Um, they don't belong to me, Fuuma/Kamui, and I'm not sorry to the world.
So dedicated to my beloved.
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"Kamui?"
The violet-eyed boy looked up from his meal, "Yes?"
"You're strange."
Kamui lightly jabbed his fork into the pasta, again, and twirled it to gather the angel hair, "I'm not strange. What's so strange?"
"You're eating spaghetti." Fuuma's eyebrow rose, "Off my chest."
"And you let me."
"Well, yes, but any self-righteous man couldn't tell you no." Fuuma slumped, letting his head drop back to the pillows, "You're still strange."
Kamui licked greedily at the sauce, "I'm not strange at all."
The other picked his head back up, energy suddenly restored, "You couldn't even pick something like tortellini that you could pick up in your teeth! You chose Spaghetti which requires a fork."
Kamui blinked with said fork hanging from between his lips.
Fuuma continued, "Usually lovers pick things like chocolate or honey because they can just lick it off, don't need a utensil. No, you had to go with a utensil."
…Kamui jabbed the pasta with his fork, again.
"You're strange."
Kamui ate his meal, ignoring Fuuma's rant, "Not at all. Hey, Fuuma? I was thinking, tomorrow night can we try soup?"
"…Kamui, my chest will not hold soup."
"No, I didn't think it would."
… "Then what were you planning to do? Constantly refill my belly button?"
"Nope, I was wondering if you could sit up and keep your legs together. Your lap would hold an awful lot an—"
"Kamui?"
The boy looked up from his spaghetti, again, "Yes?"
"You're perverse."