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The stars are dull, but the moon is so bright above Shidou’s tantrum, like it’s flaring together with him, or some bullshit.
Not that Shidou is noticing any of that, it doesn’t look like. “You fucking asshole!” he yells, twisting where Kunigami has a hand fisted into his hair, yanking him along by it; scratching rather viciously at Kunigami’s wrists, but Kunigami’s so high on adrenaline that Shidou could be shredding his skin off in ribbons and he wouldn’t fucking notice. “Muscle-head freak, loser fallen hero, emo piece of shit—!”
Yeah, yeah, yeah.
Once they’re outside—said stars and moon in view—and once Kunigami has maneuvered them into a side alley, he all but throws Shidou into the ground. He hits the asphalt with a thud and a grunt; but like a spring, he’s up again in a flash.
He’s snarling, eyes blazing even in the dark, vein pulsing on his forehead, hair wild. It’s quite the striking picture.
Makes every muscle of Kunigami’s body tense in anticipation, too, however.
Shidou’s a good fighter, but he loves losing his head. Loves violence for violence’s sake—a fistfight is true love, and all that—not necessarily to win. And if he’s angry, well…
Well. Right now, he’s lunging at Kunigami, and Kunigami weaves out of the way—gets Shidou’s elbow in the gut for his troubles—before punching him across the face. Shidou hits the ground again, this time loudly swearing and with something of a crunch. Kunigami has to swallow repeatedly to keep the nausea down.
Yeah, coach is going to tear them a new one.
This time, Kunigami doesn’t wait for Shidou to get back up: Shidou rolls onto his back and Kunigami climbs on top of him and punches him again. It’s clear the guy hasn’t calmed down yet, after all.
Not that Kunigami has, either. Blood rushes red and hot through his veins, pulsing inside of him, and he hates it, hates it, hates it.
He gets a punch to the side and an elbow to his cheekbone before he has wrestled Shidou halfway down. “Fuck!” Shidou yells, voice hoarse with a rage Kunigami feels in every cell of his. “Get the fuck off me, you killjoy loser, I’m gonna kill you…!”
Kunigami closes both hands around his throat, leans weight into it until Shidou chokes, until he shuts up. He’s squeezing too hard, he thinks, but he can’t bring himself to care.
“Stay down,” he says. “You’re lucky nobody called the police after you threw that chair.”
Shidou is vicious and deadly. Shidou had been trying to start a brawl at the bar after they lost their match—after they played like shit, rather—earlier. Shidou looks at Kunigami with a face twisted in rage and spits: “You think you’re better than me? You’re not. You’re nothing. All you can do is—fuck—is hurt yourself.”
Kunigami’s ears are ringing. He punches Shidou again, and then he doesn’t stop.
He still takes him home, after.