#/ i am so sorry i got maybe a teensy bit carried away 😬

[inun4ki]

lift

'reasons to cup a face' prompts / accepting

"Ah, maybe I was a little too careless," Kaede murmured to himself.

Careful fingers swept over the edge of a chipped blade, scrutinizing gaze catching on superficial scratches, the slight bend at the tip, blunted edge...

He let out a sigh, pursing his lips, and dropped his arm, pressing the little knife against his whetstone and slowly, methodically beginning to drag it across. This wasn't the first nor would it be the last of his tending, idly sharpening damaged weapons in the hopes that his next trip to some backwater hellhole would prove easier than the last - at the very least. He was as unwilling as any to play at being curse-food, or to be possessed of broken, useless tools in any scenario that could result in an untimely end - or timely, depending on who one asks.

The silence was comfortable, little more than the scrape of metal against stone filling his ears - and, perhaps, the occasional and obviously bored puffs of air coming from Gojo to break the monotony. Admittedly, it was nice having someone else in the room - nice having company. Pleasant, even, despite the intermittent interruption of his concentration. That is to say, he didn't mind at all, content to simply be in the absence of work, special orders, and the like.

He often thought of moments such as these as times to catch up, even though he rarely ever did much talking. Opening his mouth was a double-edged sword - nothing good came out, friendly compliments twisting into petty teases, playfulness morphing into awkward (and stupid) displays of social ineptitude, embarrassment consistently reigning supreme over intention... But every once in a while, he was afforded the opportunity not to come across as a complete and utter fool - like now, in the warm afternoon light where idle hands could occupy themselves and the need for conversation wouldn't pervade. Quiet times to get caught up on that which needed it, be it meticulously guiding a blade across stone or hanging out with...well, a coworker. He didn't really know what to call Gojo, but that was neither here nor there, he supposed.

"Think if I can work out the kinks, it'll do better next time," he said, once more to himself, gaze fixing on a divot along the knife-edge. More effort than a mere few minutes of work would be required, and he was really quite lucky he'd been able to manage thus far, a cool tingle at his fingertips as cursed energy bled into the blade. Folding, compressing, filling, until at last it would again be optimally useful should he find himself entrenched in the worst possible scenario - as had so often come to pass. Still, for a moment, he set his knife aside, flexing his hands and rolling his wrists in an effort to work out any stiffness or soreness. "Nothing like a good knife to change the tide in combat - provided it's properly cared for. I'm not eager to meet death, after all."

He drew his knee up and pressed his cheek into the cap, long hair spooling over his shoulder as a faint breeze fluttered in through the open window. Rubbing his palms, massaging small muscles, he'd become too focused to notice the footsteps tacitly pounding into the hardwood, drawing ever closer. In fact, he'd already picked the knife up again when a shadow was cast, looming over him - but he'd thought a passing cloud had been responsible, writing it off as something natural altogether. He shifted again, folding his other leg in a half-formed criss-cross, but his knife wouldn't again touch the whetstone.

Instead, it loudly clattered to the floor.

Long fingers brushed against his cheek where others hooked underneath his chin, steadily yet insistantly guiding his head upward and off his knee - to look up - warm yet cold all at once, as if clammy from having been balled up for too long. At first, he was surprised, breath catching in his throat from the contact alone, but such was made doubly worse when he couldn't parse the expression Gojo was making. Masked placidity, teasing, a playful edge to something he simply couldn't fathom, too many unknowns wrapped up in one pale face framed in black cloth and white hair-- He nearly recoiled, some small part of him only too happy to almost lean into the touch, twin cornflowers wide open with confusion, curiosity, and the vague need to run the fuck away.

Why was he so close? Why was he touching him, lifting his head, gently urging him to look up and pay attention? Had he missed something, tuned him out and accidentally ignored anything he said? Did Gojo say anything...? Did it even matter? It wasn't as if he could conceal the warmth bitterly staining his skin with shades of pink, nor the miserably transparent quiver of his lip as he gnawed into it, praying to whatever gods may exist that he would not be called out on the storm suddenly overtaking his mind, or the boyish gasp that'd escaped him long before he could regain the wherewithall to choke it down.

"A-ara, Gojo-senpai...? Is there something on my face? Or did you say something...? I-I apologize if you think I've been ignoring you," he rasped softly, blinking in quick succession as one hand rose to cautiously slip around Gojo's wrist. He didn't push nor pull, resist nor encourage, arrested by the proximity. Enough thought whirled through his head to put event he most anxiously thoughtful mind to shame, all in a vain attempt to make sense of what was happening, deconstruct it and piece it all back together. But there were no adequate explanations, no silly excuses he could handwave away - just a persistent enough touch and an imperceptible smile.

Glancing away, he swallowed thinly, free hand tucking a lock of his hair behind an ear. He was nervous.

"Even though I'm not particularly kind to you, you would still... and gently...?"