( there would be absolutely nothing in this moment worse than to come this far and find himself rejected, faced with a dawning revulsion. even some of the most pure-hearted among the Pleroma might be able to force themselves to accept a soul that had to do this, to consume the flesh and organs of other living people in order to sustain themselves, even if they might do so with great trepidation and ambivalence. but for someone like makoto, to whom such an act was something he took on purely out of personal interest and pleasure... no, there are likely few enough souls among the Kenoma that would accept this knowledge without allowing it to color their perception of him. that's why he doesn't share this side of him with anyone save J, the demon that had been subjected to the best and the worst of him, who had satisfied his violent and morbid desires at his own detriment — he didn't want to face the same judgment, horror, and disgust that he had experienced when he was still human.
and if he faced the same from dextera... he doesn't know what it would do to him. he figures it would be just like anything else in his life: him having dug through the dirt and grime to find the barest shining hope for something, only to have it tarnish and turn to ash in his hands.
so in these first few moments of choking, stagnant silence after he curls up in on himself, he is terrified. he knows he can't expect words from dextera, and he doesn't sense the other young man move beside him, so — he doesn't know what to expect. he doesn't know what he might see. and so for a sizable pause he doesn't look up, prepared to live on the cusp of that Schrödinger's moment. but he can't do so forever, and as the anxiety of it all threatens to overtake him completely, he forces himself to look up and over to where dextera sat a short distance away.
...smiling. not necessarily guilelessly — he doesn't get the sense that the man is blissfully ignorant, but... at least in a way that seems accepting.
the only thing makoto will come to appreciate about his own conduct in this moment is that he doesn't cry. that would have been so devastatingly embarrassing that he might never have recovered. but he does feel an overwhelming wave of emotion clutch at his throat like throttling hands, and his lips press into a thin, white line as he keeps it all down for a moment before he musters some semblance of control over himself. he lets out a single laugh, an irrational and anxious bark that's half-swallowed up as he rests his forehead back on his arm once more. ) You... ( he mumbles, then pauses. ah, what does he even say to him? )
Have you ever been told that you are entirely too generous?
...Just give me a moment.
( he takes a deep breath, holds it, and breathes out; he does so as silently as he can, but the movement of his shoulders gives it away. with this and some additional time, the worst of his sudden spur of arousal fades — though it does so unhappily, leaving him somewhat discontented, but not enough that it mars this moment that they share. he slowly uncurls from the defensive position he'd contorted in, and he releases a long breath, some of the tension starting to ease out of his shoulders. ) I'm sorry. I - ... It's been years, since I've done something like this last. ( not that his self-control has ever been so good, but... )
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and if he faced the same from dextera... he doesn't know what it would do to him. he figures it would be just like anything else in his life: him having dug through the dirt and grime to find the barest shining hope for something, only to have it tarnish and turn to ash in his hands.
so in these first few moments of choking, stagnant silence after he curls up in on himself, he is terrified. he knows he can't expect words from dextera, and he doesn't sense the other young man move beside him, so — he doesn't know what to expect. he doesn't know what he might see. and so for a sizable pause he doesn't look up, prepared to live on the cusp of that Schrödinger's moment. but he can't do so forever, and as the anxiety of it all threatens to overtake him completely, he forces himself to look up and over to where dextera sat a short distance away.
...smiling. not necessarily guilelessly — he doesn't get the sense that the man is blissfully ignorant, but... at least in a way that seems accepting.
the only thing makoto will come to appreciate about his own conduct in this moment is that he doesn't cry. that would have been so devastatingly embarrassing that he might never have recovered. but he does feel an overwhelming wave of emotion clutch at his throat like throttling hands, and his lips press into a thin, white line as he keeps it all down for a moment before he musters some semblance of control over himself. he lets out a single laugh, an irrational and anxious bark that's half-swallowed up as he rests his forehead back on his arm once more. ) You... ( he mumbles, then pauses. ah, what does he even say to him? )
Have you ever been told that you are entirely too generous?
...Just give me a moment.
( he takes a deep breath, holds it, and breathes out; he does so as silently as he can, but the movement of his shoulders gives it away. with this and some additional time, the worst of his sudden spur of arousal fades — though it does so unhappily, leaving him somewhat discontented, but not enough that it mars this moment that they share. he slowly uncurls from the defensive position he'd contorted in, and he releases a long breath, some of the tension starting to ease out of his shoulders. ) I'm sorry. I - ... It's been years, since I've done something like this last. ( not that his self-control has ever been so good, but... )