[ "fun" is not what megumi would call it but as satoru had already gone over it with him, he does not expect too different of an interaction. if anything, there is some soft relief that it isn't worse, though a very very well compartmentalized part of him whispers satoru would never do anything truly dangerous for him β of at the very least, not anything he could not handle in the end himself. just because megumi has never killed anyone does not mean he does not know how to; not that sukuna would or will make it easy, but then, this is not a short con. it isn't even a con, come to that. it feels, if anything, more akin to a game of chicken between these two. megumi just slightly laments having to be the bridge for each respective vehicle.
the scent of sandalwood wends with something like incense too and megumi focuses on that rather than the sharp of sukuna's nail down his spine like some kind of query more so than a warning.
and if that is not just the oddest thing so-far.
he knows sukuna is strong. one does not come by his kind of repute and fear by sheer dumb luck. satoru is not interested in the weak. these are simple truths.
listening, he only speaks once directly asked about time, fully ignoring the note about how satoru addresses him. how ridiculous it seems to him to have to explain to ryomen sukuna that more or less growing up under gojou satoru's eye and mouth means compromise because otherwise you will consistently be in a battle you cannot win. the pressure of sukuna's fingers against his head is not as rough as it could be; megumi finds himself feeling he should be more afraid, afraid at all, but he isn't and there is no particular time at the moment to mull over it; so he doesn't. instead, his expression stays neutral, borderline soft in a way that is out of place here. the shift from sukuna's lap to off is almost indiscernible, a certain invisible grace in motion megumi has had most of his life; like a shadow satoru once said and so it goes in the underworld that the head of the gojou sect has a green-eyed shadow. very few are given the honor of his name, which is only offered by satoru anyway.
there couldn't be a clearer way to say he doesn't expect sukuna to come out of this 'alive' but what that means remains gray at best.
death is not the only kind of silence and perhaps no one knows but satoru himself what he would give up for what his goals happen to be.
if megumi asked, satoru would tell him he belongs to him and what else does he need to know? but megumi will never ask and so, in essence, does satoru escape having to claim it as a truth rather than a game where real investment gets blurred with other things happening before megumi was even born, much less found in a dirty alley after the conspicuous death of the invisible man known as fushiguro toji β at satoru's own hand no less.
they don't speak of it.
at his nape, sukuna's hand rests heavier than satoru's ever has.
megumi wonders if it means anything and decides: probably not. ]
I believe it has been discussed prior, Sukuna-dono.
[ "a week, megumi. you can handle it." or so satoru had said, it megumi can never quite rid himself of this weakness: that being given responsibility feels like a kind of worth. a hand atop his head when he was seven. a hand between his shoulderblades at thirteen. a hand on his knee at sixteen. why do these things feel important? why does a quiet part of him wait for them? the diamonds in his ears are small because they are meant to make something flashy and abundant subtle to the point of being forgotten, just remembered in the moment when it counts. they weigh nothing but somehow feel heavy. none of this shows on megumi's face, and his hands fold politely in front of him. where in another life animals come to heel when he does this, in this life, nothing of the sort happens. instead there is simply the emanation of a calm that fits someone rather older; but then, 'years' in the underworld aren't what they say on paper, don't account for the way people truly grow: what happens to them, and how they happen to other people.
at sukuna's side, he does not try to wrest himself from his hand, but he meets satoru's eyes once more, a longer more obvious stare until satoru inclines his head, offset by how he adjusts his glasses; disappears behind them:
"that's right megumi. you'll be good for me, won't you?"
the reply is just a mild and slow blink of green eyes.
will satoru ever say he's his outside of a show for business and tact?
perhaps it is foolish to wonder.
he'll do what he can in the week allotted. though his directions leave something to be desired:
get to know him.
his gaze finally goes sidelong and, in doing so, meets sukuna's by mistake.
it is harder to look away this time and he does not know why. ]
no subject
the scent of sandalwood wends with something like incense too and megumi focuses on that rather than the sharp of sukuna's nail down his spine like some kind of query more so than a warning.
and if that is not just the oddest thing so-far.
he knows sukuna is strong. one does not come by his kind of repute and fear by sheer dumb luck. satoru is not interested in the weak. these are simple truths.
listening, he only speaks once directly asked about time, fully ignoring the note about how satoru addresses him. how ridiculous it seems to him to have to explain to ryomen sukuna that more or less growing up under gojou satoru's eye and mouth means compromise because otherwise you will consistently be in a battle you cannot win. the pressure of sukuna's fingers against his head is not as rough as it could be; megumi finds himself feeling he should be more afraid, afraid at all, but he isn't and there is no particular time at the moment to mull over it; so he doesn't. instead, his expression stays neutral, borderline soft in a way that is out of place here. the shift from sukuna's lap to off is almost indiscernible, a certain invisible grace in motion megumi has had most of his life; like a shadow satoru once said and so it goes in the underworld that the head of the gojou sect has a green-eyed shadow. very few are given the honor of his name, which is only offered by satoru anyway.
there couldn't be a clearer way to say he doesn't expect sukuna to come out of this 'alive' but what that means remains gray at best.
death is not the only kind of silence and perhaps no one knows but satoru himself what he would give up for what his goals happen to be.
if megumi asked, satoru would tell him he belongs to him and what else does he need to know? but megumi will never ask and so, in essence, does satoru escape having to claim it as a truth rather than a game where real investment gets blurred with other things happening before megumi was even born, much less found in a dirty alley after the conspicuous death of the invisible man known as fushiguro toji β at satoru's own hand no less.
they don't speak of it.
at his nape, sukuna's hand rests heavier than satoru's ever has.
megumi wonders if it means anything and decides: probably not. ]
I believe it has been discussed prior, Sukuna-dono.
[ "a week, megumi. you can handle it." or so satoru had said, it megumi can never quite rid himself of this weakness: that being given responsibility feels like a kind of worth. a hand atop his head when he was seven. a hand between his shoulderblades at thirteen. a hand on his knee at sixteen. why do these things feel important? why does a quiet part of him wait for them? the diamonds in his ears are small because they are meant to make something flashy and abundant subtle to the point of being forgotten, just remembered in the moment when it counts. they weigh nothing but somehow feel heavy. none of this shows on megumi's face, and his hands fold politely in front of him. where in another life animals come to heel when he does this, in this life, nothing of the sort happens. instead there is simply the emanation of a calm that fits someone rather older; but then, 'years' in the underworld aren't what they say on paper, don't account for the way people truly grow: what happens to them, and how they happen to other people.
at sukuna's side, he does not try to wrest himself from his hand, but he meets satoru's eyes once more, a longer more obvious stare until satoru inclines his head, offset by how he adjusts his glasses; disappears behind them:
"that's right megumi. you'll be good for me, won't you?"
the reply is just a mild and slow blink of green eyes.
will satoru ever say he's his outside of a show for business and tact?
perhaps it is foolish to wonder.
he'll do what he can in the week allotted. though his directions leave something to be desired:
get to know him.
his gaze finally goes sidelong and, in doing so, meets sukuna's by mistake.
it is harder to look away this time and he does not know why. ]