[Chill isn't what Takasugi is accustomed to feeling from Mikazuki. The boy's countenance had never been anything but aloof, any differences subtle as dimly filtered light, and just as illusory. In the place of something lukewarm, cold is just as potent as heat.
Takasugi curls his fingers against Mikazuki's wrist.
There's no answer to a world without fighting. A world like that is impossible - and summarily all things connected to it by strings of hope can't exist, either.
His lips spread into a smile, sharpness dampened by something that could almost be called fondness.] Thinking things through doesn't suit you.
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Takasugi curls his fingers against Mikazuki's wrist.
There's no answer to a world without fighting. A world like that is impossible - and summarily all things connected to it by strings of hope can't exist, either.
His lips spread into a smile, sharpness dampened by something that could almost be called fondness.] Thinking things through doesn't suit you.