Furuta has a shy, overly kind and anxious best friend who he teases a lot but they still adore him. Give us a scenario with those two

“Souta, I really don’t like this plan,” protests his friend.

He glares at them, but not too fiercely. They’re the only one whom he lets call him by his real name. “Well, get over it, worrywart.”

“But you could die.”

“I’m gonna die young anyways.” Furuta leans back in his chair, sipping his blood wine casually. They always come over to his apartment, keeping him company when he doesn’t want to sleep. 

They reach out and yank the glass away from him.

“Hey!” Furuta gasps as a drop splashed on his immaculately pressed pants.

“Oh dear, I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to. I’ll pay to get them fixed,” they stammer.

“They’re black. It’ll barely show up.” Furuta rolls his eyes. “See, worrywart.”

“Well, I took your wine because you shouldn’t get the chance to escape your feelings while you’re alive,” they say.

“I’m not as kind as you, [Name]. I need to escape my feelings.” Furuta wiggles his eyebrows.

“But if you faced them, just once, you might be happier. And I want you happy. And alive for as long as possible.” They pout. 

Furuta ruffles their hair. “You’re the best thing in my life, you know that?”