“it…it’s not that bad!! I mean, it’s pretty messy      but…and I do have ants but–”

that’s normal, isn’t it? sure, the motel sprays for those things, but a couple dozen are bound to get through despite it, aren’t they?

the more he thinks about it, the less confident jameson seems in his rather hasty decision to claim normalcy.

    “I don’t have face masks or gloves. …but I do have…”

looks around as if a spare hazmat suit or sterilization kit would just be sitting around. nope, still the normal junk food wrappers, games, books, magazines and clothes that called the floors, tables and chairs of his motel room home.

okay, maybe it was a little messy.

    “I can go to the convenience store down the street,      they probably have those…!”

he doesn’t have face masks...? not even gloves? you can’t help but shudder internally. the more jameson protests, the redder his face seems to get, and now you’re starting to feel a little bad.

but... you can’t just do this without gloves. it’s way too dirty for that. hesitantly, you reach over to pick up a rumpled sweater. as soon as it lifts itself from the ground, a swarm of ants start running. there was spilled ice cream soaked into the carpet and a fragment of a cheeto had stuck to it.

“ How wonderful! I’m so happy to be able to have such a strong, manly figure protecting me. “ She gave a mischievous grin, clearly enjoying his response quiet a bit. It’s so much fun for her to get a reaction from people like that. Nothing made her confidence rise more then the knowledge she can cause someones face to turn red in a moments notice. It was like a short reminder that she’s attractive enough to do stuff like that to people. An ego boost.

“ I wonder if there’s anybody out here other then us… Wouldn’t that be creepy, Hiroto-kun? Ah, not that I mean to scare you with that thought… It just came to mind.  

You never know whats lurking in the dark. Maybe a ghost? Oh, how spooky… “ She laid her head against his arm as she spoke, carefully, trying not to alert him too much.

strong and... manly. that's what she’d called you. your heart beats faster in your chest, and you can’t tell how to process that response. you’ve heard of something called the misattribution of arousal, and you wonder if that’s what this is. if your heart’s picking up because you’re scared of being considered something you’re not. because of the possibility of danger lurking around a shadowy corner. or because a pretty girl is holding onto your arm.

you think too much.

    “uh– yeah…I guess it has gotten a little out of control…”

a little was an understatement: item tags, tied off grocery bags full of trash, receipts, old food containers, everything was stacked and left out for anyone to see. maybe it was because it was his day-to-day, but jameson had started to almost not noticed it (which was probably not the best sign).

    “here, in the bottom drawer–”

the box of bags is retrieved from the lowest drawer of his dresser, displayed to his (rightfully disgusted) friend.

    “but I can clean it!!”

you take the garbage bags from him, golden eyes already assessing the area and devising a game plan. cleaning is nice to do, and you’ve done it so many times for sayori. it’s not really a big deal to do it again now, even though jameson’s living space is considerably worse.

    “–you joined the literature club? …you never struck me      as the kind of person who read books.”

aside from manga, of course, but did that really qualify as literature? when minoru thought of literature he thought of poetry and classic novels, things that people would sit next to the fire and read over a cup of tea. you know, classy things.

“um... yeah. i don’t, really.”

Hitomi was always happy to be around people. After all, she loved socializing, and more importantly, she loved attention. So when the cute looking Hiroto asked her to walk him home, she couldn’t possibly refuse! He was adorable, and looked oh so scared. It was only up to her to make him feel safe, and strong. It was probably because of how dark it was getting, and Hitomi wasn’t afraid of the dark whatsoever, but if it helped someone so cute feel stronger, she could pretend for as long as she needs to!

As they walked side by side, Hitomi got slightly closer. Not on purpose, it’s just when you walk with someone, and talk with them, getting closer is something people tend to do by instinct. Suddenly, she felt his hand brush against hers. For a moment she paused. It seemed he felt it too, and must’ve felt a bit awkward about it as well, since his expression quickly changed, looking embarrassed.

“ Oh my… “ She wrapped her fingers around his arm, holding it closely to her. “ You wouldn’t mind if I held you like this, would you? It’s just so dark and scary, and I feel so much more comfortable walking like this in such a dark night. “ She fluttered her eyes, squeezing him. There is no better cure for embarrassment then more embarrassment.

your cheeks immediately flush bright, heart pounding as she touches him. this... isn’t what you wanted, when you asked her to walk you home. it wasn’t anything like trying to get her alone. you just liked the company.

( and yet... didn’t your heart race when you were asking her? didn’t a part of you, maybe, want this? )

    “–but how would you say you feel?”

jameson presses the issue, presenting as the exact jealous-friend energy that he was experiencing. it takes everything in his power to keep his face composed, though the frown is noted.

    “I mean, it just seems like you two are spending      a lot of time together now. if you don’t have time      for me anymore I guess–”

the gesture is fast and unanticipated, the moment taking time to register. eyes open wide as their connection is finally noted, mouths meeting in the middle. it doesn’t last long, a few seconds at most, though the silence that follows draws the moment out.

    “I…       –uh. sorry, I forgot what I was saying. uh–”

at least that had managed to squash the issue for now.

jealousy. it seems like there’s a lot of that nowadays.

the girls at the literature club... sayori... and now jameson.

there’s no end to it. why do people want to be around you so badly? you’re just an average guy, totally unimpressive. even monika seems like she wants to hang around you, but you two never get chances to talk. it should be every guy’s dream, but it’s weighing on you now.

you just want everyone to be happy. why do you have to pick one? and yet by kissing jameson like this, so suddenly... haven’t you picked him? a part of you wishes you could rewind time and make different choices, but you’re sick of thinking like that too. you back him against the wall, and your expression doesn’t look like the cute, amiable, blank-slate sort of guy who’s always there, who never complains, who says the right thing in every situation...

actually, you might even look dangerous now.

anyone who’s ever met you would say you’re too nice to be in a gang. and they’re probably right. you don’t have special skills, and you’re not useful for much besides grunt work. and even so... mello’s given you a place. allowed you to learn from the best. gave you purpose.

gingerly, you set down the plastic bag. “hey, boss. i got you more of the chocolate you like.” without being ordered to, but you’ve been careful not to have your face caught on camera. “the cameras didn’t see me, i just... noticed you were running low.”

you hover, uncertain of what to do next. “l-listen, i...” you start, but you can’t continue before a flush starts creeping up your cheeks. you’ve never had to confess to anyone before. it’s always been them confessing to you. not that there’s anything to confess. there shouldn’t be. sayori’s...

just thinking her name makes your lungs constrict with sudden anxiety.

anonymous  /  ask. "You're back." Yuri beams.            

“y-yeah.” you’re stammering, because you’re not entirely sure how to breach this. yuri’s cute, she’s always been cute, and yet there’s something intense that rolls off her. something like... it’s not just friendly, her stating you’re back.

you feel the need to apologize.

“i don’t know what happened, i swear.” you’ve been saying the same thing over and over again. like a mantra. like a hopeless mantra. how long have you been sitting here, hours? you feel like you’ve lost twenty pounds just shaking in this interrogation chair. the light is blinding. you’re fidgeting. a disembodied voice coming from a speaker prickles at your skin. whoever this is, he’s the interrogator. apparently he’s a famous detective named l, and he runs the show. the man in front of you — old and with an almost friendly look about him — keeps staring at you. wordless. in a way that makes even his gentle appearance seem threatening.