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    Summary

    Satoru lets his vision blur out. If he wanted, he could tune in to every conversation in the building, every footstep, every scribble of pencil on paper. Instead, he lets his thoughts drift into their latest hyper-fixation.

    Tentacles.

    It’s not his fault !!!

    Strictly speaking.

    So, yeah. Yesterday’s mission is still crawling around in his head, and he can’t stop replaying the moment Suguru’s curse clamped around the special grade. It's probably just morbid curiosity, though. Nothing weird going on here. Satoru’s hands start to feel clammy—must be warm in the classroom. He tries to distract himself by counting the wrinkles in his sensei’s forehead, but loses count at forty-three.

    He wonders what it would be like to be held that tightly. The wrap of pressure, the deliberate mapping of every inch of muscle and bone. He’s got a pretty solid theory that Suguru could immobilise him in half a second if he really tried. Maybe less—and oh. He’s thinking about the tentacles again.

     

    ///OR: Satoru has a bit of a revelation regarding Suguru’s tentacle curse.

    Language:
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    Chapters:
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