"I could kill you, you know."
Mahito's tone is light, his arms draping themselves around you, his thumb rubbing your collarbone. His head rests on the top of yours, and even now, as your pulse begins to race, you can feel him grinning.
"Oh?" You keep your tone level, refusing to look up from the book you'd been reading before the live-in curse threatened your life. The words on the page blur together as you try to think of an appropriate response - but the moment passes, and Mahito continues.
"It'd be easy! Though, I don't know what shape I'd have you take..." he leans down further, curling himself over the couch you're sat on, and knocks his head against yours, the impact rattling your skull and scrambling your thoughts. "Any suggestions?"
To your credit, you don't yelp in pain. Nor do you pull away from Mahito's embrace, as painful as it is. You understand, as does he, that this is Mahito's favoritism, and that it'd be foolish to reject it.
Doesn't mean it doesn't hurt like a motherfucker though.
He's waiting for an answer, nuzzling into the crook of your neck, and you sigh and lean into the dull, thudding ache he's left in the side of your head. You can feel it when his smile widens: it's the moment you start to respond.
"I'd probably want to be something with wings. Nice feathery ones, though; bat wings aren't my vibe, and I don't like the buzzing that comes with, say, dragonfly wings. Or insect wings of any kind, really."
It's the truth, of course. You've long since found it pointless to lie to the curse. It bores him, and it saves you the effort of having to come up with a convincing lie. Besides, it's not as if this is the first time you've thought about how Mahito would transform you.
(That honor went to the first time he showed you his abilities. You'd never forget the smell of that... thing. It wasn't a human, not anymore- it wasn't your landlord, come to collect on rent two months late; your landlord, who had walked chest first into Mahito's outstretched hand and then shriveled and wrinkled and screamed-
Mahito had left after he- it, could fit into the palm of his hand, leaving you to be sick and alone in your apartment for 3 days after. 3 days of laying in your bed, scrolling your phone, trying not to think about the ways he could mold you, shape you like so much putty - or how much you wanted the blood on his hands to be yours.
It had been a relief when he'd returned, demanding that you make him ramen - he'd seen some advertisement or another about it, and wanted to try it for himself. When you asked him what flavor he wanted, he shrugged and asked you, "Any suggestions?"
You hadn't known what else to say but offer what you had; and yet, somehow, that had been enough.)