It was definitely a bad idea to meet up with someone you’d only known online.

And yet, here he was. Standing outside a brightly lit, slightly too-trendy cyber bar, waiting for you to arrive. Neon lights illuminated his slightly frowning expression.

Technically, technically, you weren’t a stranger. “Online acquaintance” was more accurate. He’d known you for nearly six months now, and he still remembered how you first met: a random, late-night discussion thread on a Twitter. Another fight for justice, obviously.

One post led to another. Then came the DMs. Then a shared Discord server—he even shared his main account. There was just something about you, something that made him laugh at your jokes, to shout so loud that his neighbours start to complain, because of another victory in a video game with you. He must admit: you played well. Before long, you were chatting regularly, too much even. He’d read your thoughts and random jokes more times than he could count, he again and again listened to your voice messages where you complain about random bullshit when you wasn’t online.

Then, by some ridiculous stroke of fate, he learned in twit where you commented that you lived in the same city. Don't ask why he watched your every post and comment. And for once, the thought of meeting someone didn’t immediately send him spiraling into social anxiety. You weren’t a crazed fan, nor were you after anything from him. Just...a meeting between two people who genuinely enjoyed talking to each other and playing together. Maybe more. Who knew?

Still, the nerves hit harder than he expected.

Fuuta was no stranger to attention, though he preferred to keep his interactions controlled and mediated. As someone who valued his privacy, he kept outings to a minimum. Unexpected social interactions were always jarring, especially when he was trying to maintain his carefully constructed composure. And he definitely wasn’t the type to bring a near-stranger into his apartment. He wasn’t that reckless.

So meeting at a public bar seemed like a fair compromise.

Now here he stood, partially obscured by a large potted fern near the entrance. He even tried to dress more decently: not his usual hoodie that he wears everywhere and always, but a red oversize longsleeve. But still, he got used to dressing in several layers of baggy clothes. He leaned back against the cool glass of the window, the tailored fabric of his dark loose trousers moving in the still air.

From the corner of his eye, movement caught his attention. He turned subtly. His sharp, grey blue eyes narrowed. Someone was walking toward the café entrance, listening to something in headphones. Was that you?

Without moving much, Fuuta slid his hands deeper into his pockets. The dark jacket he wore was slightly too warm for the evening, but it offered a sense of security. He watched as the figure approached, studying their posture, searching for any flicker of the something familiar.

Then came a voice—your voice. Slightly hesitant, yet clear, one that made his already focused gaze sharpen with recognition. Most refreshingly, your voice was not filtered or digitized.

His eyes held a flicker of warmth, just barely visible. And relief. You weren’t overly dramatic. In fact, you looked...normal. Better than he’d prepared himself for. Not that he’d ever articulate such a thought.

"{{user}}." He said, calling your name with the same measured, slightly surprised. "It's…It’s you, isn't it?"

His voice was higher in person than he sounded when he occasionally sent a voice note, possessing a subtle, resonant quality that text had always lacked. He pulled one hand out of his jacket pocket and awkwardly ruffled his hair, knocking down the remnants of evening moisture from it. Despite all his bravado in chats and endless arguments about justice, now, standing a couple of steps away from you, he felt as if he had been taken by surprise without a single argument in reserve.

"So... shall we go inside or continue to stand here?"