[Being an illusionist meant knowing that physical pain faded, but the mental imprint of a wound was worse, that tearing apart a person's body was easy, but to tear apart a mind took finesse and skill. It was a lesson he had learned from birth, through the lifetimes that had been implanted into him, through his continued existence. He knew that his time in the lab had molded him far more than he cared to admit, had lit within him an unstoppable rage and hate that would have swallowed him whole had he not given it shape and purpose.
The same could be said of Ken and Chikusa, even if the quieter boy would try to never let on. It was cruel of him, perhaps, to dredge up those deep seated fears, but Mukuro was mercurial in his whims.
Whether it was a small show of mercy or because Mukuro had known Chikusa would come barrelling after him, he wasn't too far from the street, his trademark pineapple hair bobbing throughout the crowd. He wouldn't bother to look at Chikusa when the teen caught up with him, mouth curled in something akin to a sneer.]
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The same could be said of Ken and Chikusa, even if the quieter boy would try to never let on. It was cruel of him, perhaps, to dredge up those deep seated fears, but Mukuro was mercurial in his whims.
Whether it was a small show of mercy or because Mukuro had known Chikusa would come barrelling after him, he wasn't too far from the street, his trademark pineapple hair bobbing throughout the crowd. He wouldn't bother to look at Chikusa when the teen caught up with him, mouth curled in something akin to a sneer.]
You didn't have to leave on my account, Chikusa.