Where Gray is too old for dolls and plushies; Juvia
Gray is nervous. Sort of. He can admit that to himself.
not planned this,
exactly—hasn’t planned anything beyond surviving the war, winning it—
but the idea’s been there since a while now. Since quite a long while,
actually. He can admit that, too. He has been doing that a lot,
admitting things he wouldn’t have admitted in another time.
It takes a
bit of time, a bit of bravado, a bit of alcohol, but he does.
And Gray is
sure it has to count for something.
he makes up his mind, chucks down a whole glass of whiskey and saunters
through the after-party and the drunken mates towards Juvia.
(Except he does, for a second—then Juvia looks up and at him,
because she always, always finds him, somehow, and he says fuck it.