Can't touch me, like Gojo—Look good in all my photos
She isn't wrong, and that's the hardest part. He's got no real ground to stand on here, and he knows it, but it doesn't make unclenching his fists any easier, or trudging down from that hill any faster. He still feels all the same ways, even if his mind acknowledges they're not worthy of heeding. "I wonder how many more times I'm going to have to step aside instead of stand up to the things trying to ruin us." From the Family to the Captain and everything in-between and all that he's sure will come after.
He exhales soft and slow, tilting into her. His head thumps against the fish-hat barrier, hair puffing up around it. He's seeking every little bit of extra contact he can find. It's an attempt to feel better than this, to pull her back over his vulnerabilities like her touch could be armor enough against the stings of the world. He'd like to admit it's easier than it is, acknowledging his weakness. Would like to just gloss over this with another laugh like all the other things. A shrug, and he'd be fine. Uncrackable. Every time, though. Every. Damn. Time. He finds he's somehow always behind—not enough. Each realization splinters him a little bit further. He pushes harder for it, spurred on by the desire not to feel this all over again, but it doesn't seem to do much good.
The sensation of her shifting from under him brings his head back up. His gaze meets hers, unflinching even if it's aching. Her hand finds his face and holds him, and it's the first time he becomes aware he's started to drift. He inhales sharply, blinking through a nod. "Good," he tries to say with a firmness even the universe couldn't ignore, but it comes out so much softer than that. "You better, because the day you don't? I'll probably make an enemy out of Mort." A more reassuring claim if he could manage the living threats any better than this, but he'd wear himself out at the very least tearing open Mort's home. For that, he'd never step aside.
Fortunately, it seems it won't have to come to that, with everything she's just explained. It's enough to settle him, and breath comes fuller now. It clears something too, like each exhale is blowing away some of the fog. His gaze brightens considerably, ice chipped away by her words as much as the change in weather. "We're definitely gonna kick ass at these quests together." There's no doubt to it, and it bleeds out in the certainty of a smile he wears just for her. Because only she could somehow turn this abysmal reality into something worthwhile. He leans in then, stealing the distance between their lips with something stronger than gratitude and more binding than agreement.
He'd like to let is last, to finally roll out from under the haze and just be happy that above everything else they still have this, now, them. He's got one last use of her fish hat though. "What if..." he starts low, the question whispered to her in case it's too fragile otherwise. "We wait on the rings, but not the wedding? We could always get some stand-in, plastic rings, like from the little shops." Not as meaningful as the sparkling hairtie already around his wrist, but easier to explain in front of the crowd on their second wedding day, at least.
He exhales soft and slow, tilting into her. His head thumps against the fish-hat barrier, hair puffing up around it. He's seeking every little bit of extra contact he can find. It's an attempt to feel better than this, to pull her back over his vulnerabilities like her touch could be armor enough against the stings of the world. He'd like to admit it's easier than it is, acknowledging his weakness. Would like to just gloss over this with another laugh like all the other things. A shrug, and he'd be fine. Uncrackable. Every time, though. Every. Damn. Time. He finds he's somehow always behind—not enough. Each realization splinters him a little bit further. He pushes harder for it, spurred on by the desire not to feel this all over again, but it doesn't seem to do much good.
The sensation of her shifting from under him brings his head back up. His gaze meets hers, unflinching even if it's aching. Her hand finds his face and holds him, and it's the first time he becomes aware he's started to drift. He inhales sharply, blinking through a nod. "Good," he tries to say with a firmness even the universe couldn't ignore, but it comes out so much softer than that. "You better, because the day you don't? I'll probably make an enemy out of Mort." A more reassuring claim if he could manage the living threats any better than this, but he'd wear himself out at the very least tearing open Mort's home. For that, he'd never step aside.
Fortunately, it seems it won't have to come to that, with everything she's just explained. It's enough to settle him, and breath comes fuller now. It clears something too, like each exhale is blowing away some of the fog. His gaze brightens considerably, ice chipped away by her words as much as the change in weather. "We're definitely gonna kick ass at these quests together." There's no doubt to it, and it bleeds out in the certainty of a smile he wears just for her. Because only she could somehow turn this abysmal reality into something worthwhile. He leans in then, stealing the distance between their lips with something stronger than gratitude and more binding than agreement.
He'd like to let is last, to finally roll out from under the haze and just be happy that above everything else they still have this, now, them. He's got one last use of her fish hat though. "What if..." he starts low, the question whispered to her in case it's too fragile otherwise. "We wait on the rings, but not the wedding? We could always get some stand-in, plastic rings, like from the little shops." Not as meaningful as the sparkling hairtie already around his wrist, but easier to explain in front of the crowd on their second wedding day, at least.
Kaisel
Sexy jutsu, I feel like Naruto—Fightin' demons in my head like I'm Itadori
Wearing a watery blue, faded and stretched-out sparkling hair tie on his left wrist
