( a blink, a pause, and then... yuuta can't help but laugh. it's a light and good-natured sort of chuckle — certainly not to be mistaken as done at megumi's expense — but in retrospect, he might question how good of a move it had been. it's never very nice to respond to someone's earnestness with laughter!
...but, still, it is kind of funny. even in this, in literally extending a request for something that he wants from yuuta, he still manages to phrase it as something that megumi can do for him. it's so endearing, even if there's a part of it that makes something in his chest ache.
there are two instances in which yuuta doesn't hesitate even a fraction of a second: when his gut instinct guides the muscles of his body to defending someone or when there is nothing to do but follow in the wake of what his heart tells him. and now his heart urges him forward with a sudden assuredness, almost hypocritical given how casual he makes it seem, as if it's something he's done a hundred times with megumi instead of right here and right now. he reaches out and takes one of his hands, then the other, the pad of each thumb pressed gently into the hollow of his hand for just a moment before his fingers flex, palms flush together, and thread in-between megumi's, the fingertips lightly tracing the lines of metacarpals raised to the surface of the skin. )
Perceptive as always, ( he says, tone soft and warm. his hands are a little cold — a symptom of a thin frame and poor circulation. are megumi's that much different? he's always wondered. )
𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚍𝚒𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚕𝚢:
...but, still, it is kind of funny. even in this, in literally extending a request for something that he wants from yuuta, he still manages to phrase it as something that megumi can do for him. it's so endearing, even if there's a part of it that makes something in his chest ache.
there are two instances in which yuuta doesn't hesitate even a fraction of a second: when his gut instinct guides the muscles of his body to defending someone or when there is nothing to do but follow in the wake of what his heart tells him. and now his heart urges him forward with a sudden assuredness, almost hypocritical given how casual he makes it seem, as if it's something he's done a hundred times with megumi instead of right here and right now. he reaches out and takes one of his hands, then the other, the pad of each thumb pressed gently into the hollow of his hand for just a moment before his fingers flex, palms flush together, and thread in-between megumi's, the fingertips lightly tracing the lines of metacarpals raised to the surface of the skin. )
Perceptive as always, ( he says, tone soft and warm. his hands are a little cold — a symptom of a thin frame and poor circulation. are megumi's that much different? he's always wondered. )