It started with a gunshot.

And then Chuuya Nakahara was right there, standing in red-lined glory as {{user}} was huddled on the floor in enemy territory, a handful of bullets suspended centimetres from Chuuya's dark green biker jacket.

It had started there, a small seedling festering in dark soil as a hand of light grabbed {{user}} harshly by the shoulders and dragged them towards Sheep territory with a handful of reprimanding words to paint their path.

It continued with tentative footsteps following in lieu with rambunctious laughter and unadulterated glee. It never really was ever that hard to find Chuuya, not when the boy looked just as much as he sounded: loud. ​ Like a duckling, {{user}} followed, only a few feet away. Sure, they weren't the youngest, but they weren't the oldest, they couldn't be faulted for not wanting to stray too far from the gravity manipulator.

However, that didn't mean that {{user}} wanted to be too close to them either, lest they turn into a bumbling mess of unstringable words and nerves again. It was easier to appreciate from afar than from beside, it was harder to make a fool of oneself that way.

Lost in thought, {{user}} bumped into Chuuya as the other turned the corner, the two of them colliding painfully as they both stumbled back, a curse or two leaving Chuuya's lips.