[ there is a part of megumi that wants to answer. there is a part of megumi that never wants to answer. and then there is the space between these parts as if the division of one half of the body and the other, a part not apart. he has the wherewithal to wish he was more offended and the certainty of his debt to cement the fact that he simply is not. property. that is an old term. it seems almost as a criticism and a compliment from sukuna and he does not know why; others have used it and in those instances megumi cringed behind his neutrality and felt foolish for the reassurance of gojou's hand at his waist.
tsumiki once drew constellations on the soft pale flesh of his forearm. she made them up because she said they were his. gojou once made a line with his fingertip from the corner of megumi's eye down to the hollow of his throat and told him he shouldn't trust him. where the appraisal of red eyes and sharp nails falls amongst these memories has yet to be seen. there is no reason for megumi to believe sukuna is interested in him any other way than as a tool in regards to the ongoing not-quite hostility between gangs, clans, and whatever else goes on when he blinks.
he blinks now too, slow, unbothered to the inattentive eye. ]
Does it matter?
[ it ends up being more of a genuine question than he intended, which means he regrets those words; but he does not take them back, instead turning his head away again. to ask what is wanted of him feels pointless; he will find out inevitably or else why is he here to begin with? if he unfocuses his vision, things become soft shadows and lights and the faint presence of smoke or fire he knows is from sukuna, as if he harbors that kind of primordial heat like a mythical being. it is the kind of dark summer that draws shadows in as natural as a breath.
the only other presence as overwhelming as this that megumi has ever experienced was indeed gojou satoru, gojou with his sky eyes and gravityless sensibility of things, satoru who placed his earrings and told him to never take them out, benefactor and...what else? a constant in megumi's life that is neither dog nor bird nor the quiet sense of an empty place that might have been an apartment or an alley or a dark night where everything changed with that terrible silent lack of permission. yet gojou satoru makes sense; it has been nine years.
and despite his sometimes-efforts, megumi is the constellation tsumiki saw him for all those years: trying far out past his actual lifespan.
the vulnerability of caring.
none of it explains the odd draw he feels to the person beside him that is simultaneous to his rejection of him.
it is this awareness that has him leaning his forehead to the window, and when he exhales the window fogs softly like even megumi's breath would rather not be intrusive. this particular angle of his head causes the lights outside to throw the diamonds' refractions out in tiny lances of blue, as if in peculiar warning the way some animals use their colors to entice or discourage, audience depending. ]
no subject
tsumiki once drew constellations on the soft pale flesh of his forearm. she made them up because she said they were his. gojou once made a line with his fingertip from the corner of megumi's eye down to the hollow of his throat and told him he shouldn't trust him. where the appraisal of red eyes and sharp nails falls amongst these memories has yet to be seen. there is no reason for megumi to believe sukuna is interested in him any other way than as a tool in regards to the ongoing not-quite hostility between gangs, clans, and whatever else goes on when he blinks.
he blinks now too, slow, unbothered to the inattentive eye. ]
Does it matter?
[ it ends up being more of a genuine question than he intended, which means he regrets those words; but he does not take them back, instead turning his head away again. to ask what is wanted of him feels pointless; he will find out inevitably or else why is he here to begin with? if he unfocuses his vision, things become soft shadows and lights and the faint presence of smoke or fire he knows is from sukuna, as if he harbors that kind of primordial heat like a mythical being. it is the kind of dark summer that draws shadows in as natural as a breath.
the only other presence as overwhelming as this that megumi has ever experienced was indeed gojou satoru, gojou with his sky eyes and gravityless sensibility of things, satoru who placed his earrings and told him to never take them out, benefactor and...what else? a constant in megumi's life that is neither dog nor bird nor the quiet sense of an empty place that might have been an apartment or an alley or a dark night where everything changed with that terrible silent lack of permission. yet gojou satoru makes sense; it has been nine years.
and despite his sometimes-efforts, megumi is the constellation tsumiki saw him for all those years: trying far out past his actual lifespan.
the vulnerability of caring.
none of it explains the odd draw he feels to the person beside him that is simultaneous to his rejection of him.
it is this awareness that has him leaning his forehead to the window, and when he exhales the window fogs softly like even megumi's breath would rather not be intrusive. this particular angle of his head causes the lights outside to throw the diamonds' refractions out in tiny lances of blue, as if in peculiar warning the way some animals use their colors to entice or discourage, audience depending. ]