Chapter Text
Work was usually super quiet. A small flower shop, fit snugly into some random block of a smaller town. Barely anyone ever came by, which is what made it the best customer service job.
Fuuta wishes it stayed that way.
A scowl settled onto his face the instant a customer came rushing in the door, setting off the jingling bells Fuuta oh so loathed. With a sigh, he pulled his mask up and trudged out to the front desk. The customer had his back turned to Fuuta, seeming antsy but too lost in gazing upon the display of flowers to care. There’s a couple tattoos on the back of his neck; the one in the center reads XIII DEATH, and on his left side is what seems to be spider legs.
Fuuta clears his throat, wanting to get back to playing on his phone as soon as possible. “Can I help you?”
“Oh!” The guy whips around, nearly dropping the phone in his hand. Now, Fuuta can see the spider tattoo clearly. He crosses his arms, waiting for the other to continue. “No, that’s okay… well, I do need some help. I don't know my way around flowers.”
Fuuta blinks slowly at the guy. “That’s why it’s my job to be here. What kind are you looking for?” He rounds the corner of the desk to step up to the customer, who was disturbingly taller than him. It’s annoying.
Fumbling with his phone, the guy grumbles warily. Fuuta notes that the top of his left hand seems to be covered in a fading black tattoo. He wonders if that means he has a whole blackout sleeve. “Um… darn, Mappi…” he looks up at Fuuta apologetically. “Romance? Flowers? For a first date?”
“Like, in a bouquet?”
“Yeah, one of those.”
“Simp-ple enough. These for a girlfriend?” Fuuta makes his way back to the staff door, ripping out some paper from a dispenser.
The man smiles sadly. “Ah, no. For a guy.”
Fuuta turns to raise his eyebrow. Non-judgmentally, of course. He just doesn't hear people willingly admit things like that often.
“Wait, I mean, no! For a friend’s boyfriend- well, guy! She’s running late and needs me to pick up flowers for her so she can give them to her new date!” The customer rushes out. Now Fuuta feels a little bad for looking at him sideways. “I mean, not that I have anything against guys with boyfriends, haha.”
“Okay…” Fuuta mumbles, returning his attention to the cracked door. “Kotoko! Do we have any pink peonies back there?”
Kotoko, Fuutas one and only coworker save for their manager, sticks her head into his view, as well as a fist full of banded pink peonies. She steps out beside him, shoving the flowers into Fuutas chest so that she can wave at the customer. He scowls at her as he fixes the flowers.
“Hey, Mikoto. How’s work?” She tilts her head, her hat obscuring most of her face. Really, Fuuta thinks its a bit obnoxious to wear a hat indoors, but he has come to learn that’s just one of Kotoko’s many quirks.
The guy, supposedly Mikoto, looks away from where he was typing on his phone. His eyes light up as he practically bounds to the counter. “Koto-chan! Work is good, I didn’t know you worked here.”
Fuuta grabs a clear plastic sheet with a red heart pattern on it. “You t-two know e-each other?” He clicks his tongue from hearing his stutter increase in frequency. It’s also annoying.
“He’s my tattoo artist,” Kotoko answers. “You've seen the one.”
“That enormous wolf on your back?” Fuuta huffs, and Kotoko confirms with a nod. He faces Mikoto, shrugging. That explanation made all of his own tattoos make more sense. “Damn g-good job, if I’m b-being honest.”
Mikoto’s grin seems to grow impossibly wide. “Thanks! Oh, but um. I’m really on a time crunch right now, so…”
Waving his hand in a dismissive manner, Fuuta carries out the payment transaction with Mikoto, gingerly handing him the bouquet. Mikoto pokes the bow Fuuta tied around it with a pink ribbon. “Super cute. Thank you, Mappi’s gonna adore this.”
“I’m just doing what I have to…” Fuuta grumbles, though the corner of his mouth turns up at the compliment anyway. He’s glad Kotoko can't see it under that mask; she’d definitely tease him in that stoic way of hers.
With everything settled, Mikoto is quick to leave. Before he leaves the shop, he says a quick goodbye to Fuuta and Kotoko both.
Fuuta doesn’t respond. He’s much too eager to spend time on his phone until he gets off work.
Groaning, Fuuta slammed his head into the staff doorframe. He was totally off his game today, as if he couldn’t tell by losing several pvp matches in a row. He decided to put his phone down as self care or something like that. In the silence, though, he found himself being incredibly annoyed (though lately, he finds that annoyed is just a perpetual state of his).
Kotoko didn't come into work, which was fine and all when considering the fact that the shop didn't get many customers to begin with. However, it was not fine when considering how Fuuta had specifically prepared himself to ask her a very important question that needed an outside opinion as an answer.
The question? Well, Fuuta’s top surgery scars were healing to the point that they began to turn dark. He was only a little self conscious about it, but he wasn’t planning on telling Kotoko that part. He just needed something like a tattoo that covered- or at the very least incorporated- his scars so that maybe he’d feel a little better about them being there. Not a big deal, but more like… self care. That phrase was definitely not beginning to grow on him. Not at all.
Unfortunately, Fuuta was not blessed with any creative spirit at all, and was frustratingly drawing blanks when it came to any tattoo ideas he had. And maybe Kotoko wasn’t the best person to ask either, as now that he thinks about it, she’d probably tell him to get wolves. Her and her wolves, man.
Fuuta’s brainstorming is so rudely interrupted when he hears the dreaded jingle of the front door. He sighs, dragging his feet on his way to the front counter.
He pulls up his mask when he sees the familiar face. It’s that Mikoto guy again, and this time he’s got a laughing woman attached to his arm. Fuuta thinks she’s either a really clingy friend (he knows a guy like that), or Mikoto really does have a girlfriend. The latter would totally shock Fuuta, though he sort of had no room to say anything. He couldn’t get a partner if he tried… probably. He hasn't tried yet, so he doesn't know, but probably.
Overall, Mikoto looks pissed. Fuuta was curious to know what could make such a cheery guy look so daunting, especially with the textbook definition of walking sunshine beside him.
“Ah, hello~!” The woman waves, all but dragging Mikoto as she walks. She squints at Fuuta’s nametag and her eyes sparkle. Fuuta can’t tear his eyes off her smile as she speaks. “Kaji… yama-kun, is it? My friend Mikoto said he came here last week, and I wanted to know if there was any chance you could make the same bouquet as before? It was super pretty and perfect!”
Ah, so she was the friend who was getting flowers for her date. “Yeah, I remember it. We d-don't h-have the p-peonies I used before, though.” He has to hold back a grumble about being annoyed at his stuttering again.
The woman’s smile falters as she grips Mikoto’s arm tighter. This catches his attention, making him run a hand over his face.
Fuuta almost gets chills when Mikoto tilts his head to glare at him. Almost.
“Can’t you just replace the flowers with somethin’ similar?” His voice carries a steady tone of irritation.
In any other circumstance, Fuuta would probably pick a fight with this guy. Actually, that was an exaggeration. In a circumstance where Mikoto wasn't, like, two whole heads taller. Or where he wasn't at work. Preferably both.
Instead of that, Fuuta simply breathes out of his nose. “I can d-do that. Wait here please,” he directs the last part to the woman, and frowns as her demeanor instantly livens up again.
While Fuuta picks out some pale red carnations, he watches the woman and Mikoto carefully. She reaches up on her tiptoes to ruffle his hair. “You’re so smart, Shi-pon! My little problem solver.”
Mikoto gently moves her hand away, tenderness in the way he lingers as he lets go. “Stop that, Mahiru, m’head hurts.”
She continues to mess with him playfully as Fuuta prepares the bouquet. Seriously, is there something wrong with that Mikoto guy? He looks way more dead inside than the first time Fuuta met him, and if that doesn’t raise any alarms, he doesn't know what would.
He’s just finished tying the ribbon, so Fuuta steps back to the counter and sets the bouquet down while he rings her up. With Mikoto wandering around the shop and no longer paying attention, the woman grabs the edge of the counter and leans over.
“Kajiyama-kun, I like your piercing! When’d you get it?” She asks, eyes wide as if she were genuinely curious, though her somewhat devious smile tells a different story.
Wasn't she getting a bit invasive? Still, flattery from a pretty woman worked its magic on him. Fuuta feels his mask rub against his nose with the way his expression scrunches up instinctively, eyes darting away. “Thanks? Got it when I was nineteen. On a whim,” he prays to no god in particular that he had given a satisfactory answer and she’d stop talking to him until she was done paying. For his own sake.
Clearly, his prayers were not heard.
She covers her mouth with her hand. “Oh, I know someone who does impulsive things like that all the time!” And though Fuuta sees this as a weird comment, Mikoto definitely shows that he took more offense to it.
“I don’t. I’m a grown adult,” he retorts, shifting uncomfortably as he returns to her side. He and Fuuta make eye contact quickly, and Fuuta can’t even attempt to hide how amused he is.
The woman looks up to Mikoto and blinks coldly. “I'm sure, Shi,” then pops right back to Fuuta with a grin. “How old are you, dear?”
“Mahiru, stop bothering. Just get the flowers and go-” Mikoto gets cut off by Mahiru holding up a finger to him, though it’s nowhere near his lips with how short she is.
Fuuta is now confused. There’s no way this lady was trying to make friends with him. He quickly tells her the total of her purchase and sighs. “I’m twenty-one.”
She hums to herself as she pays, clearly overjoyed that Fuuta actually answered her. “I’m twenty-three, Shiina Mahiru, by the way. Shi-pon here is twenty-four. I was only curious because you look like someone who’d be in college?”
“Gap year,” Fuuta provides, though he’s already resigned himself from the conversation. Could she walk away yet? The whole situation just felt too awkward.
Mahiru takes her bouquet in her arms and pouts. “Kajiyama-kun, I don’t want to sound rude when I ask, but I don’t judge.”
Her wording catches Fuutas attention, and he looks up to find Mikoto looking mortified. Like he was watching a nuke about to hit Fuuta in the back of the head, and only cared a little bit because the nuke would hit him next.
“Which way do you swing?”
Fuuta sputters. When usually faced with this question, he’s not standing a desk away from a generically hot guy with broad shoulders and a cute lady with a thousand dollar smile who seemed to be trying to set them up. So usually, he would not sputter. Unfortunately, he did anyway.
It only takes him half a second to recover and calm himself, coughing loudly into his palm, as if he did not just embarrass himself by reacting wildly to a question he could have denied.
Mikoto takes a step back. “Ma-hiru!” He scolds, though she looks at him as if nothing had happened.
“No really, I just wanna know what team you play for, if you catch my drift,” her smile grows by the second. Fuuta thinks she’s just teasing him on purpose at this point. “Perhaps both?”
“You obviously don't hafta answer that,” Mikoto argues, placing a hand on her arm. He gets her to turn around and they begin walking away, until Mikoto looks back and shrugs.
Fuuta stares dumbfounded at the door as they exit, Mahiru playfully patting Mikoto’s arm. He collapses onto the counter, head squished between his arms, and groans again.
Consulting Kotoko had been no help, just like Fuuta had imagined. His need for change itched away at him as the days went by, and he eventually found himself agreeing to meet a friend to discuss ideas. Fuuta wasn't even convinced she would have anything good in mind, either.
Yet, he still showed up to that one cafe that’s a little too far away from his apartment for him to be a regular at, just to make her happy. And… she was late. Late enough to where Fuuta considered just leaving.
The cafe was jam-packed, and thankfully, nobody had tried to sit at Fuuta’s little table yet. He had his phone open, scrolling mindlessly while his coffee got cold. He didn't drink the stuff often anyway, finding that caffeine didn't tend to affect him. While the ambient noise around him was a pleasant experience when compared to how quiet work was, there would be the occasional scream or laugh that irritated him like crazy.
He was so focused on his irritation that he has apparently missed a text, only seeing it when he pulled down his screen to check his notifications.
Five minutes ago, from Yuno. “Sorry Fuuta, something came up! I’ll see you at your place later tonight. Bringing food to make up for it!”
Fuuta wanted to slam his head into the table. He would be much more angry if it weren’t for the promise of food. And if she failed to deliver said food, so help him…
Thinking about food made him hungry. He has skipped breakfast, thanks to waking up late, thanks to going to bed late, thanks to a new update on a game. Not his fault!
He left his bag in his seat to hopefully save the table, beelining for the counter. He quickly ordered a sandwich, somehow made it through the whole interaction without stuttering (yesss, achievement unlocked), and waited around for his name to be called.
After he made a particularly heated private quote tweet, he just barely heard his name called, reaching around the counter and grabbing the wrapped sandwich with haste. Great, now he could grab his stuff and leave to eat his sandwich on the way home.
Or so he thought. Because nothing ever really works out the way Fuuta wants, huh?
He nearly runs face first into a guy standing in front of his table, which was partly his fault for staring at his phone, but also, how was he supposed to expect someone standing there.
Fuuta glances up, jaw dropping when he locks eyes with a familiar face. And by god does Mikoto look upset .
For a second, Fuuta just stares. Then he moves around to the side, moving his bag and sitting in his seat. Why? The satisfaction of stealing a table from this guy. He smirks behind his mask as Mikoto’s expression screws up more.
“You,” Mikoto says simply. The way he speaks makes him seem unaffected, though his face tells a different story.
“You,” Fuuta echoes with a nod, pulling his mask down and sandwich wrapping open. Mikoto huffs when he catches sight of Fuutas smug face.
To Fuuta’s surprise, Mikoto sets his coffee down on the table, and promptly sits in the chair across from him. Fuuta frowns. He was really hoping he’d go somewhere else.
“This was the only table open,” Mikoto explains, setting a laptop down and opening it. “You hogged it with your bag.”
Fuuta only rolls his eyes in response. He wasn’t even going to argue when he had a sandwich. If he paid for it, he was eating it.
As Fuuta chewed, he watched Mikoto basically glare holes into his screen, typing more aggressively than a sweat in a fps game. It made Fuuta dizzy trying to keep up with how fast his fingers flew across the keyboard.
Swallowing, Fuutas gaze lands on Mikoto’s drink of choice. “Cold brew…?” He mumbled. “You trying to drown yourself in c-caffeine or something?”
Mikoto stills, looking at the coffee, then at Fuuta. “Yeah. That’s precisely what I’m tryna do.” He picks up the cup and takes a sip to prove his point, never breaking eye contact.
Fuuta’s mouth clamps shut, turning his head away. Yeah, that was unexpectedly hot. But would he ever admit that? Hell no.
After a while of Fuuta eating and scrolling on his phone and Mikoto typing away at his computer, Fuuta remembers something. He’s hesitant to speak up again, but he gets over his nerves anyway. This is the most comfortable chance he’s gonna get.
“You do tattoos, r-right?”
Like he hadn’t heard him, Mikoto doesn’t raise his head. Fuuta waits, fidgeting with his fingers.
“Maybe,” he finally says, chewing his bottom lip. “Sometimes.”
“What’s th-that mean?” Fuuta can't stop the question before it spills out.
“It means I do them sometimes.”
“‘Kay.”
Why did Fuuta say that. Mikoto seems to be wondering the same thing as his expression twists to confusion. “Why’d you ask?” He finally looks up and picks up his drink.
“Oh, right,” he mentally facepalms. Mikoto raises an eyebrow at him, and Fuuta pushes down the urge to sneer in return.
Instead, he motions to his chest with both index fingers, dragging them out. “Um. I’ve got thes-se s-scars, so I kinda w-want somethin’ that, I-I-I dunno, in-ncludes them?” He leaves out the part about being insecure, though by Mikoto’s unimpressed expression, he’s sure the way he stuttered so much gave it away anyway.
Mikoto leans back in his seat, tapping rapidly on the table’s surface. Abruptly, he sighs and turns over to his own bag, practically slamming down a notebook and pen beside his laptop. Fuuta doesn’t say anything, just observing as Mikoto aggressively scribbles a boxy figure.
Moments later, Mikoto sighs again, catching Fuuta’s attention. He looks up through his long eyelashes, absolutely flooring Fuuta. Fuck, he’s gorgeous, isn’t he? The thought makes Fuuta hold his breath as he waits for the man across from him to speak.
“What kinda scars?” He asks, sounding a little awkward, as if it weren't a question he necessarily wanted to ask. Fuuta startles, looking up in thought. “Inverted t?”
“How detailed?”
“The… scars?”
“The tattoo.”
“Fuck. Not v-very?”
Mikoto hums lowly, returning to sketching. Sandwich completely forgotten, Fuuta rubs the back of his neck awkwardly as he opts to look at his phone instead of the suddenly stupidly attractive guy and his stupid, attractive hand.
He’s in the middle of reading an instagram post when Mikoto shakes the table by picking up his notebook. “Somethin’ like this work?”
Fuuta tilts his head at the cute little drawing of a chest, and a blacked out heart design around it. He covers his mouth, trying not to laugh at the uneven ovals-for-nipples. Other than that, the drawing is good, and he actually likes the idea.
“Yeah,” he starts, a small chuckle slipping past his fingers. “It’s cute.”
Mikoto lowers the notepad, blinking a few times. Then, picking up his pen again, he writes down a couple words and numbers beside the drawing. Once he rips out the piece of paper and shuts his laptop, he holds his other, empty hand out towards Fuuta.
“Great, I’ll take my payment now.”
Silence.
“What.” Fuuta’s smile dies instantly.
“Kiddin’,” Mikoto slides the paper across the table and stands, gathering his things. “If you’re gonna call, do it sooner rather than later.”
Fuuta takes the paper, quickly reading the phone numbers and shop address before folding it and shoving it somewhere in his bag. He’ll find it later.
Mikoto lingers, fingers barely touching the edge of the table as he turns to leave. He glances at Fuuta, his lips, his eyes, his hands, and raises his near-empty drink as some sort of wave. “Seeya.”
It’s weird, the way Fuuta’s breath tumbles from his open mouth, thinking that maybe he enjoyed that guy's company more than he would have previously thought. He didn't want him to leave, for once.
Nevertheless, Fuuta only leaned on his palm as Mikoto gracefully slipped out of yet another glass door.
“I’m home! Wake your ass up!”
Yuno shuts the door behind her with her foot. Good, Fuuta was beginning to get worried she died on her way. That, or she killed a man and was in jail. How would he ever get his free dinner if that happened?
He grumbles as he rolls off the couch, stumbling to his feet. “Couldja wake me up n-nicel-ly next t-time?”
“I’ll be nice to you when you’re nice to me,” she retorts, dropping a bag of takeout on the small table in the living area. “Get up. Wash your hands before you touch the food, who knows where you’ve been.”
“Who k-knows where you’ve been,” he shoots back, wandering into the kitchen anyway. He raises his voice so he can be heard over the running water. “I s-sat at that cafe just waitin’ n-n-n w-waitin’ for m-my dear friend!”
Yuno glares at him over her shoulder, quickly returning to sorting out their respective plates. She moves the vegetables from Fuuta’s noodles into hers, placing some extra chicken into his in return. “A guy offered to take me shopping, you know. I’d rather get to have pretty things than have an ugly conversation with my dear friend.”
Fuuta sits beside her, saying his begrudged thanks, and breaking apart his pair of chopsticks. He listens as she retells her day to him, with the occasional stretch of silence when she was chewing. He doesn't really pitch in to the conversation, his mind already elsewhere with multiple questions with no particular order.
When there's finally a lull in her storytelling, he stabs the chicken with his chopsticks. Yuno winces at the misuse of the utensil, and Fuuta grins with satisfaction. “Why d-don’t you j-just move in, Yun-no? You vis-sit l-l-like, every d-day.”
She grimaces. “One, because you do things like that,” she points to the piece of chicken currently impaled on his chopsticks. “Two, because you’re weird. You wouldn’t even pay me to live here. Also, you do things like that. Did I mention you do things like that?”
“Rude,” he pouts, eating his stabbed chicken. “You c-can’t call me w-weird. We’re lik-ke, f-fuckin’, sib-blings-s ‘r s-somethin’.”
She barks out a laugh. “Siblings? Sure. Can you imagine me calling you nii-san? Fuuta-nii!” She mocks, clasping her hands like a pleading child. “Fuu-nii, please eat your veggies, they’re good for you!”
“Hell n-no,” he frowns. “You're th-the young-ger one, y-you n-need the veget-t-tables to g-grow.”
Yuno sighs when she's done laughing. “Did something happen, Fuu?”
“D-don’t call m-me that,” he grabs Yuno’s trash and stacks it with his. “Why dy-ya as-sk?”
He knows exactly why.
“You're stuttering a lot. There’s gotta be something on your mind,” she says kindly. He hates when she’s gentle with him like this.
He’s silent as he throws away the trash, and snatches two things of water from the fridge. When he returns, she's still looking at him expectantly.
“Ugh,” he groans, handing her a water. “N-nothin’ really. There’s th-this g-guy who c-ca-ame into work-k a c-coup-ple times, an’ I s-saw hi-him at the c-cafe today.”
She gestures for him to continue, eyebrows raised in interest.
He clears his throat. “Uh, he’s a t-tattoo art-tis-st. S-so he g-gave m-me, uh, h-hold on,” he gets up to find his bag, rummaging through the endless bullshit he kept in there.
“Here,” he says, tossing the crumpled paper to Yuno. She catches it with no problem, smoothing it out against the table.
“Ah, Fuu! You should do this, it’s super cute!” Her eyes trail down to the phone numbers at the bottom. “Ohoho, he gave you the shop’s number and his own?”
Fuuta gives in to his urge to slam his head against the table at last. “Y-yeah.”
Yuno leans on her arms playfully. “Was he hot? You’re all nervous to call him and that’s what’s bothering you?”
“I am n-not tellin’ y-y-you any of th-that.”
“Ohh, so that’s a yes.”
Fuuta groans again.
Yuno giggles, inspecting the paper again. “You said he came into work a few times? Why was that?”
“Nosy b-bastard,” Fuuta sits up, fixing his hair so it’s not in his eyes. “F-first tim-me, I’m n-not s-sure it was ev-ven him. It’s l-like he w-was a comp-pletel-ly different p-person. A-anyway, his f-friend, I th-think, w-was gettin’ a bouquet.”
He doesn’t even wait to see the glint in Yuno’s eyes before he continues. “Y-yes, sh-she was p-pretty t-too. I’m-m hella c-confused, ‘caus-se she w-was glued to th-the guy. Th-then sh-she asked m-me wh-which way I sw-wing.”
“But he gave you his number, which is clearly flirting,” she finishes his thoughts. “Calm down, Fuu. I won’t make you talk a whole bunch while you’re worked up.”
He still hates when she’s gentle with him. But sometimes, times like this, it’s nice. Stuttering constantly was extremely annoying, and even more so since he couldn’t control it at all when anxious. She understood that it was hard for him.
Leaning over so his head falls on her shoulder, he grits his teeth. “I’m fine,” he manages to say. “It’s n-not a b-big deal anyw-way.”
She giggles, the action rippling through both of their bodies. “Then call him!”
He lifts his head to look at her like she's crazy. “It’s late. I’m n-not doing th-that.”
“I will for you?”
…
She makes a break for it, lunging to the couch where Fuuta’s phone lay. He lets out a strangled cry, scampering to reach her. “Y-yuno!”
She moves around him with a practiced agility from the several other times they’ve done similar tangos, snatching the paper with Mikoto’s phone number. She manages to type in the number in seconds, laughing as she presses the dial button.
Yuno holds out the phone to Fuuta who is mortified. The call picks up with a resounding click on the third ring. Fuuta holds the phone up to his ear, Yuno on the other side eavesdropping.
“Hello?”
Mikoto sounds like he’s in a noisy bar of some sort. Fuuta instantly regrets letting Yuno get to his phone. “Uh, h-hey, it’s Kajiyama. Fuuta,” he lifts up his thumb to chew on his nail.
“…Oh, hold on. I can’t hear for shit in here.”
Yuno whacks Fuuta’s shoulder, mouthing at him, his voice is hot!
He ignores her.
Fuuta listens intently as Mikoto moves locations, seemingly outside now. “You called earlier than expected.”
“Shit, s-sorry ab-bout that. My sister insist-ted,” he snaps at Yuno, who sticks her tongue out at him.
“I don’t care. I’m glad to have an excuse to be outta there. What’d you want?”
Fuuta, surprisingly, comes up with something on the spot. He decides to ask Mikoto about prices and stuff, grumbling about his embarrassing brokenness and effectively boring Yuno. Just as she flopped onto the couch in defeat, Mikoto spoke up.
“I can strike you a deal of sorts.”
Fuuta’s eyebrows pull together. “What? You d-don’t h-have to do that.”
“Hmm. Are you free after work tomorrow?”
“…Yeah? Wh-what are y-you p-planning,” Fuuta’s tone seems to pique Yuno’s interest.
“Aren't you curious…” Mikoto asks, though it’s more a statement than a question.
“That’s w-why I asked.” He deadpans as he fights with one arm to push Yuno away from the phone.
“I’ll pick you up and put an appointment in for the day after. Bye bye.”
Fuuta nearly screams at the way his face heats up. He could basically hear the smug smile on that dipshit's face when he ended the call.
And Yuno was certainly not helping either. She laughs, loud enough to wake some neighbours for sure. “He’s totally taking you out!”
The worst thing was, Fuuta had to agree. Mikoto was definitely trying to take him out, and he thinks the oncoming heart attack might do it first.