[ How many times has this kid called him some shitty insult by now? He's lost count. And while Fuuta's generally pretty happy to sling insults back and forth in the way that he and most of his internet-poisoned ilk are -- isn't this too much? What kind of highschooler is this shitty to adult strangers? (This is so extremely pot calling the kettle black that he truly deserves every iota of pain and stress being inflicted upon him during this whole interaction.) This kid's gotta be some shitty delinquent. Ugh. Truly, the worst.
And while Fuuta has every intention of snapping back some argument as soon as he's caught his breath and his field of vision stops going hazy from the tightness in his lungs, his train of thought's entirely derailed by that curt order. ]
Huh? [ Followed by a startled yelp when Bakugou just hefts him up; it's more reflex than obedience that has him putting his arms -- plural -- around Bakugou's neck to anchor himself, terrified of being dropped. ] -- you -- why the hell d'you people -- [ 'You people' being the too many individuals here who think it's just okay to pick him up for various reasons. ] -- you gotta at least warn someone before doing that!
[ Bakugou is saved the pain of any further yapping from too-close to his ears as Fuuta pauses for another break to steady himself, forcing himself to try and take deeper breaths so the pain in his chest eases off. And while he's not happy with this arrangement ... as Bakugou starts off down the hallway, Fuuta has to grudgingly admit that this is way easier to stomach than trying to make the arduous trek to the medical wing himself. The slow grind of the gears in his head is practically visible in the way his expression scrunches up nervously for a moment longer before he huffs a low sigh and loosens some of the tension in his shoulder, no longer clutching quite as tight around Bakugou's neck and resigning himself to the bridal carry. ]
... just don't drop me. [ It's not a complaint! Surely this is a reasonable point to make clear! Before Bakugou can tell him to shut up, he adds at a wary mutter, ] The hell's even your deal anyway, getting all shitty at me and saying you're trying to help. Is this some chuuni thing where you're trying to seem tough.
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And while Fuuta has every intention of snapping back some argument as soon as he's caught his breath and his field of vision stops going hazy from the tightness in his lungs, his train of thought's entirely derailed by that curt order. ]
Huh? [ Followed by a startled yelp when Bakugou just hefts him up; it's more reflex than obedience that has him putting his arms -- plural -- around Bakugou's neck to anchor himself, terrified of being dropped. ] -- you -- why the hell d'you people -- [ 'You people' being the too many individuals here who think it's just okay to pick him up for various reasons. ] -- you gotta at least warn someone before doing that!
[ Bakugou is saved the pain of any further yapping from too-close to his ears as Fuuta pauses for another break to steady himself, forcing himself to try and take deeper breaths so the pain in his chest eases off. And while he's not happy with this arrangement ... as Bakugou starts off down the hallway, Fuuta has to grudgingly admit that this is way easier to stomach than trying to make the arduous trek to the medical wing himself. The slow grind of the gears in his head is practically visible in the way his expression scrunches up nervously for a moment longer before he huffs a low sigh and loosens some of the tension in his shoulder, no longer clutching quite as tight around Bakugou's neck and resigning himself to the bridal carry. ]
... just don't drop me. [ It's not a complaint! Surely this is a reasonable point to make clear! Before Bakugou can tell him to shut up, he adds at a wary mutter, ] The hell's even your deal anyway, getting all shitty at me and saying you're trying to help. Is this some chuuni thing where you're trying to seem tough.