[ Oh, he hates that Charlie has a point, there. He'd jerked back when Charlie raised that hand to stop him, and Fuuta's left gawping in impotent fury afterward, struggling to come up with a decent defense. There isn't one, of course, and so he angrily forks another piece of meat in his mouth, trying to pretend that's the only reason he's at a loss for words for the moment.
Brain still occupied trying to think of a counterpoint to Charlie's statements, Fuuta automatically picks his drink up to drain it when it's pointed at, thumping the empty glass down with a little more force than was probably necessary as he snaps, ]
I-it's different, alright! You know what you did! And there's n-no way I'd want any attention from a creep like you!
[ -- god, he knows that's barely a defense at all, and he winces a little at the sound of his own words leaving his mouth. Especially because -- as he glowers across the table at Charlie, Fuuta realizes he's drooling a little, rendering his words wet and sloppy around the edges. He hurries to swipe at his mouth with the sleeve of his hoodie, brow scrunched in embarrassment and frustration. Whatever was in that drink's really getting to him by this point, his whole mouth feeling weirdly itchy for contact, and when the waiter approaches with his third drink -- a different cocktail this time, something pink and sugary-looking -- he barely waits for it to be put down before snatching it up to take a big gulp of it.
It does seem to soothe the tingling in his mouth a little bit. But as he feels the saccharine heat of it work its way down his throat, Fuuta realizes what Charlie had said. ]
... what do you mean 'this time.'
[ The anxious, suspicious look in his eyes is rather undermined by how flushed and worked-up he already looks, brow beaded with sweat and lips parted as his breaths come quicker. Despite his denials, his mind's quick to race down a path of what-ifs exploring what could happen from here, and the thought has heat starting to stir in the pit of his stomach. ]
no worries, glad to have you back!
Brain still occupied trying to think of a counterpoint to Charlie's statements, Fuuta automatically picks his drink up to drain it when it's pointed at, thumping the empty glass down with a little more force than was probably necessary as he snaps, ]
I-it's different, alright! You know what you did! And there's n-no way I'd want any attention from a creep like you!
[ -- god, he knows that's barely a defense at all, and he winces a little at the sound of his own words leaving his mouth. Especially because -- as he glowers across the table at Charlie, Fuuta realizes he's drooling a little, rendering his words wet and sloppy around the edges. He hurries to swipe at his mouth with the sleeve of his hoodie, brow scrunched in embarrassment and frustration. Whatever was in that drink's really getting to him by this point, his whole mouth feeling weirdly itchy for contact, and when the waiter approaches with his third drink -- a different cocktail this time, something pink and sugary-looking -- he barely waits for it to be put down before snatching it up to take a big gulp of it.
It does seem to soothe the tingling in his mouth a little bit. But as he feels the saccharine heat of it work its way down his throat, Fuuta realizes what Charlie had said. ]
... what do you mean 'this time.'
[ The anxious, suspicious look in his eyes is rather undermined by how flushed and worked-up he already looks, brow beaded with sweat and lips parted as his breaths come quicker. Despite his denials, his mind's quick to race down a path of what-ifs exploring what could happen from here, and the thought has heat starting to stir in the pit of his stomach. ]