You're such a dork," announced Inosuke
"Oh yeah?" I whipped my head around trying to keep up with the subject change. We had been talking about Inosuke's love of 80s rock and pop and I was not sure when we had switched topics.
"Yeah," he replied and sent a pebble skittering in front of us on the sidewalk. We were just heading home from my birthday celebration at our favorite pub. He was escorting me home as usual. There had been a string of assaults in the area and my normally over-protective best-friend was even more so of late.
When an celaboration did not seem to be forthcoming I broke the silence. "Why is that?"
"You're a fucking walking cliché," Inosuke shoved his hands deeper in his pockets and nudged me with his shoulder. The nudge and the half smile he sent my way took some of the sting out of the accusation.
I shrugged. I could not refute his statement. I did love a good cliché, especially if it was a love story. "Clichés are the best part of my life."
"They are a fantasy," Inosuke, the ever practical, ever logical pointed out.
It's probably why we got along so well. He was my grounded economist planning and weighing each step before he took it. I on the other hand was his flighty artist who couldn't keep a "real" job and instead worked three part time jobs trying to pay the bills while pursuing my dreams, whatever those dreams might be that day.
"Why is it bad to have a dream?" I asked.
"That's just it, Sora , it's a dream it's not real life." I shoved him off the sidewalk and into the road. I hated when he called me Sora. It was my mother's pet name for me. My father had named me Aoi much to my mother's dismay and she had avoided it by calling me Sora. I always felt like I was a four year old in a tutu when people called me Sora and Inosuke knew it.
He chuckled and stepped back on the sidewalk and pushed me gently into a lamp post without breaking stride.
I punched him gently in the arm in retaliation. "I have enough real life in my life thank you very much. What I want is fantasy."
"You can't always get what you want," Inosuke intoned.
"Speaking of clichés," I said drily.
"Whatever."
I stopped walking, forcing him to stop and focus on what I was saying. "But seriously, even the strictest diet has cheat days. That's exactly what my fantasy world is a cheat day. My sweets in a life of health food." I began to walk again and added grimly, "Or more likely whatever little food I can afford."
"Don't get melodramatic. It's not that bad."
"Most days, no, but I'm living on homemade bread because flour is the last thing left in my pantry and I don't get paid for another two weeks. I'm allowed to have a brief moment of self pity and more importantly I'm allowed my escape." I opened the door to my apartment building and nodded towards the stairs silently asking Inosuke if he wanted to come up for a bit.
He nodded and came into the lobby and began to follow me up the four flights of stairs to my apartment.
"I suppose." There was a pause in which the only sound was that of our feet echoing in the stairwell. The hollow sound only added to my slight melancholy. Inosuke finally broke the silence with a quietly murmured, "You know you can always ask me for help. I won't let you starve."
I sighed heavily and glanced back at him as we rounded the first turn in the stairs. "Yeah, but I need to support myself."
"I get that," He assured me. "But seriously don't hunger strike against the world if you don't truly want to."
