[ Gen's demeanour generally runs hot, volatile -- the way a fire might simmer to a quiet ember if left alone, but will crackle and spit once more the moment any oil hits. But if Reigen expected another spike of aggression in the face of that bold question, he'd be wrong this time. Gen's gaze goes dead and cold, unblinking as it bores into Reigen with an unspoken loathing; it lacks the grace of a knifeblade, feeling more akin to a screwdriver being forced to puncture through flesh.

(Control. Like he's ever really had control of anything. And what few dregs he'd been permitted have always burned him.) ]

S'that right.

[ His hand shifts from Reigen's shirtfront to the column of his throat in the blink of an eye, and Gen slams his head back against the bookshelves once more. The skin there is tender when he digs his fingers in just a little. ]

And you think you being so brave would do anything to stop me from snapping your neck if I really put my mind to it?

[ Gen only holds that pressure for a moment, though, before abruptly throwing Reigen off to the side. He hasn't forgotten about the ceasefire enforced in this place. That's the only reason he'll spare this asshole, he tells himself. ]

Fuck off.