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Chatter is all Fuuta can hear, but one voice felt significantly louder than the rest: that being Mikoto’s.
Fuuta scowls at Mikoto, who’s practically glittering while talking with the other prisoners. With a small sigh, Fuuta lays his head in his hand and makes fun of Mikoto in his head—belittling someone else helps him cope with the eerie prison, which seems bad, but Fuuta doesn’t really care.
“Oh, Mucchan! Hm… Are crepes the latest trend with highschoolers?”
Mikoto must be super lame and lonely to ask about what’s trending with highschoolers, Fuuta thinks. Why doesn’t he talk to another guy his age?
“Koto-chan~! We should debut as a comedic duo, right? Hehe.”
Fuuta frowns at this conversation, too. Mikoto’s totally not funny, and regardless, Kotoko’s way too serious.
“Kazu-kun, are you looking to smoke today?”
What a loser Mikoto was! Smoking is the stupidest thing you can do in Fuuta’s non-humble opinion. What a waste of Mikoto’s health and good face.
Fuuta rolls his eyes at Mikoto, yet he continues to stare at him.
Fuuta can’t stand Mikoto, can’t stand how he extended his amiability to everyone but Fuuta.
Not only was it gross to be so happy-go-lucky in a prison, but it was even grosser to give nicknames to the other prisoners. Maybe the grossest thing of all though was how irritated Fuuta was that he didn’t get a nickname.
It’s simply a dumbass nickname from some freak, yet Fuuta cannot stop thinking about what Mikoto told him much to his own avail.
“I don’t give nicknames to children or hard-to-approach type people! See, you don’t have one, right?” Mikoto had said once to Fuuta when the latter questioned the former, a mocking grin on his face.
Fuuta recounts the conversation with a frown. Now he feels frustrated and defensive. Fuuta absolutely wasn’t childish, and even if he was hard to talk to, that was just because he had standards and self-respect, unlike Mikoto.
Regardless of it all, though, Fuuta still wanted one of Mikoto’s dumbass nicknames despite telling him off everytime he used one. He would enjoy the feeling like he was accepted and cool. Something like that.
Fuuta shrugs the thought off and lays his head down as the other prisoners leave the area. His mind eventually wandered off of nicknames and back to his video games (that he missed dearly).
Once Fuuta thought everyone was gone, he decided he might as well get himself something to eat. Maybe curry because Fuuta likes curry, and he’s simple-minded with food.
But before Fuuta can get out of his chair——
“Ah… It’s just me and you left, Fuuta,” Mikoto suddenly called out to him.
Fuuta flinches much more than he’d have liked to admit, but immediately tries to play it off. Flinching is lame, and Fuuta would hate to look lame or, worse than that, weak.
“The hell!?” Fuuta exclaims. “I thought you left with everyone else!“
Mikoto shrugs, halfway rolls his eyes. “No, I stayed. I wanted to chat, you know? You’re the only one who’s so… What’s the word?”
“Haaah? Don’t finish that damn sentence, prick!”
“Yeah, you’re like that!” Mikoto waves his hand flippantly. “So, I wanted to try and make normal conversation with you.”
“Okay.”
A period of silence passes awkwardly, and for the record, it’s not Fuuta’s fault.
“… Wow, strong start! ♪” Mikoto remarks with a sarcastic tone of which isn’t lost on Fuuta. “Hmm… So, can you cook? Want help?”
“Oi… The fuck are you implying?” Fuuta barks back. “I don’t need your dumbass ‘help’.”
This was why Fuuta hated talking with Mikoto—every conversation felt like a competition of who could disparage the other more, who could prove their competence first, or who could get the last word.
There was the argument that Fuuta was exacerbating their relationship’s strain by being unsociable, but Fuuta would retort that he’d rather be rude. They’re in prison for murder—he’s not up for kissing ass like the idiot, Mikoto. Besides, being awful is kind of just easier.
Fuuta glares at Mikoto. His hair was swept neatly to the left, and he was smiling like the idiot he was. Of course, Fuuta didn’t return the niceties; he frowned back.
“Ahaha, I guess I’m sorry for offering? For the record, though, I’m a really good chef!” Mikoto responds with a playful smile.
Mikoto then pulls a chair up next to Fuuta and their suddenly closing distance alarms Fuuta. They’re only about an arms-length apart now.
Seriously, Fuuta thinks. This is such try-hard behavior.
“… You’re way too easy-going for a murderer,” Fuuta says and pinches the bridge of his nose frustratedly.
Without giving any care towards Fuuta’s words, Mikoto simply fidgets with his hair, twirling it around his finger.
“Maybe you’re too uptight, you know? This is probably some reality T.V. show, so you’re better to keep your image up.”
Fuuta tugs on his mask annoyedly. “Tch… You still think that shit? You’re too laid-back, giving everyone nicknames and talking casually with everyone.”
At that moment, Fuuta glanced over at Mikoto—maybe to see his reaction to his comment—only to see him staring right back at him, almost into his soul or something. It’s creepy.
Despite telling himself Mikoto’s just a gross creep, Fuuta’s still blushing like an idiot. Now he’s getting stupid too, and it’s Mikoto’s fault for having that stupidly attractive face.
“… Hm, you don’t have a nickname, though?” Mikoto teases. “That isn’t everyone.”
Then, Mikoto glances at Fuuta’s visage, and the way Fuuta was frowning with a flushed face, desperately trying to hide it with his black mask. While Fuuta was typically always frustrated, this seems to be a different sort of frustration—an envious type of frustration, maybe?
Now Mikoto’s legitimately interested in this interaction.
“Like I care,” Fuuta scoffs. “Point still stands…”
Mikoto smiles with just a hint of curiousity. “Are you bothered by not having a nickname?”
“Wh—! O—Obviously not! Fuckin’ gross!” Fuuta stammers embarrassedly; he rolls his eyes, before he looks away from Mikoto. “Tch, just saying, though… your reason for not giving me a nickname was stupid as hell.”
In response, Mikoto just chuckles softly. It sounded a bit different than usual. More authentic if a label had to be put on it.
Fuuta sneaks another glance at the other.
“Okay, I get it, now!” Mikoto says, still giggling a little.
Fuuta frowns. “Get what…?”
“How about Fuu-kun for a nickname? Rolls off the tongue,” Mikoto finally says.
“… Gross.”
Then, Mikoto stands up, and pushes his chair back under the roundtable the two were sat at. He leans on top of the chair and watches Fuuta.
Fuuta goes quiet before he merely groans while he crosses his arms. He can feel warmth pooling in his cheeks which is worsening under Mikoto’s sharp gaze.
“I—I didn’t want any dumbass nickname... No reason to get all chummy in a prison, you know,” Fuuta murmurs.
“Awe, c’mon. Lighten up, seriously! That’s no way to act in the real world, Fuu-kun!” Mikoto lectures. He pauses momentarily. “Ahaha, besides, not everyone can read people like me!”
Mikoto gives a wink. Again, creepy.
“Shut up. Not like I care what you think.” Fuuta sighs and condemns himself for his lack of control over his emotions.
“If you really didn’t care, wouldn’t you have just left from the start?”
“I–I was just…!” Fuuta attempts to justify his behavior as anything else, but he can’t manage a good argument.
Without waiting for an argument that would never come, Mikoto tucks his hair behind his ear and laughs. He begins to take his leave as Fuuta glowers at him.
“Asshole… Who does he think he is…!” Fuuta curses under his breath.
He decided Mikoto could only be such a shallow-minded asshole because of pretty privilege or something. Fuuta glares down Mikoto as he walks off. However, Mikoto stopped suddenly and turned to face Fuuta.
“Oh, Fuu-kun… I wanted to say! You’re actually not so hard to approach. Ah, still childish, though.” Mikoto tilts his head, then perks back up. “Let’s talk again sometime, okay? After all, I’m good with all sorts of people, so I bet I’ll get you to loosen up eventually!”
With that, Mikoto smiles softly, and finally leaves Fuuta alone at the prison’s roundtable. Fuuta would’ve retorted some cracked insult back if he wasn’t so surprised by Mikoto’s words.
“Damn it! That bastard got the last fuckin’ word again.”
Fuuta’s heart suddenly feels like it’s pounding in his ears.
Mikoto asked to talk again…
…and Fuuta didn’t mind that request.
Even if it’d just be mutual bickering, the thought of having another way to waste time around this prison didn’t sound awful. Maybe Fuuta could get Mikoto to loosen up, too, and they could be… friends.
Ew. Fuuta suddenly stops himself. Ew, ew, ew.
Why did Fuuta want to talk to that shithead again? Fuuta reminds himself that Mikoto is one of the most annoying people he’s met to date. Mikoto’s workaholic mentality and roundabout conversation topics were irrevocably lame, just like everything else about Mikoto fucking Kayano!
Also, if anything, Fuuta should be the one deciding when they talk, so, next time, he’ll approach Mikoto first and get the last word.