#distortedkilling \ mahito

[saiakv]

Cont from x. / @distortedkilling

In the very distant past, the onmyoji can faintly recall a time when curses had been a topic of ever expanding interest. Those days were part of a different world, at a time when their understanding of life was so frugal; for they were still tiny, as a snake after its first few sheds. And their first incarnations had palmed at the concept in an exploratory fashion as instinctively as the newborn cradles its own limbs. On one part of the scale, a cursed spirit was much more potent than mundane creatures to explore — and yet they were so limited in every other way. So they would invest in prying, prodding, stretching them thin as a thread and weaving them anew until one day, they had exhausted every plausible outcome.

Curses were just a byproduct, in the end.

And yet Kenjaku noticed the skin they wore reflexively shiver with this one's manifestation. That hunch prompts them to move aside; but it is a step that was never taken. To the onlooker, it happens within seconds; a bundle of hair and flesh taking form out of the nothingness and then the hungry palm reaches out to steal life from god's grip. A sudden lunge forth has the disheveled spirit close the distance between them. And for once, Mahito's touch connects.

The robes scrunch around his fingers, giving shape to Geto's form. Unmoving, the sorcerer lets him feel hard skin under the fabrics, lets him relish in that glimmer of hope ; he touched him! A resounding silence falls heavy over the scene. The seconds afforded to broaden this poor creature's understanding of the situation ( Kenjaku considers it generous on his part ) stretch between them in what feels like an eternal staredown; tranquility swimming in that amethyst gaze and Mahito staring back like a rabid animal thrashing itself against the cage.

And then— a palm rakes through unruly tufts of grey-white and settles on the spirit's head — in the same way one might pat their dog. As if pulled up by invisible threads, the corners of his lips curl, until they pull back to reveal the wolf's teeth. Kenjaku's smile is as carefree as always.

❝ What's the problem, Mahito? You can't possibly be that upset over something you had foreseen. ❞ The tender touch is a stark juxtaposition to the gravity holding Mahito down like an invisible anchor around the neck. If he wanted to be honest, the sorcerer had not predicted this reaction. Every curse in the user's arsenal is perfectly subdued and non-violent towards its captor. And albeit that smidgen of surprise was perfectly concealed under mock affection, Kenjaku was intrigued.

❝ I have removed your autonomy when it comes to transfiguring others by curbing your cursed energy to about ten percent of the output you reached after fighting Yuji Itadori. ❞ The explanation is almost blatantly dry. His gaze lingers on the curse's face for a moment longer, wondering if Mahito would keep testing his patience. ❝ You can still alter the shape of your soul, though. ❞ Subtly, his fingers curl around a strand of hair, knowing the curse can do naught but stay prostrated and at most resist the pull when he gently urges him to turn aside and witness the lock on that box.

❝ Turn yourself into a key for me. ❞

[kazeofthemagun]

@distortedkilling asked the summoner:

"What's that?" A finger pointed to the golden coffin on the man's arm. It felt like something was alive in there, something was beating in the same way a heart pumped blood or a soul pulsed with emotions.

There's this essence of negativity that oozes off the man, enough to catch the curse's attention and draw him out of whatever sewer he had been lingering in. This was new. Just what results would this stranger produce, he wondered.

A sense of disequilibrium permeated the air, a scent that the Hunter did not much.. approve of.

The question passed without an answer, a towering frame of black, gold and crimson whipping around faster than his size may have suggested. Cape flaring open like some sort of parachute as the Wind leapt several feet up into the air and backwards, putting a healthier amount of distance between himself and the evil spirit.

And then -

BA-BA-BABANG! A howl of gunfire and rattle of spent casings. The Hunter did not miss the shots he took, considering what he was in the first place.

[strywoven]

@distortedkilling has requested a story :

Slides a cupcake over to Kaen. Except... it doesn't quite look right. And it's... angulating. A transfigured human, no doubt. Condensed and reshaped into a tasty looking treat. He even added icing and sprinkles!! And if that wasn't tasty enough, the poor soul was sweating... oh, right-- crying. It was crying. For added flavor!

Mahito rested his chin on the table and smiled wide. Of course they'd receive his gift well!

𝑼𝒏𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒎𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒅.

Long has it been since this god-curse thought to consider the company of own kind ( verily , it shows for the way once-mighty instincts have been smothered & forced dulled , for how brazen brilliance has gone dormant ; for humanity , it says , as if it could ever truly play the part ) .  And one might think the pair of them dichotomous ; opposed , in truth , but it is their differences which has founded a f r u i t f u l accord.  Mahito is … Quite something , if Kaen had to describe him.  In the short time they have known him , he has become something of a LIFELINE , a reminder of precisely who and what they ought to be ( each encounter proves temptation stronger , the favor blessed upon humanity growing further & further distant every time mahito manages to provoke the misguided god’s true nature ) .

This , too , seems just another one of Mahito’s gestures to goad them into returning to NATURAL COURSE ( always so adamant , he is , but isn’t that what a friend is for ? ) .  His smile is met with a suspicious l e e r from the already wary redhead.  Kaen regards him with a narrow-eyed scrutiny before glancing down upon the confection resting between them , writhing and silently sobbing as if STILL LIVING .

Ugh , how unpleasant !

Yet , there w a s a time when they consumed whole the being of man ( soul & all ) ; they are not so innocent as they presume to be , they are not without their violent histories.  And rather than chastise him , they remain remarkably contemplative , quiet , their gut churning not with disgust … BUT HUNGER ( one which has gone neglected for well over a millennia ) .  Something in them , they realize , has already begun to change ( to be restored ) .  So , what would it hurt to finally , after so very long , EAT & BE SATED ?

Still they hesitate , the conflict within an ongoing misery as they tentatively reach for the cupcake and lift it ; that in itself AN ACCEPTANCE .  ❝ Y’really shouldn’t have … ❞ They mutter , giving it a disconcerted look before – in single bite – SWALLOWING IT WHOLE ( oh dear , did they even chew ? ) .  As it settles into the pit of them , the poor thing looks like they might very well be s i c k .  After all , they just decidedly did away with their self-imposed oath to never consume humans.  Reconciling that truth against the sudden surge of queer e l a t i o n and r e l i e f is a difficult thing.  Kaen takes a shuddering breath , expelling it heavily in smoke-cinder , their faux human complexion coming ALIGHT with beaming grin all sharp and sinister as they speak ,  ❝ Oh , wow , that’s not so bad at all ! ❞  See ?  They’re l e a r n i n g .  They lean towards him , burning sapphire gaze flickering with renewed vitality ( like a snuffed flame suddenly flourishing back to life ) , ❝ … Is there more ? ❞  Voice is low , caught between a hum and a growl ; eager , excitable.

[ebbing-terror]

How did Lynn and Junpei become friends?

They met at a movie store! Lynn was working there at the time when Junpei came in looking for an old horror movie, Texas Chainsaw Slaughter. As it happens, it's one of Lynn's all-time favorite horror films and she and Junpei shared the opinion that it's the only good movie of the series. They hit it off right away because of their shared interest in horror movies and also, when Lynn smiled widely at Junpei he enthusiastically admired her fangs, accepting a part of Lynn most people are put off by.

☆Behind the scenes☆!!!: Funny enough, I really didn't intend for Lynn and Junpei to be such good friends! When I first put Lynn into the jjk world all I knew was I wanted to pair her with Mahito. I thought to myself 'Oh, well she'd like horror movies.' Then I remembered 'Oh, hey, so does Junpei! What if they were friends?' And from there the rest of the story unfolded into 'Well, she'd notice when Junpei dissappeared, what if that's how she got mixed up with Mahito?' Since then I've really built a complex, complicated, adorable and tragic friendship between the two!

I breifly debated having it to where Lynn and Junpei went to the same school but I thought that might be too cliché. Besides, if they did go to the same school Lynn would've known about Junpei's bullying and dealt with it a long time ago, then how would Mahito have fit into the picture?

[kumoofthemaken]

@distortedkilling asked the prince:

"Pspspspspspsp--" The curse can be found perched not too far away, his eyes directly set on the sword-man.

The Demon Swordsman remained where he stood, one hand casually cupping a hip. Weight shifted to one side - even when his form always seemed so weightless.

Jade eyes devoid of emotion found ones of mismatched hues, reflecting nothing of the mischievous malice within. And yet, no words came from behind the Misterian's mask, either. It was almost as though he was completely refusing to engage with the curse - an utter and total lack of interest.

A lack of patience. Even the deepest wells eventually ran dry.

"I forewarn you, one last time." His voice rang out in a droning, hollow monotone. "I have grown weary of your blather."

For twelve years he had suffered Gaudium. For twelve long, long years he put up with the Lords but now? He had no more obligation to entertain beasts. He was no longer forced to turn a blind eye, to close his ears - to turn the other cheek.

The grand plan that shackled him yet? It did not demand this one to be spared.

The eyes that once shone verdant were pale, ghastly white. He was almost curious just how little self-preservation the cursed being possessed.

[limitlessscion]

He's practically buzzing. Look at that, the curse was not only on time but early. He must really want to go on their little day trip. Surely he behaved himself today at least for this.

He's almost going to feel bad about exorcising this one once he figures out how.

Satoru felt its cursed energy approaching with all the output and dangerous edge of a Special Grade, but he did not feel the thrill of anticipated battle and bloodlust as he would have once done at such an approach. He felt hardly anything at all. He mused if he'd become the proverbial frog in the pot as his life filled with more non-human companions and the rich inner worlds of spirits have become a norm. Maybe this was inevitable for one as isolated from humanity as he.

Satoru was not one to stay silent and he made idle conversation as he walked and trusted it to follow. Such outing were, frankly, irresponsible and dangerous, but Satoru's curiosity mirrored the spirit's own and he held the arrogance of a man who knew he could keep the situation under control.

Besides, he argued, this was a kind of containment. The creature stayed under his watchful eye, and he distracted it with things other than potential violence.

"I'm starting with shaved ice today." It was pretty typical for Satoru to both start and end on dessert. "It's actually more about the texture and the experience of it than taste, though taste is still an important aspect of it. Hmmm..."

He turned to look at his strange companion, cupping his chin thoughtfully with one hand. "How do you experience human food anyways? It doesn't provide you any sustenance that I'm aware of." If it's not simply filling, then there had to be an aspect of enjoyment. What an odd thought, for a creature made of negative emotions to have the capacity for such things. "Does it taste good to you, or is it simply for the experience?"

[hunting-songs]

@distortedkilling started following you ! Badump.Badump. Badump. Tokyo was loud, not only from people, but from everything around them. At day the city was a storm of life, every single second was filled with noises that digged, digged, digged deeper into Senrotsus ears until she stuffed her ears with wax as if she was part of the Argonauts, trying not to lose herself against in the noise and throw herself into the deadly waters to drown. Badump.Badump. Badump. At night the city was not sleeping and never resting, yet the noises had changed: It was not a storm of sounds coming to drown her at every second, but it was a blubbering rising of the water of sounds that would stroke around her chin almost gently, ready to swallow her. Badump.Badump. Badump. Still, Senritsu preferred the night- more because she could not fall asleep anyway with the night so loud, yet the air was more cold at this time so a walk was as refreshing as a gulp of icy water. Badump.Badump. Badump. She had heard- quite literally, the rushing of trees was easy to make out between the clanking of metal and buzzing of electronics- that there was a park near her hotel, so the woman aimed through the Labyrinth of streets for this quiet peacful rushing that might was a park or maybe just a bench under the trees. Badump.Badump. Badump. The woman stopped, just for a moment, to tilt her head to the side and listen more keenly. She had listened too all the walking-melodys of everyone in the net streets, only for have one of those melodys to change into something more lightly,something that sounded like a dance. Accompanied by the painful groaning and crying of other people, who were not walking, who sounded disorted as if ripped appart, whos voices did not echoed in the space of a proper chest but wrongly, who sounded in pain, pain ,pain , but also wrong, wrong, wrong.

Senritsu did her very best to walk faster.

[terroreigns]

@distortedkilling asked the Troupemaster:

The curse stared at the bouquet of contorted flesh he had made, body horror that mocked flowers. Anarchy was neither gender really but in that sense technically could be both, right?

Hm.

There's only one thing to do.

First, show Herba his version of flowers because she'll totally dig it (not). Then rush to the chaos deity themselves. Except not as expected. From above the bouquet was lowered by an elongated Mahito, his middle grotesquely stretched as he dangled upside-down to offer the fleshy gift to Anarchy.

"Happy!" That's it. The gift is deposited before he begins condensing his body, retreating upwards from where he came from. Scuttling away, the curse promptly then dropped down and walked the rest of the way out of the room. Completely unnecessary.

"EUUUHHH! GROSS!" Herba, as expected, only recoiled in disgust at such a blatant mockery of form and function. Wide crimson eyes framed by downturned brows, she shuffled aside at an increased pace. A scornful glare continued to track the curse's movements that only communicated, don't you have anything better to do?!

Unfortunately for the Verdanian, her opinion on matters was no longer at the forefront of importance - something she no doubt seethed about.

Waiting for Mahito to no longer pay attention, she made a gesture of squeezing her shoulders tightly, then jerking them violently to symbolize bones breaking. Not that being ensnared in her new pet's coils would do the shapeshifting wretch any harm, but a woman was allowed her fantasies, especially on such a day.

Anarchy themself was far more receptive. Gazing upward to meet the newest addition to the Troupe, a beaming smile took its place upon pale features, cold eyes alight with a gleeful spark that only rivaled the crazed look in mismatched orbs.

The avatar's gaze shifted from the young curse to the gift held in his arms before lifting a gloved hand to receive it as it was promptly depositied into their lap. A moment of silence, a truly pensive expression painted on the magician's face before their voice erupted in a resounding squeal of joy.

"KAWAII!!!"

They deserved one another, alright.

[clown-demon]

There's a moment where Mahito is clearly skeptical of this news. Judging by how she eyes Nikolai's lack of badonks. She thought breasts were drinks themselves during certain stages of life, namely pregnancy. This was news.

"Consider me intrigued but reasonably suspicious. Reveal to me this secret technique."

@distortedkilling

"Oh I gladly will. One moment~." Nikolai took out a McDonalds soda from his cape and then walked over to her. He placed the cup on her boobs and let go, where it stayed there. The straw in perfect place to be sipped upon without moving.

He gestures at the display. "See~? And you can drink-- hands free~!"

[saiakv]

Which mouth —

[saiakv]

My favorite little swiss-knife — disperse yourself into a dozen thousand arms for your senpai, real quick. // @distortedkilling

[saiakv]

The curse flays himself open until all the layers of grotesquely shaped meat have been pulled back to reveal all the inner organs he had no real need for. Fit together so neatly as if he always possessed a human body. Ribs cradled lungs he made use of for the fun of it (because of course he practiced all day using them!), and nestled within sat a single beating heart.

"As humans say on the internet... rate my body?" Mahito grinned where he laid, having been lounging there for an ungodly amount of time until Geto-kun returned. Daintily he trailed his fingers over the heart, "After-all, I made it just for you~!"

His fingerpad lingers on the page corner, slipping from its gloss as an abrupt entrance abducts his attention from whimsical gossip. As the tabloid lowers under his nose, a cool gaze travels up the form casting a shadow over his chaise lounge. He watches in cold silence; speckles of gooey purple transfigured into crimson to immitate the very life giving blood a curse normally leeches from.

From that distance, the viscera sits amidst flayed skin with a variety of color and size mixing into the shock factor that could quickly throw off the average onlooker into thinking it real. But, Geto's keen glare notes infinitesimal touches that betray the process of this immitation's creation. Suddenly, the suspicious tranquility of those past few hours can be explained. Mahito must have spent some time closely observing cadaver.

Under a quirked brow, he unravels the creative re-imagining of entrails as coiling snakes and lungs like bugs with folded wings — as perfect as the plastic bits of an anatomy model and yet somehow off. Violets still over the beating heart that clearly seems to pose the highlight of the curse's work. But since it is as unessential as everything else about this doughy carcass given form, its rhythm isn't exactly indicative of life. Rather, it is moving in an even cadence, the irony of it existing in something like Mahito sufficing to earn a soft hum of amusement from the lounging curse user.

So much poetry has been written for the human heart; but at its core, it's just a chunk of muscle.

After a moment of silent contemplation, the tabloid is folded over and placed by his hip, legs slipping off the seat & painted toenails wiggling to the pair of beach sandals by his side.

❝ I will try to be objective, Mahito-kun. It's a solid seven. ❞ It's impossible to tell whether the smirk playing on his lips is meant to be a reassurance or a provocation. He leans back, hair falling over the arm that supports his slouched weight.

❝ You're saying it's mine to do with as I please? ❞ A soft tap; he pats the spot next to him on the chaise lounge. ❝ Come here. I will rearrange your guts properly. ❞

[saiakv]

The moment Geto-kun dodges an egg, there's a curse ready and waiting with his mouth open to receive it. Best not wasted, right?

❝ Ah, we live in strange times - a curse acting smarter than a human. But then again ... you are special, Mahito, correct ? ❞ From the fabric folds, he procurs a napkin to gently dab the small splash of raw egg white on the curse's skin.

[saiakv]

 💏

50 ways to kiss ♥ : accepting !

32. to wake yours up.

Music fills the cavernous ballroom, bouncing off each marble wall and coiling between the towering pillars. A whimsical orchestra of fleshy musical instrunments playing music on their own sits in one corner; a bountiful buffet in the other. There's porridge sludge and visceral fruit punch with eyeballs floating to the top; the spoon it comes with writhes and wiggles in Choso's grip as he pours a cup into his bare hand — he's wearing a Hawaiian print shirt, which at first glance seems to be very out of dress code for a fancy place with a terrace overlooking the shores of Malaysia ( or Dagon's domain, it's near impossible to spot the difference )

Warm spotlights rotate around the floor as a bold saxophone rhythm announces a popular western song that was playing in Starbucks as DJ Dagon puts one tentacle on their headset and seven others towards remixing the beat.

❝ Wait, I thought there was live music? ❞

Geto's familiar syrupy cadence creeps out of the shadows and beckons Mahito to turn his dazed expression the sorcerer's way. He is donning the usual kasaya, in stark juxtaposition to Jogo straightening his tuxedo bowtie somewhere in the distance behind him.

"Geto-kun, what is this?"

❝ It's your dreamscape. ❞ He replies, with that same tranquility he wears when the patchwork curse commits all sorts of atrocities around him. Except this once there's something different; something almost predatory-like in the way he walks forth, unlike his usual casual stride. Coarse hands abduct Mahito's at the seams, leading him into a spin ( which was one great way to discover that he, himself, was in a very fluffy black swan sort of dress with a lovely heart shaped cut at the top ) and then sliding a hand around his corset to waltz.

❝ This is the space between your reality and your dreams. You are actually the first case that could access it. I wonder if it is because of your soul? ❞ They slow-dance tenderly while he speaks, words in the color of a love confession, rather than the sterile explanation they contained.

I'm never gonna dance again, guilty feet have got no rhythm ...

"And why does it look like this?"

❝ Because you've been watching too many rom-coms with Hanami. ❞ Flower petals come cascading on them in that moment, just as the lights go off and the sole spotlight in the room falls on the dancing duo. Geto switches to a tango, dipping the curse that loops a leg around his robes in perfect synchronization. His hand slips to cup the back of Mahito's dress ( which is now red, with a deep cut up his thigh ) pressing the two of them closer. Hypnotic eyes in the shade of blooming nightflowers grow heavier; it is exactly how the book described it! Though whether that's just Mahito's memories resurfacing or an evil prank from the all-knowing sorcerer, it's impossible to discern.

Should have known better than to cheat a friend And waste the chance that I've been given So I'm never gonna dance again ...

❝ I'll be honest — I did not know that my dream-barrier talisman can work on curses. Choso's sample was compromised. And I've never come across one that could be sentient enough to create a dreamscape in the first place. Mahito-kun? ❞ The lights ( that are now comprised of a dozen human-candles set alight by Jogo in an arrangement of screams and yowls ) Geto leans a little closer, his smile curls a little deeper; it's clearly building up to the climax of the scene.

Their nosetips brush once, a few strands of grey sticking to the human's skin like it was a charged up balloon — except it didn't turn into a balloon, but rather was soft and warm when Mahito's hands were suddenly placed on it. And Geto's in turn were on his neck, on his waist when he closed the distance between them for their lips to brush over gently. Applause from the crowd! Hanami and Jogo are on the bleachers, watching; dusting rice on the pair, wiping a tear as if moved by the sight — and then the sorcerer simply dips and steals stapled lips in a soft kiss.

❝ You are my special. ❞

----

Now there's just the crinkle of paper and Dagon's splashing around in the tub-tank. By the time Mahito would have properly opened his eyes, Geto had turned over to the next sudoku puzzle. It was just the four of them, Choso being the least active one on his futon. There was a sheet of yellowed paper with some mantra inked on them placed ove his forehead; Mahito would witness the same thing floating off of his own when he'd sit up. And then, violet eyes quickly snapped in his direction. Kenjaku smirks.

❝ Good evening. Welcome back to the living world, Mahito-kun.❞ Then his head cants, in a fashion that's either too innocuous or too all-knowing. ❝ So, did you get to experience a dream for the first time? ❞

[saiakv]

The curse watches as Geto-kun work, chin in his hands. "You're so pretty~" Even when conducting such terrible things. Because of it, actually.

Hardened fingers work a flawless incision down the shrivelled woman's spine. A pair of prongs pinches it from the fetid bed it rests in, crimson & brown coating the insides of the kodoku jar. Yet, in spite of fermenting it for thirty days, the sum of its cursed energy has about halved; the second she is placed gently beside her fellow deceased test subjects ( none of them wiggle anymore ) there comes an ultimate spark of terror ( 'Help... me...' ) before her existence goes out like a match.

Geto blinks thoughtfully whilst placing the prongs aside. With ritualistic gravitas, he slips off the gloves and folds them one atop the other, reaches up to tuck thick bangs behind his earring. A momentary silence settles over the makeshift lab. He taps at his own cheek with a contemplative expression.

That means Mahito's touch is still too unrefined. He destroys too much in the process of transfiguration; his touch is not particular enough, yet. He is blasting them with a wave of cursed energy instead of applying technique — inevitably, Kenjaku concludes, I need to find a living subject that will withstand it. Someone with the brain of a sorcerer who has not activated their technique yet. The voice snaps him out of his thoughts, plush lips parting lightly when he turns to face his accomplice.

There's a momentary look of surprise, as though it caught him off guard. Had it been a point of interest, they would have bragged about these that their callous glare has turned a cooler shade of violet, or the taut muscles that they had no part in honing. But between their anciency and this cursed spirit's incarnation, they both know Mahito is referring to something intangible.

In that way, the reluctant smile that blooms on Geto's features is almost earnest.

❝ Mahito-kun... ❞ A soft purr drags over the other's shoulder as he leans closer, close enough to feel the aura of cursed energy brewing within the curse's bowels. He reaches over, lips hovering inches away from the other's cheek, in the same way those guys in rom-coms do when they want to pull their girl closer... and procurs a towel from the bench behind him. Still, the coy smirk lingers even as they pull away once more.

❝ — put on some gloves, please. You're contaminating the samples. ❞

[saiakv]

"You have CHILDREN?!" Oop, someone found out and now he's beyond fascinated to hear more. The curse stood in the doorway pointing at Geto-kun, jaw about to fall off its hinges by the look of it. How did he not know he had put their offspring into hosts before?? "As in MULTIPLE?!"

Why did Geto-kun hide all the fun things? They even played board games together... Mahito sulked as he wandered into the room and collapsed into a chair dramatically.

The brush dips carefully into liquid gold, deftly lapping up a drop and painting over the crack in Hanami's left horn. It seeps into the wood and fills the cracks with a beautiful sheen; like kintsugi. Violet eyes barely snap from their work to Mahito's frame looming petulantly at the entrance and hold mismatched ones for a moment. It's a knowing glare with shared mischief communicated through their smirk — that little bastard has gone around snooping, hasn't he?

How charming.

Geto looks down, his timbre smooth. Telling nothing of their suspicions — when a penetrating gaze will reach them from the room's corner in which Choso stands leaning against the wall, there will be no sign of hesitancy.

❝ A few of them, yes. ❞ He says it in the same way one may admit to owning cable TV. Leaving it at that will be too cryptic; and Mahito gets excitable over these little mysteries. Surely, they can't expect him to 'feel' much from it — they're not even certain that he 'feels' at all. His understanding of a soul is still incomplete, after all.

But if one thing is a certainty, it's that Mahito is all about emulating behaviors from all those TV dramas they obsessively watch as a group, as if they're hoping to gain some deeper understanding of the humanity they're supposed to embody through telenovelas. It's whimsically ridiculous; Kenjaku enjoys it. They indulge him, if only to guide his attention away from the topic of motherhood and lean back in their seat, away from Hanami's knelt form. Their eyes follow him idly as he stomps his way to the nearest armchair. Their expression mellows slightly, head canting to the side with a measured pout.

❝ ... Will that be a problem for our relationship? ❞