[ It's faint, but he scents it like a shark might sense a plume of blood in a far ocean; the boy bends to touch as easily as anything; allows it, even the invasive pawing, the pulling. Of course, Gojou would have known this, would have been aware that this suits Sukuna's tastes exactly, that he would take an interest the second that he met this strange boy. Sukuna knows very well when he is being lead into a plot, and it seems that the Gojou clan seeks to manufacture a weakness for him, to gift him with a blind spot. Well, they overestimate his heart, he supposesโ it is the most insufficient of all his organs; there's only hunger in it, only consumption. They've put their worm on a hookโ he'll capsize them before he allows himself to be taken in.
He can feel the boy's loneliness as surely as he can smell the perfume from the hostesses that sit near them. It's there, infusing the circumstances, every movement and gesture. He wonders if this is Gojou's way of spiting him, of saying here's something you'll like, we see through your bravadoโ you are no different to this boy, who will appeal to the lonely predator that you really are. You'll know yourself in him, and thenโ.
He wants to sneer across at Gojou.
But, he'll take it. Who is Sukuna to ever deny himself something that he wants, even if it is presented as bait by an enemy. He doesn't particularly care for subterfuge, if they try to kill him, he will destroy them. If he decides he wants the boy for himself, forever, then he will take him. Gojou Satoru's mistake is there; he does not abide by any rules other than his own.
Deliberately, he strokes his hand against Megumi's skin; his hands aren't cold, instead he seems to burn with a vague feverโ always, even the air surrounding him ticks up a degree or two. ]
And what has been set before you, hm? [ His chin tips downwards, lighting for a moment on the boy's shoulder. He smells of earth; of clean, dark woods, but there is something beneath it, and he cannot place it, despite liking it. Perhaps a cologne that has faded on his skin. Sukuna inhales, shifts closer to him to speak into his ear again. ]
Gojou likes you all too much. Why is he letting me have you? You know I'll keep you if I feel inclined.
[ Around them, the club bustles with its usual fare of customers and patrons, the dim, warm lights and plush interior make it all seem expensive; the Japanese screens and kimono hangings equally lend it an air of something old, like a tea house in Gion. This is just like Satoru, he thinks, to bring him here, to deliver him this boy. He's not even displeased; they know his tastes.
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He can feel the boy's loneliness as surely as he can smell the perfume from the hostesses that sit near them. It's there, infusing the circumstances, every movement and gesture. He wonders if this is Gojou's way of spiting him, of saying here's something you'll like, we see through your bravadoโ you are no different to this boy, who will appeal to the lonely predator that you really are. You'll know yourself in him, and thenโ.
He wants to sneer across at Gojou.
But, he'll take it. Who is Sukuna to ever deny himself something that he wants, even if it is presented as bait by an enemy. He doesn't particularly care for subterfuge, if they try to kill him, he will destroy them. If he decides he wants the boy for himself, forever, then he will take him. Gojou Satoru's mistake is there; he does not abide by any rules other than his own.
Deliberately, he strokes his hand against Megumi's skin; his hands aren't cold, instead he seems to burn with a vague feverโ always, even the air surrounding him ticks up a degree or two. ]
And what has been set before you, hm? [ His chin tips downwards, lighting for a moment on the boy's shoulder. He smells of earth; of clean, dark woods, but there is something beneath it, and he cannot place it, despite liking it. Perhaps a cologne that has faded on his skin. Sukuna inhales, shifts closer to him to speak into his ear again. ]
Gojou likes you all too much. Why is he letting me have you? You know I'll keep you if I feel inclined.
[ Around them, the club bustles with its usual fare of customers and patrons, the dim, warm lights and plush interior make it all seem expensive; the Japanese screens and kimono hangings equally lend it an air of something old, like a tea house in Gion. This is just like Satoru, he thinks, to bring him here, to deliver him this boy. He's not even displeased; they know his tastes.
At least his reputation precedes him. ]