#thevesel

where does he even start, he wonders quietly with his index finger fiddling along the edge of a paper bag. it's not much — just a scarf he picked up from a streetside shop — but he can't stop thinking about what sensei said about having a thicker jujutsu tech jacket made for itadori now that the weather had turned, and how on the way home from visiting tsumiki, an offending red caught his attention. it's nothing; just a lapse in generosity. but it's christmas eve, and there's something to be said about the gesture.

megumi wonders how he can even give it to itadori without insinuating anything out of the norm. they're not lovers, barely friends, but he can already anticipate the way his chest will flutter at the thought of the other boy's wide-toothed and eye-crinkling smile.

best to just toss it his way without another word.

' hey, ' he says, walking into the common area. megumi drops the bag unceremoniously onto the other's lap. ' here. '

morbid curiosity prompts

— a simple maxim: i am you. repeated so frequently it had begun to resemble a mantra of sorts. a statement which carried more weight than either had yet to realize. that truly ( this curse ) was a heinous reflection of humanity — more so, yuji. a perversion of the instinct towards selflessness, justice, and purity. he embodied the inverse, the natural inclination to evil. an unbound instinct which needed no rationalization or system of ethics to ground its behavior.

but ( he believed ) this could not be proven through simple argumentation. curses and humans were too far apart to find any common ground to argue from. no, such a truth would be revealed through conflict. a cruel && brutal system of thesis / anti-thesis. ideals & justifications would matter not, only who was left standing to control the monopoly of ' truth. '

 ❛ if you say worm one more time i will break your wrist . ❜

what          was          the          reason               TO          RIP      THE     WORLD          OFF          HER          AXIS          ?          he          isn't          sure          but          his          body          pulls          itself          tighter          hiding          the          lost          child          in          curtains          of          rage          -          turning                     him          out          like          a          gun          that          hasn't          been          fed.

he          moves          from          his          last          fight                 -          peering          about          every          corner          ,          luck          dry          and          joints          in          paroxysms.          and          so          he          doesn’t          notice          at          first          but          there          is          striking          scent          of          SOMETHING          COMPLICATED          AROUND          HIM          .                    _