[There's a part of him, at first, that's pathetically grateful Gojyo hadn't followed him. It lasts long enough for him to not-quite-collapse down onto the back porch stairs. He breathes. Eventually, the shocked vulnerability starts to fade, and a more rational part of his brain murmurs:
Why hadn't Gojyo followed him?
Could it be, perhaps, that the admission was as vulnerable a moment for him as it had become for Hakkai?
Can he even safely say, I don't remember that, or must he remain silent? He swallows; his mouth is dry, and tastes of bile and cannoli cream. He hopes he can say something. He thinks he might have to say something, or risk pushing Gojyo away, again.
(He thinks he might be Gojyo's last log, right now, and though he hopes Gojyo remembers how to swim, it's only fair that he repay the favor.)
Weariness hits him as he stands up, and he wrinkles his nose. Staying on his feet and moving normally is enough to occupy his mind all the way into the sitting room, where the couch proves empty.
He closes his eyes. Two faint tugs lead him to the backyard, and there's a wash of emotion there that's not his own, and that leads him to suspect that those two are Chikusa and Ken. Gojyo, then, is the guilty sharp tightness in his chest, or at least the parts of it that aren't his own. Upstairs. Climbing the stairs at a normal pace, too, turns out to be enough to occupy his attention for the next twenty seconds before he has to rap his knuckles against Gojyo's doorframe.]
no subject
Why hadn't Gojyo followed him?
Could it be, perhaps, that the admission was as vulnerable a moment for him as it had become for Hakkai?
Can he even safely say, I don't remember that, or must he remain silent? He swallows; his mouth is dry, and tastes of bile and cannoli cream. He hopes he can say something. He thinks he might have to say something, or risk pushing Gojyo away, again.
(He thinks he might be Gojyo's last log, right now, and though he hopes Gojyo remembers how to swim, it's only fair that he repay the favor.)
Weariness hits him as he stands up, and he wrinkles his nose. Staying on his feet and moving normally is enough to occupy his mind all the way into the sitting room, where the couch proves empty.
He closes his eyes. Two faint tugs lead him to the backyard, and there's a wash of emotion there that's not his own, and that leads him to suspect that those two are Chikusa and Ken. Gojyo, then, is the guilty sharp tightness in his chest, or at least the parts of it that aren't his own. Upstairs. Climbing the stairs at a normal pace, too, turns out to be enough to occupy his attention for the next twenty seconds before he has to rap his knuckles against Gojyo's doorframe.]
May I come in?