[ Feeling the warmth from Dabi's palm lingering over his knuckles and watching the easy way he tugs the berry from its pick, Fuuta wonders if he acts this way with everyone -- a little suggestive, a little flirty, a little too intimate. (And the thought annoys him, for some reason. Strange, that.)
He'd just been putting the empty glass back down on the bartop, swiping his hand against his hoodie's front to wipe off the condensation wetting his fingers, but Fuuta squints at the questions. The easy demand of payment. Brow furrowed and lips pursed, he considers it for a moment before glancing aside, checking how crowded their surroundings are; not very, at this time of evening, most others still populating the beach busy with their own conversations or just strolling by. Then finally, he huffs before saying, with the sort of casual loftiness that has to be feigned: ]
Fine. [ He tugs down the zipper of his hoodie hastily enough that it snags for a moment before sliding the rest of the way down. ] You're a guy, so I guess I wouldn't have had to pay for you on a date, anyway.
[ This is a date, then. The date. He'll talk. So Dabi better be prepared to as well.
Fuuta peels his hoodie off, balling it up and placing it in his lap before grabbing up the fresh drink that's been placed before him and taking a big gulp. Drinking a cocktail this quickly is probably a bad idea, especially when he's been losing water all day; his T-shirt's practically plastered against his body with sweat, his skin flushed all over, and he comes up with a gasp after draining half the glass in one go. But the night air feels nice and cool against his damp T-shirt, and the heady punch of alcohol admittedly helps smooth out his thoughts. The words come a little easier when he just starts talking. ]
No outside time. No windows, no doors. I told you it wasn't just a normal prison -- it's not like I was arrested. I didn't get a trial or anything. Just ... woke up there one day, and there was no way out. Kind of like this place, actually -- there not being any way out at all. [ So a part of him can't let go of the thought that maybe, just maybe, this place is related to it. ] Milgram, if you've heard of it. -- you know a lot about prisons?
[ What he's actually getting at: 'have you ever been in one?' ]
no subject
He'd just been putting the empty glass back down on the bartop, swiping his hand against his hoodie's front to wipe off the condensation wetting his fingers, but Fuuta squints at the questions. The easy demand of payment. Brow furrowed and lips pursed, he considers it for a moment before glancing aside, checking how crowded their surroundings are; not very, at this time of evening, most others still populating the beach busy with their own conversations or just strolling by. Then finally, he huffs before saying, with the sort of casual loftiness that has to be feigned: ]
Fine. [ He tugs down the zipper of his hoodie hastily enough that it snags for a moment before sliding the rest of the way down. ] You're a guy, so I guess I wouldn't have had to pay for you on a date, anyway.
[ This is a date, then. The date. He'll talk. So Dabi better be prepared to as well.
Fuuta peels his hoodie off, balling it up and placing it in his lap before grabbing up the fresh drink that's been placed before him and taking a big gulp. Drinking a cocktail this quickly is probably a bad idea, especially when he's been losing water all day; his T-shirt's practically plastered against his body with sweat, his skin flushed all over, and he comes up with a gasp after draining half the glass in one go. But the night air feels nice and cool against his damp T-shirt, and the heady punch of alcohol admittedly helps smooth out his thoughts. The words come a little easier when he just starts talking. ]
No outside time. No windows, no doors. I told you it wasn't just a normal prison -- it's not like I was arrested. I didn't get a trial or anything. Just ... woke up there one day, and there was no way out. Kind of like this place, actually -- there not being any way out at all. [ So a part of him can't let go of the thought that maybe, just maybe, this place is related to it. ] Milgram, if you've heard of it. -- you know a lot about prisons?
[ What he's actually getting at: 'have you ever been in one?' ]