For the record, he wasn’t the one with the imagination gone haywire here. It was a matter of choice, so long as he called it before anyone saw it. 

He honestly couldn’t conjure up a higher resolution image for someone so classically uninteresting. At first glance, a little hard to chart, it was impossible to tell anything about him. Difficult to look at, though that didn’t cover an inch on why he couldn’t and wouldn’t, make eye contact or attempt to retain it. 

Didn’t say much.

The problem here was, he could tell you. You’d have to really squint to make out any remarkable features about him, and that wasn’t even the worst part of it. It didn’t look like he could be assed to put forth the slightest ounce of effort, even if you pushed the teen. 

Down a slope, slanting pretty steep to gain any momentum whatsoever.  Aoba was pretty livid. Was this guy serious? Did he do anything with his time making himself up? Was he even trying. He could bet his whole allowance, just kidding, at a grand balance of none at the moment but to bet it on this chump? There was literally something that kept him from sitting still, he was -that- uncomfortable.

Like you had to be making some bold statement or undergoing a crisis to look like you just rolled out of bed. There was something very wrong. To play a practical joke like that, and he’s serious, the wolverine hair and the lack of severe eye bags to fit the look was hilarious, for one, if not ill fare. It took him the rest of his restraint to assess what the [bleep] was before him in moderation. 


 “I’d like to thank you for not reminding me of a time in my life, that was so full of meaning and …never affected me any other way.” He seems to be choosing his words, that’s clear as day.

“…Do you get out a lot?” Just how mean that was supposed to come out remained unclear, just as unsure he was about the unsuspecting, but totally suspicious looking teen. He just had to be his unfortunate target for today.