[ a lot can be gleaned in words, choso has found out; not in the words themselves, but the spaces between consonants, the hang of vowels in the throat, the words that hang unsaid in the air. yuta tells a story that echoes with all the things he doesn't say but that choso can supply anyway.
he can trace every logic line of this revelation and each one leads to sukuna. ]
Don't be. I'm the one jumping at shadows.
[ is this what awkwardness feels like? the need to move and bustle, just to fill the quiet? weird. but choso's at it anyway, kneeling to pick up his dusty carpets because he can't bring himself to make yuta stop bowing. ]
The marks... if that technique was instrumental, then who was it you rode?
[ he thinks he knows the answer, but it isn't one he wants to utter just like that. ]
no subject
he can trace every logic line of this revelation and each one leads to sukuna. ]
Don't be. I'm the one jumping at shadows.
[ is this what awkwardness feels like? the need to move and bustle, just to fill the quiet? weird. but choso's at it anyway, kneeling to pick up his dusty carpets because he can't bring himself to make yuta stop bowing. ]
The marks... if that technique was instrumental, then who was it you rode?
[ he thinks he knows the answer, but it isn't one he wants to utter just like that. ]