Chapter Text
It's fine. Things are fine . Having a bewildered but competent Rindo back was a welcome exchange for the handsy, daresay smitten model they'd been subjected to. It's okay he has no recollection of anything that happened since before he got attacked. At least, Fret thinks so. Rindo hasn't said anything about what happened at Center Street, but he spends a significant amount of time looking at Fret after the fact. Fret being unable to distinguish between the tension from the beginning of the week and the tension now doesn't help matters.
Anyway, it's fine. Fret is damned if Rindo remembers, anyway; their friendship changed permanently, forever in tatters because Fret didn't push him away. He really liked what he had going on with Rindo before all this started (they were such good buddies! Good buddies don't kiss each other like they just did! And they don't want to keep doing it, either!!) and he doesn't want to lose another friend. Going down that avenue is… well. Anyway.
On another front, Fret is mortified by how this clusterfuck works out with the two different sets of memories. Does this mean there's two Rindos now-- Rindo and Retro Rindo? Did one consent to making out while the other didn't? Aaand crack , there goes his brain; head broke, Nagi, please fix.
Fret is damned if Rindo doesn't remember, too, in fact. He'll go on never knowing what happened and it's almost worse . While Beat and Nagi bore witness to his odd behaviour initially, Fret alone has to carry the secret of their back-alley tryst to his gra-- right, he needs to start thinking of other turns of phrase that don't involve death, this is getting ridiculous.
Fret keeps his distance and hopes it's enough to 1) prevent any adverse reactions from either party if Rindo so much as breathes in his general direction and 2) prevent any incidental telepathy. The peril of being the friendly neighbourhood Reminder is that Fret is terrified he'll slip up and somehow get Rindo to remember everything , like unintentionally slipping pills into his meals that allow him to obtain the forbidden knowledge of what it's like to have his tongue in his best friend's mouth.
Unfortunately, Fret and Rindo's friendship outlasts Retro Rindo's whatever-Fret-can-bear-to-call-it, and with that friendship comes some level of mutual respect and closeness Fret is hyper-aware of now. As he's insisted before, Rindo is not the physical type (except Fret really should count his newest nicks and bruises and try thinking this again with a straight face. When Fret went to change clothes before a fight, he discovered bruises littered in and around his thighs that matched the rough size and shape of Rindo's fingers. It took a good five minutes for him to stop standing there and poring over them, a pantsless idiot, before he tugged on the new jeans Rindo bought for him and hoped they had Idiot Brainfog Resistance) but he's reached the point of friendship with Fret where they share the occasional friendly touch.
Like now, for instance; there's a light tap on his shoulder. Fret jumps with a "gah!"-- he knows it's him, his skin almost burns with recognition-- and turns to meet Rindo, who blinks back at him, hand still outstretched from Fret throwing it off.
He looks confused and almost hurt. Fret's heart sinks.
"Here," Rindo repeats-- Fret forgot he said it once already as he tapped him-- thrusting an onigiri at him with his other hand.
"O-oh! Gotcha. Thanks," Fret laughs it off, because he has to, and takes it from him. He looks down at it in his hands like he's never seen a rice ball in his life. He can feel Rindo's stare sear holes right through him.
"We haven't eaten in a while," Rindo decides to add, "and it'll still be some time before we can get an actual meal, so…"
He's doing what he normally does , Fret self-admonishes, he's bein' a buddy, just giving you a snack, and you've made him feel like he has to-- explain himself. Don't make this weird, Fret, c'mon.
Rindo's lips thin. He turns to stare out through the glass front of the convenience store, and watches a bus go by.
"You're really out of it, lately. It's not like you to space out like this. Or be so… quiet."
Fret opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. Probably a world first, he thinks; the revelation makes him no less bitter about it. He keeps staring down at the food in his hands like it's the only thing holding his world together. Why can't he brush this shit off like he usually does?
In the end, Rindo doesn't say anything else either. He appears to be done considering Fret's freakass behaviour, or at least sharing his thoughts on it out loud. His eyes drift, contemplative, before he sighs and makes his way over to Nagi and Beat to give them their oden.
* * *
"I can't do this."
Later in the day, Fret makes the confession into the cool, indifferent darkness of the restaurant table he's currently facedown on.
"If you can't eat all'a that, I gotchu," Beat supplies helpfully through a mouthful of rice.
Fret lifts his head and gives his older teammate a reproachful look. "I don't mean the curry."
"Whaddya mean, then?"
Fret can't think of a concise way to describe his plight without diagrams bordering on pornographic and a load of hoarse yelling. Instead, he groans and thunk s his head back onto the table.
After sticking another spoonful in his mouth, Beat puts down his utensil and rests his head in his hand.
"This about Rindo?" He manages through the food with minimal spray somehow. "You's have been kinda weird 'round each other."
Fret rotates his head to make himself more audible. "Weirder than when he was still crawling all over me like a rash?" he grumbles.
Beat chews for a bit, looking thoughtful, then swallows. "Tha's what I was thinkin', yeah."
"Kweh?" He spouts out of habit, then when he actually processes Beat's answer, his head shoots off the table again. "Wait-- fucking-- what ?"
"Ya didn't seem all that bothered about it, ta me." Beat shrugs. "You seemed pretty close before. Made me wonder if you were sorta into it 'n-- I'unno, wanted to save face?"
"You have got to be shitting me ," Fret wails, fisting his hands in his hair and making a complete mess of it to match the rest of his life. "That's--! We're friends , Beat! You're not supposed to dig on your friends!"
"Who said dat?"
" Oh , you know," Fret says, airy and incredulous and bordering on hysteria, before slamming the table with an " everyone !"
It rattles the condiment holder and draws the attention of everyone else in the restaurant. Fret shrinks under the questioning stares of the patrons nearby and sags back into his chair. He panics and counts to ten.
Beat frowns down at him, but there's no disappointment to be found there.
"No one's ever told me dat. Don't think no one told Rindo either. Didn't stop him from diggin' on you."
"That's-- he wasn't himself when he did any of that stuff," Fret counters. He clutches at his necklaces like a lifeline, tracing lightly over the marks in his skin that haven't gone yet. "He… he didn't know we were friends."
Fret absconded to the nearest Player-accessible drugstore in the first instance when Rindo came to his senses after The Incident and Fret broke the fuck down at West Exit. He didn't have enough time to get a perfect match but the concealer works well enough for someone like Rindo or Beat to be none the wiser, and Nagi never stands close enough to him for them to be visible anyway. The largest (no one calls them hickeys anymore, so Fret deliberates calling it a love bite in his head instead; his head screeches back at him) bruise further down was just about hidden by his shirt and scarf and he forewent covering it up, lest he spend a suspicious amount of time hiding in public bathrooms. From what he's picked up from others at school, he has to be mindful as it discolors in case it spreads. They might have been bullshitting, but better safe than sorry.
"You sure 'bout that? Sounds to me it's more like he just forgot some stuff. He was still Rindo inside. Maybe some of the stuff he forgot made him less… scared?"
Fret has no idea where he's going with this. It must show on his face, because Beat sighs and scratches his head.
"Like-- damn, I'm no good at this. Maybe for the first time, instead of seeing 'my good bro Fret', he just saw you for you and what you're like with him and thought," Beat reaches for his words and shrugs again, " 'aight' . Y'know?"
"That makes no sense, Beat. Like, at all." But everything is suddenly hilarious and Fret can't help his laughter now that it's begun. "Wouldn't he have seen me like that when we met the first time? He wasn't giving me friggin' bedroom eyes back then!"
He didn't give him any sort of eyes, actually. Rindo wasn't an eye contact person. Every time Fret would catch him looking over when they were together anywhere, he'd have his face back in his phone again.
"Ay, I told you I ain't no good at this! Aw, quit laughin' like a hyena and just eat your stinkin' curry before I do."
Fret tries to grab a spoon for himself, but it slips from his hand. He laughs so hard he snorts and continues to do so face down on the table again.
"Christ, dis is almost like Prisskid and Phones… uhh, nought-point-two. Maybe with less killin', doe…"
"Hahuh?"
"S'nothin'. Y'eatin' or not?"
Some four tables away--
"These imbeciles are so fucking ignorant," grits an irate Nagi.
There's a clatter on the table as Rindo drops his spoon. He stares at her in muted horror.
"Whoa, Nagi . Was that a swear?"
"You heard nothing of the sort," Nagi deadpans, not taking her eyes off her handbook. "Finish your rice, Lord Rindo. I tire of watching you push it around and leave it unaddressed for such an prolonged period of time."
"It's just rice, geez," Rindo mumbles to himself, lifting the spoon and going back to picking at his largely uneaten meal.
* * *
While nonsensical in the moment, Beat's words marinated in Fret's head as time went by. He has wondered how Rindo sees him on occasion; what he thinks of him, how he sees him. Rindo's good at acting like he barely tolerates Fret's shenanigans sometimes, but if he really couldn't stand him, wouldn't he have scarpered by now? Fret thinks of the last time he might have done something stupid and all he could recall from Rindo was some sort of... exasperated fondness?
He always saw Rindo as 'his friend from school'; a little standoffish and absorbed in his phone at times, but ultimately enjoyable to spend time with. Fret liked getting Rindo involved in things, even the small stuff, because it never felt like he did it much himself and Fret was delighted to be the bridge between Rindo and the rest of the world. He never considered him as much else, really.
No, it feels more correct to say that Fret avoids seeing Rindo as anything else. That's a new thought, or maybe one that has been around for some time but not yet acknowledged. The thought troubles him. Maybe he doesn't want to think too deeply on it. Head still hurty.
Fret knows he was into what Rindo was saying and doing back on Center Street, and it was a swell time. No regrets there, mostly. But why? When has Fret ever shown an interest in Rindo like this before? Could it only be because Rindo showed interest in him? That feels wrong, somehow. Not only on a level of 'that's messed up'; it doesn't seem reflective of the situation at hand. Fret wishes he knew what it was , then.
They're all out again somewhere, when--
"Hark!" Nagi hollers, causing those closest to her to jump. She arches her hand over her forehead in a near salute as she stares out over the crowd. "If mine eyes doth not deceive me, I spy the remnants of the most recent EleStra collaboration campaign! This may offer a most lucrative opportunity to see what remains of the Hanakotoba collection, which includes the rare seasonal alternative version of Lord Tomonami's wardrobe for the spring season! I am already in possession of the full set of acrylic stands, but oh…"
"What's she sayin', yo?" Beat whispers, to which Fret shakes his head rapidly.
"The masses will surely be dissipating at this hour, but even so… Sir Beat, I will require your assistance!"
She doesn't give anyone a chance to blink, let alone answer. Nagi grasps both straps of her bag with intent and sets off at a swift trot.
Beat stares after her, blinking. "I ain't gettin' it, but it sounds like she needs me for summit? You guys sit tight, I'll get'er back."
He gives a jovial scrunch of both their heads before he leaves. Fret laughs and fixes his hair back into place as he watches their teammate scoot off after their other one.
"I know Boss is into her stuff, but did any of that make less sense than normal or am I imagining things?"
No one answers, then Fret remembers he and Rindo are alone now.
Rindo is staring down at his phone. He's been doing a lot more of that as of late. Fret wonders if he's been speaking to this 'Swallow' again. He doesn't know what they talk about; at the start of the week, it did piss Fret off a little that Rindo was putting so much time into chatting with them when they had missions to be getting on with, especially when they were struggling. He wonders if Rindo talked to them about whatever's going on now. That is a worrying thought.
"Did I... do something wrong?"
Rindo's voice is quiet, uncertain. One might think he mumbled for Fret to miss on purpose, but Rindo's eyes have caught his. A rare spark of determination, something that has made its presence more often since this Game started. Fret's breath catches in his throat at the sight of it, and he finds he can't look away.
Rindo manages to look back at him for about five seconds, but any more is too much of a struggle for him. He fidgets with his phone instead, pressing for his lock screen then shutting it off again.
"You've been avoiding me. As much as we can do during this Game, anyway."
"Whaddya mean, Rindude? We're buddies! If you messed something up, I'd tell you."
They both know Fret wouldn't do that in a million years. Rindo pauses his fiddling to look at him again. He narrows his eyes. "So I haven't done anything?"
As if on cue, a few aches make themselves known again; where Rindo must have been too rough with his teeth on Fret's collarbone, and the bruise hidden by his shirt throbs.
"N-Nothing that I'm aware of, unless there's something you think I should know about," Fret responds with a hand behind his neck, bright and airy and hoping to god the makeup hides his discomfort, too.
He can see the wheels turning in Rindo's head until the spark becomes a flame. Back his phone goes into his pocket. Reaching out, Rindo slams both his hands onto Fret's shoulders. He's clapped into place.
Fret can't run this time. Rindo seems to be thinking the same as he gears himself for what comes next.
"Fret," he pleads, and tightens his hold as if to ground himself for a confrontation. "Tell me what's wrong. I know you don't always say what you're thinking--" correct, Fret can feel his skin catch alight again from Rindo's touch even through his clothes, and that thought stays with him , thank you, "--but I want you to be honest with me this time. It's important. Please ."
He's looking at him with such sadness, it's-- nope. He can't handle this. This is the closest and longest physical contact Fret has had with him since, well, everything, and Rindo may or may not have acted himself before, but this is Rindo now and he's touching him now and now, Fret just remembers .
He doesn't know if he can even help it. There's too big a part of Fret that wants Rindo to remember too, to-- to what? What even happens then? Things were fucked up enough as they were, and fucking them up further wasn't on Fret's itinerary. But he feels like he'll die (again (again? )) if he doesn't do this. That kiss and everything after sent them both careening into a roaring chasm together , damn it; like hell he was going to let Rindo claw his way back out unscathed and oblivious and leave Fret to deal with the repercussions alone. It's not fair. It's selfish , maybe, but Fret is even more certain he wants Rindo to know exactly what he did.
So to hell with it; he does. Fret leans into him, inches from his face. Fret sees Rindo's breath hitch before he hears it. Ah, how the turns have tabled! Now he is the Galaxy Interloper and Rindo is the one who--
Rindo is the one who glows a faint shade of pink that he has not been treated to in a while. His eyes swivel every which way as he tries to process this sudden shift before finding their way back to Fret again.
"Uh, Fret?"
Yeah, that's a treat now. Tosai 'Fret' Furesawa is officially gone, goodbye.
When Fret doesn't move at first, Rindo starts to say something that dies off when Fret drifts closer. It sends a thrill through to his bones, and it's hard to resist the shudder. But for how alarmed Rindo appears, he sure isn't stepping back.
"C'mon, Rindo," Fret mutters, mere millimetres from the other's lips now, " think ."
The memory rises in a wave and crests over the pair of them-- crushed between cold brick and a warm, loved-worn hoodie, between chapped lips and dampened, teeth-reddened skin-- there is so much he could show him, but this is enough.
Fret steps back to take in Rindo at this moment. A faraway look in his gaze peels back to reveal one of horror. His face starts to glow and deepens in colour by the second.
"I-- what was that? What did I--?"
In a flash of movement, Rindo reaches out for Fret's shirt and tugs it down. Fret is so caught out by the action that he doesn't-- won't stop him. The forwardness of it sets his blood alight again and whoops, he's at his mercy. That's a side effect he hadn't considered after the whole thing. Fret files this away for… later.
Sure enough, the now steadily purpling bruise peeks out over the fabric. Now that Fret looks again, it's looking kind of grody; there are red indents where Rindo's really driven his teeth in. Understandable, really, that Rindo's face erupts into a full-blown flush at the sight of it. He gingerly lets go to have it spring back into place, snaps his hand back like it burns him and covers his mouth. Rindo looks mortified.
"Holy shit, Fret, I-- I'm so sorry."
Now Rindo's holding his head with both hands like he's trying to contain the loud 'I KNOW WHAT MY BEST FRIEND'S MOUTH AND SKIN TASTE LIKE' rattling around inside his skull. Fret thinks he looks like a fuzzy blond tomato. Rindo doesn't know where to look anymore. Fret doesn't either.
"It's fine," Fret dismisses with a wave, staring at the automatron above them and hoping it falls down and crushes him. "Really, at any point, I could have dipped." Shit, just have a truck spawn above him. It worked last time, supposedly. Or not. Maybe second time's the charm? "Or said no. Said anything . But I didn't."
"Why?"
Fret didn't think Rindo could make his voice go so small for such a huge question. He gives an exasperated shout and throws his arms in the air, still looking at anything but Rindo. "Hell if I know! I'm still trying to figure out why I was and still am very much okay with playing tonsil hockey with my best friend!"
Fret should be mortified by the words coming out of his own mouth, really, but Rindo seems to have that covered for the pair of them. He's boggling at Fret more and more as he talks. "Okay with what ?" he squawks at least one notch higher than standard Rindo fare.
It's sudden, like a lightning crash. Rindo cries out again, but in this case, it sounds more pained. He seizes his temples so hard Fret can see red crescents over where he's dug in. Concern overtakes him.
"Hey, are you okay? What's wrong?"
" Oh ," Rindo breathes. He looks like the secrets of the universe have been revealed to him, until he darkens. "Oh… no, oh no. Oh no oh no oh--"
"What, what ?" Fret grabs his arms. "Did you remember something else?"
He only Reminded him of the makeout sesh. That's all he wanted. None of the other shit. They didn't need that.
"How much," Fret hears himself ask. "Tell me."
Rindo is looking at Fret like he's never seen anything like him before. Fret shakes him; he needs an answer.
"Rindo, tell me, or I swear to god--"
" That's why you were avoiding me?" A different kind of horror occupies Rindo's face. "Because of-- because of what happened? Or because of what I did and said before it happened?"
Shit. Fuck. He remembers. What does Fret do ?
"Dude, what was I supposed to do? Catch you up on the fact that you mistakenly thought I was your-- that you were my--"
("Boyfriend! Boyfriend!" sings a voice in Fret's head that's achingly familiar, and he has never snuffed something out so fast in his life .)
"--that we were an item , and did all this coupley shit, then when I finally told you we weren't, your crazy ass couldn't understand why we weren't anyway-- then we got to, like, a base -- and then just forgot it all happened again?
"Please tell me, Rindo-- where . Where does a guy even start with that."
"That," Rindo starts and stops abruptly, "does sound like a mess. But you-- you really were fine with it? After everything I did, and said, and you were… just going to leave it like that?" His voice cracks by the end. "You didn't say anything . You were clearly hoping I wouldn't remember, until now. What changed your mind?"
"I don't know , Rindo, okay?" And he's right, Fret thought he did but he doesn't . He wants out of this situation last week . "If you're trying to get at something here, just come out and say it , dude! You're always pussyfooting around this shit--"
"What, like you aren't?" Rindo shouts back at him.
They're raising their voices bit by bit. They're going to get someone's attention sooner or later, but Fret's too frenzied to care. Rindo isn't even done yet.
"All those times you could have moved away, and you didn't. All those times you could have said something, and you didn't. Anything to avoid thinking even a little about how you might actually feel about all of this. And the moment you get a chance to move on and pretend none of it happened, the first out you get before things get too serious, you're on that shit so fast I don't know how you don't have friggin' whiplash!"
His words fill Fret with a fear he has never felt before. Words won't come to him anymore, his mind blank. Rindo gets in his face again, and his words come out in some sad, weird growl.
"And yet, you made me remember. Why, Fret?"
Fret doesn't have an answer for him, except to push him away. He regrets it as soon as he makes contact. Rindo stumbles backwards and looks at him, stung.
"Shit, Rindo, sorry, I'm--"
Now, Rindo looks furious . Fret doesn't think he'll dare retaliate, but it still comes as no surprise when Rindo lashes out at him and tries to shove him back. Trouble is, his hands land right on top of the bruise. Rindo seems to remember at the last possible moment because instead of shoving Fret, he ends up pressing oddly into him.
Fret feels his eyes slip half-shut against his will on impact. He chokes out a soft " ah " that sounds like a direct rip from some awful BL audio drama, and slaps a hand over his mouth in horror. Rindo freezes with his hands stuck in place and, transfixed, stares .
The utter silence that follows could be thrown into a sack and used to knock someone out cold. Fret volunteers, he can be someone.
"Please don't do that again," he says weakly through his fingers, submitting to the fact that his face has to be red as hell now. He derives some comfort in that it is probably nowhere near as bad as Rindo's, who almost looks the same shade as Fret's pants. He's still staring at his hands, only now his eyebrow twitches. Huh. That's new.
"Right," ooh , that's hoarse , "got it." Rindo steps away and lets his hands fall to hang useless at his sides before he stuffs them in his coat pockets, like he's ashamed he has them and wants them gone from the public eye.
Incidentally, they both appear to agree to try to pretend that didn't just happen.
Rindo fixes his eyes on a point somewhere in the sky up above them. He coughs and works his throat for whatever anyone could possibly follow up with.
"So, do you… what, like me or something?"
Fret's answer is immediate and defiant. "What? No !"
The answer baffles Rindo at first as he looks back, then he looks angry again. Shit, wrong thing to say? What was the right thing then?
"Wait," he blurts out, "I don't mean that."
Rindo wrinkles with further confusion and Fret balks.
"What I mean is, uhh, fuck, it's--"
'Be honest with me', didn't he say? Fret can't even remember the last time he was honest with himself.
He drops his arms and hangs his head to hide his burning face. "I don't know anymore, man," he groans.
Fret has never been at such a loss before. He could fire the question back at him. The thing is, he's not sure what Rindo's answer to that would be, and he can't decide if never knowing it would be worse than knowing.
But why didn't he push him away? None of this would have happened if Fret shut him down from the onset. But at every opportunity, he didn't, and there's some meaning to be found in that. Rindo knows this too. Fret's not shallow enough to fool around with someone and forget about it either; not with someone important like Rindo is at any rate, because if the Game is making anything apparent to Fret, it's how important Rindo is to him. The thought of not having Rindo around anymore in any capacity has occurred to him many times this past week, and it upsets him more than he expects.
Fret looks up at him again. He can see Rindo's eyes dart around less sporadically, like he's trying to work something out. Whatever that something is seems to throw him enough that now he's covering his face with both hands and sinking to a sitting position on the street.
"Something's occurred to me," came the muffled announcement from the ground. "About what we-- what I said, and did. I mean, all of it."
"All ears, pal," Fret mutters, scrubbing his cheek as if hoping it would transfer the heat out of it. May as well air out all their embarrassment while they're at it.
For a moment, Rindo peeks up at him through a gap in his fingers. Whatever he sees there must be too much for him; he closes them and his brown eyes vanish from sight.
He can hear Rindo suck in a long, slow breath. Fret watches him tremble with the effort of it. Then, as quickly as possible while staying coherent--
"I don't regret any of it, and if you're not convinced, I'd do it all again at the earliest opportunity."
The ear ringing chooses that time to make a return and Fret feels something break.
"Come again?" Now his voice has gone all squeaky; ah, that's what broke.
Rindo squirms and buries his face deeper into his palms as he tries to sink into the pavement. "God, don't make me say it again-- I'm still trying to process saying it once!"
Nevermind, now Fret is truly at a loss; a whole four panels' worth. He stares down at the one person his world has revolved around for the past few days.
Despite everything, Rindo wants to-- Rindo actually liked--
Something clicks, and Fret's brain reboots. Feeling like his limbs are on strings piloted by an external power, Fret lowers himself until he's sat down, too. He can do little else but ogle Rindo in absolute wonder .
"Well, damn," are the only words to breach the surface. It doesn't even sound like they belong to him. He rubs at the back of his neck and looks around them. Never has Fret been so grateful for the fact that next to no one could see them; except for that one obvious time. "Guess we've both got some figuring out to do, then."
"Understatement of the year," Rindo grumbles.
Fret laughs, and it lifts such immeasurable weight off of him that he does it again, and again, and keeps going until he's out of breath and near weeping. With some effort, he leans towards Rindo and pries his hands away from his face. He looks only slightly less mortified than before, but there's a trace of a smile and breathlessness that wasn't there before. He'd laughed along with him.
" Well ," Fret opens, casual as he winds their fingers together between them because it's so easy to do it now, "what if I say I'm not convinced?"
Rindo is torn between looking at his face and their hands. "Eh?"
Fret sighs and glares at him fondly. Right, he's also an idiot. He leans closer so his mouth hovers by Rindo's ear.
"It means I'm ready to 'do it all again' whenever you are, my Rindude."
"Oh. Um." Rindo's eyes dart around wildly. He fidgets as best he can with his hands still captive. "S-Sure," he mumbles, sounding pleased by the prospect despite his embarrassment.
Cute . Fret sits back to look at him again. His smile curls all cat-like. "No, seriously. We're going to work on you together, because hot dayum , son; initiative looks good on you."
Rindo freezes, eyes owlish. Fret can feel his arm twitch in an omen. He tightens his hold on Rindo's hands before he tries to hide his mouth in his mask again.
"Call me son like that one more time and I'm never kissing you again," Rindo says in a strained voice, "but… really? Me just… starting shit for once was a good thing?"
"The best thing," Fret assures him, then decides to take a leaf out of Retro Rindo's playbook. He deepens his voice, half-lids his eyes, and aims his gaze at a point between Rindo's eyes. "Yeah, starting shit is super hot, actually."
Okay, maybe Retro sounded cooler. Maybe he wasn't so blunt about it, either. Fret can do one better though, and rubs the inside of one of Rindo's wrists with the pad of his thumb.
" Especially if it's you," Fret adds.
Then he makes it two better, because Fret decided long ago he will always be extra for Rindo, and lifts the other wrist to his lips. It takes everything he has to maintain eye contact with that same spot, as it's the only thing that keeps him from bolting off onto the next train to Hokkaido.
It pays off. The multi-pronged attack proves too much for Rindo and-- groove! The poor guy squeaks and goes slackjawed on him. Colour rises high on his already ruddy cheeks and he garbles things that Fret doesn't think are words anymore. Fret chuckles and smacks a series of loud, over-the-stop kisses up Rindo's arm until he feels the burn of Rindo's cheek under his mouth. Rindo makes a hearty attempt to hide in his hood for someone still missing the use of his hands, and settles for burying his face in Fret's shoulder instead. His new hiding spot throws an arm around his shoulders and squeezes them together, laughing all the while as he presses his nose into Rindo's hair.
They'll figure something out. Or make out, maybe. Hell, why not both?