[ despite being able to tell he is by no means stronger than sukuna, megumi has the reflexes and the dexterity to at least reach a hand to grab at sukuna's wrist and pull his touch away; he could. he doesn't. it would not suit the present arrangement, the endgame of it all; it would if anything deter and that is the opposite of what megumi wants. tasked, he takes it seriously because if he doesn't then what precisely is he serious about? if he was not entirely prepared for how hands-on sukuna would be out of the gate, that is his own oversight.
he wants to blame satoru a little, for how receptive he is to touch, almost conditioned to take what he can get; something that blooms only in moonlight and moonlight is temperamental. "starved, are you?" he vaguely remembers those were his words and megumi did then what he even persists in doing now: said no. but sometimes we have to say something is not true even knowing it is, just to cope with it.
carefully. carefully. carefully. he lets his focus shift from sukuna to anywhere else, not moving away but not holding the contact either. the pinch of his brow is no more than a fraction of a second, the purse of his mouth the same before it smooths again to its neutrality that could as soon be taken for bored as demure as hollow as hiding something.
the list is perhaps unsurprisingly easy to build upon.
afraid? the fan of his lashes lowers in a slow blink at nothing. ]
I simply seek to achieve what is set before me, Sukuna-dono. And, [ his eyes clearly start to shift towards satoru before he equally obviously stops himself from seeking any approval and adds, quieter, in a way that truly could be missed if sukuna wasn't paying acute attention, ] ... I am not afraid often.
[ when tsumiki fell ill. it is the only time he can recall. if he had not buried it so deeply, perhaps he might also remember: a boy teaching himself not to expect the dead to come back, indeed to remember not to ask for such a haunted life, a boy with the names of stars on the back of his vision more so than the names of people, a boy not overwhelmed by fear but not immune to it either β that bizarre first empathetic understanding if not textual of that word: lonely. it is something gojou satoru saw in him before he even introduced himself and if he's played the line of it to his own benefit, it goes both ways perhaps; he cares, against all odds, and so all the more a risk and a bet to 'give' fushiguro megumi to ryomen sukuna.
but he trusts megumi even if the other was never an option, not even as a joke.
it's not the diamonds in megumi's ears that say it so much as how satoru despite the attention he's given by those tasked with him, only watches megumi through his glasses that never come off no matter the hour or location.
as one who watches satoru, it is a cosmic kind of irony that megumi doesn't notice he is being watched back not in so dissimilar a fashion.
the floor of this place is quite clean. this is what his line of sight tells him at present, and the nearness of sukuna is not enough to make him look at him again nor budge further or closer. he stays still, the kind of motionless expected of bond maids in old money clans, where one is as soon beautiful furniture as a person with more function outside of utility and aesthetic. ]
no subject
he wants to blame satoru a little, for how receptive he is to touch, almost conditioned to take what he can get; something that blooms only in moonlight and moonlight is temperamental. "starved, are you?" he vaguely remembers those were his words and megumi did then what he even persists in doing now: said no. but sometimes we have to say something is not true even knowing it is, just to cope with it.
carefully. carefully. carefully. he lets his focus shift from sukuna to anywhere else, not moving away but not holding the contact either. the pinch of his brow is no more than a fraction of a second, the purse of his mouth the same before it smooths again to its neutrality that could as soon be taken for bored as demure as hollow as hiding something.
the list is perhaps unsurprisingly easy to build upon.
afraid? the fan of his lashes lowers in a slow blink at nothing. ]
I simply seek to achieve what is set before me, Sukuna-dono. And, [ his eyes clearly start to shift towards satoru before he equally obviously stops himself from seeking any approval and adds, quieter, in a way that truly could be missed if sukuna wasn't paying acute attention, ] ... I am not afraid often.
[ when tsumiki fell ill. it is the only time he can recall. if he had not buried it so deeply, perhaps he might also remember: a boy teaching himself not to expect the dead to come back, indeed to remember not to ask for such a haunted life, a boy with the names of stars on the back of his vision more so than the names of people, a boy not overwhelmed by fear but not immune to it either β that bizarre first empathetic understanding if not textual of that word: lonely. it is something gojou satoru saw in him before he even introduced himself and if he's played the line of it to his own benefit, it goes both ways perhaps; he cares, against all odds, and so all the more a risk and a bet to 'give' fushiguro megumi to ryomen sukuna.
but he trusts megumi even if the other was never an option, not even as a joke.
it's not the diamonds in megumi's ears that say it so much as how satoru despite the attention he's given by those tasked with him, only watches megumi through his glasses that never come off no matter the hour or location.
as one who watches satoru, it is a cosmic kind of irony that megumi doesn't notice he is being watched back not in so dissimilar a fashion.
the floor of this place is quite clean. this is what his line of sight tells him at present, and the nearness of sukuna is not enough to make him look at him again nor budge further or closer. he stays still, the kind of motionless expected of bond maids in old money clans, where one is as soon beautiful furniture as a person with more function outside of utility and aesthetic. ]