"So then I told Hiroto, hey if you like dresses, fuck anyone who tells you you can't wear them," Haruya said matter-of-factly, sliding his vegetables around on his plate with the end of his fork.
Fuusuke regarded Haruya with what appeared to be his regular face. However, Haruya could easily notice the slight difference in his face—the way his eyebrows moved just a little further up and the way his lips pursed ever so slightly—that signaled that he was interested. "Stop playing with your food," he said pushing his elbow upon the table and sliding his chin into the palm of his hand so that he cradled the side of his face. This was a move that Haruya regarded as cute and also a signal that at the moment he didn't care about Haruya's vendetta against vegetable-kind.
After a moment of silence, Fuusuke waved his other hand across the air. "Then?" He asked curiously. Fuusuke was very curious, but not in the gossipy sort of way.
"Well," replied Haruya, "I don't think he'll tell anyone for awhile or come outside in a dress, but I think I made him feel better, ya know?" Fuusuke did know. They both knew how hard it was to exist in a world that considered you an abnormal occurrence that needed to go away. Hiroto knew too, in more than one way.
"That's great," he said, and he meant it. In this kind of world, the support of a friend meant more than anyone could guess. "You let him know we cared right?" he asked, because damned be his ice-cold persona formed from his insecurities, there were more important things at stake here.
"Of course I did," he scoffed like Fuusuke had asked the most ridiculous question in the world and placed a green bean on the end of his fork. He pulled back on the fork and sent the vegetable flying into Fuusuke's forehead. "I couldn't have him thinking he was alone."