is machete an albino dog? if so.. does he have poor vision like some albino animals do?
Yes, actually! His vision isn't quite as bad as it could potentially be considering his condition, but he's definitely at least nearsighted enough that he'd benefit from wearing glasses. He has trouble seeing distant objects clearly and reading in particular gets challenging if the text is small enough and/or farther than, say, an arm's length away. He tends to hold items very close to his face when he's inspecting them, especially if he's not actively paying attention to how he looks at that moment.
On top of that his eyes are highly sensitive to bright lights. Direct midday sun gives him the worst headaches very swiftly. If he has any say in it, he prefers to go out on overcast days, early mornings and evenings.
He probably has a pair of custom spectacles ready for those occasions when he absolutely can't manage without them, but he's reluctant to keep them on his person consistently (let alone be seen with them). His body keeps finding new ways to let him down and to him, surrendering to wearing glasses would be like admitting another defeat. So he squints and fumbles and does his best to hide the fact he can't see that well. He has a lot of health anxieties and he's worried about the possibility of his vision weakening further and potentially preventing him from doing his job, after all most of it is centered around reading and writing. It's the one thing he enjoys, is very good at, and that makes him feel useful and needed.
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It’s not a date. You make that known, loud and clear from the outset.
“Yeah, yeah,” Gojo murmurs absently. “Whatever you say sweetie.”
It’s not a date when he picks you up from your apartment. It’s not a date when he insists you change out of your ratty sweats, or when he buys you a new outfit to his exacting standards (how did he know your measurements?).
It’s not a date when he treats you to Fancy Lunch, or when he splits his desert with you, feeding you from his own fork.
It’s not a date when he takes your hand, doesn’t let go.
And it’s definitely not a date when you finally arrive at the luxury leathergoods store, the whole point of this outing. He hovers around you, watching. He seems to be waiting on you to do something, but since he’s the one who insisted on this you’re not sure what he wants.
Finally he’s had enough of you floundering.
“Pick one,” he murmurs, eyes bright as he corals you to the collar section.
Suddenly your throat is dry as you look down the long row of them. Shiny and bold. Precious. “You want me to… pick a collar for you?”
He’s watching you, keen and hungry. He’s so close you can feel the heat of him all along your side where he’s huddled against you.
Collars have a huge significance to omegas, but you’re not quite in tune with their cultural meaning. Something about ownership, claim. You feel like you should reject this, whatever he’s trying to do here. It’s not right, and you’re not right for each other. This is a job for someone who knows what they’re doing, and besides that, someone of his social standing. You should tell him as much.
But you don’t.
You spend long minutes poring over the options. Feeling the material, testing it’s texture. Careful, you choose one with a soft inner lining, that won’t catch on the neck of his button downs, that won’t chafe when he’s running around. A subtle color, unobtrusive in his loud, bold life.
(He doesn’t ask you to put it on him, knowing, somehow that it would be too much for you, cause you to recede into your shell. He can be patient.)
It’s still not a date.
So you have no reason to be pissy when yet another alpha taps him on the shoulder, says some cheesy line about his eyes.
Gojo just snorts, rolling his eyes, not even gracing the man with a response as he pulls you along down the sidewalk, talking about what to get for dinner.
But this is the fourth time it’s happened today, and you feel like you’ve reached your limit.
You yank out of his grasp.
Immediately, he makes a grab for your hand again, scowling when you pull away, no longer acquiescing to his whims.
“What?” he demands, “What is it?”
“You could be a little more put off by it,” you say finally. It sounds petulant even to your own ears. “Like… offended, or whatever.”
It takes him a second to realize what you’re talking about.
“Comes with the territory, sweetheart,” he drawls. He’s smiling, but you can tell he’s unhappy with your peevishness. Why are you denying him? Are you disturbed by what he is, too? “Omega and all that.”
You shift on your feet, uncomfortable with your own discomfort. “How often do alphas hit on you, anyway?”
He freezes. Grins. “Are you jealous?”
You can’t even get out a denial before he’s grabbing you, spinning you both in a bear hug. “Holy shit that’s so hot, baby,” he moans.
He’s got you by the shoulders as he starts dragging you down a side street, not at all in the direction of the station you were supposed to part ways at.
“Gojo, what are you doing?”
“Making it up to you,” he says, pinching your cheek. “I think I saw a hotel this way earlier.”
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