#curatcr

“Are you that desperate to release your curse that you would risk killing everyone in this aquarium to do so? It seems counterintuitive should the plan fail.”

Kugo already had an idea as to what the answer would be after having been a forced employee of this place for so long. As he sat at the round table where all top 10 ranking members would normally be for staff meetings but there were only two of them here. He had seen enough members come and go, most end up getting killed by the very individual who had given them human forms. For one reason or another they would wind up on the receiving end of their boss’s tail either because they failed to perform an excellent crowd pleaser or said the wrong words about his appearance. Therefore, Kugo had long since learned how to offer up an idea or keep silent to protect himself.

“ hmm. “ his voice is still hoarse as he presses against the robed backside, hands occupied in a search for those of the other’s. he murmurs a sorry as the staples on his wrists bump against the much softer skin, but his fingers nonetheless find the gaps in between and entwine. he eases in, chin coming to rest on the man’s shoulder. “ that while hair, it’s pretty, ” he tells him, as it comes to his mind. familiar. 

clambering out of the bed in the other’s example, he’d had the decency to pull his boxers on. it happens they’d somehow ended up at the root of the bed (instead of in the proximity of the entrance, part of the trail that arises questions his groggy memory cannot begin to satisfy ) and as as clean as one would dare to hope. 

he remembers most things from that rainy, bloody alley. only most, because the recoil of his Quirk tampers on his cognition. it all feels so distant now. and the present is, for an outcome of such a scenario, too bothersome for him to delve into. for now. ( he needs coffee, as well as this man’s number. ) his voice is right beside his ear as he asks;

“ do you see the room service menu? this is a hotel, right? it doesn’t look like one of my properties. “

daiji quirks a brow, then glances around the space, hands sliding away ( from where they had very ambiguously strayed to wander under the bathrobe. ) there’s something on the TV-stand, half-beneath a discarded dress-shirt. “ think i see it. ” as a final act, his arms wrap around the man’s shoulders, and he reaches over to press a quick kiss against his cheek. the gesture is easy, practiced ( he isn’t a stranger to these things ) but just as well something not entirely in his nature. for some reason it seems appropriate, a reciprocation of something now lost to memory.

he paces over to fetch the menu, gives it a quick page-through as he strolls back, slips it in the other’s expectant hand. he mouths no wishes of his own ( the other seems well-versed enough, and he won’t expect him to pay for whatever he might’ve found interesting ) and with a yawn, lumbers back to the bed, to crash onto the crumpled covers. 

staring at the ceiling, pressing matters creep back onto his mind. paying for this hotel room, his promise to the League, his father who survived, his now-dead uncle— what is the point? it’s a maelstrom, he’s been in its eye for so long. it’s been a while since he got a taste of this life. all these clean, pretty, fine things. it used to be everyday. the world had seemed like a field from which to simply pick one’s desires ( in the shadow of his father and and the one devouring him. it was a short moment of relative happiness, with the eventual storm ever looming, waiting along the horizon. ) he hasn’t dared to think back since, because he can’t yearn for such things anymore. but oh, it’s all so close now. he glances over to the man busy dialing the phone, and he’s from another world. yet, so very similar, regrets worn on the face, everything so twisted with bitterness and hate and devoid of love.

♭ - grip my muse’s jaw to make them look yours in the eye

For a few seconds whatever they’d just been discussing flies right out of his head. Few have the nerve to touch him, no doubt fearing the rotting aura of his hands will somehow spread everywhere else should he get angry enough, and when they do it’s always quick and violent.

When a ring-heavy hand grabs at him he can’t help but assume this’ll be just as quick and just as violent, cracked lips twitching up to bare his teeth with a snarl. A cornered animal ready to strike.