[ unsurprisingly, megumi says nothing; merely inclines his head a respectful angle towards gojou and then straightens up again, as if seamlessly in time for the touch of sukuna's fingers to his neck. he feels he should dislike it more, reject it on a near primitive level; he belongs to the gojou clan; he belongs to satoru. and yet that is as property belongs to someone perhaps more than anything more. don't put more into something than actually exists. he tried to remind himself over the years; he is still trying, especially when gojou shows him some concern now of all times when he should not show any such obvious hand. sukuna would have noticed anyway, it is quite possible. no one present has gotten where they are by luck except perhaps megumi himself.
and even then, he is not sure he would call what is transpiring now, 'luck'.
that he does not outright hate sukuna's touch or his stare says more than he would like as well, but some things cannot be wholly concealed without simply ceasing to exist.
precisely what satoru expects of him is yet to fully form itself. to observe, to collect information, to plant what he can if anything (probably nothing, megumi can already tell), and return. because at the very least, even if he does not know if satoru 'cares' about him beyond an adept tool loyal without trying, he knows what is expected of him. to not return would be as good as betrayal. the reason is invaluable. even death should not keep him and yet even without having known anything but his reputation, for some inexplicable reason, megumi has this thought:
he won't kill me.
just as soon as the thought comes, he compartmentalizes it away quietly. it feels dangerous to believe he is right about this sort of thing and megumi is reckless in many ways but also cautious in an equal number of others; a constantly balancing scale whose weights are fear, responsibility, need, and just enough selfish want that proves even shadows harbor fire. a subtly deeper breath has his throat keenly aware of sukuna's touch; still not hateful; he wishes almost that it was, that this would be simple insofar as any backwards arrangement such as this can be. ]
no subject
and even then, he is not sure he would call what is transpiring now, 'luck'.
that he does not outright hate sukuna's touch or his stare says more than he would like as well, but some things cannot be wholly concealed without simply ceasing to exist.
precisely what satoru expects of him is yet to fully form itself. to observe, to collect information, to plant what he can if anything (probably nothing, megumi can already tell), and return. because at the very least, even if he does not know if satoru 'cares' about him beyond an adept tool loyal without trying, he knows what is expected of him. to not return would be as good as betrayal. the reason is invaluable. even death should not keep him and yet even without having known anything but his reputation, for some inexplicable reason, megumi has this thought:
he won't kill me.
just as soon as the thought comes, he compartmentalizes it away quietly. it feels dangerous to believe he is right about this sort of thing and megumi is reckless in many ways but also cautious in an equal number of others; a constantly balancing scale whose weights are fear, responsibility, need, and just enough selfish want that proves even shadows harbor fire. a subtly deeper breath has his throat keenly aware of sukuna's touch; still not hateful; he wishes almost that it was, that this would be simple insofar as any backwards arrangement such as this can be. ]