Writing Purposes (Fuuta)

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No one understood how you came to be friends with the Daruma gatekeepers and, honestly, you didn't really get it, either. You weren't a fighter at all and tended to run away from conflict rather than face it head-on. When it came down to it, you would fight for your four best friends but it was usually for naught because of how weak you are. You were a damn good distraction, though, giving the boys some time to recover. And for the most part, they also kept you safe.

While they enjoyed brawling, you preferred to read books and craft your own tales, heavily inspired by the stories they tell you as you tend to their wounds. By this point, you had found your place in the action and adventure genre, but you wanted to expand your horizons and try something outside of your comfort zone.

"Hey, Ungyou." You approached the male with a snapback in your hands. Several pieces of paper had been folded and placed inside.

He looked up from the crate of alcohol he was unpacking, giving you a smile. "Hey, Y/N. What's up?"

You thrust the hat into his face. "Pick one."

He quirked a brow in question, pushing the hat out of his face before reaching in and grabbing the first piece of paper he touched. He started to open it but you grabbed his hand before he could, a serious expression on your face.

"Please be something easy," you muttered under your breath like a mantra. "Okay... now read it."

He unfolded the paper, his eyes scanning the words before he hummed dramatically.

"Well? What does it say?" you leaned forward eagerly.

"I don't know if I should tell you," he teased, holding it up and out of your reach. "Seems pretty difficult."

You scowled, pressing up against him as you tried to grab the paper but he was taller than you, holding it high above his head. "Imma kill you, Ungyou!"

He just laughed, shaking the paper.

Raita snatched the paper as he walked by, glancing back at you. "Romance."

"Romance?" you groaned, falling onto the closest chair in defeat. There were only two genres in that hat that you did not want to write for - ecchi and romance. Granted, you had gotten the lesser of two evils, but you still weren't happy about it.

"Is it really that bad?" Ungyou questioned curiously as he returned to his task, setting the bottles of alcohol onto the bar.

"Yes!" you groaned again, following him toward the bar so you could sprawl across the top of it. "Ernest Hemingway said, 'write what you know' but I've never even been on a date before. How could I possibly write romance?"

Fuuta appeared on your left, setting a box of empty glasses onto the bar. "That's stupid. How the hell do people write fantasy, then?"

"That's true," Ungyou agreed with a nod. "Or people writing about space when they've never been. It's fiction for a reason."

"I guess so." Your fingers tapped the polished wood. "How does romance even work?"

He shrugged. "Ask Agyou. He dated a girl for almost five months."

You sat up quickly, slapping your hand on the bar. "That's a great idea. Thank you!"

Ungyou shook his head as he watched you run toward the casino doors, searching for the male in question. "Where the hell are they going? He's in the back counting money."

Fuuta couldn't help the smile tugging at his lips. "Y/N is such a dork."

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"Tell me everything," you demanded, pen and paper held in your hands and ready to take notes.

Agyou sent you an exasperated look. "I told you already, there's nothing to tell. We went out on a few dates. We fought because she wanted more attention than I was giving her. We broke up because Daruma Ikka is more important to me than she was."

You nodded as you recorded his words on paper. "Alright, I can work with this. What kind of dates?"

He set aside the cash, bound tightly with a rubber band. It was one of many that sat off to the side like a small mountain. "Usually whatever she wanted - the movies, dinner, shopping."

"Sounds boring," you commented but wrote it down regardless.

"It was."

You tapped the end of the pen on the page, chewing on your lip. You had another question, one that seemed the most important to you, but you felt embarrassed and couldn't bring yourself to ask. You weren't sure why you felt this way, probably because he's like a brother to you.

Agyou, being ever the perceptive man, knew there was something else on your mind. "What is it?"

"What?"

"I know you have another question." He glanced up at you before beginning to count another stack of cash. "Ask me."

"Well..." Your finger tapped lightly on the surface of the table as you tried to find the right words. "What does it feel like... to kiss someone?"

Agyou paused, looking at you in surprise but it quickly morphed into a smug smirk. "That one you can find out on your own."

"How the hell am I supposed to do that?" you scowled, sitting back in the chair.

"You're smart. Figure it out."

Your scowl only deepened at the amusement lingering in his eyes.

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Fuuta sat a can of soda onto the table in front of you before falling onto the couch beside you, his eyes focused on the action movie playing on the TV. You had been thinking about Agyou's words for the past two days but you were no closer to an answer. Why couldn't he just tell you what it was like?

Fuuta nudged you in the side, his brow furrowed. "What's got you so distracted lately? Still worried about that story of yours?"

"Yeah. I'm feeling a bit out of my depth."

"Agyou didn't help you?"

"He did, but..."

"But?"

You turned to face him, meeting his eyes. Though you were close to all four of Daruma's gatekeepers, you were easily closest to Fuuta. You could tell him anything without worry or fear and you trusted him with all of your deepest, darkest secrets. He had always been there for you without fail. You felt comfortable with him, safe. If you were going to ask anyone for help, you knew it just had to be him. There was no other option for you, not for this.

He gave you a concerned look. "What? Why are you staring at me like that?"

"I need to ask you something important," you told him seriously.

"Okay. What is it?"

"Could you kiss me?"

A moment of silence passed as he processed the request. When the words finally sunk in, he jumped off the couch in surprise, feeling his face grow warm. "W-What are you saying?"

"Please, Fuuta?" You stood up after him, your hands pressed together in front of you. "I really need it for writing purposes. You can't have a romance story without at least one kissing scene but I have no idea how to describe it because I've never been kissed."

A dozen questions bounced about his brain, but one forced its way out. "Why me?"

"Because you're my best friend," you replied confidently. "You're the only one I feel comfortable asking."

He frowned, rubbing the back of his head. It was just one kiss, right? But he couldn't help the nagging feeling at the back of his mind, warning him that if he agreed to this, things might not be the same anymore. You meant the world to him and he didn't want to ruin the friendship between you. Still, could he really resist the pleading look you were giving him?

Instead of replying, he closed the distance between you, looking deeply into your eyes, his fingers gently brushing against your cheek. You met him halfway, your lips meeting his, so soft and warm. Your heart skipped a beat and you found yourself moving closer, your hand tangling in his blonde locks. His head tilted to the side to deepen the kiss, fingers digging into your sides. You honestly would have been satisfied to stay like that for the rest of your life, but both of you needed air and you had to pull away. The two of you stayed close, though, your forehead resting against his.

"Wow..." you breathed softly.

His voice was barely above a whisper when he finally spoke. "Did that help you?"

"No," you answered, earning a frown from him.

Had his kiss been bad? He started to feel nervous, his fingers curling around the sides of your shirt.

You gave him a goofy grin. "Maybe we should try again?"

Relief flooded him as his lips twitched upward. He didn't hesitate to claim your lips again, fully intending to help you until you were able to properly describe the process.