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Oh.

Oh.

Takuto spasms almost, eyes widened in actual surprise.
"Huh...didn't know my persona became your type. You don't find him strange?"

"He's you. Powerful, but gentle and kind."

That speaks for itself, in her opinion!

Not rotten.

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.

"I hope that’s alright."

"I can guess why," she hummed. It was a more intimate gesture, wasn't it? More romantically inclined. Though... how far does that go?

Settling in even more closely, Kuon slid her hands away from his face to drape them over his shoulders, leaning into him more, close as they were on the bench before.

"Is that kisses anywhere, or just on the lips? Could I, say... kiss along your neck, or the inside of your wrist?"

Takuto blinked. Once, then again—slow, like he hadn't quite expected her to stay.

He had made that statement not just as a boundary, but... a quiet invitation for retreat. For her to call him difficult. Dramatic. Too wounded to touch. Too complicated to untangle.

But Kuon didn’t pull away. Not even slightly.

Instead, her presence became closer. His pulse fluttered just beneath his skin.

He didn’t flinch. But his eyes lifted to hers with a subtle awe, wide and unsure in a way he rarely let anyone see.

Just that same calm curiosity.

He should’ve expected it. Kuon was nothing if not direct in her gentleness. But still, the question knocked softly at the walls he had built, and he wasn’t sure how they were supposed to hold anymore.

His gaze lingered on her mouth—not with desire, but with a strange, analytical fondness. Then, slowly, as if realising he was doing it, he looked down at the place her hands met at his back. One of his own moved, shifting slightly from her wrist to cradle the side of her waist instead—fingers curling against the fabric of her clothes with careful reverence.

He was blushing. Not just in his cheeks, but to the tips of his ears.

And yet—he nodded.

His thumb lingered on her forearm again, drawing soft, unconscious circles like he was memorising her presence one inch at a time.

Then, quietly—soft but with the smallest upward lilt in his voice, like a smile that hadn't quite reached his lips yet—he murmured:

"...If I start getting greedy with how nice that feels, you’re allowed to scold me."

A flicker of something warm passed through his eyes. Embarrassed, yes—but not hiding anymore.

The hand on her waist was pleasant, a closeness and warmth that was always enjoyable welcome in how it flooded through her body. She trotted her fingers along the back of his shoulder, not quite touching the eye, just shy of it...

"Scold you because I mean it? Or scold you because you like being pushed around for a game?" Kuon asked, breathed, in his ear.

If she pressed any closer, she'd squish him against the headboard. Slowly, trailing her fingers along his skin so he knew she wasn't withdrawing for good, she sat back to start unbuttoning her own top... taking her time, in case Takuto still lost the nerve.

He hadn’t expected her to get that close.

The breath in his ear—that breath—shot straight through him like lightning drawn by ritual, and Takuto let out a small, involuntary sound as he slapped a palm to his ear in stunned embarrassment.

"Th-That’s not fair play, Kuon," he muttered, voice cracking just slightly as he tried not to bury his face in her shoulder. He could feel the heat blooming across his chest, trailing down his torso, right to where his half-buttoned shirt hung like a flimsy afterthought on his body.

And yet...he didn’t pull away.

He had no need to.

[ooc: continuing here]

Inbox & In-person meetups

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