#fugo

Fugo closed his book, avoiding eye contact. His stomach ran cold. Despite not specifying about who, he immediately understood the meaning. Where the fuck did that one question even come from? Not that there was much pointing questioning him, he probably said the first thing that came into his mouth at that time, and coming up with a way to dismiss the question would be futile at this point. His face was probably showing his embarassment at taking this long to answer, and this is something he had overthought to hell and back already.

"I …I think i would finish the job. For real this time." he was partially hugging himself while talking.

"it makes me sick to think he's still out there, alive. Existing. A sick man getting to destroy who knows how many other innocent lifes after ruining my own without a shed of consequence."

He noticed he started rocking himself too. Shit.

Purple haze could make quick work of him, now. He's older, not as defenseless as he was. The dent the book made on him back then was barely enough to draw blood.

"Mmh, yeah" Narancia rudely interrupted his train of thought. "If i ever saw the fucker who destroyed my life again i would gouge his eyes out and let him feel the hell i went through too."

It was said eerily without much strong emotions on his part, lacking his characteristic intensity. None of his usual blazing rage to be seen, like he was asking another hypothetical of what he thought celebrities did in their spare time. It was really, just an uncommon look on him.

"Dunno what else. maybe let Aerosmith put some holes in his lungs after so he's suffocating on nothing." He added a sly smile at the end, proud about his added thought.

Narancia must've picked up the disrupted look on fugo's face easily, because there was no discussion about finishing the lessons before he suggested that they should watch some tv together.