[ no sooner than the hackles go up and a(nother) petty fight threatens to ensue, there's a formaldehyde-cool palm on the back of his hand. it stills him — perhaps more effectively now than it ever has before, pristine and precise as a scalpel. so much for acting the same. he comes away with his prize in the end and even has the decency to raise a particularly angled brow and toothy grin, gestures that might've once been something cruder. well-matched to Gojou's cynicism, he's on his best behavior. ]
[ that same consideration to know when to keep out of a conversation, peeling back the plastic on the riceball with teeth. ]
[ Megumi. he knows the name. the whole name. not from the careful whispers that make it back to him from Jujutsu Tech, though he has no doubt that's where he would've been— is— was heading in the next year for his freshman year, a cockroach in the shadow of Okkotsu Yuuta. ]
[ no, it's an old history painted in magnificent swaths of scarlet: the son of the man who killed Gojou Satoru and introduced him to remaking himself, remaking the world, remaking them. a bond thought inseparable until a monkey came pulling at a loose thread — not the one holding them together, but the one inside his mind, and that was enough. it was enough. Fushiguro Megumi may be the only sorcerer in the world Suguru would rather see dead: the exception that proves the rule. ]
[ of course Gojou had to ingratiate himself there. of course he had to make him his first student. he may be able to perceive everything to the point of near-precognition, but Gojou Satoru has been walking through life backwards so that he never has to look away from the past. Suguru, with his hands as guilty as they are, can't stop him. ]
[ he says nothing, preoccupying himself with rice and brine and the forest hedge. ]
no subject
[ that same consideration to know when to keep out of a conversation, peeling back the plastic on the riceball with teeth. ]
[ Megumi. he knows the name. the whole name. not from the careful whispers that make it back to him from Jujutsu Tech, though he has no doubt that's where he would've been— is— was heading in the next year for his freshman year, a cockroach in the shadow of Okkotsu Yuuta. ]
[ no, it's an old history painted in magnificent swaths of scarlet: the son of the man who killed Gojou Satoru and introduced him to remaking himself, remaking the world, remaking them. a bond thought inseparable until a monkey came pulling at a loose thread — not the one holding them together, but the one inside his mind, and that was enough. it was enough. Fushiguro Megumi may be the only sorcerer in the world Suguru would rather see dead: the exception that proves the rule. ]
[ of course Gojou had to ingratiate himself there. of course he had to make him his first student. he may be able to perceive everything to the point of near-precognition, but Gojou Satoru has been walking through life backwards so that he never has to look away from the past. Suguru, with his hands as guilty as they are, can't stop him. ]
[ he says nothing, preoccupying himself with rice and brine and the forest hedge. ]