Determined

8.

Miku sat at the foot of his bed, and set the kit down. "Okay. Take your shirt off, and let's get this over with." He gave her a blank look. She responded with a quizzical look of her own, with just a hint of irritation. "What?" She asked. 

"Oh, I'm sorry." Said Len, crossing his arms. "I thought you told me to take my shirt off. But clearly I'm going crazy and hearing shit." She glared.

"Take it off, Kagamine." He crossed his arms tighter across his chest. He winced at the pain it caused, but still refused to yield. Something about him shirtless with Miku alone in his room, on the bed made him extremely uncomfortable. But Miku, apparently, couldn't care less. Len would've thought that she'd be a blushing mess at even the thought of requesting that he remove his shirt, but the only emotion she showed was agitation. Maybe it was because he pissed her off earlier, or because she had enough bullshit for one day. Either way, Len was reluctant to relent to her. 

"My torso's fine, Hatsune. So is my stomach. My shirt can stay where it should remain as long as you're here: on my damn body. You'll have to pry this shirt from my cold dead hands." She sighed. 

"Well, hey, maybe I'll do that, cause maybe you'll bleed out! Did you forget that your stitches opened, idiot? Quit being shy and take your fucking shirt off, or I'll rip it off for you." Len shied away from her. It was almost comical- a muscular, deadly teenager with gallons of blood on his hands, shying away from a cute and petite girl threatening to strip him to tend to his wounds. It would've been funny and he would've been teasing her about wanting to see his muscles, but her assertive tone just plain scared him. But it was also refreshing. Did that make sense? No, of course not, and maybe that's why Len was so confused. 

Did he make fun of her to make himself feel better? Did he...well, there wasn't really anything else Len would do in that situation, but he felt too flustered.

Flustered?

Why would he even feel flustered, though? He thought back to the cell, with Miku holding his face in her soft, warm hands, and wanting to melt into them. He remembered the odd feeling of security only she could bring in such a dark and alarming place, and the feeling of her in his arms, safe, and his chin atop her head, and- 

Wait. Wait a goddamned minute, He thought while keeping her away from his shirt. He thought of their walk home at 11 p.m on the anniversary of Miku's parents' death and how her hand fit into his and the way they wrapped around his fingers, and how he smoothed down her hair without hesitation or thought after Yohio started a fight with Baldy and his friends, and running his fingers through her soft hair after that fight with some random girl after school. No. No, no. This isn't fucking happening. There's no way in hell I-

Miku reached forward and grabbed the collar of his shirt. "Woah! Hatsune! Quit it, for fuck's sake!" She glared at him. He slapped her hands away but she was persistent. "Hatsune, goddammit, fuck off! I said I'm fi-"

"What's the big fuckin' deal?" She snapped, pushing him back into the bed, apparently giving up. Her face was flustered, and she crossed her arms as Len shrunk into the corner. "I saw you shirtless already, so why're you freaking out now? In fact, why're you freaking out in general? Wouldn't you normally, I dunno, make fun of me and shit?" Len sighed. 

"I dunno!" He admitted. "It's fucking weird! You don't just say, 'take your shirt off' to people, Hatsune. What are you, a sexual predator or something?" She rolled her eyes and dropped her hands onto her lap. 

"What do you want me to say? 'Please?'" He shrugged. She groaned. 

"Len, I'm going crazy here. I get kidnapped, first-" He looked away, "-which isn't your fault, so shut up. Then you and your previously dead father kick ass, then there's people shooting at us, and can I mention that time in the car where you shot through a fucking window? Why are you the way that you are? By that, I mean a fucking moron? Why the hell would you do that-"