[ He remembers. The dispute over the network was recent enough that he hasn't cast it out of his mind entirely, and beyond that, this kid seems to hold some kind of significance to Dabi. Good to know, good to keep track of, whether or not he intends to do something about it. But remembering doesn't mean respecting, especially when Kajiyama fusses as much as that rejected namesake implies. Tomura just sort of winds up waving off the introduction in casual dismissal.
What's an exchange of names when they could bicker about some meaningless nonsense instead?
The scuff of shoes on the boardwalk and the rise of that indignant voice tells him he's being followed after all. Whereas Kajiyama is all growing bluster, Tomura's mood is anchored in the sulking and dour, faintly annoyed by his reluctant companion's continued doubling down and the rising temperature of this space. Absently, he draws the sleeve of the borrowed hoodie around his neck, where a thin sheen of sweat has begun to stick between fabric and the long drape of his hair. He's so wrapped up in it—the prickle beneath his skin, the heat creeping into his body, the insistence Kajiyama keeps trying to feed him—he doesn't go out and around. Instead, he unconsciously retraces the steps that had brought him here—into the foliage of the green labyrinth, this particular entrance blending almost seamlessly into the low shrubs scattered around the orchard.
Does he "get it"? ]
Then why bother with all this shit, [ he says, a rough edge of distraction creeping into his voice. The whole "I'll do you a favor so just drop it" song and dance sure sounds like some type of regret, even if not guilt. Unless— ] You're one of those people who butts in with an opinion and gets annoyed when you get an answer, huh? If you can't deal with that, then don't open your mouth in the first place. Didn't anyone teach you that?
[ Like Tomura's one to talk about learning courtesy... At least he stands by the words he speaks (or at least he prefers to think so), although that tendency is probably attributable to equal parts principled resolve and sheer bullheadedness. ]
sorry for the delay, rl kicked my ass
What's an exchange of names when they could bicker about some meaningless nonsense instead?
The scuff of shoes on the boardwalk and the rise of that indignant voice tells him he's being followed after all. Whereas Kajiyama is all growing bluster, Tomura's mood is anchored in the sulking and dour, faintly annoyed by his reluctant companion's continued doubling down and the rising temperature of this space. Absently, he draws the sleeve of the borrowed hoodie around his neck, where a thin sheen of sweat has begun to stick between fabric and the long drape of his hair. He's so wrapped up in it—the prickle beneath his skin, the heat creeping into his body, the insistence Kajiyama keeps trying to feed him—he doesn't go out and around. Instead, he unconsciously retraces the steps that had brought him here—into the foliage of the green labyrinth, this particular entrance blending almost seamlessly into the low shrubs scattered around the orchard.
Does he "get it"? ]
Then why bother with all this shit, [ he says, a rough edge of distraction creeping into his voice. The whole "I'll do you a favor so just drop it" song and dance sure sounds like some type of regret, even if not guilt. Unless— ] You're one of those people who butts in with an opinion and gets annoyed when you get an answer, huh? If you can't deal with that, then don't open your mouth in the first place. Didn't anyone teach you that?
[ Like Tomura's one to talk about learning courtesy... At least he stands by the words he speaks (or at least he prefers to think so), although that tendency is probably attributable to equal parts principled resolve and sheer bullheadedness. ]