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“Ugh, can you stop that?”
Omi blinked. “Stop what? What am I doing?”
“Stop acting like that around me. It"s fucking annoying.”
“But… I am not an actor! I am a Xiaolin monk! What acting am I doing, friend?”
“That! Right there! Stop acting like we’re friends or something! Stop acting like you wanna see me again and just hang out or something! It’s fake and obnoxious and I’m waiting for my Wu detector to go off so we can get back to fight each other again!”
“But acting is pretending, right? But I am not pretending. I do want to be your friend, Jack Spicer. I always have. –And we are even sharing icey creams and sitting in a park together! Is that not what friends do? So you are acting like that, too!”
Jack rolled his eyes and just agitatedly licked his waffle cone. It was starting to melt on his gloves from how long this stupid little playdate was dragging out.
Omi noticed his triple scope gelato cone—glutinous for a monk, wasn’t he—was melting too, and hastily took a huge bite to keep his own robes cleans. Which proved counter-productive, as half a second later, Omi dropped the rest of his cone in the grass and rolled around in the agony of yet another ice cream headache, which he seemed to get every time they went out for ice cream together.
And that, at least, never got any less entertaining. Jack burst into laughter as the monk rolled around monologuing about some dastardly sneak attack inside his head that the ice cream had struck again. He stopped halfway through his heroic speech and grinned. “And friends laugh and smile together! So we are friends!”
Jack cleared his throat and rolled his eyes. “Uh, I’m laughing at you, not with you, Xiaolin Bobblehead,” he insisted, even though he still couldn’t wipe the smile off his face as he continued with his own ice cream.