"You need a bodyguard."
Sengoku Ryouma swivels in his chair, tossing one lock of hair back with an insouciant grin. “I don’t need a bodyguard. I’m a lab man. I leave all the dangerous work to you.”
Takatora rubs the bridge of his nose. There’s usually a headache coming on when Ryouma is involved. “You need a bodyguard, because everything you say makes people want to hurt you.”
"Oh?" Long, lean legs cross. Takatora doesn’t look. Definitely not. "Nonsense. I’m the picture of cordiality."
"Perhaps I was unclear. I’m assigning you a bodyguard."
Ryouma raises one eyebrow. “Can I get one that looks like you in a dress?”
"This. This is the kind of thing you do that makes people want to hurt you."
"I’m definitely going to get a bodyguard that looks like you in a dress, Takatora."
Yes, there’s that headache, right on time.