Snippet #2370373

Sora halted in his tread away from the door at the sound of his roommate’s voice. Great, he’d had an audience for his incredible stupidity. Just what he needed. And what was the guy doing here anyway? Shouldn’t he be trying to avoid large hordes of admirers or something? Almost as if to check that there were none, the dark man’s eyes focused over the light one’s shoulders for a minute. Nope. No slavering herds of fangirls. That was just plain unusual. He couldn’t imagine that his overly-polite roommate had actually properly told them off for once, so maybe he was just getting better at hiding or something.

Sora’s reply, such as it was, was automatic. “Rosenkreuz.” He inclined his head slightly, but it was not a gesture of deference, just acknowledgement. If there was one thing to be said in favor of his incredibly-blunt mannerisms, it was that at least he always treated people like people. He may not have it in him to defer to anyone, but he wasn’t such an ass that he’d completely ignore somebody who seemed to lack ill intentions.

Still, it wasn’t like he had anything else to say, and there was no way the guy was here for him, so he continued on his way, Midori at his side stopping to offer the other vampire a more complete, if equally irreverent “Good evening, Mr. Rosenkreuz.” With her, though, it was the slightly sly tone that always accomplished this, rather than the brevity of her phrases.

He thought he was going to escape this bizarre incident unscathed, but his shoulders stiffened when he heard the door open behind him. It was followed by the sound of Fujiwara’s marching feet, and he turned around again with resignation. It was more than a little irritating that whatever tongue-lashing she was going to give him now was going to have onlookers, but then they fought in relatively public locations fairly often, so it probably wouldn’t seem that far removed from the ordinary. She’d grabbed his hand, forcing the neutral set of his mouth back into a deep scowl—people did not touch him, ever—and drew back her free one. Oh, so it was going to be the violence thing? He could probably deal with—

What? was the only thought that properly registered for a few seconds after that. The rest was just sensation: arms, thin but strong, wrapped around his torso, a face pressed into his uniform shirt, the unfamiliar contours of another’s form. What the fuck was going on? Midori’s cat-laughter was the only audible sound, and he shot her a venomous glare, holding his hands awkwardly at his sides because he wasn’t sure what to do with them.

You’re supposed to hug back, the cat informed him smugly, which he supposed meant that he ought to put his arms around her, too, but what of his face? He couldn’t really do exactly the same thing she was doing, nor did he have a particular desire to. Sora had not been hugged before in his life; it wasn’t something that was done in his family, nor had anyone else ever shown the faintest inkling of wanting to. In the end, he just placed a hand on Fujiwara’s shoulder with some hesitation and waited it out, weathering his considerable awkwardness as well as he could. His first thought had been that she was trying to crush the wind out of him, which was an awfully difficult way to try killing someone, but he’d thought she at least had points for guts.

The way Midori spoke of this, though, it was not an act of violence at all, which puzzled him. Still, he allowed it for the sake of what he’d promised, since that was the only way he could really think of it. Eventually, she drew away on her own, and he made no effort to hide the perplexed look on his face, one that only deepened when she thanked him again. This was officially the weirdest day he’d ever had.

Then she mentioned fixing a mistake, and he supposed maybe something he’d said had made sense after all. He stayed in place until she’d disappeared around the corner, then shot a glance at Rosenkreuz.

“…I don’t understand people.”

And that was really all he could say about it.