Kugisaki likes to call him an anti-social guy and as much as he gives her grief about it, Megumi can't deny that she's wrong. he was very young when he learned that the last remaining pillar in his parental unit had seen fit to sell him back to a clan they'd never even considered family in the first place. no goodbyes, no explanations. and no check-ins, even after all these years. the loss of his mother was greatly softened by timing; Megumi isn't the type to sit and daydream about whether she smiled when she looked down at her baby in her arms. but being sold, no more useful than a cheap prostitute to a client who only needs his bed warm for a few hours, is a betrayal that cuts deep even when he's not actively thinking about it.
how much, he used to wonder, when he first began summoning his shikigami and taming them, are these all worth?
more than he was. that's for sure.
and it's a belief that, until recently, embedded itself to his core, tying itself to his identity, to every thought and action, until death by way of a divine general felt like the best way to make his cheap life worth more. his one trump card - a flash of brilliant strength before the fade into irrelevance. his shikigami's name would live on longer than his own. the way it should be.
Megumi still feels the distant ache of a familiar fear he's just barely extracted: this is selfish, especially for a guy who's never seen the point of making too much of an effort to get along with people because his end is inevitable. the road ahead is paved in gold for only the strongest. a wretched, lonely road, but one they get to walk regardless. his eyes dip down to the sight of their hands, curled together as if it's a natural thing they've done so many times before.
it is selfish. but his senpai is strong enough to indulge him. ]
I never felt like I could be dangerous before you.
[ it's something of an apology and a request, with the way he says it, eyes intensely earnest for once as he visibly takes a deep breath and leans in, slow - more than enough time for Yuuta to express discomfort or move away. his kiss, in contrast to his certainty, is soft, hesitant - more than indicative of the truth in his words - and chaste. a confession purposely given with a weight as light as a butterfly's wing. ]
no subject
Kugisaki likes to call him an anti-social guy and as much as he gives her grief about it, Megumi can't deny that she's wrong. he was very young when he learned that the last remaining pillar in his parental unit had seen fit to sell him back to a clan they'd never even considered family in the first place. no goodbyes, no explanations. and no check-ins, even after all these years. the loss of his mother was greatly softened by timing; Megumi isn't the type to sit and daydream about whether she smiled when she looked down at her baby in her arms. but being sold, no more useful than a cheap prostitute to a client who only needs his bed warm for a few hours, is a betrayal that cuts deep even when he's not actively thinking about it.
how much, he used to wonder, when he first began summoning his shikigami and taming them, are these all worth?
more than he was. that's for sure.
and it's a belief that, until recently, embedded itself to his core, tying itself to his identity, to every thought and action, until death by way of a divine general felt like the best way to make his cheap life worth more. his one trump card - a flash of brilliant strength before the fade into irrelevance. his shikigami's name would live on longer than his own. the way it should be.
Megumi still feels the distant ache of a familiar fear he's just barely extracted: this is selfish, especially for a guy who's never seen the point of making too much of an effort to get along with people because his end is inevitable. the road ahead is paved in gold for only the strongest. a wretched, lonely road, but one they get to walk regardless. his eyes dip down to the sight of their hands, curled together as if it's a natural thing they've done so many times before.
it is selfish. but his senpai is strong enough to indulge him. ]
I never felt like I could be dangerous before you.
[ it's something of an apology and a request, with the way he says it, eyes intensely earnest for once as he visibly takes a deep breath and leans in, slow - more than enough time for Yuuta to express discomfort or move away. his kiss, in contrast to his certainty, is soft, hesitant - more than indicative of the truth in his words - and chaste. a confession purposely given with a weight as light as a butterfly's wing. ]