Yuno can’t go anywhere with you.

You’re tall, dark, imposing, and he’s more…approchable, looks less likely to bite off someone’s head if they have a question. So when there’s no one else around, and the only options are an angry doberman and a friendly-looking labradoodle, people chose to talk to him.

Which is terrible. Because Yuno can’t talk to anyone else but you. Because he simply lacks the ability to speak to others without wanting to dive into the nearest ocean and take up residence in a suspiciously pineapple shaped home.

And you’re absolutely no help.

See.

Where Yuno is terrified of talking to people, you simply don’t care enough to speak. People are mere ants in your presence, annoyances that you would only acknowledge if you were forced to. So whenever anyone tries, you simply stare. You wait for them to trail off, to wonder why they even attempted to bother you until they run off, deciding to try something or someone else instead.

And then the same problem happens, because the someone else they decide to try, is him.

It is precisely 01:36 p.m. on a nice Wednesday afternoon when a kind (she looks kind enough) old lady stops the two of you. The ice cream, the purpose of the trip in the first place, is still cold in the small plastic bag Yuno’s holding but will soon become a sad goopy soup in its container if it isn’t brought back to the freezer in your shared apartment in time.

The lady opens her mouth.

Yuno briefly considers downloading a delivery app. At this moment, the extra ten dollar delivery fee suddenly doesn’t seem so expensive anymore, not when it means he can avoid a random social interaction outside.

Then he remembers the delivery person who would be doing the delivery, and the speaking old lady…

Oh shit.

“...—the cinema?”

She smiles.

Yuno smiles back.

Maybe if he smiles enough, she’ll magically remember whatever she needs to know about the cinema.

Yuno smiles harder. The corners of his mouth are shaking. He’s sure that if he smiles for any longer, his face is going to get stuck this way.

The lady’s smile falters, and she blinks slowly in confusion.

“Are you okay, young man?”

“Yes!” His answer is just a little too loud to be casual and his perfect, not-at-all strained smile wobbles. Out of the corner of his eye, he looks at you, furiously blinking for help.

Blink, blink, blink.

Bliiinnk, bliiinnk, bliinnk.

Blink, blink, blink.

Help me!