[He tilts his head, a brief, quizzical look coloring his expression.]
My—
[He cuts himself off, trying to follow Minako's trail of thought in the ensuing silence. It takes him a moment, his own thoughts racing from one line of reasoning to the other like an electric current, until they suddenly find a point of connection, taking to it like a sudden spark that brings a room to light—and from there, the answer comes to him, and he finally thinks he understands.
He sets down his chopsticks, pushing back his chair and standing up wordlessly. Within another few seconds he's slid open the door to his bedroom, entering inside, finding his coat and digging the pocketwatch out of its usual hiding place.
So this was the proverbial nail?
Would he have even said anything to Minato about it? Minato seemed like a quiet guy, more prone to understanding the value of silence than about the benefits of filling the void and making sure nothing stayed empty for too long. Minato wasn't someone he'd stay up talking about aimless things into the night with (even if he wasn't the one doing much of the talking). He can only see their conversations being brief and to the point. He hadn't intended to say anything about the watch in the first place. It just happened as an off-hand comment; he really hadn't expected Minako to actually look for it. That was why he hadn't told Aki, because that idiot would have gone looking for it and probably gotten himself into trouble over something he had stupidly lost in the first place.
He had told himself he didn't need it, sentimentality be damned.
He returns to the table with the pocketwatch in hand, staring down at the bullet-shaped indentation in its casing for a few seconds before offering it to her.]
This thing?
[The casing doesn't close all the way because of the indent in the metal, and the glass inside is damaged where it took the bullet, a cobweb of cracked lines that make the IV almost unreadable, but it's still ticking, oddly enough. It's keeping Port Island time, he supposes, or maybe its own. He hasn't dared correct it. He doesn't want to break it.]
no subject
My—
[He cuts himself off, trying to follow Minako's trail of thought in the ensuing silence. It takes him a moment, his own thoughts racing from one line of reasoning to the other like an electric current, until they suddenly find a point of connection, taking to it like a sudden spark that brings a room to light—and from there, the answer comes to him, and he finally thinks he understands.
He sets down his chopsticks, pushing back his chair and standing up wordlessly. Within another few seconds he's slid open the door to his bedroom, entering inside, finding his coat and digging the pocketwatch out of its usual hiding place.
So this was the proverbial nail?
Would he have even said anything to Minato about it? Minato seemed like a quiet guy, more prone to understanding the value of silence than about the benefits of filling the void and making sure nothing stayed empty for too long. Minato wasn't someone he'd stay up talking about aimless things into the night with (even if he wasn't the one doing much of the talking). He can only see their conversations being brief and to the point. He hadn't intended to say anything about the watch in the first place. It just happened as an off-hand comment; he really hadn't expected Minako to actually look for it. That was why he hadn't told Aki, because that idiot would have gone looking for it and probably gotten himself into trouble over something he had stupidly lost in the first place.
He had told himself he didn't need it, sentimentality be damned.
He returns to the table with the pocketwatch in hand, staring down at the bullet-shaped indentation in its casing for a few seconds before offering it to her.]
This thing?
[The casing doesn't close all the way because of the indent in the metal, and the glass inside is damaged where it took the bullet, a cobweb of cracked lines that make the IV almost unreadable, but it's still ticking, oddly enough. It's keeping Port Island time, he supposes, or maybe its own. He hasn't dared correct it. He doesn't want to break it.]