[He tries to keep his flickering gaze discreet in how it dips down to the offensive knee slotting between his own, then lifts again to Tatsumi's face with an almost accusatory edge to his frosty eyes. What are you fucking doing, he wants to spit, but he already knows the answer here, despite not willingly inviting it. This is... work. This is practice. This is study. This is— an absurdly compromising position to be found in without official premise of rehearsal or cameras rolling (and have they not already learned enough about these situations where they think they won't be seen!? Kazehaya Tatsumi!).
Though it cannot be helped to some extent, HiMERU is tired of balking at every little thing Tatsumi does in his presence. Every millimeter more of closeness he forgives is another needle swallowed, but his life has always been one of trial and endurance; his pride would never allow so much as a speckle of blood on his lips, so he'll continue to drink in each dreadful inch of this proximity and will himself not to cough any of it up.
Even though the following words and the smooth palm slipping against his make him want to puke.
Something dark and malicious winds thick knots in his stomach, and despite the unperturbed quirk of his lips, for just a moment, his focus seems to rest somewhere far beyond the man in front of him now — a distant happiness, a simpler time. Things both long gone. How quickly people change.
Another blink of his eyes snaps him back to this regrettable present, his fingers twitching uncomfortably within Tatsumi's grasp.]
... If you mean to say HiMERU has not changed from a year ago, that reads as more of an insult than a compliment. He's worked hard to become the ideal idol he is now, and he'd thank you to not diminish the progress he's made despite all his lost time.
[Ah, but this isn't about him. He'll digress, clear his throat. And make it at least seem like he never strayed from the true topic at hand.]
For an immortal to reduce the mortals to one crowning, captivating moment. A singular snapshot of that life with no regard to its other triumphs or calamities alike. Why, it's as though he thinks himself a god among men. How arrogant. How... pitiful. Even should he come to understand humans more, the humans would not do the same for him. Such is the cost of hierarchy.
no subject
Though it cannot be helped to some extent, HiMERU is tired of balking at every little thing Tatsumi does in his presence. Every millimeter more of closeness he forgives is another needle swallowed, but his life has always been one of trial and endurance; his pride would never allow so much as a speckle of blood on his lips, so he'll continue to drink in each dreadful inch of this proximity and will himself not to cough any of it up.
Even though the following words and the smooth palm slipping against his make him want to puke.
Something dark and malicious winds thick knots in his stomach, and despite the unperturbed quirk of his lips, for just a moment, his focus seems to rest somewhere far beyond the man in front of him now — a distant happiness, a simpler time. Things both long gone. How quickly people change.
Another blink of his eyes snaps him back to this regrettable present, his fingers twitching uncomfortably within Tatsumi's grasp.]
... If you mean to say HiMERU has not changed from a year ago, that reads as more of an insult than a compliment. He's worked hard to become the ideal idol he is now, and he'd thank you to not diminish the progress he's made despite all his lost time.
[Ah, but this isn't about him. He'll digress, clear his throat. And make it at least seem like he never strayed from the true topic at hand.]
For an immortal to reduce the mortals to one crowning, captivating moment. A singular snapshot of that life with no regard to its other triumphs or calamities alike. Why, it's as though he thinks himself a god among men. How arrogant. How... pitiful. Even should he come to understand humans more, the humans would not do the same for him. Such is the cost of hierarchy.