[ It's been a while since he's encountered someone who hasn't even flinched in the face of his unusual intimidation tactics. Between his size, his family name and his general reputation, Gen's used to people flinching back the instant he reaches for them, quick to put on simpering smiles or tucking tail between their legs to avoid his ire. A lifetime spent in the same shitty town, terrorizing the same familiar faces, means Gen's a little rusty at containing his surprise when the only reaction he gets is narrow fingers brushing against the back of his hand.
It's only a brief slip. The slightest hitch of a breath, the whip-quick shift of his eyes to glance down towards Makoto's hand, the tightening of knuckles against the tangle of silken hair. Then Gen recovers, putting up no resistance and silently permitting his other hand to be drawn forth until fingertips are touching against those glaring stitches.
Fine. Two can play this game. He didn't crawl his way up the hierarchy in his miserable little hometown purely through nepotism. ]
Weird hobby you got.
[ His tone of voice is kept impressively even, feigning casual, but at this close proximity there's probably no missing the flicker of discomfort in the squint of his gaze, the way his hand tenses before starting to explore. The tactile sensation of thoses stitches is ... gross, frankly. Unsettling. It's more a testament to his stubborn pride than anything else that Gen drags his fingertips against the seam between Makoto's head and throat for a prolonged moment.
Before sharply digging a fingertip into the gap between two stitches. Just hard enough that it'd bruise regular skin -- maybe hard enough to pry apart that incision and draw a drop or two of blood, he figures. His other hand casually grips tighter into Makoto's hair, knuckling against the curve of his skull as he drones, ]
You some sort of zombie?
[ He feels ridiculous saying it, has to suppress the urge to roll his eyes but -- whatever. He's already spotted more than one person wandering around with moving, twitching, responsive animal ears. Maybe zombies are real, too. Why the fuck not. ]
just two well-adjusted teenagers having a perfectly normal one
It's only a brief slip. The slightest hitch of a breath, the whip-quick shift of his eyes to glance down towards Makoto's hand, the tightening of knuckles against the tangle of silken hair. Then Gen recovers, putting up no resistance and silently permitting his other hand to be drawn forth until fingertips are touching against those glaring stitches.
Fine. Two can play this game. He didn't crawl his way up the hierarchy in his miserable little hometown purely through nepotism. ]
Weird hobby you got.
[ His tone of voice is kept impressively even, feigning casual, but at this close proximity there's probably no missing the flicker of discomfort in the squint of his gaze, the way his hand tenses before starting to explore. The tactile sensation of thoses stitches is ... gross, frankly. Unsettling. It's more a testament to his stubborn pride than anything else that Gen drags his fingertips against the seam between Makoto's head and throat for a prolonged moment.
Before sharply digging a fingertip into the gap between two stitches. Just hard enough that it'd bruise regular skin -- maybe hard enough to pry apart that incision and draw a drop or two of blood, he figures. His other hand casually grips tighter into Makoto's hair, knuckling against the curve of his skull as he drones, ]
You some sort of zombie?
[ He feels ridiculous saying it, has to suppress the urge to roll his eyes but -- whatever. He's already spotted more than one person wandering around with moving, twitching, responsive animal ears. Maybe zombies are real, too. Why the fuck not. ]