[ He's been relearning the spells for fire, some of his scraps bearing scorches, singing, but his thumb still presses down on the lighter with the ease of an unearned normalcy. It flicks, flinty-soft against a burnt wick, and he exercises his ability to near the Sakurazukamori's face with an ostensible threat. He offers it out over the tabletop. ]
When it visits me, yes.
[ Which is more often than he expects but never refuses, still. ]
no subject
When it visits me, yes.
[ Which is more often than he expects but never refuses, still. ]