[ Begun dryly and continuing dryly, but that Gojo's curled a thumb beneath the fabric of his blindfold, tugged up, exposing an eye bright blue and too-seeing. It isn't a pinning that paralyzes, that holds him still, but his voice catches with surprise only evidenced by that.
He almost continues, because it the pin's not in his tongue and the extended quip would fit beneath that lilting, paving, grounding (— to an unsatisfying meal, but coming from you, who probably only likes in his desserts a contrast between "two sweet" and "so sweet my teeth are literally aching"—). Almost, but Gojo's been too deliberate, attention too fixed. Nanami doesn't shift, there's no discomfort, but he keeps his mouth shut, ribbing retort incomplete.
Something must have merited that eye. Waiting isn't bracing, and he doesn't think to, because it must have been impossible regardless — to prepare himself to hear a question like that from Gojo Satoru. Beer swapped out by the staff in the interim between his floundered retort and Gojo lumping them together, Nanami's lifting the glass to his mouth, to drink against his frown, not finding the first question unpleasant or unkind, more statement of the disagreeable facts. Unlike the second question, which is frankly, insensibly cruel.
That it is cruel, feels cruel, that he actually balks, the fleeting wreckage of his expression at least half-obscured by the cup and if only he'd kept his sunglasses on to hide the rest — surprises him. The seasick, anchor sunk lurching in his chest, the white expanding around small rings of iris, tension in his forehead yanking tight through to the back of his skull. He even coughs, twice, when setting the beer back on the table, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand, and keeping it there. Eyes narrowing above it.
Why the hell would you ask that — Nanami has to wonder before answering, does wonder, wondering how the hell Gojo could mean it when he knows better. Full of himself, sure, maybe he can't accept what losing had already begun to do to the world, maybe grasping at what's in front of him, though it's just smoke and mirrors.
It takes Nanami what feels like a minute, but probably isn't, and his voice's only a little rougher than he'd like. ]
It's too late for that.
[ Blunt, firm finality. Then, less rough, almost gentle, able to lower his hand then: ]
Gojo-san, you don't need me to tell you that we can't save everyone. Not even you can. I want you to not to waste anything on that, when you need to focus on everyone else.
[ And — grabbing again at his cup, turning away from Gojo, looking at the rim. ]
Honestly, I don't like that you're here, but I don't dislike being in it with you.
[ Being in it together. It's annoying, but despite every appearance, as the cliche goes, there's none more reliable than Gojo in a crisis (failing, apparently, a not-so-dead best friend popping up to imprison him). Further, knowing, really knowing something's the absolute last does make one more patient, more appreciative.
If only, probably, for the first few days. Or minutes. Something like that. ]
no subject
[ Begun dryly and continuing dryly, but that Gojo's curled a thumb beneath the fabric of his blindfold, tugged up, exposing an eye bright blue and too-seeing. It isn't a pinning that paralyzes, that holds him still, but his voice catches with surprise only evidenced by that.
He almost continues, because it the pin's not in his tongue and the extended quip would fit beneath that lilting, paving, grounding (— to an unsatisfying meal, but coming from you, who probably only likes in his desserts a contrast between "two sweet" and "so sweet my teeth are literally aching"—). Almost, but Gojo's been too deliberate, attention too fixed. Nanami doesn't shift, there's no discomfort, but he keeps his mouth shut, ribbing retort incomplete.
Something must have merited that eye. Waiting isn't bracing, and he doesn't think to, because it must have been impossible regardless — to prepare himself to hear a question like that from Gojo Satoru. Beer swapped out by the staff in the interim between his floundered retort and Gojo lumping them together, Nanami's lifting the glass to his mouth, to drink against his frown, not finding the first question unpleasant or unkind, more statement of the disagreeable facts. Unlike the second question, which is frankly, insensibly cruel.
That it is cruel, feels cruel, that he actually balks, the fleeting wreckage of his expression at least half-obscured by the cup and if only he'd kept his sunglasses on to hide the rest — surprises him. The seasick, anchor sunk lurching in his chest, the white expanding around small rings of iris, tension in his forehead yanking tight through to the back of his skull. He even coughs, twice, when setting the beer back on the table, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand, and keeping it there. Eyes narrowing above it.
Why the hell would you ask that — Nanami has to wonder before answering, does wonder, wondering how the hell Gojo could mean it when he knows better. Full of himself, sure, maybe he can't accept what losing had already begun to do to the world, maybe grasping at what's in front of him, though it's just smoke and mirrors.
It takes Nanami what feels like a minute, but probably isn't, and his voice's only a little rougher than he'd like. ]
It's too late for that.
[ Blunt, firm finality. Then, less rough, almost gentle, able to lower his hand then: ]
Gojo-san, you don't need me to tell you that we can't save everyone. Not even you can. I want you to not to waste anything on that, when you need to focus on everyone else.
[ And — grabbing again at his cup, turning away from Gojo, looking at the rim. ]
Honestly, I don't like that you're here, but I don't dislike being in it with you.
[ Being in it together. It's annoying, but despite every appearance, as the cliche goes, there's none more reliable than Gojo in a crisis (failing, apparently, a not-so-dead best friend popping up to imprison him). Further, knowing, really knowing something's the absolute last does make one more patient, more appreciative.
If only, probably, for the first few days. Or minutes. Something like that. ]
Just don't ask stupid questions. Please.