[ LISTEN ... It's not like Yamamoto keeps his schedule down to the punctilious restraint of fixed timestamps and weekly logs, it's lucky he's even peripherally aware of what day it is (not the weekend, or he wouldn't have been called out afterschool on the day he was drafted, but maybe he's just splitting hairline semantics and his own immediate indifference to anything that isn't fun or baseball, respectively speaking). In any case, it's not like Tsuna isn't up to snuff with handling things when it comes down to the eleventh hour — he's the leader for a reason — but he's momentarily caught by that answer, mouth opening on pop-fly spontaneity. ]
Haven't stopped?
[ A weird way to phrase it, but then they've reached the camp by this point, and Yamamoto's steps visibly slog as he sits down the mangled remains of his camp tent without any further precursor, like it doesn't even matter that he should've gotten it set up long before he went traipsing around to alleviate his concerns on the slimmest of provocations.
He goes quiet at the question, staring at him for a while. A slight tilt of his head, eyes bright and summarily unsettled at once, some confused movement pried halfway between caution and blithe silence.
From what he can recall, he hadn't encountered Tsuna even once until now, but Hibari had been out on the rooftop that night, and he — ] Ahaha, well, I don't think I understand. What do you mean?
[ he shuts his mouth— one, because of the stings under the bandages, the wounds that stretched and brought discomfort to his moving mouth. at least with painkillers, it's lightened, but—
when he speaks next, he tries to keep his mouth as closed as possible, careful not to open too much. ]
I'm just . . . Tired! I'm thinking too much.
[ he manages a smile— although, it's clearly being forced for the sake of conversation. he didn't feel like smiling. he didn't feel in place to smile, which is why it dissipates almost as quick as it comes. a change of direction, perhaps. maybe home would make him feel better. much better— ]
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Haven't stopped?
[ A weird way to phrase it, but then they've reached the camp by this point, and Yamamoto's steps visibly slog as he sits down the mangled remains of his camp tent without any further precursor, like it doesn't even matter that he should've gotten it set up long before he went traipsing around to alleviate his concerns on the slimmest of provocations.
He goes quiet at the question, staring at him for a while. A slight tilt of his head, eyes bright and summarily unsettled at once, some confused movement pried halfway between caution and blithe silence.
From what he can recall, he hadn't encountered Tsuna even once until now, but Hibari had been out on the rooftop that night, and he — ] Ahaha, well, I don't think I understand. What do you mean?
no subject
S— sorry, I— Never mind.
[ he shuts his mouth— one, because of the stings under the bandages, the wounds that stretched and brought discomfort to his moving mouth. at least with painkillers, it's lightened, but—
when he speaks next, he tries to keep his mouth as closed as possible, careful not to open too much. ]
I'm just . . . Tired! I'm thinking too much.
[ he manages a smile— although, it's clearly being forced for the sake of conversation. he didn't feel like smiling. he didn't feel in place to smile, which is why it dissipates almost as quick as it comes. a change of direction, perhaps. maybe home would make him feel better. much better— ]
What was the last thing you remember from home?