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sweeps her up in a big hug & kisses ♡
laughter comes freely as he sweeps her off her feet, arms wrapped around her in a warm hug. she appreciates his affections more than she’s able to put into words, and his actions are reciprocated in excess as she holds him tightly and presses butterfly kisses to his face. “ my, my, it’s good to see you too, darling! “
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❝You’re the master of your own destiny. The hero of your own story!❞
❝ I hope my story contains a nice bed then, Morisawa-senpai. ❞ The energy of the other was so DRAINING, where did he keep it all? No matter what encouragement the upperclassmen attempted to give the boy, Ritsu wouldn’t budge.
He’d never EVER enjoy P.E. Even if it was a destiny for a HERO.
"...Yeah. I stumbled upon a good number of articles a while back. I couldn't believe it, but there was more than enough to tell me it was real. I'm sorry." i'm burning
“ ah... i... i see. “ painful feelings are stirred up in his chest in a bitter mix that makes his voice catch in his throat, brittle like it could break at any moment. he thought that having dealt with his parents death for so long, he would have grown more accustomed to how it felt when brought up, and the pitying glances he had received since then, but even now it stings just as much as it did the day he lost them.
“ if you would... not... tell anyone. i’d appreciate it. “ the most he can do is force a neutral face, dulled eyes cast toward the ground so he doesn’t have to face Chiaki. the last thing he wants to do is face him, or even be around him knowing that he’s learned something he tried so hard to keep hidden.
When he was 13 and still new, he felt each kill was something grand and worth proclaiming to the world. He had laughed then, sang ‘ ding-dong, the witch is dead~! ‘ with euphonious irony, and collected his prize hastily to march home like the hero he was. But, that was when his soul was blue ( and bright ), not the present white ( and harsh ) it was, long before apathy settled into sinew and bone. Genuine gusto has since fermented into routine lethargy: less a knight galloping into battle, more veteran caught between an indifferent sense of duty and found blood-lust.
The guy should be dead: corpse dissipating with the labyrinth, the universe already forgetting his face and name. Well, should be, anyway. He was very much alive or... He seemed to be so. In Deonte’s humble opinion he appeared to be stuck, catatonic even. It was annoying, but he’s obligated to be empathetic. That Witch was not exactly Hello Kitty, after all. ( And if he was too mean he knows that Haruko and Mami will know, and relentlessly lecture him. Di wouldn’t care so much about it, which is why he loves them the most ).
Reality finishes arranges itself and settles like an old home, groaning and uncertain of its own mass and age. Gravel crunches beneath his heels as he nears to kneel in front of him to do his best to coax him out of his stupor. At least now his irritation mingles with polite concern, the magi’s lips twisting in a worried frown. ❛ Uh, you... Okay? ❜ He asks simply, doing his best to look them in the eye. No injuries could be felt, least none to inflict this taste of trauma. ❛ D-Do you know what d-day it is? Your n-name? ...You b-better answer before I. I slap you, or s-something. ❜ // @renovae
