"No you don’t. You can’t love. You’re a fucking psychopath!"
“This is no place to raise your voice, Mizuki-san,” he stated, lowering the glass that he’d raised to his lips. What Mizuki was doing in Platinum Jail wasn’t his problem; usually the Old Resident Districters stayed out there. But sometimes, sometimes they got in through whatever loophole it was. The fact that the little ribster had the audacity to not only come into a bar which he was clearly underdressed for, but to speak to Virus like that… well. It was really no major concern of his, in the long run.
Idly, he swirled the crimson liquid in the clear glass, making it obvious by training his eyes of gleaming blue upon that instead of the bartender that he was more concerned in his wine than this conversation, if one could call it that.
”I do love Aoba-san very much," came a condescending droll, "and you should really mind your own business, Mizuki.”
Or something bad would happen, those eyes cautioned; or something bad might just happen.