No. Now that he has full control over Azathoth this time, it's exactly what it needs to be. Gentle and kind for a world that wouldn't spare a glance at you.
And Kuon sees it. She sees the progress.
Somewhere even Azathoth, dormant behind the veil of his soul, curled around protectively.
Not rotten.
Not monstrous.
Not ruined.
She said it so plainly, like it was fact. Like he was fact.
His hands tightened gently around hers as if grounding himself. Kuon's presence, light and persistent, existed as if she could tether even something as far-gone as him back to the real.
And from the back of his mind—no, not the back—from above, below, within—Azathoth stirred with something that felt suspiciously like approval.
"The priestess speaks with stars on her tongue," the voice echoed through him in a dreamlike pulse, its tone layered and harmonic, like light folding through water. "She sings not of worship, but of acceptance. The court of the blind dreamer kneels to his dearest Eve."
Takuto's head dipped slightly. A laugh—quiet and stunned—left him, not at her, but in disbelief that anyone had ever spoken of him that way, much less his Persona. The faintest glow shuddered somewhere beneath the skin of his collarbone again, a light that briefly made him look less human and more divine.
"You're..." He swallowed down the knot in his throat. "You're honestly unbelievable."
He meant it.
The air between them had gone strange again. Tenuous. Not tense, not sharp—but suspended. Like the inside of a cocoon, soft and folded in starlight. Even seated across from her, Kuon felt close—far too close—and he wasn’t sure if it was physical or psychic or... something Azathoth was amplifying between their linked minds.
The bed was still a mess, his shirt half-buttoned, glasses hanging off at the foot. Her fingers warm against his wrist.
He glanced away before he said the next part, voice a bit lower, like he had to push it through shame:
"...I can't have you kiss me, for example."
The words hung there.
Just a sadness. A small apology curled behind his lashes.
"I never liked it when the others did " he added after a pause, quieter this time, folding a piece of himself away. "After her- it always felt like I was giving something up. Or being told to lie with my mouth."
He rubbed his thumb over the edge of her knuckles. Not as a way to ask her to leave. Quite the opposite. He still wanted to stay. Still wanted her here. Still wanted this.
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No. Now that he has full control over Azathoth this time, it's exactly what it needs to be. Gentle and kind for a world that wouldn't spare a glance at you.
And Kuon sees it. She sees the progress.
Somewhere even Azathoth, dormant behind the veil of his soul, curled around protectively.
Not rotten.
Not monstrous.
Not ruined.
She said it so plainly, like it was fact. Like he was fact.
His hands tightened gently around hers as if grounding himself. Kuon's presence, light and persistent, existed as if she could tether even something as far-gone as him back to the real.
And from the back of his mind—no, not the back—from above, below, within—Azathoth stirred with something that felt suspiciously like approval.
Takuto's head dipped slightly. A laugh—quiet and stunned—left him, not at her, but in disbelief that anyone had ever spoken of him that way, much less his Persona. The faintest glow shuddered somewhere beneath the skin of his collarbone again, a light that briefly made him look less human and more divine.
"You're..." He swallowed down the knot in his throat. "You're honestly unbelievable."
He meant it.
The air between them had gone strange again. Tenuous. Not tense, not sharp—but suspended. Like the inside of a cocoon, soft and folded in starlight. Even seated across from her, Kuon felt close—far too close—and he wasn’t sure if it was physical or psychic or... something Azathoth was amplifying between their linked minds.
The bed was still a mess, his shirt half-buttoned, glasses hanging off at the foot. Her fingers warm against his wrist.
He glanced away before he said the next part, voice a bit lower, like he had to push it through shame:
"...I can't have you kiss me, for example."
The words hung there.
Just a sadness. A small apology curled behind his lashes.
"I never liked it when the others did " he added after a pause, quieter this time, folding a piece of himself away. "After her- it always felt like I was giving something up. Or being told to lie with my mouth."
He rubbed his thumb over the edge of her knuckles. Not as a way to ask her to leave. Quite the opposite. He still wanted to stay. Still wanted her here. Still wanted this.
"I hope that’s alright."