( makoto makes a sound of feigned interest—though, to be honest, it’s a little more than just feigned. he is interested in all of the strange things kazuya had gotten caught up in in his last few months, especially since it tended to point out all the ways in which the demons they were both familiar with were so different from one another. as he rolls up his sleeve, though, makoto raises one eyebrow; he thought it was a gesture done as a joke, but, sure enough, the flesh is dimpled with the tell-tale scarring of what looks like… a bite from some large beast. the young demon’s attention fixates for a moment, and without thinking his right hand twitches forward to reach across the table and gently trace his fingertips across its surface. he seems to remember himself after only a moment, startling and then pulling his hand back. he replays the sensation in his mind: though faded, there’s a faint roughness to the skin—he wonders if sense of touch there is faintly dulled.
scars have some fascination to him. besides the one on his neck, he’s not entirely certain this body of his scars properly—whatever injuries he sustains, so long as he sews them up and gives them time, it will just make itself whole again. though, to hearken back to their previous conversation… if he sewed something else onto himself, would the scar and stitches of that graft be visible? hm…
perhaps a little eager to change the subject from all of that, he chuckles. yeah, that’s the answer he prefers to hear; honestly, if kazuya had been seeking something too in-line with romance from him, he would be a lot more uncomfortable. he’d just been poking fun, as… dinner and movie dates tended to be things people think are “romantic,” right?
no, he far prefers what they have, even if it’s honestly new territory for him. his friendship with fjord hadn’t been something like this; there were some few similarities with what he and the other young demon had gone through, but nothing would change that makoto had been human and fjord never had been. kazuya presents a facsimile of something makoto never received while he was alive: a normal friend from someone who might’ve been a classmate, one who didn’t turn away from his strangeness. it was just as bracing, just as exciting, as it was frightening. he always fears gaining more of something, of anything—it just meant it would hurt more if it was lost. there are still so many things that could cause him to lose it, most of them locked away inside of him as ravening secrets ready to betray him as soon as they were loosed.
still. he doesn’t want to stop or turn away. the promise is too tantalizing. ) Yeah. I feel the same way. ( he pauses, tapping lightly on the tabletop. ) If… you ever want to know something about me, you can ask. I, ah… I might not be the best at answering. There’s a lot of things I’m not very good at putting into words. But, I want to try to be as honest as I can for you.
( the earnestness of it makes him feel vulnerable, and that makes him feel a little anxious, but he pushes through it. by this point, with the meal finished and payment squared away… )
no subject
scars have some fascination to him. besides the one on his neck, he’s not entirely certain this body of his scars properly—whatever injuries he sustains, so long as he sews them up and gives them time, it will just make itself whole again. though, to hearken back to their previous conversation… if he sewed something else onto himself, would the scar and stitches of that graft be visible? hm…
perhaps a little eager to change the subject from all of that, he chuckles. yeah, that’s the answer he prefers to hear; honestly, if kazuya had been seeking something too in-line with romance from him, he would be a lot more uncomfortable. he’d just been poking fun, as… dinner and movie dates tended to be things people think are “romantic,” right?
no, he far prefers what they have, even if it’s honestly new territory for him. his friendship with fjord hadn’t been something like this; there were some few similarities with what he and the other young demon had gone through, but nothing would change that makoto had been human and fjord never had been. kazuya presents a facsimile of something makoto never received while he was alive: a normal friend from someone who might’ve been a classmate, one who didn’t turn away from his strangeness. it was just as bracing, just as exciting, as it was frightening. he always fears gaining more of something, of anything—it just meant it would hurt more if it was lost. there are still so many things that could cause him to lose it, most of them locked away inside of him as ravening secrets ready to betray him as soon as they were loosed.
still. he doesn’t want to stop or turn away. the promise is too tantalizing. ) Yeah. I feel the same way. ( he pauses, tapping lightly on the tabletop. ) If… you ever want to know something about me, you can ask. I, ah… I might not be the best at answering. There’s a lot of things I’m not very good at putting into words. But, I want to try to be as honest as I can for you.
( the earnestness of it makes him feel vulnerable, and that makes him feel a little anxious, but he pushes through it. by this point, with the meal finished and payment squared away… )
Should we go?