[ how can he not notice? peculiar thing he is, choso watches, observes, picks and plucks and stows away each sliver of each person he has met so far 'til the landscape of the empty canvas of his life is studded with them, these fragmented strokes.
a month and a half ago on the training room floor, Toji was a hollow thing, empty patience and jagged edges, deadly as a maul, knife-sharp in his violence.
here and now in the smoking area outside an arcade, with Toji's tongue slipping past his teeth easier than ever, choso can almost taste the Other that has come to inhabit the cavernous space of Toji's chest. greedy, curious, wondering, it's what has choso stepping in close 'til they're all but flush, like maybe he could feel the difference here too, like maybe he could pick it out in the thud of Toji's heart, in the rise and fall of his chest with each breath taken. (like maybe he can imprint it into himself somehow, this moment, this first time he has ever felt Toji feel alive in truth)
it's too bad the taste of the smoke is so immediate and so, so minty. his nose wrinkles again. ]
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a month and a half ago on the training room floor, Toji was a hollow thing, empty patience and jagged edges, deadly as a maul, knife-sharp in his violence.
here and now in the smoking area outside an arcade, with Toji's tongue slipping past his teeth easier than ever, choso can almost taste the Other that has come to inhabit the cavernous space of Toji's chest. greedy, curious, wondering, it's what has choso stepping in close 'til they're all but flush, like maybe he could feel the difference here too, like maybe he could pick it out in the thud of Toji's heart, in the rise and fall of his chest with each breath taken. (like maybe he can imprint it into himself somehow, this moment, this first time he has ever felt Toji feel alive in truth)
it's too bad the taste of the smoke is so immediate and so, so minty. his nose wrinkles again. ]