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fuck.
there wasn’t much else to articulate fuuta’s current emotions with-he had his words, sharp like knives, but not much else. he could spit swears and verses, but they tended to be a coverup-not that he wanted to admit that.
kazui called it a “coping mechanism.” fuuta called him a bastard.
as much as he’d argue with his teammates, they were really all he had. now, after this loss...they seemed to be taking it fine, but with the stoic demeanor of kotoko and the mild-mannered outward personality of kazui, you could never be too sure.
fuuta could see it now; he’d go back to his teammates, lip curled and teeth grit. kazui, ever the optimist, would pat him on the back and try to reassure him (though sometimes it felt like he was reassuring himself) and kotoko would simply nod in fuuta’s direction with a quick drag from her cigarette.
speaking of-that’s what he’d come out here for, right? fumbling a lighter and cig out of his hoodie’s pocket, he lit up and let the smoke swirl in the cool night air, leaning against a nearby streetlamp. his phone buzzed in his pocket, and he picked it up with a groan.
old man, 9:46 pm: Where are you?
fuuta scoffed, jerking his head in an attempt to get his hair out of his eyes. of fucking course he’d text him. not feeling particularly sociable, he shot back a simple:
You, 9:47 pm: dont wait up
after a good five minutes of radio silence from kazui, fuuta breathed a sigh of relief before going back at the cigarette, watching the smoke obscure his vision in the streetlamp-lit night. he hadn’t taken up smoking until fairly recently-both his teammates did, and the smell had become some twisted form of comfort. there were the vague memories of his father smoking, but those were to be unpacked on a day where he wasn’t already over-emotional.
“you did good today.”
the sudden voice startles fuuta out of his brief inner turmoil, and he whips around unceremoniously to face the one, the fucking only, yuno kashiki. her expression is soft, pink eyes betraying nothing as she stands next to him,(completely uninvited) extending a hand. fuuta, a bit unsure of what the hell she wants, shakes it tentatively. “the fuck you want? here to gloat?”
yuno looks taken aback, stepping away a bit with hands held up in surrender. “just to offer my congratulations, really! you fought hard.”
a loud scoff that comes out more like a tch. “doesn’t make any fuckin’ difference. we still ate shit. and, another thing? nobody asked for yer goddamn pity, especially not me.”
the tilted head fuuta receives in response is inquisitive, almost calculating, and reminds him faintly of a confused dog. while yuno searches for some more sugar-coated bullshit to hurl at him, fuuta glares at her (and totally does not let his gaze drop to her shoulder, noticing how she’s probably freezing with those weird sleeves that start at the arm and not her shoulder. seriously, who designed this shit?) and taps his fingers against his arm impatiently.
finally, she seems to settle on “call it what you want, but i’m congratulating you! the three of you make a great team.”
this, like most things, fills fuuta with ungodly rage. “we didn’t fucking win. i don’t know what kinna brownie points yer tryna win with me, but i don’t do all that friendship bullshit, especially when you’re not even in my fucking division!” he spits, grinding out his cig with his foot in some kind of act of defiance. “go back to the old-ass doctor and his depressing little boyfriend, and we’ll forget this ever happened.”
yuno, somewhat surprisingly, doesn’t budge, instead just flicking a lighter out and lighting her own cigarette. fuuta didn’t even know she smoked, not that he really cared. wasn’t like it was a big deal.
except for the very big deal it becomes when he starts walking away from her, desperate to be alone, but she follows, leaning over to light his second cig with her own, making everything very intimate. fuuta glares, exhaling as yuno stands with a smile, seemingly not caring that their faces were about an inch apart less than a minute ago.
“th’ hell was that?”
she doesn’t reply, shivering ever so slightly and heading off a good distance beyond where fuuta stands, still confused. they weren’t even friends, nowhere near close enough for something like that. the more fuuta overthinks it, the more he feels emotions about it and we can’t have that, now can we?
the silence is comfortable if not a bit strange, even though yuno is a good distance away by now. she’s seemed to figure out that fuuta has zero interest in talking, which is good.
he takes the time to think more about that night’s battle, remembering the rush of adrenaline that came with battling against yuno and her crew. the somewhat fond aura around the memory evaporates when he remembers his own team, thoroughly defeated. and she had the nerve to come out here and try to pity him!
(something in the back of his mind tries to tell him that maybe this is genuine, that not everyone is as petty and jaded as himself. he chooses to ignore this, mostly because he’s scared of what it means.)
more time passes, and whether it’s subconscious or not, fuuta is now standing next to yuno as they both exhale smoke into the twilight in tandem . fuuta finds himself biting back so many snarky remarks that would inevitably lead to a conversation, which he really isn’t in the mood for. traitorously, his eyes fall to yuno, who’s still occasionally shivering but obviously trying to hide it.
finally, just to get his stupid mind off of this stupid girl, he tears off his favorite hoodie-“fuck you,” comes the pointed remark as he does so-and all but throws it at yuno. “yer goddamn teeth are chattering and it’s ruinin’ the silence.”
“thanks.” she whispers, almost silent as the slight breeze that’s set in carries the light melody of her voice away. her cigarette snuffed out under her foot, yuno turns back around, and fuuta doesn’t plan to stay much longer-but she’s persistent (so, so goddamn persistent) and speaks up again; “you’re...great at this. well. this being the rap battles and stuff. i know i probably sound like a broken record by now, but i admire you a lot, and i dunno. i wish you’d be more open with people. maybe not me, ‘cause...well-“ she paused, gesturing to the city behind her with no real reason-“all this, but even just your teammates. kazui cares about you and kotoko both-you know he talks to shidou about you? you’re like his kids.”
“i didn’t ask for him to be like that. i jus’ wanted a team, not a fuckin’ pity party.”
“why do you think everything is pity? my compliments aren’t, kazui’s affection isn’t...you gotta just slow your brain down and accept that people genuinely appreciate you. myself included.”
she’s facing him now, pink eyes boring into his red ones. the eye contact is too intense, like she’s pulling apart his brain, trying to find out what makes him tick, and the most terrifying part is that fuuta doesn’t mind.
yuno grabs his hands and gives a closed-eye smile. “live a little.” is all she says, reaching up to hold a hand to his face. and he decides to.
the kiss is messy, because fuuta’s a twenty year old bisexual with anger issues and isn’t exactly close enough to people for shit like this. yuno seems at least a little more experienced, but she takes it slow for his sake. it’s just a little bit too caring for him to deal with, and he pulls back.
“that enough livin’ for you?” fuuta breathes, refusing to acknowledge the hand still on yuno’s shoulder.
she smiles again, the same one that he fell apart at mere minutes ago, and moves his hand from her shoulder to rest on her own hand. “do it again, then i’ll tell you.”
fuuta can’t argue with logic like that.