WOLVES WITHOUT TEETH, miyuki kazuya

twelve

chapter twelve

❛we are the same (it's perfectly strange you run in my veins)❜

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You're late to Kazuya's birthday dinner.

An entire half hour late, to be exact.

The collective joke around Kazuya's dating and flirting skills when you were younger (and still now, to be honest) was that he sucked at it. Terribly. Considering his nasty personality and overall not great interpersonal skills, that's just how the cards fell. Of course, despite that, he made it work, because of course he did. But you...

Well. You might turn out to be the one accepting the 'World's Worst Girlfriend (And Best Friend)' award by the end of the night.

You groan at the thought.

You got held up on the way, because of course you did. No rest for the wicked and no rest for you, either.

"Look, I'm almost there," you say, the restaurant in sight, as well as the apartment building next to it. You stashed your things there earlier for efficiency's sake.

"Hey, I'm not the one you have to explain yourself to," comes Hiromi's slightly too-smug voice over the comms.

"Thanks, D. Really."

They just snicker.

You two upgraded to this kind of communication after everything in September. It helps keep you updated but their teasing is unavoidable, too. Yeah, after breaking the ice, they and Kazuya get along like a house on fire. (He takes the role of annoying older brother very seriously, too, which endears you to a stupid point.)

You land silently on the roof of the apartment building, then peek over the edge into the alley. Past the fire escapes jutting out to the side and the dumpster for the restaurant, it is empty, except for -

"Well, look who it is."

You grimace, looking down at Kazuya standing there with his hands tucked in the pockets of his jacket. Late November brings cold temperatures and harsh wind chills, the leaves turning brown and brittle as the trees shed them. Tonight, the full moon is hidden behind thick clouds.

A chilly breeze ruffles his hair. He peers up at you with a blank look on his face that makes guilt stab at you. You're about to drop down into the alley to grovel when he speaks.

"Oh, Spider-Woman," he starts, expression morphing as he pretends to be downtrodden with an undeniable and familiar sense of mischief. "Won't you come down and console me? You see, my girlfriend and best friend of over a decade didn't show up for my birthday dinner. I just don't think I deserve that kind of treatment."

Tension leaves your shoulders and you bite your lip to withhold a laugh. You leap, balancing nimbly on the rail of the top-most fire escape, then jump, extending a hand to the bottom of the fire escape, web tethering it to you. The fire escape holds your weight as you flip upside down, both hands wrapped around the web, your knees bent.

Slowly, you lower yourself until you're face to face but upside down, with him watching you with an amused smile and a warm gaze.

"Sorry."

Nothing more to be said. You both know it'll happen again.

You try, you do, but sometimes, there are situations that you cannot ignore.

He shrugs, oddly nonchalant about it. He usually likes to give you a little hell about it (mostly in good fun, since he just likes to be difficult sometimes).