[ That question -- what d'you wanna do then? -- catches him off-guard just enough that Fuuta hesitates for a second. Because he sure had run his mouth without actually thinking things through, and his brain lags for a hot second as he tries to consider his options.
Then the thrown shirt catches him smack in the face.
Fuuta ends up stumbling back a half-step with a startled yip, both hands flying up to claw the fabric off his face; even if the worst of the pollen's been shaken off, it still leaves a fine dusting of yellow in his hair and on his face, and he comes up coughing, trying to blink away a fleck of pollen that's gotten into his good eye. Which just leaves him all the more unguarded when Tomura closes the distance between them -- he stumbles back another half-step, and the only reason he doesn't back off further is because the heel of his sneaker bumps against the raised bricks that mark the edge of the walkway they're on. ]
F-fine! [ It comes out a little squeaky and flustered, but it's not like he doesn't mean it. He growls out each word as firmly as he can, while shoving that crumpled-up shirt back towards Tomura's arms; he's going to drop it on the ground if Tomura doesn't take it, because it's not like he wants it. ] You think I won't? I said I'd do it.
[ 'It' being handing over his own clothes. Not without some reluctance, because he sure doesn't have a surplus of chips to be wasting on replacements, but pride trumps practicality. Fuuta leans back as he grabs the bottom hem of his hoodie to yank up, pulling the garment up and off over his head. The thin T-shirt he's wearing underneath hikes up from the tug of fabric, revealing a blanket of ugly bruises splashed over his right hip and side, but Fuuta's quick to tug his shirt back down as soon as the hoodie's off. ]
Here. Take it.
[ He buys his tops a little baggy in the first place, so it should fit Tomura just fine, he thinks, as he holds the garment out with one hand. His other hand is raised so he can turn his head away to sneeze into the shoulder of his T-shirt. Ugh. He totally got a big whiff of this shit from getting that shirt thrown in his face. His eye feels a little watery, and his skin's starting to feel weirdly itchy and a little hot. It better not be something he's allergic to, he thinks. He's got enough bullshit going on without having to deal with hay fever on top of it all. ]
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Then the thrown shirt catches him smack in the face.
Fuuta ends up stumbling back a half-step with a startled yip, both hands flying up to claw the fabric off his face; even if the worst of the pollen's been shaken off, it still leaves a fine dusting of yellow in his hair and on his face, and he comes up coughing, trying to blink away a fleck of pollen that's gotten into his good eye. Which just leaves him all the more unguarded when Tomura closes the distance between them -- he stumbles back another half-step, and the only reason he doesn't back off further is because the heel of his sneaker bumps against the raised bricks that mark the edge of the walkway they're on. ]
F-fine! [ It comes out a little squeaky and flustered, but it's not like he doesn't mean it. He growls out each word as firmly as he can, while shoving that crumpled-up shirt back towards Tomura's arms; he's going to drop it on the ground if Tomura doesn't take it, because it's not like he wants it. ] You think I won't? I said I'd do it.
[ 'It' being handing over his own clothes. Not without some reluctance, because he sure doesn't have a surplus of chips to be wasting on replacements, but pride trumps practicality. Fuuta leans back as he grabs the bottom hem of his hoodie to yank up, pulling the garment up and off over his head. The thin T-shirt he's wearing underneath hikes up from the tug of fabric, revealing a blanket of ugly bruises splashed over his right hip and side, but Fuuta's quick to tug his shirt back down as soon as the hoodie's off. ]
Here. Take it.
[ He buys his tops a little baggy in the first place, so it should fit Tomura just fine, he thinks, as he holds the garment out with one hand. His other hand is raised so he can turn his head away to sneeze into the shoulder of his T-shirt. Ugh. He totally got a big whiff of this shit from getting that shirt thrown in his face. His eye feels a little watery, and his skin's starting to feel weirdly itchy and a little hot. It better not be something he's allergic to, he thinks. He's got enough bullshit going on without having to deal with hay fever on top of it all. ]