That voice brings Satoru to a stop, head turning to stare at Suguru, wide-eyed, stunned. He knows, then, that this is a dream, and though he doesn't understand the strange surroundings and the even stranger creatures staring him down, there is one thing he understands.
"You know me. I love being the center of attention," he says lightly, falling back into their banter like it hasn't been decades.
It's almost painful, seeing Suguru standing there. Because it isn't real, is it? The real Suguru fucked off for some missions years ago and hasn't come back since, leaving Satoru to miss him wistfully like an idiot, like some stupid caricature of a storybook hero, pining endlessly. It's his own fault; he doesn't connect to many people, but when he does, he does so intensely.
Like so many things don't make sense in dreams, he watches as his dream self stalks towards the strange creatures, intention to fight visible in every line of his body.
"I don't know why my dreams picked this scenario, though. I've got way more interesting fantasies than this."
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"You know me. I love being the center of attention," he says lightly, falling back into their banter like it hasn't been decades.
It's almost painful, seeing Suguru standing there. Because it isn't real, is it? The real Suguru fucked off for some missions years ago and hasn't come back since, leaving Satoru to miss him wistfully like an idiot, like some stupid caricature of a storybook hero, pining endlessly. It's his own fault; he doesn't connect to many people, but when he does, he does so intensely.
Like so many things don't make sense in dreams, he watches as his dream self stalks towards the strange creatures, intention to fight visible in every line of his body.
"I don't know why my dreams picked this scenario, though. I've got way more interesting fantasies than this."