Minato was bars and lines in blue overlay: Academics; Charm; and Courage. Arguably, his world view was bland or simplistic. Maybe too simplistic. Perhaps, even lacking. It got him by though, which was all that mattered to him.

He ran his tongue over his lips, expertly hiding his flinch from the subtle stab of heat from the too-hot coffee now sliding down his throat in a scorching streak. He'd come too many times to Chagall not to learn. His approachability was on the line, after all.

The sneaking suspicion that the 'pheromones' in the coffee he was drinking was a simple placebo wasn't lost on Minato. His grades could always be better, but he wasn't dumb, and he'd learned it well from Tanaka-san. The slightly higher pricing probably helped to justify it, too.

Well, at least the coffee itself wasn't complete trash. He took the coffee to go as he headed towards Game Panic. Chances were, he'd probably forget about it past the first few sips. It tasted bland in his mouth. Most things did.

On Tuesdays and Thursdays, the Print Club machines were usually cleared up. Usually, people came to them in groups. For memories. Laughs. Faces scrunched up in forced smiles just to play with sparkle filters and distracting borders.

Today, it was a Friday, however.

He sat down in the booth, eyes glued to a screen surrounded in darkness.

Today, it meant the Horror House booths were open.

As the ambiance surrounded Minato, he settled down for the long haul of jump-scares and things hidden just out of the periphery of his vision. The first time was a bit of a shock, but by now, he was desensitized to the chills and gore. In the many times that he'd sat down to watch these videos, they never really changed, either.

Minato stifled a small yawn as the night drew onward. Once it was over, he was glad to be back in the light, feeling like some part of his legs had fallen asleep. On the bright side, he definitely wouldn't be pissing himself in the Dark Hour once it came.

After a long hike back to the dorm, of course, he would have to get some studying in, even if it was just for an hour or so – clearly unbothered by the fact that if he did, it would be one or two in the morning when he'd finally hit the hay.

Despite all that, Minato wasn't much for sleep. No matter what he did.

Of course, the caffeine from earlier didn't help… Wait, did he remember to pick it back up after finishing up at the arcade?

…Well, whatever.

At least the hole he was boring in his head with his schoolwork would be a more pleasant distraction than just being alone with his thoughts, as he normally was. As much as he would've preferred some music in the background, it distracted him more than it helped. The melodies and words put him in the wrong mindset.

As he groped for his pencil case in the cold, meagre light of his desk lamp, his fingers brushed past glossy photograph paper.

Knowing what it was, but now waiting to sate his curiosity as his brain was yanked out of study-time mode for the briefest moment, he pulled the prints out from his drawer.

Photos of himself with different filters, but with an eerily consistent expression throughout most of them. His face really didn't go well with the sparkles and cute cat filters. For a moment, Minato's expression – the one he was wearing right now – crinkled in frustration.

A placebo. Obligations to fulfil so he could trudge through society.

He had the grades of an honour student – the out of school activities to boot. He even worked on the student council, even if it was only for small chores.

He had the charm to make the school idol swoon, and the smoothness to capture the attention of a cynical, glorified scam artist.

He had the courage to get through the Dark Hour, and could face up to challenges that most people would shy away from.

Minato shoved the pictures back into his drawer.

Was it all in his head? A desperate attempt to make himself feel more likable? Not to others, really… but, to himself?

Quiet. Reserved. Numb. That was him.

Daily distractions. Placebos. Charisma. Ingenuity. Badassery.

The thoughts swirled around on his tongue, and continued for a while as he finally picked up his pen and started writing. He couldn't bring himself to care anymore than he did already.

Tasted worse than he coffee he had that evening.

AN: Inspired by this post: rayify(period)tumblr(period)com(fwdslash)post(fwdslash)166269027492(fwdslash)the-punning-ubus-you-know-actually-looking-at