Once again Geto feels stuck inside his own body. Weighed down by the rot of it, imprisoned inside of his bones. He wishes, futilely, that he could crack open his skull just to peer inside and divine his own real feelings. He doesn't know what he wants to say, nor if the things that queue up are the truth. He hates that he can't figure that out. )
Yeah. ( Lamely what he settles on, palm flat against Gojo's chest. ) But we have to, right? That's the point. There's no one else.
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It is also not entirely helpful.
Once again Geto feels stuck inside his own body. Weighed down by the rot of it, imprisoned inside of his bones. He wishes, futilely, that he could crack open his skull just to peer inside and divine his own real feelings. He doesn't know what he wants to say, nor if the things that queue up are the truth. He hates that he can't figure that out. )
Yeah. ( Lamely what he settles on, palm flat against Gojo's chest. ) But we have to, right? That's the point. There's no one else.
( Oh, he wants to cry. He can feel it. )