[ Yes, the hoodie's probably a bit toasty in the balmy conditions of the greenhouse. But also, Fuuta is the type to have worn a hoodie well into the spring and summer, forgoing it only when the Tokyo heat started threatening to roast him alive. It's less that he gets cold easily, though, and more that he just doesn't really like feeling ... uncovered. It's easier keeping his own build out of mind when he can mask it under the bulk of big shirts and roomy hoodies, after all.
Case in point, he ends up shifting a bit restlessly even as Tomura adjusts the hoodie -- rubbing at his arms where they feel kind of itchy, and tugging at the neck of his T-shirt to keep the thin fabric from sticking to his skin. Even the T-shirt hangs a bit loose off him, his arms scrawny and pale under the baggy hang of fabric, and it's partly just that he feels a little self-conscious about it. Though -- huh. Weird, how he's feeling kind of sweaty and clammy for no real reason. Fuuta frowns as he rubs at his arms again, feeling his skin rise up with goosebumps.
Oh, this fucking better not be ... ]
Huh? [ There's definitely a note of unease creeping into his expression as he looks back to Tomura. First of all -- ] Don't call me that. [ 'Mister?' What the hell. ] And I'm not bothered. Or embarrassed.
[ He sure looks it, though, his cheeks starting to flush hot. His face feels a little hot. Fuuta bites his lip nervously as he scuffs a hand through his hair, fidgeting to try and ease some of the restless energy crawling through his nerves. -- surely, this is just that he's feeling awkward about talking to this guy. Yeah, surely that's all. He is not going to think about alternative explanations. ]
It's just ... I dunno. I might be a little allergic to this stuff. [ That's gotta be why his breaths are coming a little shallower. Surely. ] -- look, whatever, that's not the point. You don't gotta give the hoodie back or anything, but now you can't give me any shit over what I said to you online, alright? [ Clearly, that's been bothering him this whole time, and Fuuta tries to ignore the heat in his face as he points at Tomura. ] You're the one who misunderstood what I was saying anyway, but ... -- now we're even, right! Since I'm lending you a hand, even after all that shit!
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Case in point, he ends up shifting a bit restlessly even as Tomura adjusts the hoodie -- rubbing at his arms where they feel kind of itchy, and tugging at the neck of his T-shirt to keep the thin fabric from sticking to his skin. Even the T-shirt hangs a bit loose off him, his arms scrawny and pale under the baggy hang of fabric, and it's partly just that he feels a little self-conscious about it. Though -- huh. Weird, how he's feeling kind of sweaty and clammy for no real reason. Fuuta frowns as he rubs at his arms again, feeling his skin rise up with goosebumps.
Oh, this fucking better not be ... ]
Huh? [ There's definitely a note of unease creeping into his expression as he looks back to Tomura. First of all -- ] Don't call me that. [ 'Mister?' What the hell. ] And I'm not bothered. Or embarrassed.
[ He sure looks it, though, his cheeks starting to flush hot. His face feels a little hot. Fuuta bites his lip nervously as he scuffs a hand through his hair, fidgeting to try and ease some of the restless energy crawling through his nerves. -- surely, this is just that he's feeling awkward about talking to this guy. Yeah, surely that's all. He is not going to think about alternative explanations. ]
It's just ... I dunno. I might be a little allergic to this stuff. [ That's gotta be why his breaths are coming a little shallower. Surely. ] -- look, whatever, that's not the point. You don't gotta give the hoodie back or anything, but now you can't give me any shit over what I said to you online, alright? [ Clearly, that's been bothering him this whole time, and Fuuta tries to ignore the heat in his face as he points at Tomura. ] You're the one who misunderstood what I was saying anyway, but ... -- now we're even, right! Since I'm lending you a hand, even after all that shit!