[ it is not his first time hearing those words. throughout his life, gojou satoru has said them to him almost like an incantation, as if he truly cares that megumi understand this on a level that goes beyond the textbook meaning and enters something more experiential. sometimes it would sound as if they were different words anyway, 'what you enjoy does matter' becoming 'you can be honest' becoming 'trust me'. it is not that megumi does not want to trust satoru; he already does in many ways, or he would not have entered the situation he has been in nor the one he is in now. the flicker flame of blue diamonds like not-yet dead stars is a physical acknowledgment of that trust. he can't say the same for how he feels regarding the offered hand, but that is not what troubles him most.
here and there, time and again, fushiguro megumi gets blindsided by something he cannot afford to name.
a memory buried: a man who megumi resembles holding him both tight and impossibly careful as if he's never been able to protect a single thing that truly mattered to him in his life. megumi does not recall. but the feeling remains. there is that phrase: sometimes even if the mind forgets, the body remembers. sometimes megumi wakes with his hand seeming to be reaching for that which has not been there for long enough to be forgotten; it hurts.
or: the curl of satoru's long slender fingers at the back of his neck grounding him rather than irritating him, suddenly so sharp and prevalent megumi can feel how he breathes and how he does not only look but truly sees him in a way that is so overwhelming as to thieve the breath out of him entirely. words that accompany such moments: "there you are." still here. still as close to belonging as he's ever been; a function and a role is as good as anyone gets in this world perhaps.
or: this, the lick of a flame at his ankles embodied in an outstretched hand and eyes that never seem to leave him.
if megumi were an animal, some would say he would be a dog and others a cat and neither would be wrong. some would say he would be extremely loyal and they would not be wrong. and some would say if you leave him alone in the truest sense of the word for long enough, he'll suffer even if he never says so, even if that life-or-death loyalty simply locks him into a self-possessed waiting room. a dog. a cat. a boy in an alley or in an estate or at the wealth clad foot of a yakuza's metropolitan domain. these are not different things and that is the problem.
that is the danger.
despite his best effort, megumi looks away. his hand reaches out not even a breath before retracting and letting himself out of the car, standing of his own accord, and managing with an old courtesan's grace to somehow step out in front of sukuna without conveying offense. pale hands stay folded behind his back and his head is inclined not so much in respect but an effort to keep his gaze somewhere away from that smile and the effect of a focus so singular impressed upon him. ]
I admit I don't follow. I am not here for you to entertain me, though I am here by your request.
[ this he says as quiet as a shrug, mild and true; the moon reflecting back the sun because that is what it does. at the same time, he does not outright offer to entertain the yakuza lord either. ]
no subject
here and there, time and again, fushiguro megumi gets blindsided by something he cannot afford to name.
a memory buried: a man who megumi resembles holding him both tight and impossibly careful as if he's never been able to protect a single thing that truly mattered to him in his life. megumi does not recall. but the feeling remains. there is that phrase: sometimes even if the mind forgets, the body remembers. sometimes megumi wakes with his hand seeming to be reaching for that which has not been there for long enough to be forgotten; it hurts.
or: the curl of satoru's long slender fingers at the back of his neck grounding him rather than irritating him, suddenly so sharp and prevalent megumi can feel how he breathes and how he does not only look but truly sees him in a way that is so overwhelming as to thieve the breath out of him entirely. words that accompany such moments: "there you are." still here. still as close to belonging as he's ever been; a function and a role is as good as anyone gets in this world perhaps.
or: this, the lick of a flame at his ankles embodied in an outstretched hand and eyes that never seem to leave him.
if megumi were an animal, some would say he would be a dog and others a cat and neither would be wrong. some would say he would be extremely loyal and they would not be wrong. and some would say if you leave him alone in the truest sense of the word for long enough, he'll suffer even if he never says so, even if that life-or-death loyalty simply locks him into a self-possessed waiting room. a dog. a cat. a boy in an alley or in an estate or at the wealth clad foot of a yakuza's metropolitan domain. these are not different things and that is the problem.
that is the danger.
despite his best effort, megumi looks away. his hand reaches out not even a breath before retracting and letting himself out of the car, standing of his own accord, and managing with an old courtesan's grace to somehow step out in front of sukuna without conveying offense. pale hands stay folded behind his back and his head is inclined not so much in respect but an effort to keep his gaze somewhere away from that smile and the effect of a focus so singular impressed upon him. ]
I admit I don't follow. I am not here for you to entertain me, though I am here by your request.
[ this he says as quiet as a shrug, mild and true; the moon reflecting back the sun because that is what it does. at the same time, he does not outright offer to entertain the yakuza lord either. ]