[ even if the punch had been thrown, Juno's not sure he would have moved. he's just waiting for an excuse and he knows it. it's not, though; the gesture is deliberate, heavy with meaning rather than violence, and Juno stands his ground against the weight of it. against the press of a fist on his chest. it's — not comforting, but grounding, maybe. makes something in him snap back into place. like he'd been treading water and just suddenly his foot hits solid ground, startled by the security of it. and the strange thing is that the feeling doesn't seem entirely him, propped up by something else, someone else. borrowing it from... from this kid.
he doesn't like this. he doesn't like that Bakugo even cared enough to pull him back from the edge, when he seemed much happier with the idea of decking Juno for his little display of weakness; and worse, that he somehow knew exactly what kind of gesture would work best on Juno, who bristles at the slightest hint of kindness. there's too much going on here that isn't quite clear. it feels like they're being played.
Bakugo backs off quickly, and Juno does the same, his posture shifting from that sure-footed anticipation of violence into something more subdued, wary. he's giving Bakugo a narrow-eyed glare — sullen and resentful for the fact that he's being led through this conversation, and by a teenager, and by a teenager like this. someone with that brazen kind of confidence in things as bright and blazing as the sun; a confidence in his ability to stand up against the world that Juno lost a long time ago, traded for the surety of the worst to come.
this boy is too much like him. it turns his mouth dry and bitter. ]
Sure, kid. Whatever you say. Gotta be honest, I'm not actually much good with a hand of cards, so I'll just take your word for it. [ he's not touching this; he doesn't even want to deal with the sore places in himself where those ideals were uprooted, he's not interested in the minefield of someone else's beliefs. ] And does the hero have a name?
no subject
he doesn't like this. he doesn't like that Bakugo even cared enough to pull him back from the edge, when he seemed much happier with the idea of decking Juno for his little display of weakness; and worse, that he somehow knew exactly what kind of gesture would work best on Juno, who bristles at the slightest hint of kindness. there's too much going on here that isn't quite clear. it feels like they're being played.
Bakugo backs off quickly, and Juno does the same, his posture shifting from that sure-footed anticipation of violence into something more subdued, wary. he's giving Bakugo a narrow-eyed glare — sullen and resentful for the fact that he's being led through this conversation, and by a teenager, and by a teenager like this. someone with that brazen kind of confidence in things as bright and blazing as the sun; a confidence in his ability to stand up against the world that Juno lost a long time ago, traded for the surety of the worst to come.
this boy is too much like him. it turns his mouth dry and bitter. ]
Sure, kid. Whatever you say. Gotta be honest, I'm not actually much good with a hand of cards, so I'll just take your word for it. [ he's not touching this; he doesn't even want to deal with the sore places in himself where those ideals were uprooted, he's not interested in the minefield of someone else's beliefs. ] And does the hero have a name?