid of his capacity to care “-embarrass yourself like that.”
“Embarrass myself? I would snap a pic of us and post it on IG right now if it weren’t for you.”
“If it weren't for me?”
“Bro, you care way too much about that mysterious boogeyman aura you got going on. One of us’ll just do some kinda interview or something in the future. Boom boom boom, someone asks us about the beef and we go, ‘Oh yeah, we squashed it, it’s chill.’ Go slow with it.”
“Oh, so now you care about being careful?” Kendrick shifted himself, now facing Jermaine.
Jermaine looked him in the eye.
“Only because it’s you.”
And Kendrick heard the silence between them, felt it, even.
The night was still. Everything was at a pause and, finally, did they allow their relationship to breathe.