Of all the things the vending machine could have churned out…It was a dakimakura. Of big sis Forte-ssi, no less. I mean, at least she was decent; it’s just a picture of her with her clothes slightly rumpled, flipping the poor sap who gazed upon her off. On both sides.
This was a really weird gift. And how the hell had it fit in that small capsule?
Nevertheless, it felt rude to leave it lying around, so he picked up the dakimakura in both of his arms (along with the rest of the gifts into his pockets), and proceeded to make his way back to his room from the gift shop.
Murphy’s Law dictates that someone should find him doing this, and said someone should be Forte. Of course, there were other people around the Cabaret too, so it’s not like Yuuma could have gotten to his room unchallenged…
but no, really, why is that whenever i express how much i hate being comforted or agree with a negative aspect of myself that someone points out in a shitty way, everyone suddenly jumps on my bulge as if i ~secretly really really want to be comforted~, as if im just fucking lying every time i flip off the handle. like, does anyone actually fucking listen to me? does anyone actually give a flying goddamn fuck about what i have to say. does anyone care that even if it is a shit way to deal with things, the way i am dealing with this is how i want to deal with this. does anyone fucking care about my opinion. do all of you people claiming the need/want to “help” me actually care about my thoughts on how you go about it.
does anyone, for one god damn second, actually give a shit about anything other than achieving their own personal goal of feeling like a good samaritan because they approached the scary cave rat and gave them a pat on the back in a socially acceptable way, even if it caused them more fucking internal carnage than if they had just respected their wishes in the fucking first place and left them the hell alone.