... that's backwards, you know. [Stepping into the warmth of the kitchen, Fugo defensively folds his arms across his chest and wraps his hands around his elbows. It's better, this way; less chance for him to lash out. To grab some weapon, or let his hands tighten into fists. At the end of the day, Fugo doesn't trust himself not to hurt people.] I'm the one who swore to follow you.
[Still. He moves forward, focusing on simply putting one foot in front of the other. If he has to talk about this-- and, as much as he hates to admit it, things have quickly escalated to the point where he must-- he'd rather do it in the privacy of one of their rooms. It doesn't really matter to him which one. Though he doubts Maria or Kaede cares to eavesdrop, at the same time the thought of them overhearing this conversation is mortifying.]
no subject
[Still. He moves forward, focusing on simply putting one foot in front of the other. If he has to talk about this-- and, as much as he hates to admit it, things have quickly escalated to the point where he must-- he'd rather do it in the privacy of one of their rooms. It doesn't really matter to him which one. Though he doubts Maria or Kaede cares to eavesdrop, at the same time the thought of them overhearing this conversation is mortifying.]