James eyes the menu in front of him for a moment and then sets it aside, already settled on what he’s going to get; there aren’t many places that serve meals large enough for a super soldier, so he’s used to just ordering whatever looks like the biggest serving and eating that.
(He’s never been a very picky eater anyway.)
(Couldn’t afford to be, given where he’d grown up, and then the war, and then—)
(Well.)
(He’s used to eating whatever won’t kill him, is what he means.)
Ichigo on the other hand seems to have a harder time deciding, his gaze skimming over the menu as he flips through it, a tiny furrow between his brows and his expression pulled into a slightly different scowl than usual. It doesn’t seem like he’s unhappy about the options, though, so James just lets him be and takes the opportunity to observe the man.
He can’t see any evidence of Ichigo’s most recent fight on the man, beyond the irritability and a touch of exhaustion clinging to him, not that that’s really a surprise; it’s no secret that Ghost Patrol has a magical healer on their team, though given what James saw when he looked up some of the rare footage people have captured, he isn’t entirely convinced about ‘healing’ being her real skill set.
Not that he’s going to pry.
(He knows better than that.)
“Am I that fascinating?” Ichigo asks as he flips through the menu again.
James snorts and sets his elbow on the table and props his chin in his hand, smirking a bit at the way Ichigo’s gaze flicks up to him in exasperation and then back down again. “Can’t I appreciate a pretty fella coming to dinner with me?” he teases lightly.
A faint blush creeps across Ichigo’s face as he lifts his head enough to glower at James. “I’m hardly pretty,” he complains with a touch of embarrassment. “And I certainly didn’t mean the invitation like that,” he grumbles as he looks away. “Sorry if you got the wrong idea or something—”
“Was just teasing ya,” James interrupts before Ichigo can fumble his way through an awkward effort to let him down gently, or something of the sort; he hadn’t meant to make Ichigo think *he* thought it was a date, had just replied in a way he thought would be funny, but… maybe he’s not so good at humor anymore.
(The other Avengers seem to have figured him out, but Ichigo’s only seen him twice before.)
(He needs to remember that.)
Ichigo huffs and looks away, one hand rising to run through his hair. “Yeah. Sorry. It’s… been a long day,” he mutters as he sets his menu aside and leans back in his seat, weariness becoming even more evident as he starts to relax again.
“And your friends were teasing ya about us right before, yeah,” James agrees as he leans back in his own seat and stretches his legs out under the table, nudging Ichigo’s foot lightly. “Mine were too, remember. Probably why I said that,” he offers, before shrugging and adding, “Wanna talk about your day?”
Ichigo’s nose wrinkles and his brow furrows, and James thinks for one brief, awkward moment that he’s stuck his foot right back into his mouth, but then—
“Yeah, why not,” Ichigo says with a shrug. “News probably didn’t catch much of it this time anyway, since my team tends to fight on, uh… another plane and all a lot of the time.”
“Convenient, given how destructive super fights can get,” James says, definitely wishing some of the Avenger’s fights could happen on another plane. Or that the type of villains they pick up weren’t quite so mad scientist or invading army style. He could do with a lot fewer of *those*, for sure.
Ichigo huffs a quiet laugh and nods in agreement. “Yeah, it’s definitely a benefit in some ways,” he says as he crosses his arms over his chest and tips his head back to stare up at the ceiling. “I’ve absolutely been part of some destructive fights before,” he muses, “It just sort of comes part and parcel with this whole… powers thing, I guess.”
“Bet most people wish it weren’t,” James can’t help but say a touch wryly. “Even with the folks who’ve made cleanup their main shtick.”
“Yeah.” Ichigo sighs softly and stretches his legs out a bit more under the table. “Anyway, you wanted to know about the mess we were busy with,” he says as he gets comfortable. “So the whole thing started at about midmorning, when this annoying asshole decides to crash the class I teach, despite everyone else having at least a fragment of respect and leaving me the hell alone when I’m teaching. He also refused to take no for an answer, ranting about like… fighting the one who killed god or whatever, wanting to prove himself or something I guess? I don’t know, he really never gave me a straight answer besides ‘fight me or else’.”
James blinks and then purses his lips, fighting back his amusement at how utterly exasperated Ichigo sounds. “Or else?” he can’t help but prod.
Ichigo snorts and waves a hand. “Yeah, you know, or else he’ll do… something. General unspecified bad things, I guess. Worst thing was that as soon as I dismissed class and tried to go after him, he just… fucking vanished. Led me and the others right into some labyrinth setup, which, okay, that’s at least something a bit unusual.”
“‘Fight me or else, oh wait, first do this obnoxious prerequisite even though I’m the one that came after you,’” James says, pitching his voice into a rough mimicry of a generic villain, which gets him a bright, startled laugh from Ichigo. “That about right?”
“Yeah, yeah that’s about right,” Ichigo agrees, scowl lightening to something almost cheerful. “Why do they even do that?”
James gives Ichigo the flattest look he can and states, “Ego.”
Ichigo’s nose wrinkles. “Maybe they should just work on getting attention somewhere else,” he mutters with a touch of exasperation. “Surely there’s better ways than practically asking to get beaten up by the local hero group.”
“I have been reliably informed that some people like it,” James says dryly
“Ew,” Ichigo’s mutters, his nose wrinkling at the thought. “Thanks for putting those thoughts in my head, I hate it.” When James just snickers at him, Ichigo shakes his head and lightly kicks James’ leg. “You’re as bad as Tatsuki, I swear,” he grumbles fondly, “Did you want the rest of the story or are you just going to keep doing your best to inflict mental scars on me.”
James smirks in response, but waves a hand to indicate he’s done teasing his— friend? Can he call Ichigo a friend at this point? This is the sort of banter that friends have, isn’t it?
While his mind is busy turning the thought of friendship over, Ichigo just hums and then resumes talking, his steady voice a pleasant counterpoint to the noise of the kitchen and the other patrons. He’s… oddly comfortable like this, listening to Ichigo spin his story while the world moves on around them.
He could get used to this.