Emotions Gone Ballistic [Whitty x Boyfriend] DISCONTINUED

Compensation

Whitty's POV

He didn't understand.. he really didn't. These feelings of guilt and shame hit him harder than a double-decker bus at full speed. He's told off a shit ton  of people before without a problem, sometimes even going a bit overboard without meaning to and breaking something of theirs - whether it be their dreams or their limbs. But.. here he was..

In a fucking. Ice cream shop. With the blue-haired brat..

How he got here? No fucking clue. That face.. that stupid  face.. it made him feel something he'd never felt before. Though it was strange as well.. he'd never taken such pity on a complete stranger before. Well, at least the crushing weight of his guilt had stopped in turn for seeing the blue-haired brat smile.. And the fact that he got ice cream for himself as well did  considerably improve his mood. The midget was happily slurping up his blueberry-flavored ice cream, sitting at the table the bomb boi sat at while Whitty supervised. He wanted to make sure the brat didn't.. I dunno, choke or something. While Boyfriend had a standard two-scoop ice cream cone, Whitty put together an ice cream that resembled more of a tower than anything. An assortment of flavors made up the huge variety of ice cream scoops, ranging from plain ol' vanilla to salted caramel. Hell, if he wasn't careful, the ice cream could touch the roof easily.. thought he was sure that his height had something to do with that.. Not seeming bothered by Whitty's enormous pile of ice cream, Boyfriend slowly enjoyed his cold treat. To Whitty's relief, the ice cream seemed to be a good call. The brat seemed occupied enough with the dessert in front of him to forget previous events. Though Whitty still had hints of anger inside him, he wouldn't dare try and voice his thoughts out loud. If anything, it would make matters even worse  for the both of them and probably make the idiot cry again with the stupid.. fucking.. sad face.. Whitty suddenly noticed that while going through his thoughts, Boyfriend and himself had locked eyes for a good minute or so while eating their ice cream. Whitty was the first to notice, whipping his head around to look out the window next to them. Boyfriend kept his eyes on Whitty, gently resting his head in one arm, holding his cone up to his mouth with the other. Whitty could feel Boyfriend's gaze burn into the side of his head, making him fidget with his own cone of ice cream. He tapped the table with his fingers and took a large bite of his ice cream - downing about 5 scoops in one chomp - trying his best to keep his sight averted from Boyfriend. A long period of silence and staring goes by before..;

".. Boo.. bop bep boop brep doo beep? Bap bob oo meeb.. brepba?"

Whitty, slightly startled by the sudden break in silence, jolted back to reality and tightened his grip on his ice cream cone, cracking the base slightly. He glanced back over at Boyfriend and gently massaged his throat with one hand, attempting to speak. He hadn't spoke for a good 10 minutes, so his soreness had lessened by just a little, making  speech a tad bit easier.

"You.. do know I don't.. understand you, right?"

The bomb boi groaned, his sore throat starting to become even more of a bother to him than before. Whitty got into a coughing fit, lowering his head into the elbow of his arm. He, of course, wasn't counting on a few minutes of vocal resting to nurse his torn-up throat back to perfect working order anyways, though he expected speech to be easier than it was. Boyfriend gave a gentle sigh and pointed to the ice cream, both him and Whitty, then shrugged. Bf could see the cogs turning in Whitty's head as he squinted his eyes, giving a facial expression of pure confusion. Another long silence followed before Boyfriend gave a more exaggerated and long groan. He pulled a pen from his pocket and grabbed a nearby napkin to write on while Whitty observed, slightly leaning over the table to see what he was writing. While waiting, Whitty's thoughts occupied him as he tapped his fingers against the table..

"Would he be able to write in beeps..? Can beeps even be written on paper?? Or are beeps more of a spoken language.. but what would it even look like on paper?.. probably just what it would sound like out loud.. wait, do beeps have their own characters; like Russian or Arabic letters or.. something..??? Who even taught him to speak in beeps? Did he teach himself? Did just make it up??"

As he wondered about Boyfriend's language and how it even managed worked, Boyfriend picked up the napkin and threw it straight onto Whitty's face. It slapped him right between the eyes, Whitty pausing before giving a sigh that could only radiate disappointment. Bf seemed slightly.. frustrated at the language barrier and that he would have to write out everything he wanted to say unless he decided to speak English. But something told Whitty that Boyfriend would rather die than speak real words.. that, or he just doesn't know English.. (which is also a valid reason). The bomb boi grabbed the napkin that had been so kindly handed to his face, and took a look at it's contents. To his relief, it wasn't in beeps.

"Why did you bring me to the ice-cream shop? I mean, don't get me wrong, I love  ice cream.. but you do  know I'm 19, right? I'm not a child.."

Whitty froze and went dead silent as he slowly stared up at Boyfriend with a face that said everything. Boyfriend analyzed Whitty's appalled expression and face-palmed, grabbing another napkin and starting to write his next sentence, one hand holding his head disappointingly and the other hand writing the next words. He had a clear face that was just oozing  disappointment on Whitty's end. Whitty was in a state of pure shock. How in the hell is this midget  19?! He's about the size of a 5 year old, which is the age that Whitty expected from Boyfriend. He felt astounded as he covered his face in his hands and started to attempt to process just how someone that short and with such a high pitched voice could POSSIBLY be 19.. Hell, he knew that he himself was very  tall compared to anyone else he had ever met, but at least their height with their age MATCHED. While Whitty was having his existential crisis, Boyfriend snapped his fingers rapidly to get Whitty's attention. Whitty took his face out from his hands and looked at Boyfriend, who was holding up a napkin that read;

"Don't worry about it.. not exactly offended  or anything. Just kinda thought that you already knew. You can't imagine how many times I've had to explain to people I'm 19, though. Some people don't even believe me. Wouldn't be surprised if you're the same way."

Boyfriend put the napkin down after Whitty was done reading, looking out the window next to them and continuing to softly lick his ice cream. Whitty waved his hands and spoke in a panicked tone in an attempt to try and save himself. He stumbled and stuttered while his sore throat made speaking even worse, coughing and sputtering every other word.

"N-NO, i-it's not that I don't believe you.. i-it's just.. well.. y-you're...."

Whitty trailed off as Boyfriend turned his head back to look at Whitty's panicked expression and wrote on the back of the napkin, holding it up to finish Whitty's sentence.

"Short?"

Whitty felt his face heat up in embarrassment and closed his eyes, slamming his head on the desk in a half-assed attempt to knock himself unconscious to save himself from the situation. He looked incredibly ashamed of himself, unsurprising to Boyfriend. Boyfriend, giving a long sigh, reached over the table to yank Whitty's fuse at the top of his head, making the bomb boi raise his head just enough to be able to put his gaze on Boyfriend. Boyfriend stared at Whitty with a blank expression, taking a bite of his ice-cream cone. He finished the rest of the cone, stuffing it into his mouth as he quickly jotted down his next sentence on another napkin. He chewed while writing and showed it to Whitty when he was done.

"Again, don't worry about it. I get that a lot. I won't ask anything in return to redeem yourself or anything, but I will say this."

.

.

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"You're paying for the ice cream."