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“Jogo?”
“Hm?”
“Do you really hate humans?”
It was a real question, more significant than your usual ones. Jogo was used to you being inquisitive, but this curiosity sent him turning his head to you.
“Hm?” he repeated with more emphasis. “With everything I am. What sort of question is that?”
“Then why am I here?”
Oh. Better question.
You came down from the tower of rocks, the lake’s mångata creating a pathway in the night’s water. The moon’s shine on your skin, highlighting your beauty.
Human beauty.
Jogo felt himself growing flushed, pretended not to notice — that and you.
“You’re different,” he answered curtly.
You raised your eyebrows. “How?”
“You just are! No more questions.”
Jogo turned away from you physically, hoping it might help put his mind at ease to to literally part from you. He put head in his hands, mind elsewhere.
There was no answer to your question, anyway; he hadn’t even found an answer to it. You were his … pet. It was different, if a human submitted to a spirit.
Then it was all right.
Or, at least, that was what he told himself.
“What are you thinking about?”
“What’d I just say?”
“Is it Sukuna’s vessel?”
All right. Perhaps he’d give you that one. It was a good guess, after all.
You sauntered to him, wrapping arms around his shoulders. His eye went wide as your lips came close.
“You have to give that some time,” You said. “I’m sure it’ll work itself out.”
And you kissed his cheek.
He grumbled, leaned away from you while simultaneous fixing a hand at your back to bring your closer.
“I’ve realized that.”
You snuggled him — snuggled him — and he allowed it. Somehow. For some reason. What was the matter with him? He was supposed to be pure. Pure hatred, spite, the world’s purest cursed spirit.
And yet, here he was, being warmed by a human.
“So what you mean to say is that …” You began, rubbing your nose against the side of his face, your body pressed to his, “is that you prefer me, right?”
“Obviously.”
“Then …” You continued, looking up at him. “How do you stay pure?”
He met your gaze, eyes furrowed. He wanted the anger to come, but staring into your eyes, the emotion was thwarted, replaced by another: confusion.
He’d never loved another human. He’d never liked a human. He’d never loved at all.
The hand at your back slipped past the space between you and him, until he cupped your chin.
“I think,” he began, “No, I’m sure of it — I can stay pure. As long as I love only one.”
Once again, his answer amused you. “Love only one human?”
“Yeah.”
You pointed to yourself.
He snorted. “Who else, silly woman?”
You smiled, chuckled at him. You forced him closer to snatch a kiss from his lips.
“I think that’s a solid plan, Jogo.”